RP:Fait Accompli Part 1

Part of the The God of Undeath Arc

Summary: Kasyr and Iintahquohae make plans to reach out to the different vampire houses, starting with House Asharam.

Vailkrin Castle

One would think that the seamstress had some grasp on the day and night cycle Vailkrin had, but those assumptions were wrong. Typically Iintahquohae guesses, but this time when she woke she very strongly considered ripping a little window open to glimpse Cenril's coastline to gauge the time, and feel the sun on her skin briefly if she stepped over for a moment or two. She refrains from doing so, however, and opts to determine the time in a fashion that seems more on brand with the city of undead. Spy on your sleeping sire until he wakes up. Her stay in the castle has been a much-needed distraction and change of pace these days. Exploring vaguely familiar halls to grow a better mental map of the place, essentially claiming a room for herself to sleep in, even if it was filled with possessions that didn’t belong to her. Perhaps that could change, though it’s wholly unnecessary considering she had a small apartment just above her shop on Hemlock Way. Buying out Raul and Gunther’s was a good move in her eyes. Close to her favorite merchants, Maya and Ikara and the abundance of foot traffic they brought in, but just out of the way enough to be something of a hidden gem.

Once Inks is out of bed she quietly raids the closet for some clothes to borrow. The black button-up she frees from a hanger isn’t a perfect fit like something she made herself, but it's long enough in the torso to keep her decent. She takes the stairs two at a time on her way to the kitchens to steal some coffee. Did Kasyr drink anything other than alcohol or blood? She might as well bring him a mug as some apology for when he wakes up to her creepy behavior. Finding blood stored in the pantry of all places, is bizarre even to Inks, but she pours a splash into each mug before returning to Kas’ bedroom.

The heavy wood door is nudged open with an elbow since her hands are full. Maybe the sound of wood scraping against wood is quiet enough to not wake the revenant, along with her footsteps as she pads over to a table piled high with sealed messages and a book Inks has never seen before. While drinking from her mug, she uses the other to nudge the pile of papers and the book out of the way so she can set at least his mug down. What an odd color of red, thinks the seamstress, deciding to set her mug down too once she’s noticed the odd coloring of the book’s spine. Is the leather just a poor quality? She grabs the pile of messages in one hand and the book as well, figuring she might as well do some reading while playing this ridiculous prank on her sire for some convoluted way to determine the time. One of the plush armchairs in the room seems like a good enough seat to sit back and read in while she waits for Kas to wake up, so Inks piles both the book and messages on the cushion before carrying the whole thing over to the bed’s foot, smack in the middle. Her legs stretch out to span the gap between the chair and foot of the bed so they’re propped up.

Balancing the messages on one arm to sneak a peek at later, Inks puts the majority of her attention on the book, initially to figure out what’s wrong with the leather. She thumbs through the pages, determining that its signatures are sewed in just fine, either headband isn’t fraying…the binding is solid, really. It could do with some better leather that didn’t look like old blood, though. Thumbing through the pages to examine the book’s craftsmanship gradually transitions to skimming the text, then full on reading. History intrigued her and kept those pages turning, but gradually the seamstress’s interest grew confused, so much so that her dull eyes glance away from the page to Kasyr’s presumably still sleeping frame. This book is dangerous. Or what it claims to explain is potentially dangerous. While a decent mage herself, what’s described on these pages is out of her wheelhouse. That doesn’t stop her from reading, however. It does have her make a note to suggest keeping this book somewhere safe instead of out where anybody like her could swipe it, though.

Kasyr does not sleep often, now, so what slivers of dreaming he manages are hard fought for- and replete with the dourness that so often marks his manner in these current days. It's not murmured words that ponctuate the evening, but dour grumbles that serve as the sole answer to whatever querying glances the seamstress may have spared his way between chapters.

And yet, despite how bleak those reverie-bound recollections may be, for a time his sleep continues unabated- a brief sojourn from the endless responsibilities of the day, made possible through a simple sliver of safety. Whatever mischief Inks may have intended, her pranks intention is subverted, her vigil extending until the swordsmans coffee begins to turn cold, and the first hints of trepidation creeps in, courtesy of that once-inscrutable tome.

