RP:Fresh Air

Part of the Laugh Now, Cry Later Arc

Summary: During a charity benefit held to bring additional funding toward the relief effort to Cenril’s plague victims, Valrae and Jaxson find themselves sizing each other up. Rumors begin to stir when the pair of them are seen leaving through the kitchens together to escape the crowd and smoke behind the building.

Dining Cafe

Quaint porcelain vases, each holding a single, fragrant rose, are set centrally to each of the small, cozy tables in this dimly lit cafe. Spaced wide to offer more privacy, many tables are even tucked into even darker outcomes and sheltered by satin and shimmering tapestries. The seclusion and discreet nature of the well-trained staff makes this a favorite for the more clandestine of meetings. A small door in the northwest corner leads to the inn's most exclusive room.

Valrae || The dining area of the Inn had been roped off and dressed up. The little tables that dotted the room had been dressed with fine white linen and runners of navy blue. Crystals vases were heavy with tall, glossy petaled roses that towered over silver trays of hors d'oeuvres and triangle cut sandwiches. The candle light was low and a small quartet played soft, upbeat music that bounced around with the melody of conversation easily. The most wealthy of Cenril, the old money and new, rubbed elbows and made small talk around tall tables and bubbling glasses of champagne. Some strolled through the silent auction and scrawled offers for heirloom vases, oil paintings, and even jewels. As the moons rose high above another unseasonably cold Cenril, the charity event for the quarantine zone was in full swing. Valrae arrived at a time that was considered fashionably late. This wasn’t by any design, it was just her nature. She wore a black, figure hugging sheath dress that sparkled light starlight when she breathed. The witch passed her white fur shawl to the footman and mingled politely, her dark eyes clearly searching for the nearest drink as she wished desperately that one would find her hand.

Jaxson Ravencroft arrives to the gala in amid a growing crowd that whisper’s gossip into each other’s ears that spreads like wildfire among Cenril’s elite in a manner that only the filthy rich could every genuinely care about. The heir to one of the oldest, richest and among the most influential families since the founding of the port city has been M.I.A for over a decade, possibly longer. While the man has been in town for over a week, settling the affairs of his parent’s passing as well as the exorbitant paperwork and endless new duties that have been bestowed upon him; this was his first official social outing since his return. And if people had doubts that he could still mingle with the elite and their inner circles, well, he hopefully puts those doubts to rest. An entire day spent in preparation has been put to effective use, as a fresh haircut has tamed what was quickly becoming a wild mane into a smooth, yet still masculine, hairstyle that blended in flawlessly with his cleaned, trimmed and shaped up beard, which makes already strong chin just seem more so. His lean, yet muscular frame (think professional swimmer) is garbed in a fine suit of even finer quality. A suit, the shade of the ocean itself on a clear day, has been tailored to form to his body in just the right manners, ensuring a clean look to allows for eyes to trace a form seemingly chiseled by Selene herself. Obviously, this isn’t the case, be is a man, but boy can gold motivate the hands of a seamstress to work wonders. The man looks good. He radiates the presence of the up-and-coming lord he is destined to be. The fact his parents recently passed only adding the allure that the aristocratic horde he just found himself surrounded by cannot get enough of. He was a mystery. The new kid on the block that they just -had- to get a piece of. Outwardly he ate it up, playing the part. Shaking hands and flashing charming smiles and flirtatious winks all at the right time. He was not inexperienced in this particular battlefield, quite the contrary, he was raised in this arena. But, years later he has found he never missed this. This was supposed to be a gathering to discuss matters in a setting that put all the elite at ease, a clever tactic. The rich are always keener to part with their wealth when they can rub it in the face of -other- elites. Charity, they call it. A war of ego was more like it. But, if he would use his family’s status and wealth for the good of the people, Jaxson would try. He may have been born into this world of excess and privilege, but someone he had managed to maintain his soul. To this day that has been his biggest magic trick of them all. He would take an offered glass of champaign before he would find a way to mosey about the party for a bit.

