Private Tales A Blooming Relationship

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

It was not often Petrus made a trip out into the... common folk of Alliria. Not only was the appearance of the poor rather... unsightly but the smell was truly something else. Soldiers of House Iskandar flanked him, four apiece, on his left and right as he marched down the streets of the Outer City of Aliria. Those not intelligent enough to move aside were moved, those who dared try and get too close to Petrus found themselves roundly smashed in the face by a shield or grabbed and shoved into the gutter where they belonged. Petrus, meanwhile, would idly wipe a random bit of dirt the rabble had kicked up from his shoulder. Gazing up at the sign of the 'Pushing Daisies' with a slowly dwindling interest and internally noting to himself.

'This Gulliver individual had best be worth the interest.....'

With a wave of his hand the formation of soldiers around his person shifted, four of them taking up guard positions around the front door while the other four opened the door and escorted Petrus inside. Flanking him and being more at ease now that they were off the streets. Petrus would walk calmly into the shop, idly studying the flowers on display, but what truly peaked his interest was not what was physically present. No. Instead what caused the head of house Iskandar's eyes to brighten ever so slightly as he gazed upon Gulliver, arms crossed behind him, and countenance still rather dour, was the distinctly familiar sensation of magic in the air. More-so the magic he felt was intimately familiar, the drawing, manipulation and expelling of life energy.

The other customers in the shop were less interesting than nothing and with a wave of his ring-jeweled hand, speaking in the tone of someone far too used to being obeyed he spoke in a firm, authoritative tone. "All but the Botanist are to leave. My soldiers will let you pass..... NOW." With only a minor hesitation on the part of the common folk they did as they were bade and shuffled out, being given a few coins for their trouble. Only once they were gone did Petrus motion to his troops, the door being closed, before he approaches the counter in slow, even steps, his gaze bearing down on Gulliver intensely before he brought his other hand out from behind his person. Slowly, but purposefully, would he drop a heavy sack of coin on Gulliver's counter before remarking with a slow nod "For your lost business..... Now, we have business to discuss. I'm certain you're well aware of the recent siege on our fair city?"

Gulliver Ingold

 

[Gulliver Ingold]

Though Gulliver got quite a bit of business in his little flower shop, it was rare for it to be particularly packed. Most of his profit was made through large events, in which someone ordered massive amounts of arrangements and either picked them up or had them delivered. It was a very lovely day, however, and more people than usual were walking around and enjoying the weather. That meant more walk-in business, and many of them simply stepping in to admire the beauty, which Gulliver did not mind in the least. They were often his favorite kind of people.

Some were the poorer sorts hoping for the free flowers he was known to hand out now and then, perhaps to give to a spouse or the person that had caught their interest. Nothing ever really came for free, however. At least, not from someone with fae-blood. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them, right?

Gulliver could, of course, afford to live and operate shop in the Inner City. He would be welcomed there, even, as several of his higher-status clients often liked to remind him. He was quite content immersed in the mundane business of the average people, however, and making the more affluent come to him. Was it him being cheeky? Maybe a little bit, but it was true that he enjoyed the people in the Outer City.

He was in the midst of assisting a sweet young couple when the soldiers marched through the door flanking a very well-dressed man, catching the attention of everyone within the shop. Gulliver was bemused, but still. He didn't move to stop them, he didn't protest. In fact, he was still smiling and just offering his customers apologetic nods and sheepish waves as they filed out. Because, believe it or not, this was not entirely out of the ordinary.

Nobility and the highly wealthy, right? They felt a certain entitlement to taking up space and demanding time, and they were unlikely to want to share either of those things with anyone they deemed lesser than themselves. Whatever business they had was drastically more important than anyone else's. The man in front of him was not his first and would certainly not be his last affluent patron, and Gulliver was accustomed to their imposed gravity.

He was unphased. Even as the coin dropped on his counter with a clink and thud, he didn't even glance at it, instead keeping a steady, curious smile on the face of the dour man before him. There was always something light and whimsical about the half-fae, even when he was being exceptionally polite. His eyes were bright, his relaxed posture wispy and willowy. It wasn't a surprise many people just assumed he wasn't actually human.

Now, what would it be this time? A banquet? A wedding? A parade? A coming-of-age? ... A funeral? That was the manner of business he was used to. It was obvious the mention of the siege was not quite what the florist was planning to hear, in the way that his brows angled slightly uneven and his head gave the gentlest tilt. What could the siege have to do with anything?

But first and foremost, who even was this man?