His awareness lurches into the present, though there's a brief moment where it struggles to catch up to his body, which has already bunched the blankets about himself in a haggard morning ritual, that has him offhandedly reaching over the bedside in search of whatever clothing articles lay piled in a floordrobe. It's midway through this almost automatic response that a sense of realization dawns in, one which sees him squirming the rest of the way into a shirt, so that he can pointedly stare at his guest, and the ever-so casual manner she was sprawled between armchair and bed. "Comfortable?" Her choice of apparel is given a second side-long glance, coaxing a murmured, 'Apparently'. He's starting to feel properly aware now, a certain sense of sharpness tickling at his senses- and directing his attention towards the full mug that rested nearby. A mug that felt cool to the touch when he lifted it up, though it did little to prevent him from taking a sip. "You could have woken me up, Stitch." And of all things to go through, it wasn't even his mail. Which, he supposed he was grateful for, but at the same time, "I'd appreciate if you didnt judge what I doodled in that book too harshly." Because, to his knowledge, that's all that it had contained.

Maybe she got up earlier than she thought she did, because by the time Inks has almost read the book to roughly the half-way point after her initial curious skim through, it's only then that she notices Kasyr making tell-tale movements to indicate that he's getting up. So much for her idea of a prank, since he seems to hardly bat an eye. The seamstress only nods to his question, eyes rarely straying from the pages as she re-reads a paragraph that has her brows rising higher and higher on her head. Very dangerous. She wishes she brought her coffee over to rest it on the other arm of the chair to drink from, but with a mug precariously sitting on a chair she's sprawled out on, the likelihood of it spilling on herself and the book in her hands seemed far too likely. Instead she shrugs at the thought of waking the revenant up, lifting her head from the book briefly to look his way. “That'd be pretty rude of me,” is her amused reply, accompanied by a smile. Watching your sire sleep to figure out what time it is is also rude. And downright creepy, but she's being hypocritical here. Her eyes glue themselves back to the pages once Inks realizes that Kas is in the midst of changing, and she hopes he's decent enough when she looks up a second time, this time with a more confused look. Doodles? Using her littlest finger as a bookmark so she doesn't lose her place, Inks pins the remaining pages in the book beneath her thumb to quickly flip through them, searching for some crude (or possibly really detailed, she had no idea if Kas was an artist or not) drawings scribbled in margins. Her brows knit, and she flips back to the page where she stopped reading. “What page? All I have are words here...some diagrams for sigils.” Here she pauses, then finds a page she dog-eared that had portraits illustrated through some style of printmaking of various important figures at Vailkrin's founding. It's this that she holds open and as she turns the book outward for Kasyr to take a look. “These? That poor man's nose on the bottom left has to be an accident by the artist. Look how squashed it is."

Kasyr peers at her over the edge of the mug, both at the seeming distress supposedly blank pages were evoking, as well as the ensuing bit of banter she's offering up. Was this the requisite rebellious Coterie phase? Daedria help him, if so. "Still wouldn't be the rudest wake up call. You brought coffee. It was a nice touch." He swishes the mug at her, before it's drawn back to himself almost protectively, as though it were some symbolic lifeline. "Wouldn't be the worst habit to get into." He was starting to feel like a person again, even if he was at the current state of wakefulness where the combination of shirt and 'improvised blanket toga' still seemed like a good idea. It was decent enough, at least, that he didn't feel particularly self-conscious when she glanced at him a second time, in the midst of his acquisition of a seat. Namely, on the side table that had initially served as a home to the literature she was perusing. "..It's the- What do you mean -diagrams?" A part of him hesitates in getting up, as though this might still be some part of her antics that had yet to be sprung. Only, the confusion that she felt was pressing- and then shared, as she directs his attention to a series of portraits. "What." He's staring at it, and it still doesn't quite process for him- for where there had once been blank pages staring up at him defiantly, there was now elaborate script, notations- "What." Inks place in the book is likely getting lost, since he's searching now to find some proof it's still the same book. And it is still there. Unnaturally faded now, but his half of the petulant exchange with the book still remains. Only, where once there had been the phrase 'This book is not meant for this place' - careful scrawl now reads, 'The Heart Of Vailkrin'. Whoever had made this book was a colossal, "Jerk. How did I miss this?" For weeks. He was never going to hear the end of this.