Valrae had just been passed a flute of champagne when the whispers of the table she’d stood near turned from gossip over the upcoming mayoral election and toward a name she was only vaguely familiar with. Ravencroft. She turned the name over in her mind as she sipped her drink. Wealthy, like everyone else who came tonight. Old money, old roots in Cenril. There was something unusual about his presence, something that Val hadn’t quite made out yet in the whispers but was sure of in tone. She wished, not for the first time, that she’d had some sort of cheat sheet. The witch had never truly trafficked in this world. The glimmering cage of wealth and politics. She’d been born penniless and on the wrong side of Cenri after all. And so she felt for all the world completely out of her depth and without a lifeline. Her head turns after the rest of those in her small crowd, glancing at Jaxson through hooded lashes. When she turns back to her table her nose wrinkles. His suit was incredibly taylored, his smile bright and charming. He was handsome and seemingly right at home in this shining, shallow room. Still, it wasn’t often that someone was able to pull the gossip away from herself. Valrae turns away from the table again, snagging a second drink from a waiter's tray as she walks by. She’s stopped only once before she finds herself in the small circle that has formed around Jaxson. The witch slides in easily. A balding, heavy set man with thick wire glasses perched on a round nose red with drink was talking too loudly. His glass of whiskey sloshed as he gesticulated toward Jaxson. “It just doesn’t make sense! They’re saying imports and exports have stalled because we’re in the middle of a labor crisis, but I’ve seen plenty of… People out on market street begging for coins! Something about that isn’t adding up!”

Jaxson has found himself caught in the net of the elaborate social gymnastics that come with being part of this hierarchy of the wealth that has embedded itself into the very stones that make up this city. Joy. One on side is Ms. Imelda Leonhardt, widow of the late Baron Leonhardt, whose wealth came from a collection of warehouses down by the docks, if you shipped it, they stored it. At least to the public eye that was the case, but those who have been knowledgeable the rumor is the true reason behind their wealth was the exploitation of child workers. With the many wars, various realm wide occurrences and likewise calamities orphans have been quite the abundant resource that many wealthy found use for. Of course, there were some laws in place, but the pennies offered that these children made were the lifeblood that got them the stale bread they would eat that night, so no child every stood up to say anything, and thus Cenril never truly cared. Ms. Imelda has a different stance on the matter at hand than the balding, heavy-set man with thick wire glasses. A moment to refresh his eidetic memory. Ah, no mistaken Lord Hobblesworth. One of the oldest in the shipping business, who appetite for fine (often friend) foods was only matched by his desire to maintain the fact he owned the largest fleet of ships in the harbor. Daily his company made aggressive attempts to buyout as many independent captains, be it them with their ship or just their ship. He would use loans as his primary weapon, often being the helping hand in need should troubles find their way around. More often than not it was him driving prices up and down as a means to manipulate the market and make it neigh impossible for private contractors to make a real profit that were the very troubles he aimed to help with. Listening to these two prattle on was exhausting already, but that mask he wore was flawless, and after all, he was one of -them-. Right? “I am sure labor isn’t the issue, Lord Hobblesworth.” Here Valrae had made her entrance into this inner circle of madness, the wizard’s eyes flowing across her even as his own silver tongue adds in a subtle jab towards the overweight mogul, who was currently devouring a hors d'oeuvre or three. “Maybe its just your prices are extortion?” A brief pause here, as outright accusations are not part of the game. No one’s hands here were clean, and truth be told those present were not used to someone ever even hinting that they were doing -wrong-. But quickly enough Jaxson’s charming smile slices through the momentary awkwardness as he would start a chuckle that turns into a hearty laughter, that spreads among the other quickly enough. Was he joking? He had let them stew in that thought a while. Always best to keep these types guessing. But its now the stunning woman he did not know anything about that he would keep his gaze on. No recollection of her, coming to mind. Ms.Leonhardt, ever the nosey body, catches this and speaks. “Oh! Jaxson my boy, you -must- meet Ms. Baines! A -true- breath of fresh air, I do say.” The old crone leaping at the chance to be of service, it seemed. Jaxson, following the demand for the meet and greet, says. “Oh? Well, good evening, Ms. Baines.” He would bow politely, that charming smile one of his greatest weapons tonight, save the magic that courses through his veins. Would this be a new friend, or yet another foe the man would have to tangle with in these troubling times?

