RP:A Taste of Tragedy

Summary: Quintessa and Kasyr have a long conversation about the current matters effecting both of them. They talk about the loss of Luffy, the political theatre in the Mage's Guild and Vailkrin, Larewen's disappearance, and other things of a more personal nature. Eventually, the night ends with them getting to know each other better than expected.

House Dragana

Towering over the abyssal forest, the dark mass of House Dragana is no less eerie than the vegetation, or lack thereof, in which it stands. The mansion's outer perimeters are flanked by the twisting trees and there are no gates to prevent the seemingly less desirable denizens of the forest from trespassing upon the property. A sleek, obsidian walkway runs from the house's entry to the path. The only source of light without comes form wrought-iron lanterns that are placed on either side of the walkway, spaced perfectly from one another. Within them, an eldritch glow of a deep, verdant hue flickers. Those brave enough to approach House Dragana's doors will be greeted with iron knockers bearing blackened skulls, their eyes set with emeralds that glow with the same light from the lanterns. Within the house's walls, there is no shortage of decadence. Only the most elegant of furniture is placed throughout its rooms. A grand staircase of blackened wood leads to the upper levels, where rooms for those that reside within the house can be found. Midway up, the stairs split to the left and right, spiraling upward. Here, there is a landing with a set of double doors that leads to a large ballroom. The lower level of the house plays host to a dining area and kitchen, though rarely used, a grandiose library filled with grimoires and tomes, and a small museum of artifacts collected by the house's residents. Though there appear to be no candles to light the way, an ethereal glow floods the innards of the house, providing ample reading light - undoubtedly arcane in origin. Dark magic is weaved into the house's existence as a measure of protection.

Quintessa has been crying. It obvious from the dark lines of charcoal that streak down her face from her eyes where it was applied as makeup. For the time being, the changeling has taken a break from her loud sobs to wonder about House Dragana. Her destination? The coveted wine cellar of the elder vampire. Quintessa jingles the keys on the ring as she finds the right one, her mismatched eyes scanning over them in the darkness of the basement halls. Being a hag-born she can see fine in the dark, so she doesn't carry a torch with her as her hunched form glides through the pitch black. The only warning that the hex blade was haunting these halls was the occasional clink of keys as she finds the right one. "Alright, let's break into another keg..." the spooky girl whispers, placing the key into the door to the wine cellar before opening it with a loud creak. She lingers in the doorway only a moment before she steps over to the series of barrels that line the walls. "But what vintage?"

Kasyr has accumulated a mess of wounds since the battle had ended. Grief, panic, and a perverse sense of guilt forced his hand into tapping into that voracious & primal source of power- enabling a hasty and lightning fueled journey to frostmaw, all so he could conserve that singular fragment of Luffy. It had been placed in the only place he felt it might truly be safe- the homestead that had once served as a sanctuary to himself and the Frost Maiden. Yet. when that desperate task had found himself finished- all it left him was the pervasive feeling he was once more an interloper, coaxing him into slipping free from the city as hastily as possible, a member of the Eyrie having at least provided him a quick means of gaining some distance. And to go where? House D'artes, where his every reaction and wound might be gauged for weakness, or leverage? The Mage guild, where he'd be expected to at least maintain the illusion of professionalism, and, perhaps still fall prey to the scrutiny of Daath? Of the options available, it ultimately meant his return to House Dragana, and to the hospitality of his student. That she's not there to immediately greet him is only a boon to him, really- since it allows him the ability to almost mechanically flop his trenchcoat over the first couch he sees, and then wander off in search of what he feels is best going to cure what ails him. Which, in fact, is not healing potions for his wounds. Oh no, Kasyr's already commited himself to seeking out Larewen's kitchen, so he can avail himself to the first thing of Wine he might be able to scrounge up. Even if it's cooking wine, Blood wine, or a combination of the two. He's already feeling sick to his stomach, what's a bit more.

Quintessa is strong for her age, possibly due to her to unnatural heritage, so when she made up her mind on a cask nearing 70 years old, she easily hoisted the wooden barrel onto her shoulder and began her trek back to her bedroom. With her bare feet dirty from the ancient dust of the basement, she ascends the stairs leading back up to the to kitchen and rams the door leading inside with her other shoulder. The changeling immediately notices the sounds from the other room, someone coming into the foyer. There were few people who could make it past the undead guards that lingered outside. Before the hex blade even has time to set the keg down on the counter to investigate, Kasyr has already found his way back to her, "Teacher? Elazul's bite you look awful..." Quintessa has a pretty good feeling why. "Um, here." Pale fingers rap the top in the oak barrel as her other hand reaches for the tap. If the Kensai is anything like her, then of course he wants to drown his pain. "There are glasses..." she adds without looking, a slender digit raising to point to a cabinet. "Bring us some... Please." With the 'please' she looks up from her ragged hair, mismatched eyes filled with sorrow. She hasn't combed the mess on her head today and already it is matted in parts and hopelessly tangled in others. Without her weapons and armor and barefoot in the kitchen, the changeling looks like a wild animal, save for the silk night gown that hangs loosen from the curves of her body.

