Fable - Ask Invitation Not Included

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She hurried along the street, quite pleased with herself.

It had taken the better part of the last several days to lay the groundwork for her current scheme, and now she delighted in the feel of the silken fabric on her skin. Of course, the dress was only one part of the planned festivities for the evening. She herself had little love for social events, but there were any number of things she would tolerate for the sake of those she truly cared for.

An evening spent being social with short-sighted people would make Draedamyr happier than it would her. Indulging in a little of her own mischief would make up for it, though. What could be more fun than inviting oneself to a party and enjoying all of the good bits of it without having to actually having to do anything so crass as get to know people? What was more, there would be art and all the things that her elfin companion enjoyed.

She had told him to meet her at the Bards' Reprise in the Inner City as the sun was setting. Dressed as she was, she would not be too out of place. She really was quite pleased with herself; a low cut, off-the-shoulder bodice of pale red with silver and thread-of-gold embroidery in an elegant pattern at the top. Cinched with a silver belt and with pleated cream-colored skirt, the hem embroidered in the same pattern but in maroon. The cool evening air caressed much more skin than she was accustomed to showing, but if she were going to go to a party she might as well at least try to fit in with the crowd.

Among wealthy people, it would be down right rude to show up in something more simple. And even if she did prefer simplicity in most situations, she couldn't help that she actually enjoyed dressing in finery, meaningless though it might be. Besides, there didn't have to be a reason to find something less plain to wear.

She might not have done any such thing were it not for a certain man, though.

She hurried along to their meeting place, smiling a little at the thought of his reaction to the entire affair, of which she had divulged next to nothing.
 
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In the absence of good company, conversation, wine and entertainment, Draedamyr would accept good wine on its own.

A new bottle was uncorked before him. He stood at the bar of the Bard's Reprise, the owner of the establishment left the bottle standing with the cork beside it as he reached for a glass. Humans normally drank from wooden cups, but he was pleasantly surprised by the appearance of glasswear.

Draedamyr took the little exchange quite seriously. He sniffed the cork. It didn't smell off. He watched and waited as a splash of claret was poured into his glass. He swirled it, drew it up to his nose and then took a sip.

"Very good," he said. He wouldn't call it a complex flavour, but for human fermentation and bottling it was pleasant. A full glass was poured and Draedamyr asked for a second before he spied a corner away from people already at tables.

He sensed her before he saw her. Her magic was even older than him, far older than he was. He didn't fully understand it, but he knew there was something that bound them now.

He turned to the door as he reached for his glass. He stopped reaching for his glass. His expression managed to split, running in two directions at once. His brow creased in confusion, but his lips split into a wide smile.

"You look...Well...Wow."

He took pride in his eloquence, but it fled on the breeze she had invited by opening the door. His lips spoke praise, but his eyes continued to speak of his confusion.
 
She moved in a gliding motion that barely disturbed her skirts, fixing him with a brilliant smile. There was an edge of mischief in her face today, the set of her lips and the gleam in her eyes. Though not often one to indulge in the ... predilections of the Fae, every now and again it was fine.

Practically required, even.

"And you look like the picture of refinement and culture," she said with a teasing lilt to her voice. The glide vanished and she swept past him to the quiet little corner he had selected for their retreat. She made sure to sashay ever so slightly while he was still watching.

"I've brought you a gift today," she said lightly as she levered herself up into the seat. Being short had many drawbacks; wearing skirts in a world designed for people much taller than she was yet another such.

She flicked her wrist, and an elegant card appeared there, embossed and smelling freshly printed. She offered the invitation to the Drae with an exaggerated flourish and without another word. Just a smile, that mischievous light glowing in her eyes.
 
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"And you look like the picture of refinement and culture,"

"I would have worn one of my nice doublets had I..."

Draedamyr was cut off from finishing his protest as she walked away. He watched instead, walking a pace or two behind.

"I've brought you a gift today," she said lightly as she levered herself up into the seat.

Her little hop up into the chair drew his attention back to what she said. Her suddenly shift in demeanour had caught him off guard; her deliberate walk had held his gaze.

They had met one another as he had just entered one of the darkest points of his life. She had started climbing out of hers. They were still only just enjoying and exploring the brighter sides of one another.

