RP:Companions In Heartbreak
Summary: Irenic and Alvina spill their guts and share heartaches.
Frostmaw Tavern
Slightly chilled, the tavern is still a far warmer location than the outdoors of Frostmaw. If the cold is too much for a visitor, they can take a seat near the tavern's center, a place dominated by a large firepit dug neatly into the earth. A fire is always burning within, fed by large logs and, strangely, scraps of leftovers flung in by passing patrons--to those in the know, this is to feed Aodhan, the fire wyrmling occupant of the pit and keeper of the flames. Aside from the stone and earth of the firepit, the rest of the flooring is of a dark wood, clearly a sturdy material to routinely bears the weight of many Frost Giants, their armor, and their frequent brawls. A similar wood, lighter in color, makes up the raftered ceiling with its steeped roof. Tightly packed stones create the lower half of the walls, the upper planks of wood built close together to keep out the cold. Booths, tables, armchairs, and stools of various sizes can be found throughout the tavern in no particular arrangement. Frost Giant lasses move skillfully among the crowds to serve ale and warm meals, occasionally stopping to regale a newcomer with the stories behind the many trophies hung upon the walls: sabercat fangs, mounted mammoth heads, aged weapons, dented shields, war banners, and a dragon skull hanging central from the ceiling, horns and jaws wrapped in blue chains. A rather bulky and well toned frost giant stands behind the bar. Upon his blinded left eye, a scar travels down and along his jaw. The large bartender, Drargon, simply watches the patrons, awaiting orders... or trouble, considering the massive war-axe resting beside him.
Alvina sat in the Frostmaw tavern alone. She’d been torn, when coming here, between wanting to run into someone she knew and wanting to remain alone while she ate her dinner early here. Her daughters were in the charge of their nanny, who had been hired back on part time thanks to Hudson’s blood money / child support. She’d recently, at the advice of Krice, sent a letter to a certain gentleman and the after effects of the event are…depressing, to say the least. Just when things were looking up, he vanishes without a word otherwise…The light in the tavern is low, the crowd very thin and quiet. Her crimson curls obscure her face from most angles to all the other patrons. She’s tucked back in a booth, invisible to any new patrons until they approach the bar in hopes of purchasing drink or food.
Irenic was slightly irritated that his day drinking place is ruined because of Hudson for he did not know the bloke owns The Office… Not that he has anything against the guy, he just doesn't want the sympathy drinks on the house anymore, it made him feel gross. So! What's the opposite of warm sunny Cenril? The winter climate of Frostmaw and it was a trudge getting up here without wings, hating the cold weather even more so without the warmth of wings. The wind that drifts in with him brings anyone's most favorite scent from his Avian trait and other clues give away his Avian race with the tattoos peeking from under the collar of his black button up, also long pointed pierced ears. All visible of course after he swings off a long black cloak, extra long for this man is six eleven and he shakes some snow out his graying dusky hair before long booted strides bring him to the bar counter, “Votre plus fort spiritueux, s'il vous plaît.” OR ‘your strongest liquor, please.’ This causing a woman sitting at the bar to swoon at his gruff sounding, but romantic words while the barkeep asks, “what!?” Irenic rolls mismatched eyes at the man before motioning the drink pantomime while pointing at the whisky behind him. This earns some judgy looks from patrons because it barely passed noon and his attire doesn't look like a day drinker type. He gets his drink and mismatched gaze scans the tavern for a moment in trying to decide where to sit.
Alvina didn't recognize the language the stranger spoke but she watched with interest as the events unfold; his approach, the woman fawning over him, the barkeep tensing up with his request. The bard could only sip her wine as Irenic pointed to the whiskey and pantomimed the pouring. He wore his shoulders like a man full of frustrations, even when the woman beside him swoons. What was he doing drinking so deeply this early? She tucks back a small portion of her hair, crimson and brilliant in the low light before picking up her wine glass and approaching the bar. It wasn't her way to interfere but she'd been suffering a particularly pointed burden lately and she could recognize the disinterested look of the patrons as she approached the stranger with a casual smile. "I'm so glad you made it..." She said, lofting her brows to suggest he go along with her ploy. "I got us a booth in the back when you're ready?" It'd be easy enough for him to get his drink and disperse, if that's what he'd really come to do. Or it would be just as easy to join her in the booth for a few minutes before wandering off. Did he understand her common? Now that she saw him up close, she remembered this was Josleen's bodyguard. They'd sort of met at the Queen's birthday party. She now remembers him complaining in the same language then as well.
