RP:Et Cetera

In Kelay Tavern, Ernest sits practicing his magic. Little does he know, he's about to teach Loravelle a very different kind of magic.

The RP

Ernest was busy reading a book in the warm light of a lantern that he'd pulled a table directly underneath. The undead had a grin on his desiccated face, which probably unnerved Mesthak to a degree--not that the man was ever fully unsettled by anything, but Ernest had made sure to be -just- enough of a nuisance that any bartender would be juuuust a little wary of him. Despite the glow of the lantern shining brightly onto the book, Ernest himself somehow seemed to be in the shade--probably due at least in part to the wide-brimmed hat that he always wore, even seated at the table. He seemed to be practicing some kind of movement with one hand, while the other held onto the book. Almost a flicking gesture, with plenty of wrist. Maybe it was some kind of exercise to help him grow a bit more muscle on that nearly-skeletal hand? Maybe he was practicing imaginary dart-throwing, or maybe the finger motions needed for a harp? The longcoat and general lack of upperclassiness of his outfit might suggest otherwise, at least regarding that last one.

Loravelle thought that maybe she could try sitting in a tavern to people watch again. Crowds were a thing of nightmares, but she wanted to try. Maybe luck would be kind to her, and she could go unnoticed. The maidservant is dressed colorfully for spring; A bright green changbao that covered her from chin to ankle, her dull black hair, artfully arranged in liangbatou style with as many silk spring flowers that she could decorate it with. She is seated not too far from Ernest, conveniently facing him in fact. Observing the movements of his wrists, Lora grows curious, believing that the man with the wide-brimmed hat may be some sort of entertainer. Perhaps a puppeteer or a musician. Her grey eyes fixate on his hand for long enough that she thinks she can mirror it, so she does so, left hand twisting in uncertain, but similar motions to his. Her right hand supports her chin, elbow of that arm resting on the table.

Ernest was, as it happened, studying a book of magic. Specifically, one that was teaching a way to transport things through shadows. And what he was practicing was the gesture to send an item from one place to another place. All it needed was the will behind it and some familiarity with shadow magic to comprehend exactly what the heck. Upon recognizing that someone happened to be mimicking his hand movements--albeit unsteadily--he performed the gesture one more time, in sync with her own finger movements, and sent one of his business cards right between her fingers as if he'd just sleight-of-handed it there. "Ernest Crane, Villainous Consulting Services," said the top, and it included a small list of what those services actually were--Scheme Assistance, General Mayhem, etc.--along with his office hours. Immediately following the card, he sent her a wink, tipped his hat, leaned back a bit and kicked one of the chairs at his table out for her to join him at it. "Evenin'," he drawled, gesturing towards the chair. "What'cha drinkin'?"

Loravelle – Well, it seemed luck may not be kind to Miss Loravelle tonight. The appearance of the magicked business card between her index and middle finger elicits an audible, frightened gasp of surprise, followed by her immediately dropping the card on the table. Surely the stranger just expertly threw it at her, right? No magic at all, right? Cautiously, she nudges the card with her thumb and to her relief, it seems to only be a piece of paper. Picking it up, her eyes examine the print, mouthing the text. Her head tilts just a fraction to the side while she looks Ernest's way again. She regrets the glance immediately, catching his wink. This isn't orderly, accepting seats with strange card-throwing men. General fear and skittishness made her want to flee the building, but curiosity won. Lora is...technically free now, thanks to Shishi. She could do as she pleased. Perhaps accepting his invitation would be okay. So up the maid gets, clutching the card in one hand and her glass of water in the other. Once she has resettled into the seat Ernest kicked out for her, she silently points at her glass. Just water.

Ernest nodded and raised his flask to her when she pointed out it was just water. "I'm th' same way, ma'am. When y'got a throat what's shriveled up--what -ain't- shriveled up, these days--gotta stay pretty hydrated." He took a swig and did... -something- with his hand, some kind of twirling gesture--and it just disappeared. Maybe he'd shoved it down his sleeve behind his hand. "Seems I caught yer attention with my practicin'. There anythin' on that card I can help ya with? No questions asked, unless they're important. I ain't one ta judge."

