RP:Ab Inition

Part of the Welcome To The End of Eras Arc

Summary: i. Shock.

Iintahquohae hadn't set foot in Vailkrin in a while, but when she sees the disarray that her shop is in, she's furious. The display windows were shattered some time ago by the looks of the decayed head that must have been hurled through them crawling with maggots. She read all the scathing articles about the state of Vailkrin, but witnessing it for herself and the damage done to her own business was enough to get her put her into a mood. It likely wasn't the wisest thing to do, but after assessing the damage wrought by presumably undead looters and possibly living looters as well on her shop and others in the shopping district, Inks decides that the best course of action here might be to visit the source of her Vailkrin-related problems in more ways than she could possibly know. The King. Maybe she should have checked in on Ikara and Maya's shops too since she hadn't visited in so long, but they could wait. When she finally reaches the castle, she enters with an ease that actually surprises her, especially when she makes it into the grand hall without meeting any resistance. She stops someone as they pass by, a thoroughly bemused looking woman named Maude. Inks isn't exactly dressed for some sort of formal visit with royalty, but she can talk the talk. Kind of. “I'd like an audience with the King, please. Now, preferably.” Before she can even give the woman her name, Maude is off to locate King Kasyr for her, unable to contain her laughter once she's rounded a corner down the hall well out of Inks' hearing range. In the meantime while she waits, the seamstress slowly paces the hall, taking in its décor with an odd pang of familiarity.

Kasyr is currently in the midst of a meeting- an overdue exchange with the head of House Asharam, Lord Derrick. Surprisingly, it wasn't going as poorly as it could have- but then, "That is a substantially low bar, at this juncture." Derrick, for all the dire humour his words contained, may as well have been made of stone- because no hint of it hits his face. The only real display of emotion from the man came from the soft creak of leather from his left hand, clenched at his side- and away from his right, which sat splayed across a collection of the continents newspaper articles, "Perhaps, some degree of congratulations should be in order. While you failed to unite the undead- few others have managed to unite the other city states with as much haste as you have." It was exhausting, likely for both of them- and though the swordsman would like nothing more for this meeting to be over, he does his best to persevere, "Given the reception, it was always going to be like this. A trade agreement on this scale would have seemed like an alliance, anyways. Et their willingness to throw us under a carriage without an ounce of investigation, et despite all the work I've done in protecting this continent? No. We're just something for them to rally against, so they can feel good about their decision not to help the necropolis." Derrick looked to still have something left in his arsenal, but the swordsman simply doesn't have the energy. There's a familiar, unpleasant pang now- and it erodes his patience, "Just finish rounding up the smaller Nasarites. The Trial should be an adequate distraction. Et for gods sake- find out whose writing that Pape-"

And then there's a sharp knock at the door to hall. Given the nature of the meeting occurring, there should not, by any account, be any sort of intrusion- and yet despite this, Maude introduces herself to the room, a respectful nod offered to Lord Asharam, and similar one to Kasyr- though it's accompanied by a look that might befit a cat that got a canary. "My liege, the 'former', "She didn't visibly make airquotes, but he can hear it in her voice, "Lady Azakhaer awaits you in the front hall. She seems rather cross." There's a pause, as Maude glances over towards Derrick, "Would you rather I tell her to wait?"

Kasyr takes in a sharp exhale, claps his hands together, and just tries to brace himself, "Please tell me you didn't just leave her to roam in the front hall and stew?" The look he gets back is all he needs to know, and so he turns back towards Derrick- whose earlier vexation has switched to something more akin to exasperated disbelief. And perhaps, just the faintest trace of humour, "Just- I will get this in order, or die trying. Figure out the paper, et that house."

And then he's following along after Maude, muttering something about 'Malicious Compliance'.

Iintahquohae's didn't sit and stew for long. In fact, while Maude fetched Kasyr, her temper fizzled out fairly quick upon her discovery of an oddly familiar looking tapestry hanging from a wall. Her curiosity gets the better of her, so much so that she pulls at one of its loose sides to get a better look at it without prying it entirely off of the wall. With her back turned from the doors Maude leads Kasyr toward to enter the hall, Inks' frame abruptly tenses the closer they get. Her senses are picking up on something – someone, specifically, that she hadn't been in contact with since her siring. The tapestry slips from her grasp and swings back to rest properly on the wall while she turns, attempting to suss out just where that distinct link is coming from. She turns around just in time for Maude to swing open the doors leading into the main hall, and Inks' eyes fix themselves on the man she guesses is the King she's looking for. ...That incomprehensibly strong sense is emanating from him. Before confusion can fully settle on her features, her mind performs some clever gymnastics to explain away the inexplicable sense of familiarity she has not even on sight of Kasyr, but proximity alone. If he's King of Vailkrin, obviously he must have some unimaginably powerful influence over other vampires like herself. ...So he's going for an intimidation tactic, then? Or maybe he knew her sire and is using that information to work against her, lull her into some odd sense of security. Maybe he can read minds. But Inks can't help questioning herself as those thoughts cycle through her mind. Why go to all of that trouble? Is she a threat here? The thought has her unblinking gaze make a slow sweep up and down Kasyr once he's fully in view, unabashedly sizing him up. He's shorter and looks...disheveled? Tired too. Royalty should be better dressed. But that isn't the point. The point is, she could probably take him.