Kasyrs' drooped ears quirk up when he finds himself addressed, before he finishes sliding the bottle of what was unfortunately olive oil back into it's place in a cupboard. "I've looked worse." is about all he can manage as an instinctive deflection, a look of discomfort crossing his features a moment after, before giving way to one of concern. "Sorry. I. . ." She'd been there, too, and yet he'd failed to find her in those moments after- and it was only now that he was taking in the sight of her. It takes him a few moments longer for Quintessa's request to sink in, and for self-awareness to dawn at his own staring, "Right . . . Right. Sorry. " The directions are easy enough to follow, as he sifts through the cabinet in search of a pair of glasses, and then picks up a few spares, just in case. Gods can only list the amount of accidental damage he's accumulated of late. The ensuing thoughts that accompany that list only add to Kasyrs look of moroseness, though he does his best to feign an uneasy smile when he turns from the shelf. "Lead the way, J'suppose."

Quintessa watches Kasyr bumble around the room for a moment, her dark brows furrowing with concern for him. When he finally made his way over one of these brows quirked upward in surprise. "Lead the way?" She was headed to her bedroom. Was she about to actually invite him there? The changeling knew she'd normally feel a pang of excitement at the prospect, but right now she is devoid of any emotions like that. She takes the barrel and tap and turns for the foyer, her intention to head upstairs. "It's not appropriate, but whatever. It's where I drink. Have you ever seen the Master Bedroom of House Dragana? Larewen has such good tastes..." Quintessa has reverted back to her mindless rambling as a defense mechanism, only pausing for short moments for the Kensai to answer before moving the conversation along. Pale toes tip around the edge of the ruined stair, a smirk thrown back at her teacher, "Watch your step. It's been like this since, well, before I ever took over. The Lady of the Manor doesn't exactly pay for upkeep, with her being missing and all. I'm sure whenever she gets back from her walk-a-bout she'll get right to hiring someone to fix it." She leads Kasyr down dark halls, stopping only when she reaches the door to Larewen's old bedroom. "Too bad she'll be taking this room back, I've just gotten it set up the way I like..." The doors to the room open slowly, the scent of burnt sage and lavender drifting out into the halls. Inside she has set up multiple alters and shrines around Larewen's massive four-post bed, some dedicated to the dark deities Vakmatharas and Delisha, one to Deadria and a couple of others to more mortal icons. A mithril scalpel sets next to a melted copper piece on one alter, the black candles surrounding them the only things casting light in here. With delicate steps, Quintessa places the keg down next to two other empty ones on a large table and pulls over two chairs for them to sit. "Well, anyway... I guess you should join me for a drink?"

Kasyr is more or less moving on auto-pilot, absent mindedly peering about the mansion if only because these are elements of it he's less than familiar with. To be fair, it's also because he has a fairly bad habit of just crashing in couches, or chairs surrounded by whatever book or problem he's recently stressed over. What she says doesn't even fully sink in, even as he replies, "Despite her interest, non." Probably the most point blank acknowledgement, as opposed to what bits of actual or feigned obliviousness he occasionally exuded. The sight of the stairwell's another peculiar reminder to the Kensai, one he spares a moment to properly take in, along with the opposing wall which mirrored the abuse. And then he's clambering up after Quintessa, nimbly making his way around his yet another example of his handwork, "Do you know where she went?" There's a hint of concern there, even if it's tempered by his tense interactions with her. "Er." And that's about the point when it properly dawns on Kasyr as to just what he'd asked Quintessa to do, his grips on the glasses he's carrying loosening enough that he needs to fumble with them. "I expected . " a sitting room? Pushing the awkwardness out of his voice, the swordsman tries again his voice croaking slightly, "I expect, it might be a bit, even under good circumstances, enfin." There's something in the moment that makes it very easy to trace himself as the common thread in the disturbances in the changelings life. Luffy, the incident with Karasu, Larewen's dissapearance, and the haphazard lessons are paint an unflattering picture. In the face of it, the peculiarities of the room are a welcome distraction, the altars providing something to fixate on other than his thoughts, the scent foreign enough to ground him in the present. Quintessa's offer earns her a small sad smile from the Kensai, before he takes the first uncertain step forward, to accept the offered seat. " I'd appreciate it. You've been good company, asofar."

Quintessa flops into a large wooden chair, the upholstery old yet still soft, and motions for the on that sat not far away from her. "I'm sure there's a sitting room somewhere, but this is where I sit." she pulls her legs off the floor and tucks them under her body before reaching for her cigarettes and an ashtray to move them within reach. "Don't worry, I'm not planning anything... I wouldn't have the energy for sometime like that anyway..." there is a certain, sad truth in her voice. She'd love to take this opportunity to throw herself at Kasyr, to find some kind of comfort in his arms, but even the changeling somehow knows that would only make things worse for both of them. "I'm glad to be a good hostess. I honestly don't know what I'm doing as caretaker. Larewen just up and vanished one day... As her student and resident of her demesne I only felt it natural that I take over the house. It's not like any of her vassals or members of her house have stepped up to do so. It's like House Dragana has disappeared overnight." Quintessa's slinder digits act as she speaks, tapping the keg before pouring them each a full glass of wine. "Anyway," she holds up her glass, "To the things we take for granted that vanish when look away," What kind of morbid toast was that? "May we remember them fondly..."

