The #Broken_Dagger Forum

Coughing. That pretty much summed up Aleksei's life for the last two months. He was still under the weather, but it was nicer out than it had been, and he needed to get away for a bit. Walking under the sun, and stretching his legs for a while. Also, a particular present had arrived, and he needed to deliver it to its intended target. So that is how he found himself here at Darkenhold. A light cough into a handkerchief, before he greeted one of the guards. Light conversation, mostly about how terrible he looked right now. "I've been a bit under the weather, I am afraid. No, no. Doing much better now, and my lovely wife did not get ill. I assume I am not a plague carrier." That gave him a little smile.

Then there was a look for the basket at his arm. That brought on a full grin as he pulled back the cloth covering. Fruits, strange and wonderful fruits. "A gift for Ariane. Is she in?"

In the meanwhile, the Knight turned Scholar was offered a seat and a glass of water, both of which he accepted graciously as the basket was placed at the side of his chair. Once again his notebook was brought out and he began to write. He could hear people speaking in another language, and he was writing the words phonetically. He'd ask someone about them later.

There'd been a problem involving disease - largely a matter of rumour, mind, and long ago, and so many miles from here. But still, while they'd never have actually asked, Aleksei's reassurances are met with good humour and perhaps a little partly-veiled relief.

It's not until he's settled comfortably in his chair - water, basket and all - that they send someone to find the swordswoman; it's not until he's had some time with that notebook that she emerges, casual in loose linens and already greeting him with some relief of her own.

"Aleksei River. Come. I've something for you." Which will make this something of an exchange, it appears - she's certainly turned a curious eye upon that basket - but he's spirited away now, down a narrow collection of corridors and up a short flight of stairs, a climb for which she's made some quiet apology. That cough, after all; that handkerchief. She has every reason to be sensitive to its presence. Perhaps, she has hoped, the warmth has proven gentle upon his lungs. Perhaps the sometimes-humidity might. There will, in any case, be more water as he requires it of course, but as he will soon see -

"There was nowhere else to store this." As they reach the room which was their destination; the door opens upon a narrow interior amounting to little but a scattering of chairs, one overcrowded desk, and a wall quite overcome by the breadth of the map that's been nailed into it. A fabric thing, this, and despite the painstaking detail of its ink there are still streets with no name, still blank areas where nothing is written at all. But she has directed him towards one of the seats, and from that desk she withdraws a small, glass vial.

"The Governor says that you are the best for answering such questions as this.Will you take it with you, examine it in the - " At a loss, suddenly; the woman doesn't know the words for a concept she doesn't grasp. " - the way that you examine such a thing?"

He blinks is surprise at the speed of the woman ushering him through the hallways after all the quiet and peace he was offered with his notebook. He almost, almost, forgets the basket. He doesn't cough up the stairs, he would not be foolish enough to push his body beyond its limit after all, but there is a light panting. He holds up a hand to indicate he needs a moment. A few deep breaths, and a readjusted pair of glasses and he takes the vial from her, swirling the contents within. He eyes it for a moment then tilts his head at her and delicately sets it on the table. "I will ask you about that. But first. I have gifts. You seem to enjoy apples, so I thought I would get you some.. rarer fruits." He places the basket on the table an uncovers it.

Such an assortment. Pomegranates, dates, pears. A starfruit there, and what? Bananas it seems. That large bit, that is a pineapple. No, it does not come from a pine tree. Several mangos, and even a handful of kumquats.

"Fruits. All the odd fruits I found traveling in the years before I reached Myrken. You would not believe how hard it is to get some of these."

With that he reaches for a pomegranate and produces a knife to cut it open and expose the seeds, offering the bright red treats to her. "Tell me what you think."

The real extent of his sickness hadn't quite impressed itself upon her before that point. Not in the foyer below, not during an ascent fueled by the same relentless good health with which she'd attacked the rest of this week. A swordswoman's assumptions had, this once, worked bitterly against the man - that he might have weathered the likes of Rodel only to be brought so low by a common cold? inconceivable! - so that it wasn't until he pointedly requested a moment's respite that she began to suspect.