“It's better than blood.” Even if she did mix them together. “I didn't know if you drank it, so...” Inks guesses he likes it, since he possessively drew his mug back to himself. Inks' thoughts follow a somewhat similar track to his. Consuming things that weren't blood were a way to feel more human that she secretly clung to with some desperation she hoped nobody picked up on. Her choice to be sired wasn't something that she regretted, but Inks would be lying if she said she didn't miss several bits of humanity she took for granted. She regards his choice of blanket toga with an amused grin. “You'd be pretty good at draping, you know.” Was there still a soft ban on discussing work after their hunt the other day? She'd probably head off in a moment to see how progress was going with her shop in the city being set up, but Kasyr's reaction to the pages of the book she displays for him has her blink confusedly. “What?” She relinquishes the book the moment Kasyr reaches for it, then gets up to hover over his shoulder. Did she discover something she shouldn't have? Maybe that illustration was of some old vampire Kasyr knew...?

While he peruses pages and presumably calls her a jerk, Inks rolls her eyes and moves to stop him whenever he flips past any pages she considered noteworthy. Particularly the diagrams. “They're some sort of old runework and sigils, I guess.” She sussed out what their intent was, but it sounded impossible to her. Despite her assumption that he could figure it out himself, especially since he's holding the book and obviously can read, Inks summarizes what she thinks the book is giving instructions for. “It's not – Not invading an existing space, like I can do...” and the revenant too, since he figured out her seam ripping trick the second he saw it. “This is...creating a space,” a pause follows, as the seamstress pointedly glances out a window toward the city. “A very large space.” She straightens up then, arms crossing over her chest while her gaze remained on the window and what stood beyond it. She doesn't really understand what he meant by missing something and figures that isn't as important as the text itself. “I think you might want to lock that up somewhere so power hungry and spell-happy people can't read it and get ideas.” She was fond of folk from other houses in Vailkrin, to the point of friendship and she'd guess mild tolerance with a few members in some of them, but this seemed to her like something that had to be guarded. “Especially with you getting back into all this.” Her chin dips toward the pile of messages addressed to him, the uppermost of which she decides to grab and possibly tear open if Kasyr doesn't stop her.

"I practically lived on coffee when I was still a...whatever my official title was in the Mage Guild." It had been a bit since he'd considered the actual status associated with the office, perhaps in apart because he'd considered, (and was shown), it was an overglorified, underpaid supply teacher job. With no hope of tenure. ..It's enough that he grumbles into the cup, even as he takes another drink. At least, until she boggles him with her remark, "Draping? I-?" Not for the first time this afternoon, he's mumbling a soft 'What."- though he's by and large consumed with what they're doing. Perhaps even moreso, now that she's hovering over his shoulder, and walking him through the finer details of the journal.

A part of him wants to chirp up with his recognition of the runes, and yet, though he can recognize the process as she talks his way through them- something's missing. There's a distinct sense of lack, as though he's been given a test, but deprived of his study notes. The result isn't coming quickly, leaving him instead to peace things together at a slightly slower rate. Especially given that she was flicking him forward at her own pace, "I didn't get to read these, tu know." It's honestly close to a relief when she steps away from the book, allowing him the luxury to double back, and properly place the names and faces associated with the book. Something made all the more imperative as the seamstress offers up a summary of her findings. And which feels like a slap when he finally sees the name staring back at him. "Alnwick." What was it about their curious little beliefs? In the books he'd sent to Valrae? Was it merely the creating of a space? "Is there any details you're leaving out, par chance?" She was rifling through his mail now, and he couldn't be sure if it was meant to change the subject, or simply satiate her curiosity as he sifted through the unexpected boon the book had provided, "I'm wondering if I can use this, en fait. We can figure out storage -afterwards-." Clearly, he was missing the part where she was chiding him in treating it like it was just a normal bit of bedside reading material. For her part, the piece of mail that Inks has retrieved is a neat little letter from house Asharam, courteously reminding them for the umpteenth time that there was a meeting with Lord Derrick due, and to kindly set aside time to convene and share information. There may also be some phrasing in there that feels dangerously close to an, or else. Though the threat seems less contingent on physical violence, and more along the lines of a fiscal audit if avenues of communication continue to remain unattended to. Lovely.