Kasyr sinks into the seat slowly, a secondary glance given to the room, " I'm not complaining, enfin." The comment that follows, however, is what allows him to truly relax, that odd sort of tension that had settled into him starting to ease away with every passing moment. This time, when he looks back at her, he allows the gaze to linger for a little longer, trying to read into the hurt that's etched into her features, her voice, and permeates the air around her. " I .. appreciate it." Kasyr produces his own smoke from within his unruly mane of hair, if only to begin absentmindedly twiddling it between his fingers, He looks on the cusp of saying something else, but stops himself, chewing on the corner of his lip, instead for a few moments, before he settles with, "I don't think that would make me a very good teacher." He's a little paler for the comment, and suddenly consumed with the need to light his cigarette. Quintessa's concern about the state of the house is genuinely a welcome distraction to listen to, even as he finds himself looking off at the cask, "You've been an admirable host, et field medic, no less." Taking the glass offered to him by the changeling, he mirrors the motion, "May we remember them fondly. Each et every last one." It's a long list, to be sure, and the contents of the glass are apt to vanish long before he can even truly begin, but the warm burn of the liquor is certainly a start. "And to those of us, who are left behind. May we never forget them."

Quintessa drains her glass just as quickly as Kasyr, the red liquid accidentally spilling down the corners of her mouth before she idly wipes it away. She wants to go for a second glass but she lingers in silence a bit, allowing herself time to actually reflect on things. "I barely knew her," she begins, both hands moving to her empty glass, "Luffy, I mean... I was there when it happened..." the heartbreak she felt was undeniable, despite having only known the dragon a week. "But I came to understand her more than anyone else I have ever met before... She and I... We were kindred spirits..." Quintessa's blue and hazel optics lift from the floor to gaze at the former vampire, her expression solemn. "But I still can't imagine what it must be like for you... You... You knew her so long..." Tears begin to well up in the changelings mismatched eyes again, "I talked her into coming... I convinced her to come to a battle she had nothing to do with... I killed her just as much as those wretched saurians did. I feel so awful..." Quintessa didn't feel guilt often, but it didn't take an empath to know she felt directly responsible for the death of Luffy. "I'll..." silent tears stream down her face, her charcoal eyeliner flowing along with them, "I'll never forget her." Slowly, the changeling brings her pale fingers back to the tap, filling her glass with the expensive, aged wine. "I'm glad you came back here, Kasyr... I know the only reason we met was because you were asked to by Daath... But I feel like we were destined to meet eventually. Even if it wasn't the Mage's Guild it would have been some other way. I just feel it."

Kasyr looks increasingly uncomfortable with each heartwrought word that escapes from Quintessa, a hard lump forming in his throat as every word hits home. "Don't." The request is quiet, and seems more out of sympathy then anything else, but there's the hint of a plea in there. The way she describes the dragon, and the clear affection she held for Luffy, that so fiercely erupted is hard to deny, even from her voice along, but the empath has to actively push back against that sense of grief. Words fail him at first, his fingers working instead to draw his glass over and fill the glass, as every additional word from his student pricks into his heart like a knife. He almost chokes on the wine, his throat feels so constricted, and yet the act itself helps. He's already in the process of working of filling up his glass with a third, when he finally adds, "It was my fault." And when he finally looks at Quintessa, the look of defeat is ever so palpable, a bitter smile twisting his lips, "Hells, she'd have found her way there just to piss me off, once she'd known. " There's a grim sort of affection there, even as he rolls his eyes, "But that's not it. I, uh. Fu- "And down goes glass number three, before he sets down the glass and presses that hand across his face, and then drags it down to his chin, "ing hell. I found the black heart of whatever twisted goddamn ritual compelled them to put their own people to the sword." There's an edge in his voice here, a self immolating anger underlying his tone, before he draws in a breath, and slowly lets it out. "And I came up short. I saw it go off right when I was standing in the goddamn center of where that tragedy was born. And . I. Could. Not. Do. A. Thing." He can't even look at her anymore, his attention turn towards the air of the chair, as though he might find some solace in the minute details of it's construction. "I'm grateful, that I've met you. I've enjoyed being your teacher. Hell, having you around. It's been ...good. . .?" There's an uncertainy in that last part, as he glances back towards him, "Except that I'm pretty sure I'm going to be the reason someone raises a cheer like this to you.

Quintessa nurses the glass in her hands, taking a sip after sip without taking a long drink. She wonders if she's making things worse but she'd already said it. When it comes back around to the Razurath, the hexblade frowns. She had not expected anything like the piles of heads that lie in the heart of the city. "I heard mixed things in the report," the changeling says, "The scribes took losses too, poor bastards... But that ritual? You telling me those lizards actually sacrificed themselves for one last F-you to us?" The changeling looks conflicted. On one hand, she can respect the level of pettiness they showed, but on the other hand they could have really made the Drow to work for their victory if they had forced them to siege. Everything about that war was a mess. "Ugh... at least it's over... isn't it? The things I did to appease the Drow... The unkept promises..." Quintessa shakes her head at the Kensai, "No, I'm glad Daath backed out of his promise to me. You've been the best teacher I could ask for. Daath and Gevurah would continue to use me if I was his apprentice." A genuine smile is offered to Kasyr before Quintessa wipes her eyes, "If I die beside you, so be it. It's all a peasant like me can really hope for in this life. This last year? Even with all the hardships it's been the greatest year of my life."

