Private Tales Dealings in Duality

[Kilien Basmarc]

Well that was lucky cause all he had was some rations and boy nelly did they taste like shit. He happily buckled up the saddle packs on his horse and gave her a pat on the rear for good measure. The horse kicked at him and scurried her rear away.

"Ho-kay," he just narrowly managed to dodge a hoof to the groin, "no apples for you..."

And back to the campfire he went to assist however he could.

"No judgement here," he replied, holding his hands up to show he was unarmed with such things, "I don't really work out but I, too, do enjoy some good eatin. But, ah-" he scrunched his nose, "never did pick up on the cooking thing."

Mostly he just ate his meat raw, but she didn't need to know that.

"Prime rib sounds like a dream," a glance was given to all the useful things she produced all of a sudden and then thrown back toward the horses, "you keep your six-pack and biceps in those fancy bags, too?" Smirk. To look at her one wouldn't know that she worked out at all. If she had a cut figure, it was a well-kept secret.

 

[Zinnia]

Zinnia grinned and blew air from her nose in something approximating a laugh. Kilien might've been good with women, but Kress was he bad with horses. She began smearing butter on the pan.

"It's pretty fun once you get the hang of it. More art than science, unlike baking. Baking's okay, cooking is b-better. To me, anyways. Could you hand me those, please?" she asked, pointing to a couple of small pouches she'd set down just out of reach. As she began to settle into the groove of her task she appeared to relax significantly. Having something she enjoyed doing to focus on worked wonders, it seemed.

From her backpack she produced a cutting board and a knife, which she used to begin slicing the prime rib down.
"I'll pan sear it so it won't take as long to cook. F-figure we're both pretty hungry at this point. Lets the butter and seasonings sink in to the meat better, too..." she trailed off at the end of her sentence as her brain slowly began to register Kilien's last comment. A cacophony of potential responses all began to shout over each other internally, but for some reason she wasn't quite so shaken this time. What if she played things a bit differently, just this once?

Zinnia raised her head from her work and cocked her head slightly at Kilien, the ghost of a playful smile on her lips.
"Why? Trying to take a peek?"

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

Hand things over. He could handle that. Hah.

Kil made himself comfortable stooped by the fire just nearby, picking up things, passing them, taking them, and putting them back down as they were needed. It was all rather a big to-do for spare ribs. He'd have gladly torn raw meat and sinew from bone and then carved out the marrow for good measure, but who didn't love the smell of barbecue?

Thank goodness for his ward or she'd been summoning just about any meat-eating creature in a ten mile radius.

At her accusation he had effected a look of mock innocence, "No ma'am, I would never peek when the wind blows a lady's skirt up."

He'd not had any reason to peek before, but now that he knew it would simply become a challenge.

 

[Zinnia]

Once more, Zinnia blew her amusement from her nose. That line was about as convincing as a spoon was sharp, but Kil likely knew that. Still, he got a smile out of her as she continued going about her work.
Now sliced and seasoned, the meat hissed as it began to fry in the pan. The smell made her mouth water.

"Who said anything about skirts?" she gave a little tease of her own as she used a utensil to slide the sliced rib around. "Unless all you meant to s-say was that you don't believe in the six pack."

Another glance, a slight tilt of her eyebrow. She wasn't wholly sure of why she was pressing him. There was no way she'd ever get him on the backfoot with how relaxed he was with seemingly everything. And yet...

"I'm no stranger to having to prove it."

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

"Oh I believe in the six pack," Kilien smiled wistfully, "I've seen the unicorn of the woods. She stabbed me with her pretty horn," he turned his gaze down at himself with a beard furrowing beneath a shrugging frown as he pointed to a spot just above his left hip, "right here. Straight through - like a Kilbab."

Smacked his lips at that, "I know better than to question her existence again."

 

[Zinnia]

Zinnia blinked in silence for a moment, then promptly broke with a soft snrrrk, moving a hand politely over her mouth. Between the idea, the image Kil conjured, and the pun he delivered, Zinnia couldn't help but let her composure slip.

"A unicorn, huh? How'd you chance that enc-counter?" she teased, admittedly curious to see what kind of fanciful tale he could weave as she continued to cook up their meal.

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

"I was on the lamb from the Royal Navy outside of Briston," Kil, by this time, had made himself comfortable on the ground nearby. With a small dagger drawn from his right boot, he began to whittle one of the sticks that hadn't yet made it to the fire.