Then the seamstress remembers her manners and adopts some sense of decorum. Her curtsy feels incorrect, as if she isn't supposed to be doing that to him. Might be because she's in leggings and not a skirt, so she didn't have its hem to briefly hold onto. Whatever the case may be, Inks initiates the conversation while Maude looks on from just behind Kasyr once she's stepped away, clearly on the verge of bursting into laughter again. Inks tries not to look puzzled by the maid's behavior, and forces her attention to remain on Kasyr. “Bonjour, your Grace,” the words felt wrong. Especially that first one. What was that? She straightens, and whether he greets her or not, Inks tries to cut straight to the reason for her visit. “I'm Iintahquohae Kerrigan, and I run a shop out on Nightshade Avenue,” she makes a vague gesture with her hand roughly in the shop's general direction. “...Things are bad out there. My shop was looted. Others too.” Inwardly she curses. It might have been smarter to visit Lady Ventra and collect names that she could present to him. “Is there...anything that you or anybody in this place doing to help make this better? Some of them are struggling out there. I'm not,” and she's visibly relieved about that, “- because of my place in Cenril, but if anyone with a business out there is at all like me, I get a little upset when something interferes with me getting my coin.” It isn't a threat, but Inks' phrasing could have been better. Realizing that, she gives a wry smile and tries again. “If they aren't already upset, they likely are going to be soon.” That didn't sound better. After exhaling a sigh and raking a hand through her curls, she tries again, “Merde. ...Do you have any plan on how you're going to fix this, or are we stuck floundering?”

Kasyr can see the seamstress sizing her up, and for a few brief moments- he wonders if despite her efforts, she'd managed to force her way through the order he'd set for her. Had something in the letters tipped her off- some element of his polite but firm redirections at fault for her presence? Was the weird mixture of emotions she gave off only the tip of the iceberg, a dam threatening to burst.

But no. As she fumbles her way through the formalities, there does not seem to be the fondness that had once been there, nor the depth of emotion he'd braced himself against. She was not here as an Azakhaer, but as Kerrigan, for some profoundly confounding reason. "I know who you are." The words are out of his mouth before he can even think on it. His jaw crooks as the realization hits, and he forces himself to correct himself before too much time can pass, "I'm familiar with your works." And just a bit more, "You already have a reputation since playing haute-couturier for queen Josleen, so she could burn witches in style." The wall was there. He just needed to maintain it, now. His nails were driving into his palm, and he can only hope Maude had exited from the room entirely. Perhaps she knew the protection being Inks favourite afforded her.

"As for your concerns- I can understand where they come from. I won't lie and say things aren't bad. That would be a disservice to the vampire houses that fell, to the suffering of those unaligned, et even the undead whose wills were stolen." All he had to do was be diplomatic- and somehow

just..navigate around the author of what followed, "Measures have been implemented to try et restore order. Employment opportunities, royal commissions- et, of course, the much maligned trade agreement with Larket. Which, I should note- es the only reason repairs to the city, et edifices like your shop can be done in as timely a fashion as they will be." Why is he explaining this to her. He should be shooing her away, " I appreciate that you came here, In - Pardon. "Godsdamnit, "Madamoiselle Kerrigan. It is, en fait, heartening to see that you care for the city so. Unfortunately, regardless of what actions I may take- recovery will be slow going. Especially with certain undead 'patriots' seeing fit to hinder the work." He just needed to get past this moment, "While I will do my best to ensure you have the resources to restore your business, it may be best to focus on your cenril-centered business. Certainly, it may spare you any discrimination you might otherwise face." His palm burns, his fingers strain beneath the pressure, and all he can do is hope she turns away.

