Private Tales In Rare Form

[Chaceledon]

Chaceledon was allowed to go above ground once a year. A tiny, precious, fleeting time where he was allowed to sit in this dingy little town and socialize. Oor had chosen a town that Chaceledon would dislike on purpose; the dragon couldn’t be allowed anywhere near high society where he could potentially escape. Chaceledon, for all his faults, bloomed in settings where one’s clothing dictated status and parties were the principal concern of the year. He was given a room in a small inn by the road; a travelers inn. Somewhere the beer was watered down, the floor had accumulated a layer of grime some could consider charming, and it was bitterly cold.

Chaceledon had come to hate these little moments of freedom. He wasn’t in a gala, resplendent with his scales shining, dancing the night away in flames and beauty. He was magnanimously perched in a squeaky chair, robes billowing around him. He looked so painfully out of place.

Men came here to stock up on tinned biscuits and dried meat, and eat beans that had been steadily bubbling over a fire since the last time the dragon visited. Chaceledon was dressed in what Oor had dubbed ‘The Angry Outfit’; A beautiful black robe with a fluffy rabbit collar and sleeves, with thousands of gold coins worth of dark amethysts. It was supposed to symbolize the power of winter, especially doubled with beautifully dark glass nails, with scintillating gems that dangled in delicate strands from each pinky.

Likewise, he hadn’t neglected his face. He’d put on his best kohl, coordinating in colors of a brilliant night sky; purples, navy blues studded with tiny crystals at the corners of his eyes. His long dark lashes looked disapprovingly down at the mug of beer that had been plunked in front of him...layered with a nice bit of film floating at the top.

Chaceledon made a face and pushed it across the table away from him. This was supposed to be his moment of freedom for the year? He could see a few of the men leering; oftentimes it was difficult to tell Chaceledon’s gender from the way he dressed and carried himself.

Ergh.

“Anythin’ I kin get ya marm?” The innkeeper asked, wiping down the table with a cloth Chaceledon actually cringed from. He could smell it.

“No thank you.” It was actually impossible to keep the disgust out of his voice. “Actually, do you have any wine? Mulled with a little cinnamon and cardamom?”

A blank stare, and the innkeeper swept the filmy beer away and replaced it a few minutes later with a wine that was one gasp away from vinegar. Chaceledon batted his eyelashes in horror at it. “...Thank you.” He said tersely.

 

[Agramón]

Inns and bars were well known for possessing the power to attract individuals of all types, from a plethora of backgrounds that hardly seemed as if they could be mixed together, and letting them loose amongst one another. This inn was no different, showing off the shine of the locale and offering home and peace for the adventurers who were weary after travel. Thus, as a melting pot of minds and culture, it was only a matter of time until it attracted individuals whose interest in mortals was second to none.

Thus, as the door pushed open, the only individual who could be argued to be on par with the Dragon stepped onto the floor that looked as if it hadn't been cleaned since it was built. His clothing was the same as always, katana at his hip and the strange opal-esque blade against his back. "Fascinating," could be heard whispered by those close enough to the new arrival, his long hair cascading down his shoulders like a waterfall of snow. His horns made eyes immediately turn towards him, but few batted an eye. Whatever they might think him to be, none of them would have ever guessed that a Devil had entered their midst. Especially not one who looked so curiously around the room, slowly making his way towards the bar.

Making his way up to the bar, and obviously completely at ease with the smell of men who had avoided bathing as long as possible, he took a seat and smiled kindly at the bartender.

"An ale, if you would."

His voice rolled out as if each syllable danced from his tongue, his words having an almost musical quality to them. It didn't seem as if they were imbued with magic or anything of the sort, it was simply due to how at ease this individual seemed to be. Watching the bartender work, Agramón's eyes looked far sharper than the relaxed expression of his face would imply. This may have been a small inn, nestled into the bosom of a small town, but a craftsman can perfect their art in any environment. Perhaps it was simple, and there was even the chance that any sort of elegance had been assumed in Agramón's own mind, but still there was something peaceful about watching mortals work.

Only once his drink was slid before him, and the bartender walked from behind the counter to talk to other patrons, did the Devil turn his gaze to the most unique one in the room.

"Hello, stranger." Lifting his mug in a relaxed 'Cheers' motion, he smiled. "What brings someone like you to this fine establishment?"

 

[Chaceledon]

Chaceledon sighed heavily. He’d once had some small evil plan of getting monstrously drunk and spending the night with one of these men. Nothing would anger Oor more. But now that he was actually seeing and smelling them his stomach turned at the very thought. It took the wind out of a petty revenge, and that thought was rather infuriating. At least if his son was allowed to be with him, there would have been someone to talk to.

He did look to see who had walked in, and blinked. That was definitely not a farmer, bandit, or roughneck. He sat a little straighter, pulling himself together from the admittedly unfashionable pout he’d been in. It didn’t matter when he was around people who couldn’t tell a salad fork from a dessert spoon, but this one had a touch of class about him.

Chaceledon hadn’t ever seen someone with horns sprouting from his forehead. His first thought was the man might be a fellow dragon, but from his scent it wasn’t to be. Not a dragon then, but something else.

Surprisingly, the other lifted a mug of the filmy ale and smiled at him. Chaceledon rose from his seat; dragons like he were trained from birth to do things elegantly. He’d been taught that even something as simple as getting up from a chair should be graceful and elegant.

Chaceledon smiled, and gently took the mug of ale by the rim, setting it down a bit away from the other. “Don’t drink that.” he said with a playful smile, folding himself into the seat next to the stranger. “Whiskey is, by far, the only drinkable thing here. As for my presence...well...let’s just say it isn’t entirely voluntary.” The dragon pulled his long copper hair over his shoulder. “I didn’t expect to see someone else civilized.”

Agramón