"Hid in the woods for a couple of days, had to go in pretty deep when they sent hounds after me. Got into this area where I just kept runnin' circles around this same big boulder - not on purpose, mind you. I was pretty convinced there were some fae fucking with me so I decided to stay put since the hounds hadn't found me there. Sat on that boulder all night and I-shit-you-not, just when the moon was just visible overhead, a unicorn walked up the trail at me."

 

[Zinnia]

In short order diced vegetables and sliced mushrooms found their way into the pan. Zinnia listened intently, her cooking very much on auto-pilot.

"On the l-lam, huh?" she parroted, suspicious. It was hard to tell how much, if any, of Kilien's story was him blowing smoke. She was tempted to ask about the details of how he managed to get the Royal Navy on his back, but decided not to distract from the current tale.

"And just how did that lead to you getting impaled?"

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

"Well you know how those stories about unicorns go..." he glanced at her, side-eyed.

Right, Dreadlord, "maybe you don't. So the stories go that unicorns will only appear-to and approach sweet, innocent, virgin maidens."

To make his point, he gestured to himself with both brows raised, "This one musta been a little bit confused to find me. But, you know, how many times in your life are you gonna get the chance to see a bonafide unicorn in the flesh, right? So I'm thinking, shiit, maybe it'll give me a ride outta these woods? I hop off that boulder and walk up to it real slow and quiet-like and that pony got one good sniff of me and charged."

"It's not something you expect - getting rammed by a unicorn - so when it happens your instincts are a little lost in the wondersauce. Moved just fast enough for it to miss my heart and slow enough for it to hit my kidney." Kilien gesticulated using his dagger point into the stick and pushed it right on through until it was shoving splinters out the other side.

"Like that. Only more blood and less cambium."

 

[Zinnia]

"maybe you don't. So the stories go that unicorns will only appear-to and approach sweet, innocent, virgin maidens."

Zinnia squinted at Kilien. She wasn't totally sure what he was insinuating, and she couldn't stop herself from sidetracking this time.
"Hey, I am at least two out of those three things..." she huffed, pouting as she shuffled ingredients about in the pan. Then she shook her head, hair fluffing about beneath her hood. A gesture as much to shake the statement off of herself as it was to express mild, mostly performative annoyance.

Kilien's display was certainly graphic enough to get her back on topic, and his word choice was some of the most colorful she'd been treated with in memory. He certainly knew how to entertain.
"A-anyways...a s-stab wound in the kidney can still easily be fatal! What happened next? How'd you survive, Mister Royal Navy Fugitive?"

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

"Ehhh-" Kilien pulled the dagger from the stick, head canting to one side as he snapped the stick in half and tossed it into the fire, "that part's a bit hazey. I don't remember much after the initial stab, but I do remember waking up in the forest that night and sort of ... wandering."

His own eyes narrowed as they glanced upward at the darkening sky above, "Bit like a fever dream. Anyway, I've survived worse. At some point I think I found a road and hijacked a carriage."

 

[Zinnia]

"...Huh..."

Briefly, the gold-eyed girl was pulled into a thousand yard stare. In a few short sentences Kilien had managed to get Zinnia to go from skeptical to introspective. Instances of waking reality feeling like fever dreams? That sounded uncomfortably familiar, given her experience back at Bluecott.

Purely coincidence, she quickly told herself. What a foolish line of thought to entertain!

"And a hijacking, too, huh? You s-sure do get yourself into a lot of trouble for an initiate," she teased, pointing and waggling the two-pronged fork she'd been using to cook at him. "If I didn't know any better I might think you're just trying to p-put on a bad boy act."

She punctuated the implication with a sly smile before plunging the fork into a chunk of potato in the pan.

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

Caught that sly smile. Smiled wryly back, eyes tracking the progress of the fork and potato.

"That was well before I was ever an... Initiate," he said with a sniff, "I've only been at the Academy since the Revolution. I was in prison before that for all my trouble. You want proof you can ask Proctor Harkenov for my sentencing."

 

[Zinnia]

A late entry? A very late entry. Unusual, but definitely not unheard of. Kristen, Zinnia's very best friend, had come to the Academy at the same time. There was nothing wrong with it, as far as she was concerned, and her smile took on a more genuine tone.

"Not an act then...gotcha," she said, a softness in her voice. "Well, dinner's ready Mister Bad Boy. Enjoy!"

Perfectly seared prime rib and vegetables were pushed from pan to plates, still bubbling in butter and coated with a mix of herbs and spices that tickled the nose. Zinnia handed Kilien his plate and took her own seat, eager to dig in.

All the while a pair of calm, unfamiliar eyes watched the duo, unable to hear or smell from beyond the bubble that Kilien had cast but curious nonetheless.