“Oh, you do?” Iintahquohae immediately perks up at this for some reason. She even smiles. Why? Of course she's known, for her work – which he immediately confirms afterward, even if it sounds more like a backhanded compliment or a judgment call, given Jos' penchant for witch burning. She takes it on the chin, and proudly ticks off a list of other people in power that she's had the pleasure of dressing. “And former Queen Satoshi of Frostmaw, former Governor Tristram of Gualon, Archmage Lanlan, Governor Valrae Baines,” she gives Kasyr another long look. He could be another to add to her ridiculous list. Her dream of dressing royalty. There's an odd twist in her stomach the longer she looks at him, as if part of her wants to turn her eyes away from him while the other recognizes something familiar... The part that wants to look away wins, and the seamstress abruptly averts her gaze. It's then that she notices that apart from herself and Kasyr, the hall is eerily empty. Maude must have shooed everyone else out, including herself. She's definitely just beyond the door from which she and Kasyr entered, an ear pressed to it to eavesdrop. Inks assumes the sudden ushering out of listeners is Kasyr's doing, through some means she can't see.

His words are placating. What she wants to hear, but are they true? “Royal commissions?” The word 'commission' always grabs her attention, but before she inquires about one for herself, her features contort to something that looks like a cross between disbelief and recognition. Flashes of handwriting on papers that she shouldn't be privy to spring to mind, along with Valrae's signature, and personal letters written between herself and the witch. “I specifically recall there being trade documents from Cenril offering not only supplies and coin, but manpower and ceasing the embargoes,” Inks counters to Kasyr's comment on Larket assisting in the city's repairs. “I understand it'll be slow, but can't you...I don't know, give them -something- out there? Some sort of hope that you can actually deliver on?” And now he's dismissing her. Go back to Cenril, he says. “I'm losing money here, your Grace. I'd like to remedy that. Not just for me, but...I don't know, we were better than this once, weren't we? Undead patriots weren't a problem back then, were they?” She remembers her stays in Vailkrin pre-siring. Redhale, to her understanding, took charge of the undead, while... Someone. Dami? Kirien? She remembers the sound of a note, a healing hand on her broken leg. It wasn't cold, but. Satie? Probably, but she took over Frostmaw, not Vailkrin. So it must have been Dami or Kirien that healed her leg, scooped her up, and dropped her off with someone else. Dami carried her around all the time, but the accent she remembers reminded her of Kirien's... No, it must've been Dami. The lapse of silence is unnecessarily long and she has to shove herself out of her thoughts. Why is she focusing on that? What mattered was Redhale. That was the whole point of the thought. “...Isn't there anybody like Redhale around helping with the undead? Or are they, forgive my phrasing, headless?”

Kasyr sucks air in between his teeth at the mention of Frostmaws former queen- holding it as she continues to go down the list, and finally releasing it at the mention of Val. "I don't doubt your prowess." But she's not done, is she? She's needling him now- and he can feel an order bouncing over his tongue. Perhaps a more thorough re-telling of his earlier order, the rough edges addressed to make sure it sticks this time. "The embargo has been address," for now, "Et while the risk of one does linger- the overall expediency of expanded trade was necessary. Especially since, as you said, the Undead factions are..." Headless wasn't the right word, was it? "Well, the ones who lead their particular charge are less interested in equality et progress like Redhale, et more dominance. They want a future for Vailkrin that es solely undead. Et their representatives seem more than happy to feed that dream, even if it's realization would be built on the corpses of the vampires who remain."

It was easier not to look at her, and so he began to walk towards one of the rooms exists, seemingly heedless of whether she followed or not, "If you're here to rectify your own situation, I can send a commission to your shop- peut-etre for guard uniforms, et whatever fabrics our healers may need for their facilities." Why not have some cots that actually felt nice. Whatever would get her to leave. "Set up an appointment, next time, S'il te plait." So he can be magically absent. So the reminder isn't there. So he doesn't have to wrestle and lose against the temptation to look back for a moment. "I appreciate your concern."

“Good. You shouldn't doubt it at all,” she's quick to murmur at his comment about her prowess. It's her only point of pride, really. He's Vailkrin's king, so certainly he must know, but she casually waves her hand skyward. “I patched that up before I was sired.” As much as Inks might like to press about just how the embargo was addressed, and whether or not this agreement with Larket is going to cause a whole slew of issues, she ceases her needling for now. The information about the current state of the undead seems more pertinent to solving her issue with her shop, and subsequently the other shops within the vicinity. “Well, have you or one of yours,” since Kasyr must have people to do this for him, if she were go guess, “...Idunno, try reasoning with them?” She wasn't necessarily volunteering, but if it meant fixing the mess Nightshade Avenue had become... “I could give it a try. It's just me and my folks at home in Cenril anyway. They can mind the shop.” The thought is more than disappointing. Odhranos returned for a day and she hasn't seen him since then. Did it actually happen at all? Maybe it was some elaborate illusion concocted by Lanlan.