Irenic wouldn't care about the odd looks he was getting and he wouldn't turn down a fight at the moment either. He lays enough coin down for a whole bottle after sliding away the tumbler he was offered for one drink of whisky, he's not playing around today. He gives a friendly enough smirk though scarred lips to Alvina to play along with her while mismatched gaze lingers on the features of her face. In a way he wonders if he was actually supposed to be meeting her here because his mind hasn't been the same being stuck the way he is. He falls in close to walk with her back to the booth she has which grants her that favorite scent even more potent from the Avain aspect of him. He would pull out her chair for her if there was one, but he just stands aside the booth end and motions for her to sit first. Once she does he sits opposite her and at the angle the booth sits at his long legged knees pump on the table letting out a, “merde!” In a sort of grunt… which may be a curse word, possibly. Lips connect with the neck of the whisky bottle and he takes a few generous gulps before letting the silence between them grow for he's declining to speak first; maybe he was supposed to be here.
Alvina takes her seat first, with a gracious nod towards the avian as the scent of rain and old books washed over her. Was this something she'd noticed before when she'd met him? She can't recall. Their meeting had been brief, in the heat of some chaos, and she wasn't inclined to remember a near stranger over Josleen. The Queen was her best friend, after all. When Irenic's knees hit the table, she continues to hold the glass stem of her wine glass between fleshed fingers, wincing her left eye shut and extending Metallic digits with a flat palm to sympathize his pain. "Sorry, I just meant to save you from some incident but looks like I've caused it." She laughs, a pathetic apology of a sound, and offers her name as colatorial. "I'm sorry, if you don't remember who I am but I appreciate you playing along. I'm Alvina, you work for Josleen yes?"
Irenic gives a shrug at her apology before holding out a hand for her not to and the slight shake of his head, “ Non. Je me fiche de rien.” or ‘no. I don’t care anymore.’ I mean, that much was obvious and he slips the knot in his emerald and black diagonal striped tie down away from his throat a little. He chuckles with her, a low gruff and short one before a tawny hand runs through his disconnected cut hair to drink deeply from the neck of his bottle once more. He gave a short sort of bow from his seated position, ‘merry meet, Alvina,’ becomes “Joyeuse rencontre, Alvina.” The way his accent twists up her name would usually cause lesser women to swoon, but he gives a subtle shrug while pointing at the flesh of his crow's feet temple in explaining, “J'essaie de me souvenir de quelqu'un.” or ‘I am having a heck of a time trying to remember anyone.’ When she mentions Josleen his expression turns to a thoughtful one, as if he were trying to do long division in his mind, “err… Qui?” Irenic takes a moment to just look at Alvina and her arm wondering why a woman like her is alone in a place like this, so he does his best to pantomime during his question, “Pourquoi es-tu seul?”
Alvina doesn't quiver with delight at the delicate way he says her name. Instead, she's straining her eyes and ears to glean understanding from their language barrier. He understands her, but she's struggling and he's hitting that bottle a little faster than she felt comfortable mentioning. What she can gather is something to do with having a lot on his mind or having some kind of trouble. It shows in the way he's carrying himself, undoing his tie, and drinking whiskey like it's water. Josleen's name doesn't spark any recognition in his expression, so she assumes perhaps he is suffering from memory loss. It's possible, should she try to take him to the Queen in Larket? It might be counter productive to do so. Seems the male has a habit of encouraging his forgetfulness, by the way her name doesn't spark any recognition either. She'd just seen him, how strange. A silence falls between them as she tries to piece the last bit of his question together, his pantomiming skills rather impressive. She took it to mean 'was she really waiting for someone' or something along those lines and shook her head with a thin smile. It should be obvious in the way she isn't casting glances at the door, that she doesn't have anyone to hope to see here. The dim light and flickering of the fire pit's flame make the freckles sprinkled on her skin come alive, small kisses of fire that had been previously pale in other light sources. "I'm here alone," she confirms, watching his face to see if she answered his question correctly, "Because the men I break myself down for are too busy with other things to worry about me..." A bitter smile as she casts a long look into her wine glass. It felt a heavy introduction to him, on a personal level. What a horrible first impression; a broken hearted woman that invites you to her table to tell you about her horrible heartbreak. "You don't have to stay," she says, feeling self conscious now that they've started a semi conversation. "If you have places and people you'd rather be with or see, don't let me keep you. I'm suffering a decent spell of disappointment in my heart," Alvina laughs, a self deprecating sound that leaves the shadow of a smile on her lips in it's wake. “Maybe we are both just having one hell of a time.”