Kasyr shakes his head slowly, his mind briefly slipping back to the sheer quantity of bodies scattered around what should have been an enemy stronghold, "I ...cannot think of -anything- else. Fathom anything else. So." He swalows again, his hand pressing to his forehead as he leans back into the seat, "For adding yet another f- up to our list. I'm sorry. To both of you. " When the topics changed, the Kensai can't help but be grateful, despite the awfulness of politics attached. "I still wish you could have had ... -better-. Than all...whatever... this is. Hah." The bitterness in his voices cracks at the smile, and he finds himself having so much trouble meeting that sincere look, "There are better places then alongside moi, cherie." There's a thought that accompanies the words, that sees him glancing back towards her, and then eying the door, his cigarette finally drawn up to meet his lips, "You can aspire to more. You have the talent et the drive." He still can't quite stop himself from gently chiding, "Just need a bit more on the restraint part. I had trouble with that too, though, at your age." What do you mean at that age, Mr literally dubbed a walking disaster zone.

Quintessa could feel her cheeks start to burn. Drive? Talent? She had heard the old mages in the tower say things like 'prodigy' when they thought she wasn't listening but she never really took it seriously until she heard it come from Kasyr. "Oh. Well..." The changeling gives the Kensai an impish smile, one similar to the one that was in early printings of his wanted posters. "You're right, of course. I need to learn restraint... I've tried and tried but the red haze of battle always clouds my judgement. No matter how good I am at killing, if I don't learn to hold back I'll end up like..." she doesn't say her name. They both know who she means. "At any rate... I have to agree with you. The Mage's Guild... Without Diin to lead us anymore I'm not so certain that the guild's goals align with my own." She pauses for a moment, her glass brought back to her lips to drain the contents before setting it down to trade for her cigarettes. "Which actually reminds me... Speaking of my own goals, I'm thinking about plotting against Vailkrin's vampire houses." Quintessa smirks as she brings a black cigarette to her lips and lights it with her usual cantrip. "So what would House Azakhaer say about that? Especially given your current... situation." Her mismatched eyes flicker up to look at her teacher, searching for any emotions he might betray in body language as the smoke rises around her lithe silhouette.

Kasyr snaps his fingers a few times, errant sparks bursting into existence beneath the tip of the cigarette before it finally blossoms to life. "Yeah. Not the worst instincts, for the most part, but you get swept up into the moment, either opening up blind spots, or overcommiting to actions. Those were the biggest flaws I picked up on." Her contemplation on the nature of the mage guild doesn't produce an audible response from the Kensai, but the pronounced manner in which his brow furrows in tandem with the deep drag he takes of the smoke might provide at least some inclination of what he's thinking. Her next statement, however, actually cues a much more classic look- one eyebrow popping up, "Plotting? Against -whom- exactly, and to what end?" Her follow-up question leads to a slight shift in his guts, a coldness that even the alcohol sitting there can't warm, and brings to forefront of his mind his recent meeting with Mahri. That -had- been sloppy, meeting a wolf in his state, but this? This he should have seen coming since frostmaw,given the manner in which they'd recently become a fixture in each others misadventures. Not for the first time, his attention flicks towards the door, invasive internal calculations trying to push their way to the forefront, before his attention falls back to the changeling. He can't help it, really- 'The Work' , that longstanding dedication to ensuring that both Vailkrin & Coterie remain safe drains something vital from his features. The cynical grin that hints at Kasyrs lips would be right at home in the noble courts of that dark city, especially in tandem with the lack of warmth that's mirrored in amber and crimson flecked eyes. " I would likely provide a similar warning as I did to Larewen, that if something threatened the long term stability et safety of the city, I'd perhaps feel the need to curtail my already tenuous et self imposed exile, to intervene. Though, I think a lot depends on your prior answer, et what exactly you mean by my situation. Et what you'd hope to achieve with that knowledge." Kasyr can't help but feel grateful he'd followed his own instincts and avoided trying to see if Quintessa had the same sort of affinity for empathy as him, if only because of the coiling in his guts- and the grim reminder of just how easy it was for these moments of peace to become ever so shortlived. The measured manner he's tapping at the arm of the chair in no way mirrors the tired, sad resignation already trying to seep into the back of his head.

Quintessa continues to watch Kasyr slowly, taking heed of the warning that he had also given Larewen. The odd girl chuckles. She is not like Larewen in that regard. "I would never dream of destabilizing my homeland. In fact, I want the opposite. I want to bring Vailkrin to a new age of prosperity, to shield this city away from the machinations of outside forces." The changeling reaches out to flick her ashes in the glass tray provided before continuing again. "Especially the Drow. I know there is an entrance to Trist'oth in the Dark Forest and it makes me nervous to think what Daath and Geverah might have planned for Vailkrin. You saw how they controlled the Mage's Guild. How long before they weaponize my friends for another war." She squashes her cigarette prematurely so she can start on her third glass of wine. "No-no-no. I'll not wait around idly for war to come to my homeland. In times of peace prepare for war, it is said. If I have to crush a few vampire houses in the process, so be it, but I'd much rather see unity amongst us." Quintessa's pale digits swirl around her wine, her mismatched eyes gazing down at the liquid within her glass. "And I have no plans -currently- with the information I have about you, but I am worried. If I could figure it out it's only a matter of time before someone else. Someone who -isn't- your ally. And then?" she takes a long sip of her wine, "Well, whatever happens I will fight on your side. And if you ever have an issue with my dealing in Valkrin... You always have my ear. I'm not as aimless as Larewen the Mad."