“Did you?” That gets a laugh out of her, but she turns her head away so she isn't practically breathing down Kasyr's neck while hovering over his shoulder. “I... Honestly I just liked their library. Having a place to learn again was nice,” even if the thought of that tower and her treatment there left a bitter taste in her mouth. She didn't like that bitterness. It felt like a waste of time. With Lanlan running the tower there was a small part of her that wanted to try stepping back into the guild to start afresh, but that she had to leap over that hurdle of bitterness first. Besides, she had other options, like Larket's Academy if she really wanted to take another stab at arcane studies. Then she might be able to glean more information from the pages of that book she's trying to restrain her enthusiasm and curiosity about as she points things out Kas that seemed important, at least to her. He gets a second laugh from her at his reaction to her comment about draping. “Clothes making stuff. I'll show you sometime.” And bore him to tears with it, potentially.

Once she's finally done hovering over the revenant's shoulder, she can't help looking incredulous. “You didn't read it? So you just doodled on it,” Inks still couldn't see where, “and didn't bother with the text -” Whether he interrupts or gives her some flat look or nothing at all, something seems to click for the seamstress. “So it's...kind of like my journals?” In the sense that the pages changed, potentially on a whim. She couldn't tell what Kasyr's book could do. “Alnwick? Jaymes Alnwick? What? No – That's pretty much all I gathered...It's a little over my head.” She recognized the name from that very book and the house associated with it, but she didn't spend too much time mingling with folk from that particular house. He gets a nod about storing the book for later, and she's curious what he means about putting the book to use as well.

Figuring he'll elaborate while she gets nosy reading the letter from House Asharam, Inks divides her attention between listening to him and searching for not only quill and ink, but some spare parchment somewhere in the bedroom. Surely he kept some on hand somewhere. Eventually finds some to doodle on stuffed in a desk drawer, uncaring if the paper is crumpled and needed some flattening out, which she decides to use the wall for, flattening and scribbling down a response so she doesn't crowd Kasyr at the table. It's only a draft anyway. She can't fake Kasyr's handwriting even if she made an attempt, so that paired with being a godawful liar, she starts penning some reply for Lord Derrick. Inks said she'd help. ...This is helping, right? Her intention isn't to derail too much, but Lord Derrick isn't a house head that she's particularly familiar with. Trintus, Ventra, Torrador, and Nasar were who she had ties to in varying degrees, with Trintus arguably being the friendliest to her, even if the seamstress had a fondness for Lady Ventra and folks from House Torrador. Nasar was a house worth keeping tabs on. “What is Lord Derrick like? A short version -” she's quick to add, since the revenant is clearly focused on that book.

"Did you see the bags under my eyes?" Honestly, it's a wonder he didn't sweat caffeine, given how terrible his sleeping habits were before. Still, he could commisserate with her own experiences, "I liked the sense of community, ou quoi-ce-soit. Enough so that I'd been considering tendering a letter meant for Larkets academy." Valrae would disapprove, almost certainly, but, there had been something nice about the mundanity. Something grounding. ...And, no doubt, there was an element of spite to the idea- a meanspirited Jab at Lanlan, who had striven so hard to have him excised from that space. Still, her good humour doesn't allow him drift too long in his own thoughts, the laugh just earning her a quizzical perk of an eyebrow in her direction.

A face journey which does in fact continue as she admonishes him over his handling of the text. He's squinting at her when understanding finally dawns, or at least, some semblance of understanding, since her exclamation just has his eyebrows knitting together at the abrupt change of gears. "...Maybe?" Still, her mention of Jaymes is something he can confirm, along with a crooked grin, "There was a detail about them that I had forgotten, but it might make a little more sense now. Especially since I have my research notes again. I'd just have to. . ." Sort them out, re-transcribe some, and set up a new conspiracy style cork board for his own purposes.

"Basically, It might be a solution to everything. Maybe." Hopefully. There was still so much he didn't know about this book and what everything entailed. But, the vaguer he was, the less she'd have cause to be concerned. "A way to uh, to make a Domain. Or at least, make use of an existing one." That was a sufficient enough answer, he supposed- and so long as he didn't skim through the book to see the cost, perhaps that'd be enough. Anyways, she had questions, and those ones, at least, were comfortable enough to answer, "Results oriented. Dry humour. Patient, but...uh, there is a limit to it." There's a pause, and then the swordsman finally adds, "And a bit conniving, but I'd like to think it's a plus." Realizing that she's availing herself of his duties, he decides to plant the book down on the side table, along with a 'I'll grab it later.' before he grabs an unopened letter for himself. Which, was Trintus, Cordially asking as to what progress he'd made in regards to the whereabouts of their missing heir. How was he even supposed to respond to that? "Uhh." The missives from Nasarite was at least straightforward enough, with a backdated note decrying his lack of vampiric blood- and a more recent note which- decried his indolence and naivete, and a few other less flattering terms.