Valrae’s dark eyes scan the circle of faces around them. She listens, without listening, as she tries to place names with the faces. The bald man was sweating. Him she knew. Hobblesworth. She and her brother had worked on his docks before they were old enough to lace their own boots. It was laughable, in the turn your stomach kind of way, that he could complain about the lack of working hands. Her own mind turns to his exploitation of children, something that Uma had already worked toward restricting, even as Jaxson’s does. His poker face was better than hers though. Her red painted lips bow into a frown. Before her mouth gets ahead of her, Jaxson cuts him down. Her cheeks bloom pink with surprise, the golden arches of her brow winging up as her head turns toward him even as laughter breaks out around them. Her mouth is open in a small “o” of wonder, even as Ms. Leonhardt introduces her. She knew that tone. ‘A breath of fresh air’ she’d said, in a way that meant ‘Look at this poor girl, playing dress up with the rest of us!’. Valrae slips into her brightest, fakest smile and aims it toward Jaxson. “A pleasure to meet you…” She tips her glass politely. “I don’t think I’ve caught your name beyond the whispers. Ravencroft?” The witch pauses to push back a wave of sun spun hair from her shoulder. “Will you be betting on anything tonight?” She tilts her head toward the auction, an invitation to slip away from the current crowd. “I have my eye on that oil painting there.” She steps away, looking back only once above the exposed skin of her shoulder. If he follows, she would lower her voice to a whisper to ask, “Where did you learn that?” Val leads them both to a quiet, mostly empty corner of the too crowded room. Where she moved, two men followed. They moved quietly and without drawing the attention of the crowd. They were dressed nicely, in fine enough suits that they didn’t stand apart from the other guests of the night, but they followed Valrae’s movements through the room light far away shadows. Anyone with a watchful eye might notice how they orbited around her, watching even as they made small talk or sampled from the small trays of food without drinking. Watchmen, careful guards for the witch who might be mayor. It was no small secret that Valrae had been burning up the headlines of Cenril lately. Salacious rumors of her past with Hudson, accusations of terrorism in the nearby Kingdom of Larket. The simple truth that she was a witch that had been brought back from death. Even in a room of shining wealth and manners, no one could be trusted. Even still, the protection detail hadn’t been her idea. She stops in front of a large oil painting. The scene was moody and dark, a wash of navy and black that made an ocean of endlessly churning water under the light of a full moon and a sky heavy with starlight framed in white oak rubbed with gilt. “How to make a joke out of a man and convince him it’s funny? You’ll have to teach me.” The witch sat her glass of champagne down on the small table that held the auction sign up and used her free hands to shake back the hair that had crowded her face. A sigh tumbles from her lips. She didn’t know Jaxson, but the moment she stole away from the crowd was a blessed one regardless. Her shoulders lower a fraction as her hands fall away from her temples.

Jaxson is good at many things in this life, but a beautiful woman will always be an Achilles heel of his. What? Guy cannot be -that- perfect. And as Ms. Leonhardt introduces the pair, Ms. Baines’ question regarding his name is addressed as the two find a way to excuse themselves. Oh! The gossip this ignites spreads across the gathering quicker than the very real, extremely dangerous, virus that currently plagues the city. You would think that would be the topic at hand, and not labor shortages, right? As he is lead through the crowd by the lovely woman, the magi would pry his eyes from her very alluring figure to catch a glimpse of her babysitters. A hint that is quickly paired with the final revelation of that name. Baines. Valrae Baines, the woman currently running for office that his grandmother, Lady Margaret Ann Ravencroft, has been ranting about since his arrival. You would think she was worse for the realm than the virus or any wars that plagued it before with how she blathered on about the woman. ‘A witch! Probably sleeping her way to the top, she is! Using that… that -tight- little body and -magic- to seduce them all!’ Leave it to a jealous woman to cut down another woman so viciously. But now that he sees her for himself, and yes, he has taken a good look, Jax decides to see for himself. Either she would be a pleasant surprise and prove his grandmother wrong (oh how she will hate hearing how he was in her company this eve), or the rumor would be validated and hey, either ending was favorable for him at this point in time. Val asks about his ability to poke fun, and to that he replies imply. “Well, you just have to remember that you’re probably the smartest in the room, and then it becomes rather simple.” This of course was hinting he though the others were simple minded heathens, not her, but just in case he adds quickly enough. “Something I’m sure you find it exhausting to be... the smartest in the room that is.” Ok, not as smooth as it sounded in his head, but again he just came back, the rust should wear off eventually. He does not let this interrupt their meeting. He turns to place his back against that wall, mainly so he can look at the crowd but also so those guerillas she has guarding her could not easily get the jump on him. Old habit, see? “Some things never change though...” He says aloud more than directly towards her. He has been to so many of these in his younger days, that standing off to the side with a pretty girl almost seems like déjà vu more than a currently happening event. “All this wealth and influence and the majority of the food here will end up disposed of and left to rot, while starving children go hungry...” He stares into the crowd, many of them barely nibbling on expensive shrimp, imported steak and food many could only dream off, while drinking champagne and liquors that cost more a bottle than some make in a year. All to... what? Flex on one another that they are filthy rich? Its enough to start making the man physically sick. “I need air. This place stinks of…” He would hold back that comment, only saying again. “Care to join me?”