"It was a notable event..." As vague and ungiving on the topic as he felt it deserved without so much as an introduction, though there was no hint of annoyance in his tone. Rather, he blinked slowly those luminous, silver eyes and instead set upon the man a look of friendly expectation and intrigue. "And I would be happy to discuss it with you, of course, Lord-...?" The politest and most innocent way he could muster to point out the lack of formalities his rank of people were usually so proud of thinking set them apart from the common rabble.

"Would you prefer to sit, or is standing acceptable to you...?"

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Petrus regarded the aloof, sickeningly sweet nature of this 'Gulliver' with all the patience of a bull surrounded by red capes. Which is to say.... none at all. Straightening his posture he would wave a hand curtly, as if physically batting away Gulliver's niceties as his eyes narrowed onto the half-fae. During his time in the Falwood he was more than well-acquainted with the..... aura of Fey beings but what exactly he could glean from Gulliver about such things he neatly tucked away in his mind and, if he could detect similar things from Gulliver he made no outward expression or acknowledgement of it. His voice was low, not deepened on purpose, and not exactly quite, but Petrus was a man of business first and foremost and at this very moment he had more use of Gulliver's brain than his words. No small amount of exasperation, whether feigned or otherwise, suffused every syllable of Petrus' speech.

"Spare me your niceties, I think we will both find it more agreeable to simply get to the business offer at hand. Lord Iskandar will suffice for this meeting, and I am perfectly comfortable standing, thank you."

There was no genuine appreciation behind the thanks, and it was hollow a notion as Petrus suspected Gulliver's own niceties were. A brief engagement on Gulliver's chosen playing field before his next action brought the flow of conversation back to business, back to HIS chosen playing field. Raising a hand and snapping his fingers Petrus would motion for one of his soldiers to come forward. The man would step up behind Petrus, wielding a spear and a shield emblazoned with the symbol of House Iskandar upon it, before the hand Petrus had snapped his fingers with opened and the soldier placed, of all things, a jar containing a plant in the Lord's now open hand.

As Petrus brought the jar closer to Gulliver no doubt both of them would be able to feel the raw, necromantic energies coming from the plant that had, somehow, survived the exposure to the fell energies. It's form twisted and morphed to the point that it's petals were now an oddly luminescent green, exposed to Geladryx and his energies as it was. It's stalk was also an odd, unnatural pale, porcelain color and the roots of the plant seemed to.... move. The shriveled, decayed roots gently tapped at the glass in Gulliver's direction and Petrus' eyes never left the plant, even as he began to speak again.

"I am considering naming it 'Deathroot', I suspect the label to be blunt enough to dissuade the ignorant from tampering with it."

Setting the jar down gently on the counter it was only then that Petrus' gaze would return to Gulliver, his hand not leaving the jar as his lips gave the ghost of what one might consider a smile.

"The reason for my coming here lies firmly in the shared academic interest we may possess. Even now the noble houses of the Merchant Council seek to scavenge and scrape from the remains of the Siege, to study their enemy in case of return, and I am not different."

Petrus' hand gently slid the jar across the counter, the sound of the thick glass scraping over the wood loud in the shop, as if highlighting his words as his hand slowly moved from the jar.

"I simply have need of.... qualified and competent individuals for my own studies. You come.... modestly recommended by mutual associates."

Petrus gave Gulliver a minute to study the plant, arms once again lacing behind his back, as Petrus levelled as studious a gaze at Gullive's reactions as Gulliver no doubt would at the plant. Once Gulliver seemed satisfied he had a measure of the plant Petrus continued slowly.

"This would require a bit of a field expedition which you will, of course, be compensated for....."

Petrus let the offer hang in the air, waiting to see how Gulliver responded.

Gulliver Ingold

 

[Gulliver Ingold]

Unfortunately, Gulliver actually liked the niceties and pleasantries that came with polite conversation. Those cordial rituals that everyone agreed to perform in order to exist together in civility. They weren't something he engaged in purely out of deceptive expectation. Sometimes he almost forgot what a sense of urgency was. That feeling of being strapped for time, the impatience that came with limited minutes and breaths. Why wouldn't there be time for niceties?

He wasn't the least thrown off or put out, however. He was long accustomed to self-important attitudes and the type of people who counted every second not strictly on their own schedule a nearly unforgivable waste of their time. Granted, it was unusual for people who were in need of flowers to be so grumpy. His business blossomed in good times and thrived on celebratory events, with the exception of the occasional funeral or disgruntled wife. That was apparently not the case.