“No, I was busy trying to learn and attempt to fit in...” Did they even cross paths much in that tower? Admittedly, Inks didn't pay too much attention to faces in general, even for people she was relatively familiar with. Their clothes, how they carried themselves – maybe eye and hair colors, anything to give her a glimpse of their sense of style so she can compliment it or enhance it somehow. Faces weren't entirely necessary to remember, though there were a few that were cemented within the seamstress's mind. Kasyr's wasn't one of them, oddly. Likely due to her siring and the sense that came with it that allowed for her to know generally where he was, she never felt the need to pay attention to his or other members of the Coterie's faces. Just the feeling of their presence, the clothes they wore. That convoluted thought has her blatantly staring at the revenant, exactly how she might for someone she intended to make clothes for. Though she puts some of that focus on his face for once. Did he have bags under his eyes now? He looked alright. While she can't read emotions, Inks guesses he's probably wide awake now with that book to peruse through now, but she stops staring at his mention of Larket's academy, and can't help laughing yet again. “You too? I figure it wouldn't be terrible.” That one mage from the Academy whose robes or pants she set ablaze was nice. Wendell? Despite their history – Larket's history as a whole, really, Inks figured she might find some sense of belonging there that she didn't get from the Mage Guild. Perhaps the acceptance she lacked in that tower too, but that was more want than need.

Maybe he's just thinking aloud, because Inks looks thoroughly lost about what details Kasyr refers to. So she turns back to scribbling out drafts of what she could respond to Lord Derrick with, only to scratch out what she's started with as the revenant describes his personality a little. While writing, she recites the words she scribbles down so he can hear. “Lord Derrick, have no fear. I will personally...” Would this count as dry humor? Probably not. Results oriented if he wanted to see Kasyr? Absolutely. “...personally deliver...Lord Kasyr,” a pause, in which the seamstress peers over her shoulder at him. “D'you prefer Lord Kasyr or Just Kasyr?” She'll edit it based on his answer, but continues on. “I'll personally deliver him to wherever you need him delivered. He's pretty light. Should be easy to carry him where you need him to be.” She's chucking formality right out the window here. “Signed,” her lips purse while she mulls over her name. Names. Iintahquohae Kerrigan, Iintahquohae Oohjmaeyik, or Stitch? “...Lady Stitch, of House Azakhaer.” While awaiting Kasyr's critique of the letter, she busies herself with doodling a miniature version of their house's heraldry to fill time.

Kas might be trying to get work done, but at some point, the unmistakeable feeling of being stared at hits home- Seperate from the one which had dogged his steps whenever he ventured into an unwarded area. Not that this one was any less peculiar, as he finds himself lifting a hand up and casually waving it in front of himself, as though it might ward away the intense focus being leveled at him. "What, even?" It's a relief honestly, when it's not the motion that wards it off, but her good spirits. Had she been checking to see if he was joking? "No, vraiment. They have... maybe not the best history with Xalious, " Which is a plus, "Et, they might have. er, questionable practices which may put them at ends with a colleague, " Valrae was going to level so much disapproval at him, "...Et there was that whole jail thing-" The cost of doing business, "But, it's...something to do, J'pense. Productive. Might be able to scoop some new warriors, too. For whenever someone breaks the world the next time."