Kasyr is processing what Quintessa's saying, unable to shake off the guarded manner in which he replies. "Larewen said the same thing, in different words. It's why I'm curious about the path you'd take. The houses you're currently aiming at. There -are- some I will admit have been...historically problematic, et whom I've " barely, " tolerated for a number of reasons." Her mention of the drow causes his lips to purse there, serving to remind him of the dire threat poised by both his problem, and Gevurahs. "I did not return to simply become an agent of another empire, enfin." There's a heat in those words, "Et, yes, I haven't failed to notice that in the Guilds current state, there seems to be little in the way of checks or balances which prevent it from being wielded like a hammer. You mentioned Din- who was he exactement, et what was left behind in his wake to prevent... that possibility, as it were?" It takes a monumental effort for the former vampire to remember to breathe, to keep himself level and in the moment. And the contemplative expression he wears certainly helps in providing an adequate reason for him to put his cigarette bearing hand over his mouth so he can mask a quiet cough. "There's a reason I've strayed away from most social gatherings. Vailkrin es safer when the looming chance of moi intervening in it's darkest hours exist. " The Kensai pauses, and then offhandedly waves off to the side, that cynical smile of his broadening, " I'd say allies can be fickle things, however, if they don't believe the distance between yourself et them is quite so vast. Would Larewen had acted differently, or more desperately if she had thought she could get what she wanted in a more forceful manner?" The swordsman provides a particularily pointed grin, before that expression darkens, " You also don't quite sound ..kind about your absent benefactor."

Quintessa lifts a free hand to tuck the hair that lingered in her face behind an ear, "I am not Larewen Dragana," she repeats, "I will not sacrifice the city just to rule over the rubble that remains. I-" she furrows her brow, the conflict inside of her bubbling to the surface. "I don't want to be a queen." she claims, "Or an Empress. I just want to be able to wield the power that the position carries, and not even for myself," The hex blade's lust for power was a very real thing but there is no hint of a lie in her voice or demeanor. She didn't crave political power or titles. She prefers something a bit more real. Pale digits reach out to touch Kasry's arm, a small show of reassurance, "And I'm not asking you to become my agent... In fact, it's quite the opposite. I want to move forward in a way you'd approve of. I take your guidance seriously... I just..." Her grip tightens around the Kensai's wrist as a dreadful feeling of desperation grew inside of her, "I feel like something horrible is on the horizon. Something much worse than some offshoot saurian uprising..." Quintessa frowns as her eyes drift away from Kasyr, her slender fingers letting go of his arm, "I loved Larewen," she admits, relaxing back into her chair, 'But she is not the same person I met when I was a child... She's lost the part I loved about her. She was a beacon for misfits like me... But she betrayed those values, and for what? A chance at power?" The changeling finishes her third glass and sets aside. "I can't speak for Larewen, but I feel like she would have done anything to achieve her goal except take the path that involved the least bloodshed." She chuckles at herself, "Strange coming from me, I know."

Kasyr has generally found it easy to keep up pretenses when the matter of 'The Work', is at hand- his familiarity with that seemingly unabating cycle of tragedy, disaster, and politics serving to jade him. Her speech on what she wants to avoid is a familiar with, echoes of the future he's strived to avoid so many times. When she reaches forward, he doesn't shy from it, his expression finally faltering into something less harsh and more thoughtful, "So, an advisor, or a partner in crime, enfin?" There's a brief awkward expression after he finishes that statement, but the changelings anxious tone, and the abrupt intensity of feeling that comes with that squeeze serve to avoid the swordsman feeling down that particular rabbit hole of thought. Not for the first time, he's searching for something in her expression, or words. The uncanny accuracy of her statement positively chilling, and making her transition into a more melancholy subject welcome. Almost. "Larewen, for as long as I've known her, always had something particularily dark that was driving her. How she was when I last saw here." He purses his lips, thinking to the abrupt shifts in demeanour, the dangerous abandon that seemed to not only have driven her forward, but steeled her even in the face of possible annihilation, "It was who she's always been, honed into a brittle razors edge. The worst parts of her." Quintessa's final addition to that statement earns a few nods from the Kensai, his gaze flicking over the room as he finally starts to take in the proper sight of it."So, what's the plan, then? How do you intend on addressing matters related to your discomfort with the guild. With the state of Vailkrin? ... With that anxiety that there's always something worse to come?"

