RP:Lady and the Scamp

Summary: Quintessa admits Seteth into her laboratory for the first phase of her study on his magical shackles. Pasts are revealed, schemes are set in motion, and crystals are a girl's best friend.

House Dragana

Quintessa is busy organizing her laboratory, preparing vials for potions, crystals and magical bobbles for scrying, and picking out specific books regarding enchantments that could be placed on certain items. It seemed that Seteth's proposition of finding the magical crystals and saving him from his current pseudo-imprisonment had taken the forefront of her research. Quintessa was glad to have a new project since Karasu (and her cursed birthmark) had started avoiding her. The hex blade's servants were busy cleaning around her, trying to scrub the soot and caked on remains of potions from her cast-iron cauldron as Quintessa works, scribbling notes while she waits to see if Seteth would actually show up from her first session with him. She hoped this would be quite illuminating. Plotting to take over Vailkrin could be set aside in the face of arcane discovery. "No, no, over there," Quintessa shouts at a pair of zombies, pointing to an empty corner as they carry a velvet loveseat into her lab. The preliminary trials would mostly be questioning, but she still wanted her new test subject to be comfortable.

Seteth felt paradoxical today. He had always been more comfortable lurking in the night's shadows, but it was just past noon when he crossed the stony bridge into the realm of Vailkrin… and he was thankful for it. Even with the cloud coverage that always seemed to form whenever he approached the City of the Dead, and even with the further-reduced sunlight of the aptly-titled Dark Forest once he stepped foot inside its labyrinthine maze of old oaks and mossy brambles, Seteth’s surroundings were still far brighter than they had been three nights hence when he’d first made his way to the manor of House Dragana. It was just enough brightness to assist him in ascertaining the whereabouts of the many powerful monsters lurking within the tangled mess of greens and browns that awaited him. Seteth knew his limits, and he had many limits indeed; going head-to-head with a giant spider or a group of undead was sure to end his breath forever. Today, however, he could barely espy a monster at all, and he wasn’t even worried about that development because the few he -did- see were either slumbering arachnids or inactive skeletons. By night, the Dark Forest was a deathtrap of silken thread and the wrath of the unliving. By day, though it was far from safe, it was merely a difficult trail for a skilled thief to traverse. Arriving at the manor in far less time than his previous trip, the green-eyed lad from the city of Sagittae reached out his hand to knock… and paused. ‘There’s no turning back after this,’ he thought. ‘I’ve agreed to something unseemly. I’m probably placing my life in the hands of a beautiful schemer with more ways to kill a man than even Baron Alm and his fat-chested friends.’ Remembering Alm, and the hold the bastard had over Seteth through his damnable magic cuffs, steeled the boy into knocking. He had survived for nineteen years through boldness, not idleness. He needed to take after the forest’s prowling creatures of the night, not their comparably pathetic daytime selves.

Quintessa looks up from taking notes suddenly, the very grounds of her manor alerting her the presence of someone through the many arcane links left here by Larewen when she was the leader of the house. "Leave," she says to her servants, standing up from her desk to exit into the halls. The changeling wanted to greet Seteth personally when he arrived. Wearing her usual dark robes stained with old blood and herbal mixtures, her bare feet carry to the foyer just in time to hear the lad's knocking echoing through her manor. The heavy doors swing open by themselves, reveling the lady of the house standing at the top of the obsidian staircase, a pleased look upon her face. "Ah, so you decided to return after all." A small retinue of skeleton archers linger around the banister but they don't appear threatening just yet. "I've already began searching for clues to solve your unique predicament." She motions for him to come to her before waving her hand to slam the doors behind him. "I cannot wait to get started."

‘Of course you can’t,’ Seteth thought to himself, cynicism settling in with a lump in his throat. He’d now seen Lady Quintessa in all manor of garb, and upon noticing the bloodstains on her current attire he began to realize he had been far too harsh in his appraisal of her flowing skirt from the Soiree. Really, he’d have given this woman the ruby red tunic off his back right now if he thought it might convince her to change. Then again, he might have needed to remove his tunic soon for these… procedures… to start anyway. This was not as comforting a thought as he’d hoped; lustful daydreams of shirt removal in the presence of the Lady of House Dragana had now been replaced with possible nightmares. “Of course I returned, my lady,” Seteth answered with a soft and lilting tone inspiring confidence which his honest eyes partially ruined. “I told you I would, and a thief’s word is…” He cut himself off and chuckled. “Not worth much, come to think.” Entering the manor for a second time, Seteth at least knew what to expect, from the dim purple lighting to the fast-footed and half-hidden servants. “Clues, eh?” Seteth was genuinely intrigued. But he still needed to give the girl a lot more information in order to expedite her research, so now was as prime a time as any. “I should warn you, and I don’t mean to imply your wisdom on these matters is subpar, but truly these damnable shackles are unlike anything anyone I’ve spoken with has ever seen. They’re set to blow if tampered with in such a fashion as my captors detect, and I’ve little reason to doubt the veracity of their claims -- namely, that they will be able to detect the tampering.”