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

"Oh," he smirked in amusement at her, "please, Mister Bad Boy was my father. I'm just Bad Boy, or Kil for short."

A wink was sent her way as he accepted his plate, brows lifting at the sight and aroma. Kilien could always eat, but he'd not realized just how hungry he was until a meal of such quality was set before him.

"This is great," he said with genuine amazement at his luck and her kindness for sharing, "thanks, Boss."

Kilien dug in without much further ado, and while he wasn't a complete savage with his table manners, he wasn't entirely civilized, either. With his hands and dagger he fell somewhere in between.

"Where did you learn to cook like this?" he said as he speared a cut piece of prime rib with his knife and held it up. She'd only said she picked it up as a hobby but hadn't gone into much detail.

 

[Zinnia]

Kilien managed to earn a very genuine giggle from Zinnia, followed by another deep, red blush. Ugh, it just wasn't fair how good he was at that! She felt like pulling on her hood and withdrawing into the safety and comfort of being completely buried in fabric, but fought hard against the instinct to do so. After all, Zinnia had to admit...this was actually kind of fun.

"Fair enough, Kil. You're welcome," she replied with a smile after finally beating back the tinge of embarrassment, her cheeks still red beneath her freckles. "...And, j-just 'Zinnia' is fine. Or 'Zin,' if you want. No 'decorum' needed right now, y'know?"

Not many called her the latter. There weren't many who'd gotten close enough to her to feel comfortable with it, she supposed, and Kristen was far too proper to call her by any nicknames. Even still, she liked the idea of hearing Kilien call her that.

Zinnia pondered his follow-up question a moment. She'd never thought it a terribly interesting story, but then again, no one had ever asked her about it before.

"I...spent a lot of my free time at the Academy alone, locked up in my room. Wasn't exactly the 'p-popular' type, but I was bored, and I've got a knack for...let's say 'going unnoticed,'" she explained, pausing to take a bite of her own meal. "One day I was between c-classes and smelled the scent of cooking meat, so I decided to peak in on the kitchen. I...may have realized that it's not exactly well guarded."

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

"Zin, huh?" he arched a brow at her, smiling wryly as if she'd just given him permission to slack off while he was on duty. "Alright," plunked a cut of meat into his mouth and chewed with an indulgent sigh. He'd call her whatever she wanted if it meant more food like this.

He continued to indulge as she spoke and while he seemed rather preoccupied with his meal, he was trying to listen. The fact that the kitchens weren't guarded definitely got his attention. He swallowed a large bite and reached for his waterskin, making a thoughtful sound that he'd certainly be using that helpful tidbit for his own endeavors at a later time.

"That's nuts," he remarked after washing it down, plate nearly empty, "abs, looks, and a good cook. You aughta be the most popular gal around. Betcha got a big brain, too. Hidin' it under that hood." Smirk.

 

[Zinnia]

Huh? Zinnia's brain sputtered, trying desperately to keep up with the tidal wave of praise that had just crashed over her. Did Kilien really think all that? Sure, he hadn't really said all that much, but at the same time that was so much. How was she even supposed to respond? Plus, she was supposed to be being the mature and responsible superior here! What was she supposed to say?!

"I--uh, w-well--t-that is...you are...I'm...d-do you--"

By this time Zinnia had gone positively scarlet, and her collective self could take no more. An old, embarrassing quirk of her magic chose that moment to rear its head as an audible, whistling jet of steam shot out from behind her ears, blowing her hair forward as it blew out from beneath her hood.

Oh by all that was cursed in the eyes of Kress, how to bounce back from that? Her eyes slid down to her food, her fork pushing the vegetables around on the plate.

"It's...not polite to tease a girl like that, y'know..." she said quietly.

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

Well that certainly happened.

Had she slipped something into this food to make him hallucinate or had she just popped her cap like an angry coffee pot? Kilien stared - but not in the way most others would when in the throes of bullying someone. He stared with a rising sense of curiosity. The moment she began to babble then drew forth earnest, endeared amusement. Sure, he'd noticed her stutter but hadn't thought much of it. Uncle Vano had a stutter, and it was the thing that set him apart from all the others; Kilien remembered it with particular fondness.

Now it seemed he'd gone and turtled her stutter-bug, as Uncle Vano liked to say.

He wasn't sure what to make of all of it, but certainly he felt increasingly less disgusted with the prospect of the mission now that he was getting a clearer image of who his company was. He'd been expecting a sourpuss Dreadlord that had no idea how to carry a conversation or have fun. Instead he got this inconceivably cute, blushing little tea kettle.

