RP:Bound in Blood

Part of the Rest in Pieces: Vailkrin! Arc

Summary: Langley and Larewen meet and a deal is struck: power for power.

Hanging Corpse Tavern

Langley sat alone though he did away with the brooding in shadowy corners that so often afflicted those who dined or drank alone. After all, Langley was not the sort to hide himself away or move about unseen. Stealth or reclusiveness was bad for business. In fact, nothing about the gentleman seemed brooding at all. His brows were held high above his rose-colored glasses, eluding to eager eyes that hid beneath those tinted lenses and a gentle smile curled itself upon his lips as his thumbed his way through the news of the day. On ocassion, Langley would even whistle a few bars of some cheery tune; energetic and light-hearted in it's makeshift serenade. Outside, the crows and ravens gathered in their flock but none but the one that sat perched on his shoulder dared to come in, the store front becoming a symphony of caws and gutteral clicking that greeted any who approached. While normally known for being loud birds and despite the cacophony that existed just beyond the tavern's walls, that raven chirped and clicked quietly as its beak hovered near Langley's left ear... as if whispering secrets into that ear. "Ahhhh..." Langley would ocassionally hum, "Fascinating." He would say but it was impossible to tell to which his responses were directed; paper or bird.

Larewen approaches the tavern in silence, the aura of darkness she exudes alerting the murder without the establishment. A dark brow arches upward as mismatched eyes study the birds before her entrance into the Hanging Corpse. Her gaze sweeps over those present, nostrils flaring as her silver eye takes in those present. Langley's scent is picked up. Living, flavored with a particular darkness not unlike the corrupted elf's. This draws her attention and, should that interest prove fleeting, what she sees with her brown eye, the one robbed of sight yet capable of seeing magics would immediately redirect her attention to the male. "Necromancer," her voice echoes, a haunting cadence upon the ears of those present. Delicate steps take the woman to the bar, where Steadmen is already scrambling to fetch her a drink. If there is one thing the barkeep has learned over the decades, it is the mercurial moods of Lady Dragana. A short glass of clear liquid is proffered and she takes it before approaching Langley. There was a time when she might have had the feigned manners to ask before inviting herself to a seat, but this was not one of them. Instead, a wave of her hand has dark energies drawing one of the chairs out and she sits, fixing him in a stare. Were he to look up, he'd see the elf. The right side of her face, where her eye is brown, is the only portion of her flesh not marred by blackened scars; the only bit of her skin not emblazoned with a dark curse. She is garbed in a simple, verdant gown and a pair of soft leather boots.

Langley held up a single finger as he read the final passage of whichever article he had been working on when she took the seat at his table. When he finished that last bit of text, the paper was neatly folded and placed upon the table next to his own glass. "Forgive my lack of manners, Miss Dragana. I simply cannot help myself but to indulge in detail, you see." He chuckled lightly as he spoke, his words coated in a deep but smooth drawl. "News," He added, tapping the paper with two fingers. "One of my many vices, I admit." Langley offered her a gracious nod to further acknowledge her presence but where many men of his apparent pedigree might offer a hand for a shake, Langley only folded his upon each other on the table in front of him. His handshakes, those were for the conclusion of agreements and nothing else. "Were my birds better at their job, I would have made sure to have had a drink already awaiting you. I assure you, they will be... corrected." He head canted slightly to the side as he shot the one perched on his shoulder a sideways glance, from which it seemed to timidly shy. "But look at me, talking your pretty little ear off when there are clearly more pressing matters to attend to. Gerald Lawrence Langley is my name and I have been waiting for you."

Larewen tilts her head, the motion sending a cascade of dark brown waves across her features. She corrects the errant strands as he speaks and a shoulder lifts. "There are worse things they could have done," she replies as her gaze follows the paper. The way in which the bird perched upon his shoulder moves does not escape her notice either, but she says naught as she circles the glass, swishing alcohol with ice. Sipping from it, she savors it for a long moment before Langley introduces himself. "Have you?" she asks, and it seems her brows are perpetually raised, for it lifts again. "I'm not exactly a hard woman to find, if you know where to look." Her tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth and she lowers her glass. A moment later, she circles her hand in the air. A shimmering portal appears, she reaches into it, and withdraws a silver tin before it fades. From within the box, she pulls out a cigarette and offers one to the male. "Is it business related to your craft, or something else?"