"Oh what is this?" he asked. There was a mix of excitement and suspicion in his tone. "It's not another one of those gatherings is it?"

The immortal creatures had certainly been a interesting group of individuals to meet.
 
"One of the Court functions?" She sounded distinctly... amused. She eyed Draedamyr with a sidelong look that spoke so much more than the few words she had spoken could ever convey. There had been some memorable moments in the last she had attended, warlock in tow.

"No, nothing so dire. I stay out of the Courts most of the time for a reason." Mostly because she was not welcome in some of them. Among other things, among them the fact that their machinations often brought painful memories with them.

She wafted the poured glass of wine waiting for her into her hand. She sipped from it with no visible reaction. She did not have his finely adapted palate for wine; if she did drink she did so to be sociable. Or, of course, to dull the pain wrought by the wounds this world placed upon her. The iron laws of magic were more prison than any cell could ever be.

"This is a..," she paused for a moment, cocking her head to one side and then huffed a laugh. "...borrowed invite to some wealthy social event." She raised an eyebrow and dared him to comment on how she had acquired it.

"There will be wine. And probably art. And it won't matter if I have to carry you out on a tendril of wind this time," she teased.
 
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His look was thoughtful as he inspected the card. She knew his tells now. His expressions were always subtle. Draedamyr was intrigued.

"Some real civilisation," he commented, offering a smile.

He enjoyed the finer things in life. Plays, art and wine. They were usually to be found in cities. By contrast, Seska seemed to enjoy the quieter parts of the world.

He reached across the table, gentle squeezing her wrist in appreciation.

"If this has been borrowed, I am hoping our welcome will not be quickly worn out?"

One eyebrow arched upwards. If this had been sent to another, was he going to get thrown out before he could be carried out.

"I am sure the wine will not betray me at this event."

He was a proud creature, but he had learned his lesson.
 
His touch made her blood sing, but she carefully kept it from her face. She draped her other hand over his lightly. "In so much as humanity offers by way of civilization. Someone is bound to be robbed or stabbed. Even if it is only metaphorically."

She almost giggled at the thought of being found out. "Please. I've been brushing up on some of those long disused skills," she chirped. "A little fog in the mind of anyone who questions is small enough price to pay." It wasn't even an intrusive glamor, either. It was how the Fae world existed alongside that of the mortals in the first place.

"Besides, if the wine does betray thee this night, I might have to clear your mind some other way." There was a bit of heat in her tone, there and gone like summer lightning.
 
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"There will be no succumbing to wine," Draedamyr said firmly. That little flash of lightning had come and gone, but in response came the weight of the rolling thunder. He leaned forwards across the table.

"Because it seems that tonight would be better served by starting and finishing with a clear head."

Mostly clear, anyway. A gentle buzz was never unwelcome.

"So what seed was planted to grow into this plan?" he asked curiously.
 
The confidence and playfulness melted at the question. She looked away for a moment before she finally answered him. She did not quite meet his eyes.

"You were enjoying yourself so much around immortal company and, well..." She trailed off and shook her hair so that the fall of silver flew. "I just don't go and do many of the things you like," she said almost too quiet to be heard.

She was not young. Neither was her. Both of them had been in enough relationships in their lives to know that the ones that stood the test of time were ones where both participants got something they wanted. And, truth to tell... even if she didn't really like the cities and the art, so long as she was in his company she could tolerate it.

More than tolerate, really. She knew better than most of ephemeral life was. Every moment was special because it was a moment that could never be reclaimed.

"We always retreat to the country. I thought maybe you would appreciate,.." she started, and then altered her voice to make it sound like his. Or at least his mannerisms. "...the finer things in life. Some representation of civilization."

She paused a moment, and then laughed delightedly at her own humor.
 
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"You didn't have to... But I'm glad you did," Draedamyr said.

The moment where excitement and confusion peaked was past and into that space came a warm gratitude.

She still received an arched eyebrow for the impression.

He turned the card over in his hand. Long elegant fingers rolled or over several times after he had read the wording.

"A visiting artist. I'm so out of touch I don't even recognise the name. If..."

His tone changed to something more challenging.

"...you run out of worthwhile conversation and the art does not hold your attention I promise to support an early retirement. We can find other sport I'm sure."