"Who's teasing?" Kilien replied over the last mouthful of veggies and shook his head, "Not me. I don't tease, I tell the truth. I may be a former convict but I'm no liar."

Actually he was a liar, but like she didn't need to know that and he wasn't lying right now.

 

[Zinnia]

The gold-eyed girl fidgeted and set her plate down, mostly finished as it was. Why was it that she tended to find herself drawn to this type of guy? He said it himself a few times now: "former convict." He was likely trouble, surely. Yet here he was, nicer than most people Zinnia had ever interacted with. Maybe Vel Anir really was just that backwards.

Zinnia peered up at Kilien from beneath loose, dusky locks, cheeks still burning.
"You are...really, really charming..." she admitted sheepishly. Her eyes slid away from him, unable to maintain contact as she quickly added: "Andalsoquitehandsome."

---

The curious eyes continued to try to follow what was happening. The soundless movements of mouths helped little, and in time the curiosity began to burn. What might the wanderers like? A cat, perhaps? The people of the skins they wore liked cats. A cat would surely do.

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

Such complements should have made a person blush but Kilien took them in kind with an easy smile beneath a quirked brow. Must have drummed up an awful lot of courage to say for someone as bashful as she seemed to be - how endearing.

"Yeah? Well it comes easy in good company like yourself," he replied, "you can thank my mom for the good looks. My dad was an ugly brute - Rovani don't tend to care about those things too much though."

 

[Zinnia]

Another smile spread across Zinnia's lips. She supposed she'd just have to expect Kilien would always have the perfect answer, or at least something witty ready to fire off.

"If I ever meet her, I'll be s-sure to thank her," she jested, finally rallying from her embarrassment. She had a few pieces of dinner left to skewer and she wasn't about to let it go to waste. She popped one of the last chunks of meat into her mouth and tilted her head. "I hope you don't mind my ignorance...what is a 'Rovani?'"

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

"You've... not heard of us?" well that wasn't something he came across very often. Usually it was outsiders beyond the realm of Vel Anir but this marked a first for him in years.

A hand lifted to paw at his beard in thought, "Mm... I don't know all the exact details because the story changes every time I hear it ... and it always varies depending on who tells it. The gist is, my people once lived peacefully alongside the Falwood elves in the south. When Vel Anir's army showed up to the city of Rova, we refused to ally with them against the elves in their own war - so they tried to conscript us. But Rovani were also gifted with a lot of mages and were taught powerful magic by the elves, so they fought back. Unfortunately they didn't really stand a chance against the Anirian army, and our home was completely destroyed."

A frown pulled at his face, "Now we're a migrant people of scattered family clans. Most Anirians hate us because of the rumor that we're descendants of elven half breeds, but also because we generally refuse to bow to Anirian rule and have a habit of causing a lot of trouble for roaming Anirian military units. Every once in a while, though, we get tangled up with Anirians and it results in mixed families like mine. I've got my great great grandfather Amel Basmarc to thank for that. He fell in love with an Anirian Lady and they had my great grandfather Berren Basmarc who ended up as a Dreadlord and served as a Proctor at the Academy for a while. Swordmaster, I think."

Kilien heh'd at himself, "Pear fell pretty far from that tree, though. I'm shite with a sword."

 

[Zinnia]

Was she supposed to have? Zinnia had never been particularly great when it came to the academic side of her time as an Initiate; history was far from her worst subject but she did find her eyes glassing over frequently when things got dull. She had to fight the urge to visibly wither at the thought that the tale of the Rovani was common knowledge. She withered more as the story turned out to be a tragic one.

"That...does sound like something Vel Anir would d-do. Especially before the revolution. I'm sorry to hear your people face that..." she replied. Discrimination like that wasn't something she knew. It was something she hid from, constantly. The urge to tug at the hood on her head was proof enough of that. Cowardice.

Zinnia had never heard of the Basmarc family either, but it did seem to be a little highlight among the sour past.
"Me neither. That's why I went with the h-hammer. Just fits better...but I think anyone can learn to fight well! Proctor D'Amour always used to say 'battle is like a dance, practice the steps enough and you'll become flawless.' Then she'd make me run d-drills for the next several hours..."

 

[Kilien Basmarc]

"Hm," he chuckled, "never would have guessed a hammer for you, but what do I know."

Setting his makeshift plate aside, Kilien eased back against a log with his hands lazily clasped over his middle.

"I've not yet managed to make it to any D'Amour classes," his eyes shifted aside, "something's always, uh, come up."

Like being anywhere that didn't involved being in an Etiquette class.