He couldn't help it, the work always crept back into his thoughts, turning even the simple mundane piece of a distraction into an opportunity to prepare. Which brought them to the letter which she was casually dictating and, "..." This was just coterie things, now. "I..If we're doing Regal ish, Lord Azakhaer? If we're doing slightly informal. . ." He squints at the 'pretty light' comment, "Kasyr will likely suffice." There's a pause and the swordsman offers a shrug to noone in particular, "And I honestly don't think he'll care about the content as long as I arrive on time, and don't conveniently dissapear due to some ..apocalypse or assassination attempt." His head tilts over, peering down at the doodle the seamstress was making, "Nice. ...But, you should probably set a time, ou something. Vague assurances are part of why he's so, " Justifiably annoyed, "Persistant." He scooches over to the wardrobe in the room, before casually hefting it up, and adjusting it so that it's back now rests between him and the seamstress, obscuring her from sight- and facilitating an end to his impromptu toga party. "That said, This-" The book peeks out from around the corner, before retracting, "Es an important enough discovery that we ought to make the first step in contacting the rest of the Literature Club." There's a few moments of silence as he gets back into his traditional (and disheveled) black shirt, trenchcoat, and pants combo- only to poke his head out with a frown, "Or am I forgetting something, Stitch?"

The way Kasyr waves his hand in front of his face is amusing, and she can't help a faint smirk. “Relax, I'm just lookin'.” Might as well make this one-sided staring contest even more strange, even if most of the teasing carries truth to it. “I don't think I ever noticed your eyes before. Or that you even had a nose...” But then she's back to drafting that letter for Lord Derrick, some words serious, some very obviously not. You gotta have some fun when you're noodling with paperwork. “Yeah, the witches thing...” The seamstress is thinking of Valrae too. While she disagreed with the practice of killing witches, or pretty much anybody for just being something different, Inks didn't think it her place to step in and tell leaders of a place she didn't belong to how to run things. That and she dressed Queen Josleen from time to time. It's hard to turn down that sort of coin or the boost to business a move like that can do for her. Has done for her, with dressing up others in power or close to it. She had bills to pay and parents to support, and her brother too, arguably.

Her groan at the phrase 'breaks the world the next time' comment Kasyr makes is exaggerated and dramatic, but gods is she tired of that. “Can't people just. I don't know, take a spa day. Chill out. Not...try to break everything all the time?” Yet again she looks over at the revenant, this time with less of a pointed stare even if she wanted to tease him again. There's more concern there than humor this time. “You could use the break. I mean...” It must be because of Odh's death that Kasyr's 'death' in Frostmaw springs to mind. She didn't need someone else she cared for disappearing, though Kas did eventually come back. Even if recklessness was innate for the Coterie, she has to ask. “Don't you get tired of it? Like...Don't you ever just want to go fishing or something mundane?” Now that image has her stifling a laugh. Kasyr in a dinghy with a fishing pole.

“Lord Azakhaer it is,” she edits one of the mess of drafts she's penning, then glances his way just as he squints. “What? I'm bigger than you.” Well, taller. Probably similar body weight. As for a time and date... “Might as well do it soon? Tomorrow? Now?” That way she can not only personally deliver Lord Azakhaer, but she can personally deliver the letter too. Two birds, one potentially awkward visit. ...An awkward visit to another house whose location Inks isn't even certain of. “How about the Corpse?” Neutral ground, right? Or did Kasyr want some show of strength, like how he's showing off with the way he hefts that dresser. “I can do that too,” she scoffs, clearly amused.

“Why not just invite him here and get it over with? Surely one of them,” she purposely raises her voice now, given Kasyr's explanation that of how House Asharam operates. There had to be a handful of their spies lingering in the shadows as the help and guards all over this castle, “- can send word to Lord Derrick to come on over within the next hour.” It's decent enough timing, right? The revenant that Lord Derrick wanted to see is awake and dressed, though Inks' face immediately scrunches with disgust at how wrinkled that shirt he's wearing is. She sets her quill paper down, then pads over to him. “Do you not press your clothes at all?” Her work of smoothing some of those wrinkles out is shoddy, but at least he'll look more presentable, as her hand gathers a small amount of heat within her palm that she then swipes down Kasyr's front in a few quick strokes to rid the shirt of most of its wrinkles. It'll do. Might be better if she coaxed some water from the coffee mugs to create steam, but they're on a time crunch now. “Shoes,” the seamstress adds, for what he's forgetting. And she should probably throw something on too. “I'll go raid a closet for a dress or something...” She'd borrow pants from his dresser, but with her longer legs it'd look ridiculous.