More than a cold, then. Or perhaps something more like simple, gnawing fatigue.
For the second time, her eyes confessed something like an apology.

"Rare fruits," she echoes him now, which only deepens the chagrin lining her mouth's corners. Really, exhausting him with that dash up the stairs, but all the moreso because he'd been weighted down with gifts. Appalling. "No - that thing is a potion," such tangible distaste, "and it will wait. Sit you down, and we'll have something better than water for you. Some tea, perhaps, something warming. Yes?"

Because it is all that she has to offer. And, far moreso, because she is a creature who very much understands a slow fatigue and the inestimable value of warmth.

"Oh, but this is - " For she'd leaned a moment to peer at what he'd brought for her; colour, shape, conflicting textures, a collection of things that can't possibly all be fruits. Some of them don't even seem edible. Her eyes examine his for some hint of imminent pranks, even as her mouth begins to smile. "I haven't names for even half of these. Is that - are those really as sharp as - "

The curious fingertip is yanked sharply back, with a little hiss that makes answering her question quite unnecessary.

"What is the name for this one?" Seeds. Vividly crimson and present in enormous number, all but bursting free of their restraints when his knife parts that glossy shell. She accepts one of these - has it between two fingertips, a little gingerly, and what a blink when she tries it; pursed lips and startled eyes, and -

"It's so - much. Do people like this?"

But look at that.
She's just tried another.

Her assumptions would have been totally correct a mere season ago. The enchantments placed on his body prevented illness. Those enchantments had broken now, and he was a human. In someways. He was sure Galacia would dispute that. He takes the chair in good nature, but not before folding the white trademarked cloak over the back of it. He gives a little smile, watching the unasked question dance in her eyes. "Illness is an odd thing. You know, I had never been sick before. I tried to take notes on it, but it got so bad all I could do was sleep, sweat and choke down chicken broth that Agnie forced down my throat. It felt like drowning slowly. Then.. I got better." He gives a faint shrug of the shoulders at that, before he pops a few of the pomegranate seeds into his mouth, enjoying their flavor.

"And yes, I enjoy these. Getting them here in Myrken takes string pulling.. strings not many know I have. Actually.. you are now one of three. Yourself, Agnie and Solena." The middle name should not be a shock, but that last might take her by surprise a little. "Oh yes, tea I suppose. Not a fan of the stuff, but I would give my left ear to be warm again." With that he reached for the pineapple, lifting the large thing by the odd leaves sprouting from its top. "This will require a bigger knife." There is a faint grin at that, and he reaches into one of the random pockets in the cloak behind him and lays a folded piece of paper on the table for her. "That is for your cook. It details how to prepare all these.. exotic delights into dishes. Personally, I like the pineapple sliced up over a ham."

The entire time he had been peeling the heavy rind off the pomegranate and placing the seeds in the middle of the table for easy access. There were several more inside, point of fact the only fruit that was a single of was the pineapple.

A quick glance for the potion then back to her. There was still a paleness to the man, more so than normal. But his eyes were full of life, even if his body betrayed him at every turn for the last little bit. "So.. what news? I assume that question will eventually lead us to our little friend there."

Ordinarily they'd have taken the cloak for him, down below in the foyer. Ordinarily, but an Aleksei without his snowy-white cloak? As soon imagine an architect without his coats, a 'Siris without a frown. No. The thing is a part of the man, and they would not make the attempt.

"Odd for you, perhaps." Except that there's no 'perhaps' about it at all, and it's a curious glance that she'd given the man as she chewed at a third seed. Strange in its nature, strange in its texture; like the fruit within the fruit, an idea that's left her smiling. Perhaps a little inappropriately, given what he'd just said. "Ordinary for most others. Mm. Make notes on this: on what it is to grow with that as a child, each year a week or two of that sickness, each year this drowning. Now you begin to know what it is to be only a simple thing, a human thing, mn? Nothing makes a man feel his mortality like a winter cold."

