Open Chronicles An Arrangement of Stardust

Nilamani's eyes watched the spark arc away and sputter out. It reminded them a little of the spark they had seen emit from Pomrick Bloomsfield in the paddock. The one that had made Nilamani truly want to keep an eye on him. Not that much had come of it. Aside from a bit of nice friendship.

Yet, Nilamani took an almost immediate dislike to the constant buzz coming off Maester Vaezhasar Drakspae . It was irritating, noisy even. Nilamani's polite smile grew a bit strained.

They had very little intention of taking the combat class. They weren't particularly opposed to violence per say....or opposed to perspiring...in fact it was difficult to put in to words.
They simply didn't like it.
Nor were they sure what 'less elective' might mean. was it a pre-requisite for something?
Many of the Maester's could be unsettling. This one was certainly not an exception. The way that he spoke of the course was quite different to how Maester kikwi spoke about their own course. It put a bad taste in Nilamani's mouth. Or perhaps that was more of Maester Drakspae's aura.

"I see. How good of you to concern yourself with my well being. I shall keep your warning in mind."
For Nilamani the study of creature's at the college was personal. A way of gauging what tricks might be one day turned on them. They had the feeling that whatever it was Maester Drakspae used to reign in his 'entities' it wasn't kind. The way he spoke of it perhaps they were things which weren't meant to evoke pity. Then again there were people in this room who likely regarded Nilamani as a 'not wholesome entity.'
It was all very subjective.
The Maester's way of speaking was crude, casually insulting, and almost riddle-like for Nilamani. They wondered if this was where Lysander Docatto Valestri had gotten that strange intensity from.

Disconcerted they glanced at Pomrick whose eyes seem to be attempting to escape his skull. Oh dear.
This eased their own anxiety a bit.
With a small laugh they decided perhaps they had let their own nerves color the whole thing.

Vaezhasar Drakspae said:

He inclined his head the breadth of a hinge. “The combat class is mandatory—board’s ruling, not mine. That means you will attend, you will perspire, and you will discover how very educational the pointy ends of things can be.” A beat. “I should add that injury builds character, but the bursar grows cranky about paperwork.”

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Combat. With magic? His heart sank like a storm-wrecked ship at the mention of 'mandatory.' No escape then.

Elbion College simply kept pouring one, unwelcome surprise after another over him, like buckets of ice-cold water, waking him up to reality. A reality that Vaeshazar alluded to with ominous, loaded energy, as if the very air was charged around him. Somehow, it felt as if that very reality reluctantly made way for his presence.

Touching reality . . . what did that even mean? Didn't everyone always touch reality? But somehow, he couldn't help feel that Vaeshazar referred to something else entirely from Pomrick's own, arcane dealings with reality: Shaving stubborn nose-hair, hand-washing his own undergarments and desperately trying to curb nature's call in class, before rushing for the nearest latrine.

He thought the whole ensemble of his experience with magic had been plenty dangerous so far. Hardly daring to imagine what next level of insanity it would be sparring with bolts of lightning and balls of explosive fire, Pomrick licked suddenly drying lips.

Compared to these future dangers, he was beginning to reconcile Nilamani's new form. He spoke quietly, mostly for Nilamani- and Lysander's ears, though he couldn't avoid the attention of the looming maester:

"Think I'll . . . elect to pass the magical en-tea-tea one. What about you?"

Tea and more tea didn't sound so bad, but he couldn't lie, getting more sleep sounded even better.

Lysander Docatto Valestri
Nilamani
Vaezhasar Drakspae

Pomrick Bloomsfield
Nilamani
Vaezhasar Drakspae


Lysander shifted, planting his feet and setting his hands at his hips. A small frown cast its shadow; his white brows drew together like two creatures meeting on a narrow branch.

“Spare me the melodramatics, Pomrick, Nilamani,” he said, and there was a clean edge to the words. “Don’t be timid for the sake of it. We came to learn wizardry, not merely safe tricks. What sort of wizard is frightened away by magic? If newness puts us to flight, what kind of sorcery do we imagine ourselves fit to practice?”

He let the breath out, and his tone gentled. “I’ll take the class,” he said. “Anyone with a measure of ambition should.”

Kilien Basmarc said:

"Is that..." he squinted at the girl with the dark hair, "Quinnick?"

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"Oh!" Vittoria let out a soft air of surprise. "Indeed, it is."