Valrae lets the whispers roll off her back. She was an old hand at this trick. You didn’t become the mistress to a powerful ‘real estate mogul’ without learning a few tricks. Let them talk. The more her name was on their tongues the better, right? She lifts her glass again, pretending in the way of women in very tight dresses did that she hadn’t noticed Jaxson’s eyes on her. And oblivious to his own thoughts, her mind strayed elsewhere. To the puzzle that he presented her. He was handsome and put together in the way that old money afforded. He’d fit right into the crowd and easily gathered who she considered his peers in the way that not even money could buy. The charisma that poured off of him was something he’d come by all on his own. Was it natural or something he’d honed from a life of rubbing elbows with Cenril’s ‘finest’? Sure, he’d made one small and clever remark on the exploitation of the vulnerable for cheap labor but that alone did not make him an ally. Valrae looks away from the painting and angles herself toward him, her emerald eyes looking him over once more. When she laughs, the sound is light and rings like a bell through the room. The witch takes another drink from her glass and regards him underneath dark lashes. “Who was it that said, ‘If you're the smartest person in the room, you're in the wrong room.’?” She tilts her head, waves of honey and wheat waterfalling over her shoulder as she moves. “I find being the smartest person in the room denies the opportunity to learn,” But she finds herself surprised for the second time. Her brows lift again. “Candidly? I’m surprised to find someone concerned about the waste in this crowd. Though, I suppose looks can be deceiving.” Valrae drains the rest of the champagne from her glass and sets it aside for the last time. She gives him a conspirator's smile before taking the quill that was left by the auction paper and scrawled a handsome sum on the painting she’d wanted. “I’d murder for some air,” She replies sweetly, placing the quill back in it’s inkwell. Her eyes darted to the protection detail. One of them was plucking at a platter of meatballs, the other had somehow gotten the attention of a wealthy woman dripping in pearls. She was leaning against him heavily and laughing too loudly. “I know a way out,” She mock whispers, reaching out for his forearm before leading them both away toward the kitchen area. Her heels clicked as she led them through the busy kitchen. The scent of bread and cooked meats filled the air, loud with the clamor of pots and the raised voices of the staff. The witch dodged through the bustle easily, slipping out of the door and into the cold, sea scented night. Behind the Inn’s kitchen wasn’t terribly impressive. There was a single oil lamp and a large bin that reeked of garbage, along with a bench and hard packed dirt littered with cigarette butts. Valrae walked beyond that to the line of trees, just far enough that the chilly air no longer stagnated with the scent of old food. “You got a light?” Val asks, reaching into the hip-high slit of her dress to fish out a small silver case of hand rolled clove cigarettes.

Jaxson pries away his eyes from that damn dress, oh she knows, and he knows she knows, as she speaks as not to be totally rude. It is a very fine line between honest attraction/appreciation and being a horny slimeball. His eyes on her definitely ensured her name was on their tongues. Nothing made aristocrats salivate more (besides exploiting the poor for more money) than sweet, juicy rumors. And this coupling was just prime rib-eye for these narcissistic fat-cats and their sycophants that they eagerly devoured. Ironic that these selfish snobs could only share one thing, that sadly enough being gossip. But, before they could truly sink their teeth into it, or maybe as an act to set the whole place absolutely ablaze, the Valrae leads him once more away from the crowd. Their exit was almost climatic for the crowd, and you could fill an entire store’s shelves with the tabloids they would fill due to the many stories that were already being spun. Luckily, he had already had a waiter take his bet on a particular sculpture that was up soon before they take their leave. While he does hate these things, he does appreciate art in its many forms, and while he plans to use much of his wealth to do good, no harm in ensuring a prized piece of artwork finds its way to a good home, right? A quick trip through the kitchens and the pair are outside, the chill of the night air washing over them in a refreshing manner (at least for the wizard) before he’d be pleasantly surprised by her choice in smokes. A chuckle breaks his silence, as he had been taking it all in as they go, and in more ways than one, as he says. “Yeah.” A snap of middle finger and thumb leave the tip of the latter ignited by a simple cantrip he uses often. Here, he would reach into his suit jacket and bring forth his own pack of clove cigarettes, showing it to her as he says. “Damn good, right?” Before he would wait for her to light her own cig before he’d follow. “To answer your previous comment, and to speak candidly myself, these things make my stomach turn.” He’d shake his head as he adds in. “This food could feed families for months at times, but it’ll end up tossed away, left for children to fight the rats over.” He would exhale deeply here, almost blowing out the flame that lingers on his digit, before trying to salvage the mood. “I’m sure you’ll fix it all though, yeah? Once you rule the city?” A hint he has put together who she is, though its not exactly hidden. He would gauge her here, and openly too. Praying to Selene and Zaytor that she is more than a really damn pretty face.