Loravelle – Concern writes itself on Loravelle's face. Ernest looked to be an elderly, sickly man. She knew what it felt like to be ill more often than not, and underfed...The layers of clothing she wore hid that well enough, she hoped. But he seems to be some kind of magician, which fascinates her. Parroting his movements with some uncertainty with the business card he gifted her, Loravelle tries to make it disappear from view down one of her sleeves. Without magic that she isn't aware that he is using, her slight of hand isn't very smooth. She laughs quietly, covering her lips with the back of her hand to mask it, then shakes the card free from her sleeve to examine it again. Scheme assistance and general mayhem, etc. Setting the card on the table, she taps “Etc.” insistently, curious. What does that mean, she wants to ask, but doesn't voice it.

Ernest glanced down at the card on the table. "Et cetera, hmmm?" The book snapped shut with a dramatic crack that echoed slightly through the tavern, and he placed it on the table and gestured grandly. "Et cetera, et cetera, et set er AH! Sky's the limit. Anythin' which falls under th' grand umbrella of 'that which you'd fin' distasteful ta do yer own self', save janitorial work an' th' like. I ain't yer handyman. I'm a... problem-solver." He steepled his fingertips and tilted his head. "So. What kinda troubles are ya havin', which you could use some professional assistance clearin' up? Revenge, perhaps? Ain't nothin' better'n a good revenge, believe you me. Got one I'm cookin' up my own self fer one 'Blue Demon'." Exactly what the details of this revenge plot were, he didn't specify, but the way his eyebrows worked you could tell he was thinking of something good.

Loravelle nods. Et cetera. That's how you say that word. The manner in which Ernest snaps his book shut causes her to jump, startled, but she resettles easily enough. He is just an enthusiastic old man, after all. She leans back just a bit in her chair, uncertain if she is adopting a casual pose correctly while she considers 'et cetera'. Lora is used to rigidity, no slouching, nothing that conveyed she looked relaxed and at ease. Unless she were dancing or playing music, but those things were done behind closed doors. Her eyes light up with surprise at mention of the Blue Demon, and she straightens right up. Fear is apparent in her eyes. This wasn't something that she could pantomime or gesture vaguely about to explain, but she knew the Blue Demon. He ate her former master. She hopes her reaction is enough to convey that not only did she know the vampire, but she found him terribly frightening. Instead she leans forward, imploring expression on her face. What did Ernest plan to do to him? What did Blue do to him?

Ernest was oh-so-close to just waving dismissively and blowing it off--after all, with a potential client here in front of him, the focus should be more on her needs--but as she reacted with interest primarily when Shishi was mentioned, he cracked a grin and decided to divulge a little information. Not all of it--as it had turned out that that Terra person was more friendly with him than initially assessed--but maybe a bit of the background. They both knew that part already. "Well. Long story short, I ain't always this... handsome." The man's skin could be easily compared to leather. Or jerky. "I had a gig, y'see. Recurrin'. Good money. Villain stuff." He leaned forward a little, so as to say the next part more quietly. It wasn't like anybody else was here to listen, but it never hurt to be somewhat confidential about the particulars. "Client was a kid from nowhere, wanted ta be a big hero. Hired me ta be 'is foil." Ernest grinned proudly at that, the look on his face growing a bit distant. He clearly had fond memories of that time. "I'd shoot up th' local bank, he'd swoop in an' 'save' everyone, I get ta keep some o' th' loot an' escape from th' gaol later. Everybody wins, yeah? Well turns out," here his nostalgia turned sour, "he'd been payin' me with 'is family's -blood money-, an' th' folks they were feudin' with decided they want him gone. So they get some two-bit chucklehead with magic powers ta show up an' eat my client." His lip curled in disgust. "I challenged th' feller to a duel. Turns out, no matter how quick yer draw, gettin' stabbed ta death by a solid shadow'll do ya in anyhow."