Irenic furrows a scarred brow to ask, ‘but why?’ sounding, “mais pourquoi?” When she speaks of her predicament he guffaws at just how… Ironic it was that he waltzes into a random new tavern to just day drink his time away and finds a person dealing with the same exact thing he was… Downright eerie. He immediately apologizes for he didn’t want it to seem he was laughing at her, “Non je suis désolé. Des excuses.” An amused sigh comes over him with that devilishly handsome smirk exposing white, but crowded teeth, “Même!” or ‘Same!’ He would hold out his bottle for her to clank her drink against his in a sort of cheers. “Merde ces idiots,” which is probably something unsavory in calling their exes names. He would even offer her liquor with a point to his own bottle then a point to the bar, “sur moi.” The last words said with a motion to himself meaning anything she wants to drink is, on him… They could use it. He admits that he’s currently cursed because of the person he fell for, “Je suis maudit à cause de l'amour, mais. J'aime quelqu'un qui ne m'aime pas.” Again, speaking slowly and pantomiming their way through this; making sure to point to himself whenever he said ‘je’ and making X marks over his heart. Hopefully she will get the idea that he is trying to say, ‘I am cursed because of love, but I love someone who does not love me.’
Alvina is taken aback by this laughter, but it stirs a smile from her all the same. Even before his low toned apology, full of soft sounds, the word “excuses” sounding familiar. She took it to mean him apologizing, likely for laughing. She waves her palm at him, dismissing his apology and now he’s smirking. Irenic is quite handsome, she’s noticing while he smiles. It doesn’t melt her heart. Alvina had never been known to love a man by looks alone but she could certainly enjoy his company, especially if he continued to smile like that. It made her feel better, like someone would choose her company. Like she wasn’t something to be pushed aside. But when he says something, seemingly pointing to himself as if he’d suffered the same fate and clinking their glasses together…she just couldn’t believe it. She’s unsure if he’s saying they are idiots or their exes (or in Alvina’s cause Pseudo exe, they’d never established an actual titling system to their temporary romantic feelings) but she’s pleased either way. Yes, they were idiots for believing in love and their exes were idiots for letting them go. “I can drink to that!” She beams, taking a long drink of her wine and wondering where her so called heartbreaker was now, a passing thought that faded as soon as it arrived. His offer to buy her drinks is waved off. “That’s sweet of you but I think we have to stick together aye?” The lonely hearts club. When he goes on to explain, marking x’s over his heart and pointing to himself, she grasps very little of the idea. It comes across as being something regarding love, being haunted or damned. The word ‘cursed’ doesn’t translate well in pantomime from Alvina’s perspective. She responds in kind with a similar explanation. “Forever damned to love the wrong kinds of people!” She raised her glass to this, as if it was their anthem. Their battle cry. Should they discuss the details of their relationships? Would it be appropriate? Never mind, Alvina felt better to be less alone in this situation. Was she prepared to be drunk before evening? She was a mother after all… Maybe just buzzed would be fine. It’s only wine. “Feels counterproductive to say I’m sorry on behalf of the poor lass who is missing out on your company just now, but I’m glad to have it in the meantime.” A nod, to punctuate her statement. There is concern shadowing her eyes for how quickly he’s drinking his sorrows away. Whoever she was must have hurt him really badly, to make a man drink this way so early in the day.
Irenic enjoys her company for it carries a sort of warmth to it that is most welcome in his drunken and heartbroken state. Mismatched gaze lingers on Alvina’s face as he recognizes a glance at her when he attended the royal wedding with valrae, “Je t'ai vu au mariage. Avant le séisme.” or ‘I saw you at the wedding. Before the earthquake.’ A moment of silence passes when he remembers how this all started. If she allowed him to babble on he would explain how he was getting feelings for this witch person and they had a good time at the wedding until the earthquake hit. He flew him and his friend out of there to go look for an orphan boy, Quizzical, he was becoming attached to, but by the time he found the boy he was too late and he had to bury him. It was a rough night after that when he realizes that she probably only said ‘I love you out of pity.’ Sounding, “Elle a seulement dit «je t'aime» par pitié.” At this his eyes travel back to his bottle while feeling extra low now and another awkward pause before the story continued; he mentioned how he wanted to actually be the man Quizzical thought he was and that he was going to change. Then they said those words and fell asleep, but he woke up to find his wings torn from him. At this point it gets probably a little odd when he slips the tie from around his neck, stands up, unbuttons his black shirt to turn and expose the dark pink welts running down either side of his spine where his wings used to be. After whatever reaction he gets from her he pulls the shirt back up and puts himself back together before slipping back into his seat and drinking deeply from his drink, admitting, “... Je suis une farce.” Which can easily be interpreted as, “... I am a joke.”