Quintessa stares down with her mismatched eyes as she folds her arms over her chest, considering the information that Seteth had just given her. "Hmm, I thought as much. If I was going to create magical shackles to control people with I'd implement a safety net so them couldn't just mess with it too." Quintessa breaks eye contact with the thief for a moment to glance back in the direction of her laboratory, concerns with who might be angry with her if they found out she was planning on removing them. A slight smirk grows on her face. She's not afraid of pissing off powerful people in the slightest. "That's why this first session will be very hands off," The changeling's gaze flickers back down to Seteth as she beckons him once more. "Come to my lab. I've got a few questions I need to ask you before I can really get started on my research." If he follows, she'll lead him to Larewen's old laboratory that had been modified to accommodate Quintessa's reckless, yet effective, means of exploring new means of manipulating magic.

Seteth let Quintessa lead him into the laboratory, subtly casting his eyes in multiple directions to document the potions and crystals and baubles and more. It seemed like a dark, dank sort of room, which was possibly the least surprising thing Seteth had seen since the local barkeep served him up yet another pile of mediocre sludge this morning and dared label it oatmeal. The thief took a seat where being seated seemed most appropriate, and sensing a coming need for him to do so, he went ahead and pulled his tunic’s sleeves up to expose the magical cuffs. The crystalline structure of them seemed to pulsate with strands of ethereal energy which coursed like veins in steady, rhythmic loops. The cuffs were a cobalt blue, almost icy to the touch, but the energy strands themselves were a veritable rainbow of color splashes in rapid motion. “Ask away,” Seteth replied. “And if it’s alright by you, lass, I could use a few pointers on these rogues who have been bothering you of late as well. One we’re wrapped up here for today -- and I’m daring to presume I’ll still be in one piece afterward -- I intend to fulfill the first part of the job you’ve hired me to do.”

Quintessa isn't paying full attention to Seteth when he moves and speaks, the possibilities of what these shackles could be and how to overcome them flooding her mind and consuming her. "Rouges?" she has almost forgotten about House Nasar's transgressions against her. "Oh yes, the House of Thugs. Don't worry, we'll deal with those worms soon enough. For now let's focus on the task at hand." From her desk Quintessa plucks a pad of parchment and a quill from the surface before moving closer to her test subject, her eyes of blue and hazel looking him up and down slowly. In silence, the mage scribbles down more notes about him, a soft "Hmm," escaping her lips before she looks up at him. "So, you are a human, correct? You look like a standard human. Any sort of special abilities or talents that are of an... unnatural origin?" Quintessa taps the tip on her quill on the corner of her parchment. "And how long have you been under the influence of these cursed shackles? You can't have seen much more than your 18th name day."

Seteth couldn’t help but laugh a little at much of what he was seeing. For as concerned as he still was about placing his life in Quintessa’s hands, the lad still saw fit to amuse himself watching the changeling bounce back and forth, so completely consumed by her work now that she had filed away all mention of the people who had been trying to kill her as though they were nothing more than a mildly bothersome upcoming medical appointment. ‘Like this one,’ Seteth thought with a smirk. “Human to a bone,” he answered. “I’m unnaturally gifted at gambling, if that counts, and surviving long enough to sit in front of a woman who could likely split me in two with her very real unnatural abilities.” Clearly, this was a ‘no’ to her second query. “Bluffs and non sequitur aside, I’m honestly not much to write home about. You’re right about my youth. I’ve gotten this far because I’m good at a few things that don’t require a lick of magic to achieve, that’s all. And as for these little gifts,” he said with a shake of his wrists to signify the shackles, “It’s been a little over two months now. I was sent here by my captors in search of those crystals I told ya about maybe six weeks ago. I’ve located one, which is good news as I get the feeling they won’t suffer longsuffering. Just need to pilfer it from greedy hands posthaste.”