Valrae was writing the headlines in her mind. “Baines spirits away darling Ravencroft of Cenril on charity night” or perhaps “Want to be mayor caught leaving with rumored ladies man and heir apparent to Ravencroft fortunes”. She turned this over in her mind before deciding she didn’t really care. In the low light of the stars, Valrae’s hair cascaded like moonlight around her. Her cheeks were flushed with the cold and from the champagne she’d finished. Her eyes flashed like dark jewels as Jaxson sprung a flame into the air with magic that sparked around them and warmed her to the bone. A smile of pure joy and shock flashes on her face. She slips the case back beneath her dress, still warm from resting against her hip, on a clove scented exhale. The smoke wove around them and floated listlessly in the air. “You too?” She laughs again, feeling a spark of endearment blooming in her chest despite herself. The witch listens to him and regards him thoughtfully. “I’m just surprised you’d concern yourself with that.” Valrae crosses her arms around herself. “Ravencroft, right? That’s a heavy name. Your family would have been here as long as mine, but I didn’t come from this side of town.” His next comment told her he knew as much. She takes another drag from her cigarette. “I’m sure you already know that though. I come from the kind of people who dig from those scraps.” She watches him closely, looking for a reaction, any hint of whatever game he might be playing at. If she’d learned anything from events like this, everyone had an angel. What was this handsome, surprisingly aware man's game? Her eyes slide away from his face and down, to the lit cigarette in her hand. It was a loaded enough question. “The truth is,” She waits for a heartbeat, just long enough for another breath of smoke to fill her lungs. “I’ve never been this close or wanted something so much. I’ve tried before, if you’ve heard. Well, parts of it. You can’t believe everything you see in the papers, but I was in Larket when they were killing my people, witches. I died for a cause before and I’m not afraid to do it again. But Larket isn't really my home or my heart. Cenril is my heart. The people that are suffering right now, the people that have never had a chance or a voice? Those are my people. All I want is to give them a seat at the table. Change is coming,” She looks up, into the dark sky littered with far away and endlessly cold stars. “And I’m going to do whatever it takes to make sure that everyone on the West and South end gets something out of it.” Her eyes find his in the dark. “I’m not naive enough to believe that I can fix every problem that Cenril faces, but I am stubborn enough to try.”

Jaxson lights his own cigarette shortly after she does hers, finding that synchronization of inhales and exhale timing that only smokers truly know about. His words seem to have opened avenues of sharing little bits, crumbs that are hints of more. Be they lies or truths are yet to be revealed, but each has dropped just enough this night to get a feel if they will move forward from here to learn more after this night, or just check the other off as another obstacle. So far, the man has garnered enough to tell she isn’t like the others inside. But this does not mean she is some savior either, he has seen absolute stone cold, and calculating, killers rise from the ranks of the “lower” class, and some of the sharpest minds, be it for good or evil, come from the streets. Here, he mentions a simple saying. “Its not where you’ve been, its where you want to be.” A friend once dropped that gem on him over a discussion about their two different lives. Here, once more facing the stark differences that life less than a few miles brings he found it fitting when she mentioned her own origins. He added. “The elite in there? The Hobbleworths and Leonhardts of the world? They care about the coin.” Here he looks at the ring he wears, his family’s crest etched into the fine metal. Where his parents the same? Would he be? No, he refused to believe that, and even if they were, -he- refuses. “If you love it, and them, then I am eager to see what that love can bring to this city.” Another drag before a thick, sweet smelling, cloud of smoke is exhaled as he starts to move past the woman. It was getting late, and he had something he was going to investigate. He pauses as he opens the back gate that separates this back area of the café from the ally. “I think our dreams for the city align, but...” Since they have been speaking candidly. “I think we both will need more than sweet sounding words, especially since we’re born with silver tongues that are tools of our trade.” Here, since she is an admitted witch, and he clearly used magic, is more about them being spellcasters as well as versed in the verbal arena. “So, I shall find my way home to my dear grandmother.” He smirks, knowing the city made sure she knew about this night within startling time, so he knew she was going to be livid. “I think leaving them to stew in the idea happened out here is worth cutting… this meeting short. “He was sure by now they were either plotting some sort of apocalypse event or in some sordid affair back here in the ally, as that is how the minds of the depraved work. The extremes. “I think maybe lunch, or perhaps an actual event that -means- something is in order?” He would leave it to her, the politician, to decide. “I’m easy to find these days.” And with that, he would turn and start to head off, leaving the mayor-elect to be greeted by the two guards who open the door leading back inside who have come looking for her. And with that, the wizard vanishes in a thick cloud of sweet-smelling smoke into the ally.