Quintessa allows her pale fingers to snag her silver cigarette case before she starts to fidget with the clasp, opening it and closing it over and over. "I'm worried that darkness live in me too..." she says, solemnly, "I've... Always kind of wanted a partner in crime." The changeling forces a smile at Kasyr, "Or perhaps just a partner." Open last flip of the lid of her cigarette case and she drew from it a single clove cig and rolls it between her fingers. She hesitates before offering one to Kasyr, her forced smile softening to something real. "This is the first chance I've gotten to come up with a plan," the hex blade begins, "And I'm not doing well on that front. You know better than to ask a member of the Spall Blade Corps what her plan is." she snickers in spite of them, "It's not like you've taught me the basics of planning. You've only covered 'rolling with it' so far." Quintessa's smile fades away after the small teasing, the cigarette case left on the table next to her empty glass. "In all seriousness... I'm not sure. Take the guild for instance. We have no proper leadership. Daath is the one left as the ranking member so I feel like the guild is doomed unless we can keep the Magister effetely pacified. But who will agree with me? How will I gain support? Who will lead the Guild free of Daath's influence?" The changeling's head was starting to hurt. "And Vailkrin? I feel like the ground work has already been done. There is unrest in the province. A new killer stalks the streets. They call him the Vailkrin Slayer... But currently I have no power to move forward to restore stabilization. I have to have the backing of the house so... I'm going to pretend to be Larewen's fledgling and rightful heir to House Dragana. Without her or her real children around to argue with me, what's to stop me?"

Kasyr s' expression goes from contemplative to flustered quickly enough, those ears of his treacherously cropping up, even as he busies himself with twiddling what has by this point become the burnt of dredges of his smoke. It's actually a bit disarming the way Quintessas' already in the process of offering another smoke, enough so that he finds himself retorting, " Not the sort of swordplay I -should- be teaching. Even if you do take well to private lessons." He doesn't light the smoke, however, seemingly content to just place it at his lips and contemplate the rest of what she has to say- albeit with a smirk when the Spell Blade Corps reputation comes up. Par for the course, that. His humour is short lived, however- as he tries to sort out the crux of what she's posed forward. Planning, politics, power and peril. All of those things he'd fled from- and which had never really gotten their hooks out of him, even now with him on a teachers meager salary. "Whilst some of these -could- be tied together, addressing them by priority might be easier. The things that are more easy to handle, or delegate. Or at least, to get the ball running before you allow your attention to get too scattered." Kasyr takes in a deep breath, and then begins to tug at his scarf, slowly unravelling it from his neck so he can fidget with it between his fingers, carefully folding up along it's length as he speaks, "Normally, my solutions have been political alliances. It avoids power being easily wrested from whatever instituions are upheld. Absolute authority has it's advantages, but falls apart without a leader." There's a rueful look on his face as he inclines his head in the direction of Vailkrin. "If tu were not alone in being concerned about the direction the mage guild is taking, et the idea that it's no longer a ...neutral organisation, it might be possible to form some sort of..quorom? Gather those with seniority to impose some sort of joint council. It would hinder the ability for outsiders to influence the mages action. I, uh- am probably not the best to ask about that, however. Considering I haven't really been officially ... taken on properly? Being there on Daaths graces also means whatever insight or weight I could provide es rather easily mitigated. ...On a few levels, vraiment. You're right, in saying there are dark things ahead." He can't help but give Quintessa a quizzical look, "Do you intend to be an absolute authority in Vailkrin, or to try to be? Do you seek a council of houses, or a coronation, enfin. Peut-etre a reinstution of what things were like between a ruler of the vampire et undead quarters? There es a lot there to go over, et I think we'd end up needing another Keg." Kasyr might have taken that as a cue to start filling up his glass anew, though he doesn't forget to add, "Giving me grief over someone discovering the matter of my own affliction- how do you propose to do that, when tu would be thrusting yourself into the center of politics? ...Et what is this about a Slayer? Another Cenrili come here to die? I can help him along."

Quintessa watches intently when Kasyr begins to unravel his scarf. Was he actually getting comfortable around her? The suggestive comments about 'swordplay' bring a deep blush to the face of the odd girl, but she does her best to roll with it like she'd been learning with everything else. "Oh? I suppose not, but I've always wondered what a 'sword saint' could show me behind closed doors." she leans only an inch closer, her head motioning to the door before she offers a playful wink. "And as it happens, the doors are closed." Maybe it was the wine that made her so bold, but whatever it was she knew deep down she really -shouldn't- be talking to her teacher like this. Her pointed teeth chew on her bottom lip briefly before she moves back to business, placing her cigarette between those lips of hers. "There must be others who see what the Drow are doing, how Gevurah has poisoned the Mage's Guild with her treachery. I'll ask around, see if I can't stir up the rumor mill." With a snap of her fingers she lights her cigarette, the scent of clove filling the air. "Absolute authority, while tempting, would only place a target on my back... When you ruled, you formed a council, right? Perhaps representatives from each house could be appointed or elected, ensuring proper checks and balances. I don't want to turn into a tyrant... I... I know what you do to them. I'm not keen on being put to the sword in the literal sense." The hex blade gives him a pointed grin through the smoke that hangs around her. "If you're asking me to get another keg, I will... I could keep you up all night with my... Inquires if you let me." Quintessa's pointed grin fades away slowly. "The Vailkrin Slayer... Not much is known about him except that he wears the Mask of Tragedy and wields a curved blade. Most of the witnesses were burnt to ashes the last time he attacked the city. If not for Mahri he might have caused more damage but she chased him off."