Quintessa nods her head as Seteth speaks, stepping back to sit on the large, stone autopsy table that she had used to save Kasyr less than a month ago. His blood still stained the table and floor beneath it alike, but that didn't seem to bother her. "Hmm, gambling? I suppose that shows either a natural affinity for predicting probability or you're just lucky." Quintessa snickers at that, "I 'spose if you were lucky you wouldn't have those shackles on your wrists." The changeling continues to jot this information down, "Two months?" So it wasn't too long ago. "I'm not judging you for you youth. After all, I'm just as young. It would be quite hypocritical of me." Then suddenly Quintessa stops writing, her optics of mixed up hues peering at him from over her notepad. "What? You already found one?" she finishes what she was writing before setting it next to her on the autopsy table. "Who has it? If I can get my hands on a crystal I can surely discover their secrets. It's just a matter of acquiring it."

Seteth had figured the Lady of House Dragana’s eyes would light up like this once he mentioned the first crystal, though he hadn’t expected the act to be so… cute. It was only then, really, that he had been made aware that the girl was of his age; looking at her with a fresh perspective, it was suddenly patently clear, yet Vailkrin being Vailkrin and sorceress types being sorceress types, he’d just assumed she had chosen a nebulous age that wasn’t yet ancient and stayed there for decades or more. It was either that or she was lying to him about her age right now out of her own sense of amusement, but he wasn’t going to ask -- another thing his late master Vizio had taught the boy was that women were generally stranger about the subject than men were. Seteth lazily swung his legs back and forth over the side of his seat, and at this point if a third party had happened to venture into Quintessa’s laboratory they would doubtless see the both of them for the late adolescents that they were. At best. Along similarly immature lines, it stung the lad when Quintessa pointed out that his luck-apparent may have been substantially lessened by these damnable shackles, but there was no arguing this matter either… because the woman was every bit correct. (Which made things tenfold worse somehow.) Nevertheless, there was something in Quintessa’s tone -- the scientific blended smoothly with the playful -- that relaxed Seteth. Once again, he felt like they shared more in common than he would have expected for a street rat and a beautiful Vailkrinite. “Slow down, cowgirl.” An odd expression which Seteth had picked up from an even odder wrangler in an astoundingly odd land of flat plains and blue skies whilst he was en route to Lithrydel. “A wealthily plump noble in Larket is the crystal’s owner, though doubtless he acquired it through dubious means.” Seteth scrunched up his nose in mock-distaste. “Are you familiar with a songstress by the name of Raphaline? I recall you mentioning to me that some of your friends are bards. And I recall myself mentioning beforehand some form of disdain toward bards. Truth be told, I relish them; they’re the best actors on the stage of espionage a young thief can possibly ask for. This woman, this Raphaline, has already attached herself at this pompous aristocrat’s shoulder, lulling him into inviting her to a pending ballroom affair. As it happens, I am Lady Raphaline’s manservant for the evening. And though you justly criticize my luck, I assure you my hands are quite skilled at taking.” Seteth quietly hummed to himself before adding, “I’m sure such a bourgeoisie dame as Raphaline might have room in her life to pluck along another servant, or in the case of your clear and present attractiveness, a fellow lady of the dance. Maybe there’s a waltz?”

Quintessa brings a single index finger to her mouth in thought, slightly tugging her bottom lip as Seteth speaks to her. She had been rather truthful with the lad this night, the changeling preferring not to mix science with politics. They were utterly opposing forces in the baroness' life. With one hand she pursued the ultimate truth through magic and with the other she spread lies and deception throughout Lithrydel. Quintessa had the makings of a grand deceiver, but Seteth was getting to see the innocent side of her. As the thief explains more about where the crystal can be found, her nose wrinkles in disgust in unison with Seteth's. "Larket." she says, her voice laced with venom, "Mage-slayers. I'll burn the whole city if I have to. What the royal family did to Steward Valrea can never be forgiven." Quintessa's maleficent aura expands out from her body slowly and unconsciously, her loyally to her guild murderously powerful. It wasn't until he mentioned Raphaline did Quintessa's mood shift back to a more lighthearted one. "Raphaline?" the odd girl smiles a rare, genuine smile. "Of course I know her! She's famous!" The changeling hops off the table before she begins to stretch her arms. "In fact," she continues, both hands held high above her head, "She's the one who taught me how to dance when I was just an apprentice in Xalious. I'm certain there is room for a noblewoman in her life." Quintessa's innocent smile shifts into a humorous grin, flashing her pointed teeth at Seteth. "This is a good plot."