Almost immediately she wants to take that back; so many other examples come to mind, after all. A knife at the throat; a fist at the jaw; a spot of very bad stew. In the dark an unexpected touch, cold and damp -

No. How morbid.

"Imports," she supplies, to his mention of strings. "Transports. I know a very little of this; it's more 'Siris' business than mine and I intend for it to remain so. This, this is - " But tea, he'd said, and with a nod she's moving for the door; hails some passing person in the corridor, exchanges brief words before making her return. "This - amazes," she's laughing then, and with a nod for a basket fair bursting with colour and sweet, conflicting scents. "Another, then - this pineapple. Are you sure of its name? That's not even remotely an apple," and what a skeptical glance she has for the spiky thing.

"The news," meantime, "is that there's come to Myrkentown a lady who brews 'potions'."

A word she pronounces as dubiously as she had the name of that fruit.

"Perhaps they are harmless, and perhaps they are not. Perhaps they are made from science and perhaps they are not. So. Here is one half of a potion; the other is for delivery to the Inquisitory this evening. If you might do with this the - " some abstract wiggle of the fingers " - the things which you do to examine such stuff, mn? So that we may know whether there is a problem or whether there is none."

Awkward phrasing, very much the victim a vocabulary that is limited and, as regards magical concoctions, not likely to improve in the future. Her distaste is clear. But she may close upon a happier note, for Aleksei had mentioned a need which she is so eminently capable of answering: she does so with a flourish of steel, setting firmly down before him a knife that is really is substantially bigger.

Much like her smile.

Its just as well they didn't Aleksei keeps a fair number of personal items in that cloak, and he never knows when he will need them. He would have left his sword if it was requested, however. He takes a moment while she talks to lift the potion vial, then. The lenses of his glasses shimmer a faint blue for a moment as he gazes into the liquid. The shimmer fades and he places the vial gently back on the table, flickering to hers for a moment. "Illness.. has a way of putting things in perspective. They say everything has a price, you know? The price of a normal childhood.. perhaps illness is part of that? Who knows. I knows the Gods exist, but I refuse to look to them for answers. I will find my own. But this is a terrible topic for a remeeting, isn't it?" There is that little half smile.

"Ah, pineapple. Yes, very sure. That is not what the locals call it, obviously. It was named by mainlanders going out to the islands to trade for them. They grow rather like apples, from a flower. The skin of the fruit rather looks like a pine tree bark, wouldn't you agree?" He ran his hand over the outer rind of the fruit, before giving her a chance to do the same. "But yes, imports. When I was traveling I helped a syndicate of traders deal with a ghost problem. We made friends. They give me a steep discount on things I need or request."

If she decides to handle the pineapple for a moment he will pass it to her, if not he will let it just sit on the table as he lifts the potion again, watch the blue liquid play on the inside of the glass. "As for this. Magical, that much is certain. Perhaps of conjuration school?" He pops the lid off and sniffs over it, head tilting a little. "Grass.. and burning paper? Odd." Then he does something absolutely insane. He makes as he if he is going to down the potion, slipping his thumb over top of the open mouth of vial, hand wrapped around it completely. For all outward appearances, he just downed a half vial of unknown potion. Then.. he burps.

"Odd. Minty." Deadpan. Straight face. Poker face.

Everything has a price, you know.

Words you'd never think to hear from Aleksei River, if you'd come to know him a little; all that cheerful, thoughtless arrogance, after all.
Words you'd outright expect, if he'd begun to tell you - even just the smallest details - of the callous landscape into which he'd been born.

"A terrible topic," she's agreed with him now - which is just another way of agreeing with his earlier sentiment as well. A deft shift of the hand shelves it, postpones such talk for future dates or never at all, and when her hand moves again it's to reclaim that knife; this is a speculative little grin. "A little," concedes the onetime-mercenary, fingertips cautious this time when they touch the prickly thing. "Perhaps a pine tree, if the tree were - dying, maybe," and with a wrinkle of the nose she's touched the knife's tip to that strange, yellowish skin. "Were I one of these mainlanders and they were to present me with this thing and call it a fruit, I would suspect a very dismal prank."