The name. That was familiar, and it clicked into place why this man had marched into his shop with his entourage of soldiers. Gulliver would be the first to admit that he could be a little bit forgetful, details and dates getting lost in the quandary soup of his brain, which was why it did not immediately occur to him that this was the meeting he had received correspondence regarding.

Curious, however, that he had thought Lord Iskandar to be quite a bit older than the man that stood before him appeared to be. Gulliver did not bother to hide that shimmer of intrigue that accompanied the still pleasant, serene little smile on his lips as he addressed the man. "Ah! Lord Iskandar, of course. I did receive notice that you would be paying a visit. Sooner than anticipated, but perfectly on time." Whatever that meant.

The evasively tranquil and genial air he played, mild and politely detached, did not last so long once the jarred plant was placed upon his counter. He immediately placed the sensation of decay and desiccation, the haunted remains of once-life, as necromancy. It was familiar. It was comfortable. The sickly green glow reflected in Gulliver's captured pale eyes as he leaned over to get a better look at the contents of the jar. He almost didn't hear what Iskandar even had to say.

"Deathroot? Certainly an... uninspired name..." He murmured, the moment in his true element seeing a drop in his overly polite façade before he blinked and remembered himself. "Ah, of course... it is fitting, is what I mean. Frank and to the point." Still, he didn't look at Iskandar. His spindly fingers gingerly touched the cool jar, turning it about to behold the plant at all of its angles. "... It is lovely, isn't it? I wonder from what flower it was mutated..."

He mentioned mutual associates, and Gulliver could only imagine that he didn't mean fellow lovers of all things botany. If the half-fae were being recommended for anything other than the ethereal, enchanting beauty of his floral arrangements, then they must be a very particular flavor of associate. It was a curious connection to have, and he did at last look up at the nobleman and pull himself up a little taller from being hunched over the specimen.

"Field research? I would be delighted," he said promptly and without any hesitation. Just like that, as if he were ready to put on his hat (if he had one) and be right out the door at that very moment. And though his tone was mild, the encompassing brightness in his keen, silvery eyes reflected the delight he claimed to feel. "I've found it's never as satisfying or fruitful to pay others to do it. The field research, I mean. They never seem to... know what to look for."

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Petrus did not seem to give a care about Gulliver's seemingly contradictory answer about his arrival. Instead the Patriarch of House Iskandar's gaze never left Gulliver's face as they rather ethereal little man's expression betrayed his awe and interest. Though the most pertinent note Petrus took care to stow away in the back of his mind was how Gulliver's rather brazen insult to him came only when his fascination reached it's zenith, his overly sweet smile falling, and Petrus showed no outward cue as to whether what Gulliver said bothered him or not. Comparatively, Petrus was almost unnaturally composed, his gaze boring into Gulliver for a long, quiet moment before he motioned with a hand toward the plant in question.

"Lovely, quite. As for it's source flower, that would be at least part of the intention behind this outing of mine."

At the mention of this being 'Field Research' Petrus was all too slow at inclining his head, his motions practiced if not rather stoic altogether. His voice, however, carried just the barest drop of warm satisfaction n response to Gulliver's opinion of others.

"I have found this Age of Chronicles, as the scholars call it, to be quite devoid of the heroes and legends one would think would herald a new Age. Villains, such as the Dragon Geladryx.... perhaps but an inconvenient thrust for Alliria's heart does little but provide opportunity for learning and frightening the small and weak......."

Petrus' eyes would narrow the briefest bit, as if the tiny glare was THROUGH Gulliver, and certainly not at him at least.

"...certainly not the sower of despair and death the beast thought itself to be."

With the seemingly random disparagement made Petrus would turn and wave a dismissive hand back towards Gulliver, as if banishing the botanist with a thought, already nodding to his soldiers who began to file out and spread the word they were bade. A carriage to come and collect Petrus and his guest. A Petrus who, while rather bored, perused the store as his voice mused idly.

"Gather your things, we leave within the hour....."

Petrus would pause in front of a small, wilted plant, it's form marred, torn at and defaced by the all too curious hands, strokes and plucks of unruly customers. With slow, methodical intent Petrus would extend his hand that bore his Amber ring and softly slide the plant further into the light. The amber glowing softly as he intoned a low, murmuring whisper, subvocalizing a gentle breeze of a spell that caused the dying little plant to bloom with life once more. The faint, primal drifting of his Druidic magic lilting through the air in a soft, almost coy dance of a kind both Fey and Elf would find as a pleasant perfume, or their favorite dish, and it was only a casual glance to check on Gulliver's preparations no-doubt that would tell Petrus how the lithe little half-fey man reacted to this interest assault upon the senses.