Loravelle 's face shifts drastically the more detail Ernest provides. Color drains from her face as she stiffens, eyes widening at the realization. This isn't a really wrinkly, leathery old man. He died. He..he shouldn't be able to move, let alone speak. Shishi did this to him?! Did that mean – Oh no, that might mean that Mister Bradley's body is wandering around somewhere, jabbering on about his maidservant that he could make 'squawk'. She trembles. But, Lora tries to rationalize, maybe he's just senile. Just a delusional old man... She knows deep down that she's wrong, but the girl is tired of being afraid of every single thing that she happens to cross paths with. They had a common...enemy? Would she call Shishi an enemy? A monster, certainly. She and Ernest, they shared a common monster. Loravelle could do the mental gymnastics to accept this as normal, so much so that the timid girl finally breaks her silence. Her voice is soft and gentle, what she believed best suited someone in her position. “I – I'm sorry that he did this to you,” a pause, to peer down at the card. “Mister Crane. ...He is dreadful.”

Ernest nodded, leaning his chin on his fist and one of his elbows on the table. So she did talk! Made things easier, that. Rather than call attention to that, though, he decided to keep going with the story: "Yeah. Wouldn'ta bothered me so much if he'd just gone fer me. My line o' work, it's a hazard. But th' kid didn't deserve what he got. An' what's -worse-, he messed up my entire -schtick-!" The fist hit the table to punctuate that last word. "I ain't s'posed ta -defend- th' kid, not in public like that. He's s'posed ta be my nemesis! Had ta spin it like only I was allowed ta beat 'im, but who'd've bought that. Jes' like that, my legacy's ruined. I cain't leave 'til I ruin 'im in return." Taking a moment to return to the moment, and letting that confident, professional smirk return to his face, he leaned back in his chair again for another swig of water from his flask. "So. How 'bout you, then? What can ol' Ernest Crane do fer you, miss...?" The last word was accompanied with a vague "I'm sorry, I never got your name" sort of gesture.

Loravelle couldn't decide if Ernest meant his line of work was an assassin, a con man, or a bit of both, but it was all unsavory to her. It wasn't her place to judge the dead either, so...maybe that applied to not judging the undead as well? She's trying. She wants to rub her temples. While nowhere near as frightening as crossing paths with a vampire or a lycan, since Mister Crane seems friendly, it's still jarring. This is what happens when you immigrate to Lithrydel and spend your years living here under a rock in Gualon. Everything beyond the swamp feels like culture shock. “...He ate my master, so he freed me in a way,” she finally divulges. “But he's still horrifying.” Falling silent again, Loravelle considers how to answer her name. Loravelle was definitely not her birth name, but a strange one slapped onto her when she and the others were led off the ship. A name to 'acclimate' to Lithrydel. To fit in. But with Mister Bradley gone, she had tossed around the idea of reclaiming her old name. “Souxin,” she offers. Soh-sheen. Like a sigh, but she adds with some disdain. “Here I am called Lora.” He wanted to do something for her? Oh right, the card... Her eyes shift down to it again, mouthing the word 'et cetera'. Picking the card up, she tries making it disappear in her hands again. It may be apparent to Ernest that she can't use actual magic. “Can you teach me this? Your hands are more swift than when I play pipa.”

Ernest noticed the distaste with which she used her latter name and decided to stick with the former. It'd make a better business relationship that way and probably get her attention better. "Hmm? Th' card trick? Well--" he paused, thinking. Apparently, according to guild rules, he wasn't supposed to be teaching magic yet. That being said, "magic" and magic were two different things. Surely it wouldn't be against the rules to teach sleight of hand? "Y'ain't gonna be able ta do it flawlessly overnight," he warned, producing another card between his index and middle finger, as if from nowhere. "But y'got th' sleeves fer it. Here." He held his hand out, showing precisely where the card was in his grip. "Watch my thumb." As he moved his wrist with a flourish--slowly this time--he flicked the card back behind his fingers with his thumb and then ever-so-slightly released it, allowing it to slide along the back of his hand down his sleeve, hidden by his fingers. If she needed to see it a second time, he'd repeat the motion--again, slowly. "I didn't get this fast makin' cards disappear, though," he added with a grin. "I got fast learnin' ta trick-shoot."

Loravelle watches Ernest's hands with rapt attention, taking the card in her own hand to follow along with him. He is absolutely right about not mastering it overnight. Though dexterous, these movements aren't very familiar. She will have to practice. After dropping the card a few times, she manages to get the card to just barely slide down the back of her hand. She doesn't believe it is convincing enough. A brow raises after his demonstration. He learned a different way? “Trick-shoot?” she repeats. “What is trick-shoot?” Grey eyes fall back to the card again. Is this also 'et cetera'? “Can I learn to trick-shoot, Mister Crane?”