She had crossed paths with Dreadlord Quinnick a few months ago, or more, for Vittoria had been a suspect of an Initiate's murder, but Quinnick was quick to dismiss it. The way her magic worked, and how the woman wielded it, had intrigued Vittoria.

Proctor Krixus and an associate, one Vitt had not seen before.

"How curious, that the gala could bring in such a mixture of occupations and class here." So far, she knew herself and Kilien were the only Initiates here in attendance, invited by Anirians before they crossed the river on the ferry. They had escorted a scholar that had work here in Elbion, and no doubt would be in attendance here as a sigh of good will. "Should we mingle? Make new friends?"

The idea of Vittoria making friends was a jest in itself, for she was not only incapable of doing so, but her idea of forming relationships was not for the meek. Even greater Dreadlords were unnerved by her.

Not Kilien.

Alistair and Livia didn't pretend to be ecstatic to see him again, and Henk supposed he appreciated the honesty. To Krixus, he was likely still only a few rungs above traitor. To Livia... well, from the look of her, there wasn't too much left of the girl he'd trained. She'd been hardened, her soul thickened against the steel and sorrow that awaited every Dreadlord outside the walls.

Henk closed his eyes, smiling softly as he bowed his head politely to the pair of them. "Well enough, thank you. It has been difficult being away from home again, but I know hands far more capable than mine will safeguard it." It didn't seem as though he was going to offer any specificity as to where he'd been, and he now walked between them, stepping a few feet forward before turning to face them both.

"It's beautiful, this city. Tonight's exhibitions only enhance that splendor." Henk turned his head to look across only a few of the many works on display, a peaceful look about him as his gaze lingered on each one thoughtfully, before moving onto the next. "Did you ever think, Alistair, That we'd reach a moment in which our titles brought us to sipping wine and admiring the fine arts?"

A little chuckle left him, and he shook his head.

"Forgive the question. I know some of us hold more titles than others."

Alistair was more than a Dreadlord, wasn't he? The last name of Krixus held a weight heavier than that of most. Henk didn't know the extent, or the history of the name, however; He didn't much care for politics and Anirian history.

"And you, Livia. You've sprouted since I saw you last. Word is you've been working with the Vigilite, yes? Good. Erodin is... well, I'm glad you've had his brain to pick." The last time he'd met Erodin, they'd tried to kill one another. Nevertheless, Henk held a begrudging respect for the man's ability, on and off the field.

The idea of "fancy dress" wasn't wholly unfamiliar to Ely'Esha, but it remained a foreign one to them. At the very least, every place they'd been had a different idea of what that meant! The Dornochi fancied long, flowing robes of silk, but the twins had not seen anyone wearing anything like that since they arrived in Elbion. Men apparently wore suits here, and women gowns, for the purposes of fancy events. Ely'Esha didn't much care for how different the two stylings were. It made the difference between them even more stark, and that rubbed them both the wrong way.

Then a local tailor introduced them to the concept of "coordinating outfits." What the man managed to come up with suited Ely'Esha just fine. And just in the nick of time, too!

Now the gala itself was here. What it was exactly still eluded the twins, but any opportunity to try something new was one that Ely'Esha were eager for. Supposedly there'd even be other travelers from a far off place here!

As the panorama of new sights and sounds unfolded before them, the two looked at each other with knowing smiles. They didn't strictly need to communicate with each other in plain common, but a classmate had told them that Yan'Kai was "rude" and "weird, please stop that," so they'd been working on using the tongue of the locals more often.

"So many things to look at and learn of, sister," Elyon intoned, his eyes drawn to the many works of art within.

"And so many new people to speak with, brother," Eshara replied, making eyes at the darkly dressed foreigners who traipsed the halls.

Another glance was exchanged between the two, then a synchronized snicker before pushing deeper to find what might await them at the curious gala.

Lysander Docatto Valestri said:

“Spare me the melodramatics, Pomrick, Nilamani,” he said, and there was a clean edge to the words. “Don’t be timid for the sake of it. We came to learn wizardry, not merely safe tricks. What sort of wizard is frightened away by magic? If newness puts us to flight, what kind of sorcery do we imagine ourselves fit to practice?”

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Pomrick hunched up his shoulders at Lysander's chastisement. He stuck his hands into a pair of massive pockets in his borrowed robe, trying not to look like a sulking child - and failing.