"Oh, is that all. And here I thought I had cause for concern."The fact that there's a weird sense of sincerity there, even beyond the teasing, gives him pause, but she doesn't seem to slow down in the slightest. And, in a certain sense, it's reassuring. A nice counter-balance to his doom-focused disposition, even if it did lean a bit towards the, "Optimistic, huh? Tell you what, if nothing explodes for a month after Xicotl, we can-" Fishing? A boat trip. There'd been plans at one point, when things weren't quite as tense as they were now. It -should- have been a quaint academic outing, Inks, her husband, and him- fussing over papers he'd never gotten to see published. " We'll figure something out. I mean, I did ask you for suggestions. Et I prefer that to another blind date with-" He can't even remember the name, in large part, because he'd forgotten to even attend, his response to the poor woman having come from a servant bearing a gift basket, and a letter both apologizing for the Kensais lack of attendance, and the dismal state of his schedule. No doubt, he'd have an annoyed response from her to add to the pile, at some point. Maybe then the name would ring a bell. "I don't do this for fun, you know."

Was she even listening? Or was she busy sizing him up to see if he was willing to go another round. "Are we actually doing this? Now?" No, she's just making sure to establish that she's taller than him. He was fairly certain that had been established when she'd hefted him up and thrown him through an ice wall. "Wherever. I'm sure he'll be obliging." Which is to say, the Kensai's almost positive he will not, but it's already Fait Accompli once she starts announcing his plans for the day to anyone who can even hear. "You realize we're getting breakfast on the go now, right?" She doesn't seem phased in the slightest, a mercantile efficiency guiding her movements and putting him through his paces with such efficacy, a training sergeant would have marveled at the clean up. "Only the ones that survive a while." He hops into his boots, before turning on his heel to offer her a small bow- "You might want to check a different closet then, There -is- a guest room around the corner that might suit you better, unless you're still trying to figure out if I'm bigger or not." And then he's moving away, not quite deaf to the retort- but distant enough that he'd have some plausible deniability as he leans adjacent to the door and waits.

She had, after all, ensured that Derricks attention would be focused on him- and in such a way that he could no longer afford to be conveniently busy. Though, at least he had an hour. That was a small gift.

“Never,” the seamstress promised. Maybe staring like that made Kasyr self-conscious? Did he think about his appearance much? Clearly not, given how wrinkled his clothes were... But he isn't ugly. Nobody is, as far as Inks is concerned. Some people just haven't found out what works best for them. Even herself, she'd admit. But that was something for her to worry about later and to get another silly pep talk from her mother again. Before Inks' thoughts can wander any more, Kasyr's comment about another blind date has her very close to cackling. “Monesia,” she fills in the gap of his last blind date's name. “She's nice.” Though maybe not anymore. She'd find a way to make it up to her. Shrugging, Inks decides to cross redheaded elf women from Sage off of the mental checklist she's kept to determine the revenant's type. No redheads, no centaurs after the last try, pixies are literally off the table... Poor Thistlebloom. At least Kasyr actually showed up to that one. Maybe if she made herself large enough to see that night she wouldn't have accidentally been brushed off of the dinner table. She scoffs. Clearly someone needs to figure out how to make little bits of work fun.

“Yes and yes, now. Best to get it done and dusted instead of letting it dwell.” She eyes that pile of letters for Kasyr and fully intends on tearing into each and every one later on. This is helpful. ...Probably. Probably extremely annoying, but she'll say it's helpful. And her optimism? Well. “Can't be doom and gloom all the time, Kas.” She's spent far too long feeling little but doom and gloom, and if Inks were capable of keeping the deluge of calamities at bay for a bit, in that instant she'd probably give it a shot. Kasyr – everybody, everybody needs a nap or ten. At least. Since Inks can't solve calamities on a global scale, she'll settle for that little pile of mail. But Lord Derrick first. The notion of getting breakfast now has her rolling her eyes while halfway out the door for the bedroom around the corner. “I figured we could get this done and dusted on an empty stomach. It'll be fine!” Before she gets too far down the hall she doubles back, pokes her head in to peek at the revenant. “Try to make it fun? But like...tastefully fun. Not our fun.” Coterie fun might result in a brawl with this Lord Derrick and that didn't sound like a good idea just now.