Kasyr takes a small bit of comfort and satisfaction in Quintessa's reaction, his expression briefly growing fond before he covers his mouth with his knuckles and begins to tap his chin, leaving the cigarette now bent at an angle. It also, really helps cover any other sort of expression he makes when she leans in. Only when she gets back to business that he deigns it wise to resume a more neutral expression, his scarf briefly set to the arm of the chair, if only so he can take a sip of the wine. He still ached- but the pangs that gnawed on him now were ghosts of different sort, not born of the wounds he'd tried to drown in tinctures, but slightly more daunting issues. The sort that lead him to setting the glass down on the table, if only so he can lean towards her with his smoke and light it off hers. "Even just concern about the direction of the guild et leadership might suffice, if you want to avoid arousing Daaths attention. Inquiring about the drow is obvious. Concern as to what's to be done the next time a great peril occurs, or how to better organize the Spell Blade Corps? That's right at home, non? Though, a bit of poison along the grape vine -can- help once you've found receptive targets." And then he's settling back into the chair, briefly lost in the contemplation of business, "I've done a few things as ruler, though I always made sure I answered to the people. Despite the ungodly paperwork that entailed. Overseeing essays es going to be easy comparitively." Quintessa is given a look there, "Which houses were you at ends with, in the cities. You implied there were some you were ...intending on stirring up?" Kasyr doesn't have anything to append past that. Simply frowning given his recent meeting with Mahri- she clearly had an agenda in the city. Business that left her as cage-y as the Kensai, and looking to gauge the state of things. Was the Slayer a problem she was chasing, or that was chasing her. Was it simply happenstance? Whatever the case, she hadn't deigned to share that tidbit- though, perhaps it factored into what she'd meant by the state of the city.

Quintessa leans in, taking a drag from her cigarette to light the Kensai's own. She stares at him in this moment of closeness and she can't help but to imagine what it would actually be like. After all, the changeling has never even been kissed. That's definably a lot less than what Karasu has been going around doing. A pang of jealousy surfaced along with the thought that she should try to do something with Kasyr in an attempt to 'catch-up' to her rival, but the thought goes away as the swordsman leans back from her. "Yes... I should avoid speaking out against the Drow... at least openly. Let others come to that conclusion themselves. Yes..." Quintessa allows one of her legs hang over the arm of the chair and she rests her back on the other, her long, black hair nearly touching the floor. "Honestly, I don't mind the paperwork. I've had to do lots of paperwork as an apprentice... In fact, it's mostly paperwork." The changeling's head tilts back to look at Kasyr, mismatched eyes spying at him as she arches over the arm of her chair. "I didn't have a specific house in mind. I just wanted to see how you'd react. Why? What Houses should I leave alone and what Houses have it coming?" Her cigarette dangles from her mouth as she lays sprawled across the armchair, her pale feet kicking idly as she waits for the former vampire to answer. She hopes, at least, that he wouldn't try to dig too deep into this Vailkrin Slayer business. The first time they fought, he held back and she knows it. When the Paladin fights the Slayer, he will be doing it to kill them. She'll have to be ready for that eventual clash if she wants to live long enough to see herself as queen.

Kasyr is watching Quintessa progressively flop with an air of bemusement, if only because of just how familiar that lounging posture is. He doesn't even bother trying to hide the grin, instead focusing on leisurely enjoying his smoke and the moment. " Let me know how that one works up. Hell, maybe start trouble et ask about what, exactement, is my rank. Either they hire me proper, or I get fired." He rolls his shoulders in a shrug,before he resumes fiddling with his scarf, "Not like it's hard to find me outside of school." And a teachers salary isn't going to make or break his efforts. "As for the houses. I am genuinely uncertain how much disarray Larewen has injected into things. Ashram have readily helped in past in preserving the status quo here. It es what they do- et I have historically had...tensions, with house Mahara. Something which was only mirrored with the Lady Dragana's politics. Trinthus -would- have been the one I'd have suggested, given they were very noblesse oblige, and easy to approach, but there was a matter of a missing heir to address, and I'm unsure what came of that. I feel I would need to pour over notes. Her, Asharam's and others. This es not something to make snap decisions over, in any case." Which leaves Kasyr time to contemplate, since he's -entirely- going to dig into the Vailkrin slayer business. In fact, he's already trying to figure out how best to track down Mahri to do a bit more research, as well as how to disseminate news of Ashens return, so he can hopefully turn a profit and add funds to his war chest, in exchange for fixing this newfound problem. It's honestly enough to bring a grin to his face.

Quintessa tries to reach the ashtray hanging from her chair like this, but she can't so she just ashes on the floor. She could make someone clean that up later. "I'll definitely be asking about that," she says, pertaining to the issue of his rank. "I hear promotions are due. Talks of another ball. I guess they want to pat us on the back for our part in the genocide." the changeling snickers, finding dark humor in it. "Odhranos is the one who -really- needs the consolation. Poor sap." she spins her lit cig in her fingers slowly in between drags as she listens to Kasyr name off Houses. "Mahara..." she whispers, committing the name of her next target to memory. House Mahara would be next to receive a visit from the Vailkrin Slayer. "Even if they do fire you," the hex blade begins to say, breaking the silence that lingered for a moment, "I'll still follow you around. I don't need a guild to tell me that I have more to learn from you."