Langley accepts the offered cigarette with an "ah, thank you!" and brings it to his lips, finger and thumb rubbing together to produce a bit of black fire; a parlor trick at best but it had its functions none the less. He inhales and then blows outwards, funneling the smoke into the air and dispelling it away from them with a lackadasical wave of the hand. "In all honesty, it is more related to you and me and this fine city but first..." He explains gleefully before once again inhaling deeply, longer and longer and longer still... until nothing is left of the cigarette but ash that crumbles away onto the table. His hand is lifted to his lips, a circle forming as finger and thumb are once again touched together and through that circle, Langley blows his smoke. It cascades into the air and the wispy white curls seem to shimmer as do his eyes behind those red-tinted glasses. "A bit of trickery just in case. Prying ears and all. I confess that my knowledge of how many enemies you have and where they are located is still an unknown factor. But I am working on it, I assure you of that." He continues, waving his hands to indicate the spell that he was woven into that smoke. A bit of voodoo trickery to confound the eyes and ears of any who passed by. To onlookers, the two would appear as if they were simply drinking in silence. "More to the point, you want Vailkrin and I want you to have her. I do sincerly hope that I've captured your attention enough to hear me out."

Larewen passes her hand over her own, the cherry flaring brightly as it takes to the fire set to it. The elf is undoubtedly baffled by the manner in which Langley inhales his cigarette. So much so, in fact, that her nostrils flare to verify once more that he is amongst the living. Impressive. She, on the other hand, puffs upon her own. The dark illusion he casts intrigues her, more for the manner in which it is cast than its effect. When the spell has taken hold, which her right eye studies in contemplation, her attention returns to the male. A cool smile curls the corners of her scarred lips at his words, a rare sign of pleasure. "It certainly has. Speak."

Langley closed his eyes and removed his glasses, tucking them into a pocket inside of his jacket. There was no need in continuing with the illusion that something made him less or perhaps more than human. That eye of hers had already seen it well enough, he was certain; the inky, writhing void where a soul should be. His eyes were serpentine, predatorial and cold despite the geniune smile that washed across his lips. "To put it plainly, I am certainly not afraid to get my hands dirty or do things that would make most level headed people cringe in fear. I have no interest in being in power... only that I am powerful. I do hope that you understand the difference." He began rolling up his sleeves to the elbow, one at a time, to reveal the mosaic of tattoos that covered them from the wrist up; forbidden texts and eldritch symbology, evil and sacreligious. "That desire requires that I align myself with power, of which I have done aplenty as you might already suspect. A testiment to my willingness to expand horizons, we can call it. I fancy myself a man who can make things happen. All you have to do is tell me what you want and I will make it yours." He paused for a moment to let his words sink in and then, before she could speak, a finger rose into the air so that he might add one last tidbit to his pitch. "Do not misunderstand or misconstrue my words. I chose them very carefully. I will not try to make it yours. I will make it yours."

Larewen reaches forward, snaring one wrist and drawing his arm toward her so that she can study the tattoos. He might even feel the knotted scarred flesh of the dark litany carved into her own as she grasps him. Pale fingers trace the dark ink as she skims over the symbols and only when she has finished does her gaze return to his. His lack of soul had not escaped her and she found that most preferable. Souls... complicated things, and this was something the necromancer knew far too well. Hearts did the same thing, and it was that unending conflict that kept the necromancer struggling to walk a path deemed acceptable rather than the one she was truly drawn to. There were things the elf could not directly have a hand in, if she wished to take the throne and keep her lover and her life. That was a threat that had been vocalized by Emrith and Hildegarde both. Finishing her cigarette, she crushes it into an obsidian ashtray. She needs individuals like Langley. Ones that can get their hands dirty without repercussion, and so as she sits back, her lips curl. "I do understand that difference," the elf replies, raising her glass to her mouth once more. She seems to have been fairly easy going thus far, but now the elf shifts, leaning forward as she sets her glass down with a cling. Mismatched eyes narrow then, fixed upon Langley. "I have already devised plans by which to accomplish what I desire, but I am not so foolish to take you at face value," she says, her voice dropping to a colder, more poisonous note. "Power is a cruel mistress, and I know the words to her song all too well. What assurance do I have that you truly mean your words, Langley?"