That other bedroom's wardrobe is raided and while she finds little worthwhile to wear, Inks settles on a pair of tan leggings that fit well enough. The quality makes her want to gag, but they'll work. Kasyr is the focal point of this meeting anyway. She gets to take her favorite place in all of this nonsense, hopefully. Backseat. Before leaving the room, the seamstress drifts past the mirror affixed to a very ornate looking vanity and pulls a face at the mess her mass of curls have become. No time to hunt down a comb and work it through those grey curls, so she searches for a temporary fix to tame them. From his position by the door, the revenant will hear the sound of another mess being made. Crimson curtains torn down from their curtain rod, followed by the distinct sound of fabric being torn. Moments later, she steps out, hair tamed with a makeshift headband ripped from a length of that curtain. “I'll fix it later,” she promises, in case Kasyr gives her a look. There were a handful of things she could see herself fixing up about this old castle – mostly furniture that could use better upholstering, but she adds that to her list of things to eventually get done. Poor castle needs an upgrade. She sweeps her arm ahead of them in an unnecessary, dramatic fashion. “Lead the way, Monsieur.”

Kasyr's expression starts out as bemusement, a response to Inks casual promise- That said, there may have been something like a wince when she invokes Monesias name- "I'll take your word for it." He'd have to, now. Though, he's not quite as quick to accept her explanation of his own fatalistic tendancies, "Watch me. I have Skeptical pragmatism down to an art."A comment he's almost sure is the cause of the eyeroll that accompanies her departure on the way out.

And which is mirrored when she offers one last bit of advice, "I know better than to invite anyone to our type, madamoiselle." There's a wry humour there, even as he does mull on her comment. ...What might serve as an adequate distraction? Games of strategy -might- be sufficient- and maybe the Patron might take some idle satisfaction out of it.. The casual nature might also allow the Kensai to surreptitiously arrange for some snacks to compliment the atmosphere and discreetly attend to any bits of peckishness. "Just need to find a servant to set this up, et-"

It's in the midst of these thoughts that the seamstress returns, having dressed and donned- Wait. "Es that?"She's given a furtive look, his expression skirting over the improvised addition to her wardrobe. A look that soon redirects itself, as he decides he's better off not asking, and simply leaving her to make good on her assurances later. "On y Va, Alors." As one arm sweeps out, he slips his own through the crook of her other arm- playing the part of the guide, and possibly offsetting the theatrical grace she'd leaned into. "Though, I imagine, where we go doesn't matter." Which is why the swordsman decides he may as well direct them to a cozy games room- to at least provide a hospital environment, and easy access to diversions. Especially since it would not be long until the area would find itself discreetly vacated, in preperation of their imminently arriving guest.

“So is Lord Derrick going to kick me out of this meeting or am I really just delivering you and going on my merry way?” Iintahquohae wasn't fussed with either option, though there was a bit of her that was a little nosy about a house's lord that she hadn't had the opportunity to meet. Call it naive optimism, but beneath that facade she kept up with her not quite stoicism and 'retail voice', she did like getting to know people. At least to the extent of making things for them, which inevitably led right back to throwing that mask back up. Perhaps her presence might be permitted and maybe she can get another peek into her sire's world. Might be fun. Might be boring. She didn't mind either way. His look when she emerges from the room is hilarious. “Is what? It's fine -” She pretends to adjust the headband and winks. “Place needs some redecorating anyway.”

As Kasyr plays along with her ridiculous theatrics, she rolls right along with it without batting an eye once their arms are linked. Whatever servants or guards they happen to wander past along the way to the games room are given a look. Not necessarily suspicious, but genuine curiosity. How many of these were House Asharam and how many might be from other houses? Maybe they needed disguises... Business opportunity there, which has her realize with some shock at her delay in notifying Kasyr, “I forgot to tell you – I bought out Raul and Gunter's on Hemlock... We're still setting things up but you have a place to kick me out to now and I can still be in town.” And she'll be nearer to replenish his jacket supply. It also meant that pile of stones she 'hauled' up from the Underdark would have an even shorter route to travel, between the castle and Hemlock Way. She still had to look over those. After their visit with Lord Derrick. Before they even step into the games room Kasyr leads them to, she stops him at the doorway and gives him a once over to make sure at least he looked presentable. The wrinkles she smoothed out made him look a little less disheveled and she had no idea how in the world to tame his hair. ...Did Kasyr do headbands? She tries to smooth some of his hair down and back with her hands so at least it's out of his face. That'll do for now. “Don't do anything I wouldn't do,” says the seamstress, who is a little bit out of her element as it is. If she's allowed in for this visit, she'll find somewhere hopefully out of the way to linger.