For a heartbeat, Seteth’s fear of Quintessa came back in full force. But it was just as quickly defeated. Quintessa had ruinous intent in her mismatched eyes at the mention of Larket, and the young thief hadn’t a clue as to why; his knowledge of the Royal Family, and the plight of mages, and everything therein was lacking at best and in most cases downright nonexistent. The Steward Valrae? Perhaps if Seteth were another lad, an older lad, a Catalian lad whose fourth-wall breaking writer also pens, his heart might have skipped all over again at the mere utterance of the name. But Seteth, alas, was Seteth, and so he was justifiably bewildered. Yet just like that, when the bard’s name was spoken, the girl Quintessa returned. That venom-tongued woman of vengeance who also occupied the girl’s body? Dispelled. Would it have been wise now to press the issue with Larket? To inquire within, better to learn about what seemed to Seteth to be a dangerous enemy he hadn’t anticipated? Sooner or later, Seteth ably gambled as usual, he might be at odds with Larket. It was a thought which never would have occurred to him until right this moment, but if he were to remain in Quintessa’s employ for long he’d probably not be getting along terribly well with the people of a city his employer didn’t mind burning to a crisp. A nauseating consideration but a necessary one. No, Seteth would not press this issue. Not now. The happy girl was back in the lab, and he needed the girl to be here so as to ensure his… survival. “She taught you the waltz?” He laughed earnestly, rising from his seat. “And here I thought Lithrydel to be a big place. Small realm, eh?” And there were those fangs again, flashed at Seteth in a manner that made him wish Quintessa were flashing him with pretty much anything else he could imagine. “Well, as it happens, good plots and I go back a ways. I’ve an idea. Let’s invite Raphaline along someplace, that the three of us may speak of mutual gain. That crystal will be yours to study for a time -- I promise.” For a time. Baron Alm would quite literally blow the lad up if he took much longer in his initial delivery.

Quintessa giggles at his question about the bard teaching her how to dance, "Yes, of course. I'm not highborn, y'know. I was born in the swamp just outside of House Dragana's demesne. A place called Black Pond. I wasn't born into privilege, I clawed my way to where I am." The changeling lowers her arms to dust her necromancer's robes off, flecks of dried blood falling to the floor. "But yes, I should invite Raphaline to my manor. We can discuss the details of our little misadventure in more detail when all three of us can sit and have a drink together." She laughs again, this time a bit darker than the girlish giggle from before as she wrings her pale hands together. "Yes, yes! Soon this crystal will be in my grasp and it shall surrender whatever secrets it might be harboring." Quintessa picks up her notepad from the autopsy table before closing the distance between her and Seteth, giving one last look over him before making one last addendum at the bottom. "We got off track for a moment there... Is there anything else you need to tell me before we move on to the next stage of the examination?"

Those twice-damned honest green eyes of his made for proper parody of Seteth’s vain effort to appear serene. Quintessa… wasn’t highborn? This time, even the rest of the boy from Sagittae was unable to hide his surprise. His legs stopped swaying, his booted feet came together in a click, and he held one hand in the other to keep himself from hopping out of his chair altogether. “I had no idea,” he admitted. By the time he’d said the words, the shock had been replaced with the better shades of excitement. “I thought… well, it doesn’t rightly matter what I thought, lass. Suffice it to say I was mistaken.” And Seteth refrained from saying the rest -- that Quintessa had just gone from looking to him like a clever, deadly bauble akin to the tools and toys in this laboratory into a fully-realized person to be passionate over. All things considered, it was rather a prickly feeling, and not one which the thief was sure he enjoyed. He’d had his share of ‘conquests’ since reaching a certain age, though that share was not at all sizable; but the thought of actually having feelings for a woman seemed out of the question. To think: all he’d wanted at first were the gemstones wrapped around her pretty neck. ‘Gods be damned,’ Seteth thought, forcing himself to snap back to attention. He was so caught up in all this inner turmoil that he neglected to notice the dried blood falling to the floor in front of him. Likely for the best. “No,” he said simply. “Well, other than the fact that I could use a drink after all this.” He smirked. It was important to keep up appearances, after all.