Ernest had literally just had a conversation where he'd mentioned that he'd never been particularly interested in teaching. That, however, had been a conversation about -magic-. Trick-shootin' was a completely different affair. Someone had to carry on the legacy once he'd finished his business, right? "Well, Souxin, that depends." He slid backwards from the table and stood up, flicking his longcoat back dramatically to reveal a pair of hand-crossbows at his waist as he pinned the coat back into firing position. "Y'got steady hands?" In a nearly-instantaneous movement, both weapons had left their holsters and were spinning rapidly around his fingers. "Y'got keen eyes?" He tossed one crossbow into the air, then fired the other straight up at it, his now-free hand coming back over to "fan the hammer" once and swiftly fire the weapon a second time. The first bolt hit the cocking mechanism of the crossbow, setting it up, while the second bolt landed right in the chamber of the weapon. Then Ernest tossed his second crossbow up, caught the first one, started it spinning on his finger again, turned around and caught the second crossbow behind his back. Somehow, that second throw had intercepted the first bolt, and both weapons were now primed and loaded again, having caused no property damage in the process. "An' y'got a sense of style? I can teach everythin' else, but those first three gotta come from you."

Loravelle didn't expect this, but to her surprise she is delighted by Ernest's display. Hand-crossbows? And look how quickly he uses them! When she wasn't terrified of something, her hands were steady, so she nods slowly. He saw how timid she had been before, so hopefully he understood. “I have to see to know what is wanted of me,” is her reply. Sharp eyes, or possibly sharp enough. Style, however...She peers down at her modest maidservant's attire, reaches a hand up to touch her decorated hair. Did this count? Maybe this isn't what Ernest means. “I can...find style? I will learn style. And pay you.” But she didn't have money, currently. Leoxander and Eleanor saw to that, but the maid could make a killing with one of her sisters and a bit of song and dance in a pinch. Without a single gold coin to hand over to Ernest, the maid is back to reaching for her hair again, plucking one of the silk flower pieces from it. A purple hydrangea, which she presents to him with both hands. “Gold later, Mister Crane?”

Ernest spun the weapons once more then holstered them with a dramatic movement and stepped forward to gently receive the flower and look it over. "Gold later," he answered, satisfied. "Matter of fact, I can consider this here a deposit rather'n a payment. You get me some gold, I'll get you yer trick-shootin' an' yer hairpiece back." He reached up and carefully placed it right on his hat, in the same way one might tuck a feather there. "You'll need a weapon. Don't worry about gettin' one yerself, I'll take care of it--I got standards, see--but that'll be included in th' gold cost. I'll show ya how ta quick-draw, fan-fire, an' teach ya how ta hit a target with one hand -an'- two. Maybe get some jugglin' in with it. Makes quite th' show. Least, th' carnies I was with thought so fer a long while." He grinned and tipped his hat to her. "Keep th' card. It's got my hours on it; gimme a week or so ta get yer trainin' crossbow t'gether an' then come by anytime. Lesson one'll be 'how ta not shoot yer own eye out' an' we'll go from there."

Loravelle – Maybe the way Ernest handled the crossbows with all the twirls and flourishes was what he meant by style. It very obviously wasn't dancing, but it was the closest approximation she could compare to in her life. Grateful that he would accept gold later, she lowers her head in a sort of bow. He would get her a weapon too?! Why...goodness, she would have to gather a lot of money. But it would be worth the effort. Not once in her life had the maid ever considered using a weapon, but in this wild land, it seemed appropriate to know something. That and well, she wanted to be fast. The card is picked up yet again, and held close as if it were treasure. “I will find you soon. With gold. Lots.” How much is lots? She isn't certain. “Keep my hydrangea, Mister Crane. It's for you.” It appears luck had been kind tonight for her. Standing to depart, Lora- no, Souxin, she thinks with a grin, lowers herself into a little bow, then scurries out of the tavern. She had to nab one of her sisters and get cracking.