He got momentarily distracted as two, horned figures drifted by, snickering and chatting to themselves. A girl and a boy. Curiously similar.

As they merged with the fancy throng, it brought something to perspective for him. He'd been so used to meeting the same faces, day in and day out, but the world was much bigger than that. It had so many people in it. Each one with their unique assets and abilities. How was he going to face all that with an honest face, if people thought him frightened?

He looked at Lysander again, a touch of resentment marring his eyes. Here he was, a few years his junior, and not a speck of worry to be detected on him. He stood tall, proud and easy in the midsts of this host of people - towering maesters, savvy students, intense Dreadlords and who knew what else - not a single bead of sweat to his brow or an uncertain flinch to be found. All so dapper in pristine white . . .

Pomrick's arms crossed defensively, his mouth setting into a determined pout.

"I ain't frightened. I just, uh--" he swallowed, before setting his course, trying to look like a lean, mean killing machine. Mostly this just puffed his cheeks out and caused him to rock from heel to toe in his display of casualness. "I wanna focus on combat. Training. You know? Work on what - what matters." A sniff and a wipe of his nose punctuated his adopted manner. That was how steel-nerved mercenaries acted, after all.

Lysander Docatto Valestri
Nilamani

Their anxious heart was eased a little by Pomrick Bloomsfield 's whisper. It was a little reassuring to know they weren't the only one who had been a bit thrown off by this turn. Nilamani offered him an amused smile.
Lysander Docatto Valestri 's proud stance was met with an uncertain frown. It seemed the very nature of their fitness as wizard was being called into question.
It put them in a bit of a bind. They weren't so sure they could readily agree with Lysander. Yet quibbling about the nature of ambition certainly didn't seem to be the point of today's Gala. They placed their hand to their cheek with a bit of a troubled expression. This far out of their element they found themself lacking in a witty repertoire. Especially as they gathered any earnest replies would have earned one of those 'what are you an idiot?' style expressions.
Then Pomrick spoke up again. His chest puffed out and standing a bit straighter than usual. An easy grin alighted their features once more. It reminded Nilamani that true or not, there was no need to make such a big show of it.
"Oh~ And here I had thought you were of the gentler souls. I had no Idea you had such dedications."
They had to admit that the thought of Pomrick being a combat enthusiast was an odd image. Someone so clumsy wielding offensive magic seemed just as much a hazard for Pomrick as for the would be target. Then again the one wizard they knew who loved combat, wielded such a mind bogglingly simple almost non-magic type of wizardry, as to be a wonder how they managed to enroll. So really, Nilamani almost wondered if Pomrick would just fit right in.
Their eyes turned to glance out at the crowed and noticed the same pair of horned figures. The college did grow more exotic every year...or were they with other guests, surely not?
They turned their gaze back to the small group. "Well, I suppose I will leave the matter of what type of wizard I am to a latter date. Perhaps I shall make some effort to take in the art for now. and decide latter."
They cast their eyes to some of the paintings nearby and pointed to a canvas with a stormy grey seascape. In the foreground silver grey sands, and in the distance a many tentacled kraken peaking from the murky water. The inky black paint of the tentacle lit from behind by striking lighting an affect of magic woven into the paint strokes.
"Speaking of homely paintings, I'm rather taken with that one."

Pomrick Bloomsfield
Nilamani
Lysander Docatto Valestri
He looked between them, the helm’s gaze like a plumb line. “Bring your wits, your questions, and notebooks you aren’t sentimental about. Leave your illusions at the door; I shall provide better ones inside.” The staff clicked again, courteous as a period at the end of a paragraph.

“Now,” he continued, tone as casual as if he were excusing himself from a dull dinner, “you’ll have to forgive me. I’ve to look over the rest of the procession. Should you wish to find me, I’ll be about—likely keeping myself entertained at someone else’s expense, given how underwhelming this gallery’s turned out.”

With that, he turned smartly on his heels. The great armored bulk set off at a deliberate pace, the horned helm bobbing slightly with each step, while the staff’s ferrule made a crisp click-clack that sounded suspiciously like a man drawing his own punctuation marks as he went

Yuebing had actually been quite looking forward to this event. She liked looking at beautiful things. Especially if they were crafted with extreme care.
She dropped several subtle( almost certainly too subtle) hints to her roommate Svenia Albrecht that she thought the girl should attend.
Or rather she had been attempting to needle out of the girl if a certain Dornochi classmate had asked her to accompany him. Yue couldn't exactly drag the girl to the event physically, nor was she capable of earnestly telling Svenia openly that she wanted her to come.