She doesn't know what to make of him turning away, but the distance his footsteps create between the two of them feels unreasonably strange to her. The seamstress can't quite place it, but it's as if she's losing something. And the thought, oddly, has her briefly peering down not at her wedding band, but a ring on her right middle finger instead. Its stone almost tauntingly glints in the light at her. Before Kasyr can head out entirely, she follows, both to catch what he's said about a commission and briefly stop him, after that instruction to set up an appointment next time. What a frustratingly evasive man. And the odd words he spoke. She knew that tongue from somewhere, didn't she? Inks swore she used a few of those words before. Probably something she picked up from Pa when he returned home from traveling. Before he can step through the door, she plants her hand against its frame whether it's open or closed to momentarily block him with her arm. If he wants to be difficult, she can do the same. She tries to angle her head enough to at least see his face. “Appointments are for people who want to weasel their way out of confronting things head-on, your Grace. I prefer surprises. So,” she retracts her arm so he can pass through. “You'll see me when I decide to drop by, I think. Unless you're incapable of handling a pest like me. In the meanwhile, send me your specifications for guard uniforms. I'll get right to work.” The seamstress flashes a fanged grin at Kasyr, then begins to stroll out unless she's stopped. “Bonne journée, Monsieur.” Is it even daytime now? It's Vailkrin. It's fine.

Kasyr is stuck between a certain fascination, and an overall incredulousness- at the sheer singleminded persistence that she perseveres despite every curt rebuff. There wasn't a single ounce of concern, or anxiety that she may have crossed over into impropriety, that she might face some sort of repercussion. "To reason with someone requires them to be willing to make concessions, to meet you halfway." 'You and yours'. Any semblance of humility had gone out the window by this point, given her willingness to badger him with suggestions that seemed anything but. "But do as you like." Which should have been the end of it, except that she still persisted, now interposing herself between himself and the door. Even when she withdraws, he remains rooted in place for a moment- trying to parse together how this was all going so wrong already. And then she's smiling at him. A playful mischief, and he feels something sour inside of himself. "For a married woman, you're awfully insistent on getting my attention, mrs. Kerrigan." Perhaps harsh in it's delivery, but that had been the point- hadn't it. A return home to- 'her and her folks'. Without even

thinking about it, he reaches out to her shoulder, to take hold and turn her towards him to ask a question. And just as quickly, he thinks better of it. Rather then pry, he simply pushes- the world briefly shuddering so that her first step backwards would leave her stumbling on the bridge out of Vailkrin. To witness origami-like incongruities unfurling themselves, reality asserting itself as a singular truth, "I can assure you, you're not the only one with surprises." Whatever mild satisfaction can be found in that retort, rests empty the moment after. Why was everything going wrong?

“And how do you intend to meet me halfway then, hm?” She's cartwheeled over the line of propriety by now, right into actually being a pest. Or was it merely playfulness? Something she inherited from the foxes that prowled her dreams? That might explain away the behavior. She typically wasn't playful with people unless they were close, and Kasyr certainly wasn't that. If the low blow of mentioning her husband was meant to stir some anger within her, it fails. Instead she can't help looking confused, and naturally surprised. “...You know Odhranos? Where he is? I haven't seen him since he returned.” The corners of her lips twitch, but she forces herself to not allow her features to settle into a frown just yet. Instead she murmurs with a bitterness and self-pity that frankly disgusted her. “Nobody ever stays,” but then she speaks up again once, to the seamstress's shock, Kasyr grips her shoulder and almost spins her back around. Instead she's certainly caught off guard when the environment she stands in abruptly shifts before her eyes, and she's outside, closer to home than she expected to be. For a moment she's stunned, awestruck, uncertain if he worked some illusory magic that Inks couldn't quite see through to the reality beyond it, but once more Kasyr has her attention when he speaks again. The assurance of surprises is intriguing enough for her to give him yet another long, curious look. She didn't take much stock in the idea of auras or even in coincidences and synchronicities despite her dabbling with time, but the revenant in front of her was distinctly anomalous in a way that Inks just couldn't put her finger on. “Well, it'll be fun to see what else you've got to show off then.” It'll give her something to look forward to apart from her work, at least. If he meant to upset her, he's done the opposite. She even has the audacity to smile again, and wave him off, if Kasyr can even still see her. “Until then. Though...you could have dropped me at my shop in Vailkrin.” That might be pushing it. She might as well walk back to Cenril and gather some supplies for whatever guard uniforms Kasyr wanted made up.