A pointed glance for you just now, Ser River.

"Still..." A tentative prod with the knife. Another, rather more confident. She lifts the blade - pauses. "A conjuration school. A ghost problem. I do not wish to know these things. That is how an Inquisitory should be, I think: I feed you this problem, you bring me an answer, and the details need never reach my desk." And she's grinning then, very smug indeed -

as the knife comes down, cleaving the fruit -

in a sudden gout of brilliant juice -

and Aleksei swallows down half a potion with a satisfied burp.

"Da ty sovsem okuel!" The knife clatters loose on the tabletop when she flings it down, appalled. "Ty styervo ebannoye! Ya dal emy zel'e, a on svodil ego posrat - Aleksei River, I promised her she'd have it back after, and what is wrong with you; that was not for drinking!" Aghast, she steps back a pace, and then another, eyes wide with the most dire expectations.

He watches her with the pineapple, being vastly amused. The women kept asking him for a prank, over and over. What else was he supposed to do? Perhaps it was a kind of tradition amongst her people. Either way he can't hold it in anymore and starts laughing. He gives a little cough and a shake of his head and wipes at a tear forming in the corner of his left eye. "I am sorry, Ariane. You kept asking me for a prank, and I couldn't help myself." His fingers uncurl, leaving him holding the vial between his index finger and thumb, still half full of that odd blue liquid. "I wouldn't drink a random magical potion."

He cracks another grin at her and slowly reaches to take the knife that she tossed aside to continue carving the pineapple, chopping the heavy rind off. It wouldn't do to leave her with a sharp object in her hand after that. He offers her a chunk of the pineapple meat, brought yellow and firm. Still dripping from the juices, even as he takes another piece off the knife for himself. "Its really very good. You were expecting a prank, and I don't like to let people down"

Oh, he is so in for it at this point. "But Ariane. Such language." No, he had no idea what the translation was.. but he could take a guess.

Aghast, the swordswoman had blanched, cheeks gone chalky-pale with very real shock. How quickly the blood rushes back to the skin now, as he explains; a flood of sudden, hectic colour lit across the sharp cheekbones, an instant in which her lips tremble, furiously wordless.

As he laughs.
As he wipes a happy little tear from his eye.
As he retrieves the knife she already wishes she'd flung at his face, as if to prove that he has some sense of self-preservation after all.

"Aleksei River," she begins - gets that far before the voice threatens to grow uncontrolled; the lips clamp closed before it can begin to echo the shudder of her tightening fists. A slow, marshalling breath. "Aleksei River, I did not request a prank." Control. The words are slow, their tone eminently reasonable. "Why would I do that? You are not a child; you are an Inquisitor. This is not a schoolyard; this is my home.

If I want for a prank, I call on Elliot.
If I want for a potion examined, I call on you and I expect, Aleksei - "

As he offers her a piece of yellow something.
It's dripping all over her knife.

" - I expect - "

The square of fruit squishes slightly beneath her fingertips.
Yielding texture. Dripping all over her desk.

"Raz'yoba ty!" He can have it back. Sweet and dripping and like a missile right at his eyes. "I don't even like pranks! You do this again," and it's a hand on the desk's edge, a body leaned well across it, "you do anything like this again, Aleksei River, and it's a knife for your face the next time and see do I care for the consequences."

He just grins a little wider at her anger. Of course, he found it was amusing. Why wouldn't he? The man had not had a childhood. He had not gotten to participate in games like this, and right now he is very fortunate that he is holding the knife, indeed. They would have fought, as her blow would have drug up something monstrous inside him, and no one would likely win between the metal-weeping swords woman, and the hybrid monster that Aleksei had become. He does have the grace not to dodge the flung pineapple, letting it connect with his glasses. Where it stucks for a moment, before it slides down and he catches it in his hand, popping the fruit into his mouth.