Langley waited patiently for Larewen to finish examining his tattoos, calmly allowing her to see the mere fraction that he had decided to show her. His entire body was a canvas to darkness and madness, the scriptures of suffering and doom inked into his very flesh. Each line served some purpose, shortcuts for spells and rituals or pathways to higher powers. "You're a vampire, yes? No need to answer. It was rhetorical. Of course you are. Even if I did not already know you were a vampire, your essence practically oozes with it." He replied as he gave a snap of his fingers. From within the breast pocket of his jacket, there emerged a pen that carried itself to his hand on the spindely legs of a spider; those legs disapating into wisps of red once the pen was safely deposited into his palm. "You should understand exceptionally well then, the power that blood contains. I'm familar too and while I do not require it to sustain myself, it is invaluable to my necromancy and my voodoo. It binds, you see." He explained as he rose that pen high into the air and then brought it back down, burying it into the palm of his other hand. Langley did not flinch nor did he cringe. This feeling was no longer pain. The crow-keeper greeted it like an old friend nowadays. "So Lady Larewen Iseng Dragana, youngest of House Dragana, Thanatos Domina... do we have a deal?" He asked as he plucked the pen from his flesh and offered it to her, its well half full with the blood that he offered it.

Larewen takes the pen from him, raising it to eye level as she studies the crimson fluid within. The smell of Langley's blood hangs heavy in the air, tempting the elf. It takes a carefully controlled sort of self control for the elf to resist the urge to pounce, to feed on the male. The corruption that darkens him only increases the elf's desire to drink from him. "It does, yes. Though I prefer Blood Oaths, you would be useless under that kind of binding," she says quietly before she tucks the vial of blood away into a pocket of enchanted air. Her mismatched eyes meet his and her stare hardens. "If you betray me, I will hunt you down, and I will eat you. Do you understand that, Langley? Even if you were to join the undead and become bloodless, I will still find you."

Langley eyed the bloody hole in his palm. as he took up his glass of brandy in the other and brought it to his nose, breathing in its aroma before bringing it to his lips and taking a slow sip. "I am no fool, Larewen. I am not made for ruling but I do crave power so it is only logical that I align myself with those who have it. I'm just... warming my hands on your fire, sweetheart." He sets his glass down and raises his gaze so that it meets hers. "My loyalty comes only with two costs. One, no secrets. I can be a very wise advisor should you allow me to be but it requires that I know all that I must know to properly serve that purpose. And two..." Langley thrusted his hand forward, fingers extending towards Larewen as blood dripped from his palm. "Shake my hand."

Larewen :: The elf's gaze falls to the bleeding appendage and the fight to retain some semblance of humanity is an uphill battle. Her mouth waters, tongue longing to lap at that vitae that reddens his flesh. She prods her tongue against a pointed canine, threatening to pierce the muscle. There is hesitence in the necromancer's actions, for the elf has a rather strong sense of self-preservation, but ultimately she gives in. Her hand, scarred with those runes, reaches out to grasp his.

Langley clasps that hand firmly, his other hand raising to grasp around the other side. He holds on tight, his eyes seeming to shimmer as his magic resonates; tendrils of darkness coiling from within his sleeves and up his arms until they snake their way around her wrists. "I have big plans in store, my future queen. This is but the first step!" He says, his eyes growing wide as his voice grows loud with maniacle excitement. Those tendrils, they burn with a black fire that does not give off heat. His veins in his wrist and neck seem to bulge against his pale flesh, growing black as if the very essence of death flowed suddenly through them. And when they finally fade, there is left no evidence of them having ever even been there. "...your suffering is delicious. But it is the dichotomy of the life you lead that is the seasoning on a well-cooked steak." He comments as if in absolute bliss as he withdraws, pulling both of his hands away. Langley exhales heavily, giving forth a sigh of relief. His swollen veins withdraw back inward as he stands, returning his glasses to his eyes. "There is much to be done."

Larewen blinks, caught entirely off guard by his actions. The black fire fades, and his words serve to unsettle the elf. A tightening of her jawline is the only indication that Langley has made her uncomfortable. There was plenty misery for him to sample, for the elf has led a surprisingly dark life. It is that suffering that drove her toward the darkness, ultimately. As he stands, she watches in prolonged silence. "Indeed. You will receive directions to House Dragana, and there we may further discuss what I wish to accomplish. Sooner, rather than later," the elf says, her demeanor quickly recovered.

Langley nodded to her and graciously tipped his hat, his head nodding in unison with the motion. As the smoke and the charm that it carried disapated, Langley was the picture of perfect gentleman again. He stood upright, held his chin high and a flick of both wrists had brought the sleeves down to cover his tattoos again. Nothing remained of the wicked, plotting creature that had brokered an arrangement moments before. In fact, Langley suddenly seemed painfully out of place in this town even with a crow perched upon his shoulders. "I do believe I am running late to a prior engagement, ma'am." He said coolly as he sauntered right on off. The noise of his flock could be heard growing steadily fainter as he departed into the night.