Gulliver Ingold

 

[Gulliver Ingold]

It was usually when Gulliver seemed his most abstracted and vacuous that his head was actually swimming with the most thoughts. He had given himself time to gather a lot of them, and different trains and points of view frequently ran simultaneously behind his silvermoon eyes. He was not a man without judgement, as those also often filled his head, he had simply learned to temper his own judgements. A surprising number of those rampant thoughts were unkind and sometimes even cruel, but they were carefully filtered and refined like they were a fine liquor until what finally came out was crafted syrupy smooth.

"No, you are correct, I think," Gulliver agreed with an impassive smile and a simple, subdued shrug of his narrow shoulders. Lord Iskandar seemed almost disappointed that Geladryx wasn't anything more than it ended up being, and there was an eternally dispassionate component of Gulliver that commiserated. "This age does not quite seem to have the appropriate conditions for the formation of... epic souls. It lacks that... grit... that polishes the stone."

If Gulliver were surprised that they were leaving already, so soon, it did not show. That ever serene bearing, even though he was not dressed for travel. Even though he needed to close up, even though there were still curious customers waiting around outside for the intimidating soldiers to disperse. Leaving unexpectedly, unannounced, was not outside of the usual for him, and that was made evident by the wooden placard he already had exactly for the case of his sudden, whimsical expeditions.

"I suppose there's no time to grab one of the urchins to look after the shop... but, no matter..." he mused as he moved to gather his traveling and working satchel from the back room. He paused, however, as Petrus also stopped to trifle with one of his plants. It was one of several mangled plants he inevitably had to rescue at the end of each day, as people could not keep their clumsy and curious hands to themselves.

He recognized in the gently weaved spell a manner of elven druidism, which was a curiosity in and of itself. As the withered leaves unfurled and the entirety of the plant seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, stretching outward from where it had previously curled into itself as if to protect itself from further torment, Gulliver felt the graze of something intimate and abating wafting along the current of the spell.

The earthy scent of dampened peat. The resin of old trees. Clay, mud, and algae. The tail end of a crisp, energetic breeze bearing the chilled fragrance of a frosted over meadow.

When Petrus cast a glance to the half-fae, he might have looked briefly as a deer caught in the headlights. Not startled as much as intrigued and enraptured, momentarily caught up in the pleasant and fascinating experience. There was no alarm or discomposure when he slowly blinked and remembered he was meant to be preparing himself, either. Merely a flash of a candid smile before he was on his way to the back room once more.

"Your studies have taken you to some curious places, have they, Lord Iskandar?" His voice lilted from beyond the threshold of the shop's overgrown gallery. The question was open, not meant to actually be nosy, and could easily be taken as rhetorical if the other man had no desire to discuss it. Gulliver was merely pleasantly occupied by the turn the man had taken with his talents that was by far unusual for most humans.

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Petrus held the gaze of Gulliver's reaction for the scantest moment, weighing and measuring the Half-Fae's enraptured countenance before he turned away. Now standing to look out the front window of Gulliver's shop and note how his soldiers dutifully held back the gathered thronging masses, clearing a path for their carriage to arrive, and when Gulliver called to him over the shop's threshold Petrus did not answer promptly. Instead he would turn, cross the shop to the counter once more, and consider for a moment.

"My studies.......?"

Petrus mused to himself, head tilting ever so slightly in consideration before he shook his head, his mane of hair swaying slightly as his jaw set in a small, barely perceptible motion.

"No, rather it was my ambitions that have taken me to the most curious of places, Gulliver Ingold."

It was only a few minutes more before a troop of armed, armored and trained soldiers of House Iskandar arrived with a luxuriously decorated and reinforced carriage. Following closely behind the carriage was a much simpler wagon, covered and shielded over top by wooden planks, in which set roughly a dozen soldiers armed and prepared for the outing. Petrus, of course, heard them approach and the soldier that opened the door to inform him their carriage had arrived was dismissed with a prompt wave of the hand.

His attention turning back to the botanist Petrus would begin to walk to the door only to pause half-way and glance back at Gulliver with a practiced, likely even perhaps false, curiosity.

"I trust you have everything you need? Including the capacity to watch after yourself?"

Assuming, of course, Gulliver answered in anything not in the negative, Petrus would step out into the city and into the covered carriage.

Gulliver Ingold