"There is an old phrase, Ariane, where I come from. Expectations create reality. And.. I have never participated in a prank before. But I am sorry that you are upset over it. There was honestly no reason for me to do it.. it just an impulse." Then.. he smiles. Warm and friendly, like only Aleksei could. The man would smile into the face of a hurricane. Ariane could likely be considered her own force of nature, at any rate. Then he does something either foolish or brave. He flips the knife over and lays it hilt first by her hand. "Have some pineapple." Then he has his glasses off, and is cleaning the sticky sugar off them. "I can tell you.. that isn't a normal potion. Not for drinking anyway. I could feel it react oddly with my thumb." The way he continues to look at her face, not squinting.

Despite the threat in her voice, the glares and the eyeballing. She will either get beyond it, or she will take that knife and try and gut him. The tension in his shoulders shows he isn't quite sure about what she will do next. Either just shake her head, or try and stab him. But still, the prospect of violence just sent him into a quiet serenity. Anger only led to clouded judgement during a confrontation.

"Hopefully, you will forgive me eventually. Remember, I just came by to give you fruit. You asked about the potion." Then.. he winks. He winks?!

Aleksei River, the most frustratingly new acquaintance in recent memory. Amongst the most dangerous, as well, but given that the other new acquaintance is Catch, how much can that really matter? One day, an unfamiliar friend will ask her opinion of the High Inquisitor. And what she will tell that person is only this: that Aleksei River is a creature of staggering power and cold, cruel origins - and that he's also the sort of man who'll take some fruit to the face as a consequence for playing the fool. That's worth something.

But it doesn't keep the woman from wrinkling her nose in distaste when he eats that pineapple right off his glasses.

"Is there use in explaining to you why I do not find this amusing?" A knife in her hand; its keen tip spears a small piece of dripping fruit. "I think you should practice your pranking upon people who appreciate it, mn? I do not. And never, Aleksei - " a brief sniff at the little sliver of yellow, so shockingly sweet that she blinks at it. "Never when a thing is truly dangerous. Which that thing might be. What do I know, mn? It is magicked, I no more understand it than I do the - the set of the stars in the sky. I do not even care to. I leave that to you and your sort."

It tastes as sweet as it smells.
The lip slightly curls, uncertain.

"It's not for drinking." Because the stutter of her heart, the haste of her breath, has quieted enough to allow proper conversation again; she's exhaled outrage in a single, slow breath. "She tells me that should she need to flee a thing, she is to throw this potion at the ground and - " a snap of her fingers; the knife slightly impedes. " - she will be transported. Not very far. What is this - 'odd' reaction?"

Ariane, the Tornado. It fit in his head. Rodel, last names were things, objects characteristics that identified what you were. What your personality was, how you were likely to react. Aleksei was The River. Not just any River, because in Rodel there was only one. It poured down from the glaciers, a frozen water falling from the sky, a cascade of beautiful death. That was how Aleksei fought. The middle of the River was a wide, deep river. Slow and ponderous, reaching out and brushing the banks with careful touches, reaching deep into the earth to dig out her secrets. That was how Aleksei thought. Then there were the rapids. Powerful, coursing, ripping rocks and boulders from their home, grinding them down to dust and pebbles. That was Aleksei's rage.

And now he watches Ariane for a moment as these thoughts moved through his mind. What was she? Perhaps, the windstorm. Violent and blowing when provoked, but also capable to carrying life to all corners of the world. Ariane was something else entirely, and one day he would understand her better. And she would understand him better. She met him when he was a man that was a prison. Now he was something else entirely, and still not what he was born as.

Her question then, "Its.. odd." He rubs the liquid on his fingers, watching the substance play there between them. "Have you ever burned your fingers? As they heal they.. tingle? That." He reaches back into a pocket and pulls out a cloth, carefully dabbing it off and folding it for later examination. "I'll get a potion from her a figure it out. So I can test without you breaking your word, Ariane." The bottle is recorked and he passed the vial over to her. Then he watches her with the pineapple and tilts his head. "Too sweet for you?"