Alvina strains to listen. Seisme sounds like sismic, which is often used when talking about Earthquakes and she catches the 'marriage' easy enough to know he's talking about Josleen's wedding. "Oh, yes." It would make sense if he worked for her, that they might see each other there. Or was that before he came under her employ? The bard isn't sure. Perhaps asking had been a bad idea...now he was no longer smiling but undoing his shirt and turning to expose a lack of wings where wings had clearly existed. They weren't hidden, they were just...gone. Was this what he meant by cursed? Had his love for this woman caused some force to literally rip his wings away or had the woman of his dreams done so herself? It's not clear to Alvina. She catches the name of the boy, but it's not familiar to her. His sad expression reflects loss and blame. Even if he doesn't say he's a farce, she picks up on his mood. He's blaming himself for all the bad that happened, it stirs a frown on her own lips as she patiently tries to piece it together. His lady had only said she loved him because of pity? Was that what he'd said? The word 'pitié' was close enough to common to catch her understanding. Alvina's metallic hand reaches across the table to weigh down the bottle before Irenic can draw from it after his last statement. "You aren't a joke." She says, without having a quarter of the details. No one deserved to think they were some cruel thing, existing in this life for the fulfilment of others. "Whatever happened...you can survive it. You don't have to drink your sorrow away...." She wasn't one to talk, trying to inspire hope in him for some reason now. Maybe it healed her own heart, to try and offer him some encouraging words. His expression reads like he won't believe her or her words will seem watered down in comparison to how he feels. "I've gone back and forth myself over love a hundred times...but I always fall back into it, no matter how hard I try to resist. I trust men that are no good..." She repeats, "Who say what they need to in order to get what they want." Not always the case, sometimes they just said what they wanted in the moment and then vanished. Equally frustrating. "She's a joke," She said, unknowingly insulting Valrae and feeling some satisfaction in it. Like she was also insulting the object of her previous affections before she surrendered and cast those emotions aside. They still burned, she could feel them as if they were fresh and purple bruises across her chest. The ache of love from someone who will never love you, truly. "You are hurt, you tried. You can't change people or make them stay." Alvina looks at her reflection, rippling in the white wine in her glass. "Nothing ever makes them stay..."
Irenic smirks at Alvina and her kind words once more, but feels a little vengeance riling up in him when she looks sad now. Who would hurt such a beautiful and kind soul… Oh, wait. He would - or at least he used to. Thinking back on all of his years in never committing or feeling anything deeper than lust or like, but once he did it wasn’t entirely true on the other end. When she talks of her times of repeatedly putting herself out there despite being hurt his smirk grew more into a grin and the age lines are more evident in his face. He calls her brave for trying again and again, “Tu es courageux.” He allows her to let him stop drinking as he already put half of the bottle away and he took a deep breath, was the air getting thinner? He tries to express that he knows he will eventually be alright and soon he won’t even remember her because of a potion, “Un jour, ça n'a pas d'importance. Je l'oublierai en raison d'une potion.” Just then he started to feel his heart rush, like it does every sundown. He sits upright and mismatched gaze darts out the nearest window, how long had be been here? He should have payed closer attention. A look of panic came over him when he quickly told her that he is terribly sorry and he must go, “Je m'excuse. Je dois y aller.” He slides himself out of the booth and towers over her now in his six eleven height offering a thank you, “Merci.” He accidentally leaves behind his tie and half bottle of whisky while long booted strides makes haste to bring him into the cool dusk air. Also forgetting his cloak and he wouldn’t make it far if she needed to chase him down, but she might also be disgusted or frightened at what she finds.
Alvina waves off his compliment of calling her brave with the flick of her pale wrist and a wry smile. "Being brave doesn't make you happy." She says, removing her hand from his bottle once it seems he surrenders to the idea that he too has had too much. Alvina gathers he's saying it's not important, something about a potion. She wonders if it's the same stuff Hudson had told her about. Something to erase a person from your mind forever. He'd considered it, or at least offered it to Alvina once but she refused. Because it was their shared burden, to know he loved her. If Hudson forgot all the pain he felt over Valrae, he'd forget all the pain he likewise caused Alvina by having the affair and then it would leave only Valrae and Alvina to remember while he remained blissfully unaware of the scars their hearts bore for him. It was the cruelest of punishments, the most complete of escapes. She's in the middle of this thought when Irenic sits up. It startles her, she jumps across the booth and silently watches his face flood with panic. "What is it?" She asks, hurriedly, as he's asking her to excuse him and getting up. He thanks her, "What for...?" Alvina's half way out of her own seat now, sliding across the wood to the table's edge, when Irenic starts towards the door. Metallic digits grasp around the neck of his whiskey bottle, fleshed fingers hold his cloak and white heeled boots click after him in her own panicked frenzy. Was it something she said? She can see him, the distance isn't far enough that she's lost him in the snow. "Irenic!" She calls, trying to close the gap, panting as she jogs to catch him.