Kasyr s' own remark is no less grim, "Easier than providing medals for all their dead civilians, j'pense." But whatever bit of humours behind it doesn't really survive the delivery, the Kensai lapsing back into silence. The mention of Odhranos earns Quintessa a quizzical look, the name nudging at something at the back of the swordsman mind- but not really ringing any bells. Quintessa's final remark does at least coax a response out of him, a half smirk forming at the words, "I'm pretty sure you would even if I told you not to." Kasyr let's out a sigh, that seems more fond than anything, before adding, "Though, as much as I'm tempted to take you up on that second keg, I don't think it makes a good replacement for lost blood. Et it's a long walk until the couch, cherie."

Quintessa winces as she laughs about the dead civilians, her cigarette falling to the floor before her slender flingers move to pluck it back up from the floor. "Yeah, no kidding. They're with Vakmatharas now." She gives a silent nod to the shine dedicated to the dark deity before spinning around to plant her feet on the floor so she can lean over to stamp out her cigarette. "Y'know," she begins, her heart fluttering a little bit as the nervousness from what she's about to say rises to fill her stomach. "I'm a little disappointed that I can't offer my blood to you." she shifts her silk night gown until it loosely hangs from her shoulder and she bends her neck to expose the maximum amount of flesh to him. The nail of her middle finger traces along where she knew a vein was. "But I can offer something else..." she swallows hard, her eyes drifting away from Kasyr. "Since... the couch is so far away..." Quintessa cannot believe she just said that to him.

Kasyr had followed Quintessa's glance towards the shrine, actually taking in the sight of it. When was the last time he'd visited one proper? What sad spot in his office had he let the Lyre again? He was fairly sure it was behind some crates of empty wine, and some spare scarves, looking for all the world unassuming. Suffice to say, when he glances back to reply to her remark about dissapointment, he's at a complete loss of words, what colour being mortal had provided first slipping from his face before finding it's way back in ways he's rather wishing it wouldn't. His lip frays, a still pointed tooth worrying back and forth and forth. One hand absently moves up to his lips, drawing the burnt out cigarette from his lips, if only to absentmindly put it out in his wine glass. His only rise to his feet is less certain, and he's not quite sure of the expression on his face when he meets those mismatched eyes, "Je vous promets, I don't need that appetite to want a taste." The exhale helps, one foot slipping back to rest against the seat to steady himself, "You don't make that easy, at all."

Quintessa gazes up at him, her attention locked onto this man and the desire she was feeling deep inside her core. He wanted a taste? Her heartbeat was in her throat now. Nobody had ever said anything like this about her before. The odd girl's neck straightens as she slowly rises to her feet, a pale hand moving up to brush the hair over her shoulder and out of her way. Quintessa hesitates, wanting to pick the words she would say carefully. "Just a taste?" she coos, her long legs slowly shifting to bring her closer to him. In her bare feet she was actually shorter than him again, "Or do you want more, mon amour?" Delicate hands move to touch his chest, if he allows it, as blue and hazel eyes stare longingly into crimson and amber. Her pointed teeth chew at her bottom lip nervously, not sure if she should really go through with this. Would this ruin things between them or make it stronger? She doesn't know.

Kasyr had for the world thought he'd anchored himself, but when Quintessa finishes crossing the distance, there's a dizziness once more. A fresh source of intoxification to be found in her touch, in her voice and her gaze. One hand falls to her chin, tracing from her chin down to her shoulder, but being so careful to allow her that simple freedom to turn,"I worry I'd drown, if you let me." He's not sure what he's looking for in her expression- whether he was worried about what she'd see in that moment, or would see after. His bottom lips pulled into his mouth, a fresh taste of iron creeping across his tongue, but it's that one word that paints a singular concern. "I don't think, I've done anything to deserve love, Madamoiselle." This least of all, the thought which quirks his lips into a sad smile.

Quintessa cannot help but shudder slightly at his touch, her eyes closing for a moment as she feels his hand trace down her chin. A soft, quiet moan escapes her lips as he admits that he might drown in her. It was so romantic, every bit like the books she used to read when she was seven. Did that mean...? Her eyelids flutter open despite the lustful haze her mind was in and her expression shifts to one more uncertain. "Neither have I," she whispers to him, her sharp fingernails dragging across his chest before she reaches up to touch his face. "But I still..." she inches closer, her gaze flashing from his eyes to his lips and then back again, "Want to..." Quintessa slowly closes her eyes and drifts closer, trying to find the place where their lips would meet. This still gave Kasyr one last chance to stop her, if he wanted, although it would be no doubt be embarrassing for the changeling.

Kasyr knows that feeling of want. He's tormented himself over it for long evenings, providing those feelings and urges a daily burial, for whenever the world found him again. But in this moment? The world can go rot. That final isle of retiscence fading when she speaks those words and moves forward, anyways. What tomorrow will bring is no longer so pressing as knowing the taste of her lips, crimson already muddying that exchange as he pulls her towards himself. He can already feel his knees buckling, little preventing him from spilling backwards into the chair save some curious vestige of willpower with illplaced priorities. "We'll.. figure out" And he already sounds like he's in need of air. even as that last bit of lucidity seeps away in the moment " the rest, later." Because want is rapidly trickling away to need, and there is so much of her left to taste.