Quintessa gives Seteth a smug grin, flashing him a mouth full of pointed teeth again. "Am I that convincing as a noblewoman?" Her cruel laughter echoes throughout her laboratory, glad that her demeanor fit her station. "There are probably a lot of things you don't know about me, Seteth, but if you ask the common people about 'Quintessa Dragana of Black Pond' they'll tell you the rumors." A dark chuckle follows as she walks away, tossing her notebook on her desk before lazily leaning against it. She could sense the inner turmoil within the thief but she wasn't experienced enough at perceiving the amorous fascinations of teenaged boys. "We'll continue the physical part of the examination some other time." A slender hand moves to rest against the desk as her other idly plays with her short hair, still not used to it. "So, House Nasar... They tried to kill me, so I want to repay the favor somehow."

Seteth grinned. This was a side of Quintessa he decided he definitely enjoyed. “Might be I’ll ask after you down at the Hanging Corpse. Then again, I’d rather not become an exemplar of that establishment’s own moniker.” He wanted to get to the bottom of those rumors, however, and he would likely prioritize that whilst waiting for his pending meeting with the changeling and their bardic acquaintance. “Right, nothing physical today. It’s far too early for such frolicking.” The thief smirked and lifted himself up off the seat, replacing his shirt sleeves over his shackles and stretching his tired muscles. “I’ll confess, killing isn’t my forte. I’m better at less direct intervention. Which, if worked to our advantage, can end in much the same fashion. I could lead some of them on a hunt, stealing something of value only to bring them all face-to-face with ferocious beasts far from civilization as we know it. I’ve some experience with poisons, too, and I can play the role of a wine merchant to suit.” The red blade of one of Seteth’s daggers caught the dim purple light of the lab with a glint, and the green blade of the other soon did the same. He winced. “Well, and of course there’s always steel. If it comes to it, I won’t mind slitting throats so long as they’re not mine or yours.”

Quintessa flashes the young thief a smirk, "Yes, ask about me at the Hanging Corpse. Perhaps while you are there you can speak to a woman named Mahri who runs the tavern. She might be able to tell you some interesting things about me." Her hand moves down to rest on the desk opposite of the other, her mismatched gaze drifting away to scan her laboratory. "But I'm not against answering your questions here. You don't have to go to the tavern to get a good drink; the best can already be found right here in my manor. I wouldn't be against joining you in my dinning hall for one. Or a few." Quintessa's blue and hazel eyes snap back to Seteth again, giving him a mischievous smile. "Killing them is of course an option, but I must maintain my reputation. The vampire houses fight their wars in the shadows." The hex blade lifts a hand to produce a small fireball, the orange glow flickering on the glass beakers and vials that adorned the room. "I don't need help killing them. If they are foolish enough to attack me I will reduce them all to ashes." She clenches her fist, evaporating the flame as quickly as she had summoned it. "Play to your talents; Sabotage them, rob them, or intercept their black market trade lines. I know plenty of fences that can move any stolen goods you happen to bring to me and I can compensate you generously for weakening my enemies. Is this bargain agreeable?"

Seteth would make sure to remember Mahri’s name for future reference. Expanding his network of contacts here in strange Lithrydel had been a major goal of his since his arrival, since no mythical crystal could be located and acquired alone -- and certainly not seven of the bloody things. At Quintessa’s mischievous smile, Seteth was rather glad he’d already stood up; he was certainly at attention now. “Who could ever truly argue that in the world of good spirits, ‘a few’ is not always superior to ‘one’?” It seemed that as early afternoon began to drift into the waning hours of the day, there was now a promise of a rather pleasant evening to cap it all off. He took a few steps closer to the changeling, all rather gingerly, then stopped in place with a smirk when she gave her fiery demonstration. “Quite glad to hear it, my lady. That you’d prefer my natural talents gives me further hope for a prosperous relationship. Rest assured, as soon as our drinks are emptied for good I’ll set about doing precisely the things that you have mentioned. And I’ll do them better than any other thief you’ve met, or your gold remains in pocket.” He flashed Quintessa a grin, though his perfectly straight white teeth certainly left a duller mark than her fangs. “Oh, and I’ll send word to the songstress that her pretty waltz apprentice has summoned her for a chin-wag and a dollop or two of good old-fashioned high-stakes crystal heist.”