Irenic was in immense pain for the sundown brings on a change to a beast, hideous beast. By the time she reached him she would have followed a trail of his shirt, one boot, another boot and then… A man reduced to a heap in the snow who was yelling, moaning, and growling in pain and fists clenching hair in his hands. If she came too close he would old out a hand and telling her to stay back, “reste en arrière!” She would see why in a moment as black claws started to instantly grow on the hand he held out and she would see why his eyes have been so bloodshot from this strain on his body and on his mind. Velous fathers start to cover most of his tight tawny skin leaving only his biceps and torso front area bare while a sickening ‘cruuuuch’ and a loud sort of muffled bubbling sound came from his body. A pair of glorious ivory wings grow out of the scars on his back and span out to twenty five feet wide which accents ever velvety feather in reflecting bits of silver and pearly whites in all their glory, but now it makes sense. I would drink too if this happened to be every night and every day. After a moment of heavy breathing and resting on his knees his face looks up at her dawning large birdlike eyes and a sharp dark golden beak. Slowly he stands back up to his six eleven height on talons instead of feet with a low gruff groan before that same tone spoke out, (if she didn't drop his stuff and run for the hills) “oh… Thank you for listening.” His gaze would drop down to the cloak in her hands and gently take it, “but as you can ascertain… This is why she couldn't love me.” (He assumes) “I don't blame her… Or him.”
Alvina followed Irenic's tracks in the snow, clinging to his cloak and whiskey for dear life before she came upon the man shifting. Her stomach heaved but she wasn't sick, neatly she covered her mouth and turned away. Letting the sickening crackle of his form herald her to bear witness once the transformation was complete. Her eyes closed, stifling the fear. She could not leave her companion in heartbreak. They had shared a moment, kindred spirits. She could not abandon him now. Once the noise settled, she slowly turned to see just what the handsome man had become. More bird than man now, but speaking with a common tongue. Alvina who had adjusted to his other language, looked lost when he spoke and she understood immediately. She fumbles, holding his possessions out to him. The boots he left in the snow remained. She hadn't had time to pick them up, he didn't look like he needed them. "T-think nothing of it..." She whispered to his comment about listening. Here she'll pause to tell and discern what he meant by 'this'. The shifting? She's not sure that's right. "I think a woman can love anyone, no matter how difficult their..." What would you call this exactly? "Quirks. Stubborn warriors, fools, shifters... Love is love..." She said, feeling her throat dry, effectively defending her pseudo exe, and making herself the bad guy. "We love who we love, and sometimes we want to love people that are better for us and... We can't." When Irenic mentions 'him' Alvina will tilt her jaw carefully. Who was 'he'?
Irenic grunts as he gently takes his items back to slip his cloak on himself. “I'm sorry about this.” He glances up into the skies in the general direction of Rynvale, “there's someone I need to visit,” Quizzical, “but I am sure I'll find myself back here… Probably wingless again… Probably intoxicated again.” He didn't seem to be anymore, “I hope he can meet up in the future and bitch about life once more.” Large mismatched eyes look down at her, “and don't let some scrub call the shots on your heart. You seem like a sweet and caring person who deserves nothing less than someone's best.” He felt odd in what he was saying as if he was taking jabs at someone he's met, (Hudson), while simultaneously coming onto a perfect stranger. This was nothing more than his Companion In Heartbreak though and that's all he can handle at the moment. “Not to mention… You're too pretty to be pushed around…” and now he's said too much. “I'll be seeing you, Alvina.” Feathered fist over heart with a short bow before his footsteps carry him in the direction out of Frostmaw and cursing the cold snow all the way.
Alvina | What could Alvina say? She stands, bewildered and oddly calm as Irenic's beak speaks words that his lips would not. Telling her she was pretty, that she didn't deserve anything at all... But someone's very best. It's laughable, how painful and sweet that comment is. It makes her want to drink his whiskey instead. "Please take care of yourself..." She nodded, stepping back to watch him go. "I'll be seeing you," she repeated with a lazy grin before making her way back to the Tavern to reintroduce herself to the still empty bottle and finish her evening alone.