She had decided to wear one of the dresses she had brought along with her from Dornoch. The ones she normally wore for the mid autumn festival back home. A hanfu belted high with pale yellow flowers embroidered and gold trim. It's many layers in colors of warm pale oranges and teals. She had adorned her buns with small red poppies as a nod to the Elbion side of her heritage.
After all this was a social event. She needed to make some effort to play the game of nobles.

It seemed she had arrived a little late. There was one of the older students pleading with a doorman. As Yuebing approached closer she realized it was an elven girl. One with a much more boyish style than elegant Aiko .
With a hesitant frown she considered waiting but the girl did seem to want in quite badly. It really was bad form not to account for the standards before arriving...but then it wasn't the worst dress Yue had seen.
Earthy tones suited the tall girl Yue thought.

She frowned at the doorman as she approached.
"I will lend my coat." Yue spoke to Feä Mindalië her tone not exactly soft but not as sharp as the tone she used when turning to speak to the man. "A bit of finery and the favor of House Coquelicot. That should be enough for entry." Her tone was the sort of proud and assured tone of a noble daughter, it left no room for argument.
She carefully took the coat off, it was a pale golden color made of a chiffon like material, almost transparent. On Yue it was floor length but on the Elf she gathered it would probably be quite a bit shorter.
Her eyes telling Fea to play along for the time being.

Calixtus chuckled low in his throat, her quip only deepening the smirk on his lips. Parry and riposte.

“Ah, so there is a tongue behind those wards. Careful, you’ll convince me you actually enjoy my company.”

His arm shifted just slightly beneath hers, subtle, tightening the hold so it seemed as though she had chosen to lean closer rather than to keep her distance.

At the mention of Vel Castere, his brows rose with feigned surprise.

“Impressive. I wouldn’t have guessed a Gradimir would waste her evenings studying Anirian fortresses. Perhaps you’re not as dull as I’d feared.” He let the compliment hang a heartbeat before undercutting it with a sharper edge. “Though, of course, blood remembers its roots even when one tries to bury them beneath Elbion polish.”

He stepped a pace nearer the painting, angling himself so he could half-watch her rather than the art.

“Strongholds, wards, defenses… it’s all the same to you, isn’t it? Walls upon walls. A pity.” His voice dipped, almost conspiratorial.

“You’d be far more fascinating if you learned when to let them fall.”

Greater even than Feä's surprise was that of the doorman. The moment Yuebing mentioned a noble house, his demeanor changed (and in truth, he needed not even to be familiar with the house in question). Sternness faded and in its place came deference, as keen was it on the doorman's mind not to tangle with the daughter of certain powerful personages.

"Yes. Quite enough, quite enough," said the doorman, stepping to the side.

As for Feä, had it not been for Yue's look, she surely would have spoken in confusion. But as it happened she kept her peace, accepted the coat and put it on, and in to the Art Gala were they allowed.

As they walked, Feä had time for a recollection—she had heard the family name of Coquelicot elsewhere in the College. Was this, then, Yuebing, the name which she had heard accompanying it, or were there others of the Coquelicot House attending the College?

Regardless, she said, "I thank you. I do not know why the doorman did not allow me to pass. Was this gala not meant for all students who wish to attend?"

Her question was not rhetorical, but genuine. Truly she had thought nothing of her attire—only so much as doffing and destroying the dress provided by her father.

Yuebing Coquelicot

Was it wrong for Alistair to admit that he had entirely expected to be sipping wine and appreciating the fine arts when he was younger? If anything, it had been his introduction into the Dreadlords that had proven to be the unexpected detour for his life.

"Maybe, but the fact that we are all here says something about the success we have garnered in our chosen career paths."

They were all here either because of their own garnered wealth, like himself, or their connection to Vel Anir's intelligence apparatus, like Livia, or as a representation of Vel Anir's citizenry, like Henk may be. All that mattered was that they had all survived to be here.

The mention of Erodin and the Vigilite brought a small twitch to Alistair's face, which was quickly covered with a polite smile. Not as well known to many outside of the Vigilite, but Alistair had essentially been placed on what amounted to administrative leave.

Recent events had brought into question Alistiar's...stability, and while he assured his superiors that he was fine, they had insisted he take a break. What was left unsaid was that the break was necessary for the Vigilite to perform their own internal investigation with him.

So until that time was finished, Alistair truly was left to play the part of wealthy nobleman and entrepreneur, a part that he had no trouble playing.

"I will admit my surprise that anyone managed to convince you to come to an event like this, Henk. Does not seem like your...preferred haunt."

Henk Livia Quinnick

Nilamani said:

"Oh~ And here I had thought you were of the gentler souls. I had no Idea you had such dedications."

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Pomrick shifted uncomfortably, though he tried to keep a stoic face.

When Vaeshazar left them, he immediately relaxed more. A breath escaped him, as if he had held his breath throughout his performance.

He turned to Nilamani, then glanced at the piece of art in question.

"Well, uh, yeah. I guess that's what we're here for, right?" Another sniff, before a frown of worry emerged. "Art, I mean. Wanna go take a closer look?"

While mostly addressed to Nilamani, the question was partially thrown in Lysander's direction as well. He didn't dare make eye-contact with him though, lest it broke the spell on his tough act.

Perhaps if he managed to say something profound about the art pieces, they might see him in a new light. How hard could it be?

Nilamani
Lysander Docatto Valestri

Nilamani
Pomrick Bloomsfield

Lysander let his shoulders rise and fall, a small, untroubled motion. Outwardly he seemed indifferent; inwardly his gaze stayed on Pomrick, sharp as a knife laid flat. He could almost smell the boy’s unease, though the cause of it would not name itself. To Lysander, anxiety over lessons was a crooked thing: a mage should meet study as one meets weather, prepared, curious, unafraid. Knowledge, even when it stung a little, was still a good.

“I don’t see why not,” he said at last, and walked a slow arc toward a large sculpture: a hero in stone with a lion’s severed head in one hand and a curve-bladed sword in the other.

He glanced back, a flick of gold in his eyes, including Nilamani in the measure of the moment. “There are foreign guests here,” he added, mild as a suggestion. “Perhaps they’re the better gallery today, more worth watching than the marble. Stone doesn't talk back, after all, but people do."

Pomrick followed in his wake and observed the stone sculpture with Lysander. Just as he was about to comment on the hero's clearly lacking wealth when all he had was a fig leaf for clothing, he was saved from revealing his ignorance of art when the young man suggested a different course of action.

Fretfully, his watery eyes swam in the ocean of the crowd.

"There were a couple with horns. They looked . . . interesting." He widened his eyes and pointed over at the pair in question, currently mingling with a group of Dreadlords. "Oh, look, there they are. Where do you think they're from?"

There was a slight pause as Yue gauged the sincerity of the Elf's naive question. She hadn't considered that the girl might literally have been oblivious. Her only reference for Elves so far being Aiko who seemed well versed in the notions of polite society.
Yue gave her a small frown. If it really was an earnest ignorance then Yue decided to respond with an actual explanation. "Yes.....it is for all students to attend....but Elbion is not a College so easily attended. A dress such as that one could be purchased by any commoner. With no adornments, no obvious signs of wealth or magic, the doorman likely thought you might be some commonfolk of Elbion trying to sneak in. "
Her eyes cast to the brown dress again. Yue could admire a thing made for utility, but garments held more meaning than just a visual appeal. It told those around you who you were.

"To ignore the unspoken rules of society is also to place those with lesser power in danger. If you had really been unaffiliated with the college and you stole something or caused trouble for the visiting guests, I imagine that would cost the doorman his job, or perhaps worse, for the blunder of letting you in. "
Yue thought for a moment.
"I imagine if you had belittled him he might have considered it convincing enough to let you in considering how quickly he bent to a name."
Her eyes looked out at the other attendants of the gala. Those not from the college had a strange quality to them, an absence of something. There were quite a few students from Elbion who were a spectacle in their own right. A large snake, the Maester who refused to be without armor (certainly no one would question if he was associated with the college) and a pair of twins.
Yue had never seen their kind before, she would certainly remember that if she had.
She turned back to the Elf. "Where are you from?"
Feä Mindalië

"Mingling" was one word for it. "Bothering" might've been more apt. And though the pair might have caught the eye of their classmates, it was the Dreadlords that the twins themselves had magnetized to. The twins' attention was drawn to the foreigners like moths to a flame, both of them striding up behind the group with innocent abandon.

"Their dress is so...dour? Is that the word?" Eshara asked her brother as they approached.

"Mm, more polite than 'drab,' I think. F...foreboding, maybe?" Elyon replied thoughtfully.

"Foreboding! That's the one!" she chimed back, and both twins smiled, pleased with themselves.

As they came within earshot of the trio's conversation they heard more words that pricked their ears, and the twins' curiosity only grew more. Each of the pair appeared on either side of Henk, their intrigue written all over their faces.

"'Sprouted?' Are these ones plants?" Eshara asked, eyeing Henk carefully.

"No, sister, ghosts. That one said something of haunting," Elyon piped back, pointing at Alistair.

"Do ghosts sprout? They don't look like spirits..." said Eshara.

"Plant spirits! Dryads! Come to stare at art and dress fancy!" Elyon concluded. This deduction was satisfactory for Eshara, and so both twins nodded before speaking in unison:

"Welcome, foreign dryads!"

To watch Feä listening to Yue's explanations was to see a strange duality: that in her expression, receptive and level, there was maturity, yes, but in her eyes, big as they were and glimmering, there was innocence. She'd questions in her mind, sincere questions, that she was too afraid to ask: but I am a student, not of the commonfolk, do I truly need to wear adornments? How shall I know them, these rules, if they are unspoken?

Perhaps she should not have come. Safer would it have been for her to stay in her room, and keep to herself; she could have read a book, she could have practiced her boxing, she could have even ventured out to go swimming if she wished. But curiosity bid her come, and curiosity was as often an enemy as it was a friend, so it seemed.

Where are you from?

Now Feä looked visibly nervous, and she could not at all hide it, "I...I am from here. I have lived in Elbion all my life." Even Feä, unversed in many social ways, knew that this alone would constitute a terribly insufficient answer, and so she hastened to add, "This is all very new to me," as her gaze swept over the gala.

Yuebing Coquelicot

Vittoria Larrainth said:

"Oh!" Vittoria let out a soft air of surprise. "Indeed, it is."

She had crossed paths with Dreadlord Quinnick a few months ago, or more, for Vittoria had been a suspect of an Initiate's murder, but Quinnick was quick to dismiss it. The way her magic worked, and how the woman wielded it, had intrigued Vittoria.

Proctor Krixus and an associate, one Vitt had not seen before.

"How curious, that the gala could bring in such a mixture of occupations and class here." So far, she knew herself and Kilien were the only Initiates here in attendance, invited by Anirians before they crossed the river on the ferry. They had escorted a scholar that had work here in Elbion, and no doubt would be in attendance here as a sigh of good will. "Should we mingle? Make new friends?"

The idea of Vittoria making friends was a jest in itself, for she was not only incapable of doing so, but her idea of forming relationships was not for the meek. Even greater Dreadlords were unnerved by her.

Not Kilien.

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As a matter of fact, Kilien wasn't sure he found the mixture of occupations and class in Elbion curious at all. While he certainly didn't know the city like one of its own citizens might, anything beyond the sphere of Vel Anir could be considered a melting pot. Elbion wasn't quite so diverse as Alliria, a city he knew much better from his own experiences on missions, but it was still a far cry more varied in its occupants and visitors than anything Anirian.

"We should," he asserted with a nod, finding Vittoria's use of the term friend otherwise ironic, and turned to give the locale a good look over.

Henk, Alistair, and Quinnick weren't exactly friends but they also weren't exactly new, either. Kilien had half a mind to take them straight over to Nilamani and the young students she presently conversed with, but thought better than to drop Vi into such a deep end of society so quickly. His gaze panned right, in the direction of the gala entrance, and landed on a pair of young girls.

Pretty, but neither of which outwardly seemed at all a threat. One of them had pointed ears - an elf. Perfect. Dip the proverbial social toes into the shallow end first.

With an easy smile and a guiding hand at Vittoria's lower back, he headed off across the gallery in the direction of Yuebing Coquelicot and Feä Mindalië as they slowly made their way in upon a conversation. In his wardrobe of straight black, with his wayward coils of hair loosely tamed into a tie and his reading glasses slowly drifting down his nose, he offered the pair a charming look as he and Vitt came to cross their path.

"Ladies," Kilien greeted them warmly, "are you locals? We're a bit out of sorts."