"Are we expected soon?" he asked, glancing at his half full glass.
 
She gave him a languid smile, eyes filled with a knowing light. There was no need for words - their eyes could tell all without such limitations.

"There is no need to rush. After all, a Lady is always fashionably late." She took on a pose of hauteur and well-bred arrogance, head tilted up just enough that she could look down her nose. "I simply couldn't be seen in public if I was not ready, after all," she simpered.

After a moment, she arrogance melted away into bubbling laughter, light and free. "In any case, you know how I detest wasting coin. You already paid for the wine. I am not feeling charitable today, so we should make sure not a drop of it is left 'ere we leave this place."
 
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"But on the other hand, you are all dressed up and we are...here..."

He waved to encompass the room and took a longer sip of his wine. It wasn't particularly good anyway.

"Did I say how amazing you look?" he asked, tilting his head to one side. The gesture, her dress and that sparkle he caught at the corner of his eye made him want to skip the socialising altogether.

But that would be a waste of all the work she had put into the planning.

Draedamyr tilted the glass up and finished it. Setting it back down, he slid from his chair and offered his arm.

"Are we going far?" he asked.
 
She preened at the compliment, smiling at Draedamyr. "And you look like sophistication manifest, my dear," she replied. "It is well you have those strong arms, too," she added. She hopped down from the seat and smoothed her skirts. "Just in case, you understand."

She winked at him, and linked arms. Almost as soon as they touched, subtle magic swirled round the pair. The elf was now arm in arm with... well, it was still here, just taller. And with the faint glow in her eyes muted to a dull sheen instead.

She leaned in and lay her other hand on his arm, looking up into his eyes. "Only as far as you wish," she said. And then laughed quietly to herself. "Oh, you meant for the party. Not far, not far. But we don't need to rush there."

She was content with the present company.
 
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"I should not be surprised by each new trick and yet...I always am," he mused.

It was difficult to get a strong reaction out of the ancient elf. She managed it again. A slight ripple of anticipation almost visible as she twisted his meaning.

It was a new experience to walk arm in arm with Seska when she matched his strides. It was difficult to keep his gaze ahead, not because of she had changed, but for the way she had decided to show herself off for once. They were both pragmatic people, but maybe they needed more colour and joy in their days.

"If we do not need to rush did you have scenic route in mind?" he asked. "We could walk the canal for a while and then take a carriage?"
 
She squeezed his arm. "I have learned a lot of tricks over the handful of years I've been alive," she said lightly. "I've probably forgotten more than most mortals could learn."

She was oblivious to the looks that passers-by directed her way. Too much of her life was spent moving among mortals like a wraith, an echo of a past so far gone in history - not to mention entirely alien - that most would never be able to believe the tales. Few could believe someone could live longer than an age, let alone many of them.

Draedamyr did, having witnessed some of it first-hand. For the most part; for the rest, there was a belief born of their shared bond.

"I am content to stroll wherever you are," she said with a smile.
 
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"How long would be fashionably late?" he mused. He turned them down an open cobblestone alley and between two shops. It was a short path to meet the canal that bisected the city.

Humans were expansive. They would churn the land for miles on end to form these canals that allowed oxen to pull huge quantities of cargo between cities. It was inventive, he would admit that if forced.

"The water is always so still," he remarked, glancing past her at the water. Nothing disturbed it's surface in the cool evening air. He gaze lingered on Seska before he looked to the path ahead. "You should know you might be keeping that outfit on a little longer than you might expected."

His lips quirked into a lopsided smile as he gave her hand a little squeeze.
 
"However long I say is fashionably late," she said with false airs, her face a mask of arrogance with a hint of the amusement underpinning it. "'tis good to make people wait every now and then. Even if their concept of waiting is...flawed."

She gestured at the water with her free hand, and slowly shook her head. "Nothing is ever still. Everything moves in its own course - even the very land we walk upon." Ephemeral. Everything was fleeting in one scale or another. The life of a human or the life of a city - nothing was eternal.

At least, she hoped nothing was. Because eternity was a long time to contemplate.

"An hour or two makes little difference in the grand scheme," she said lightly in response. "It will still end up in pieces and scattered across the floor," she added. She squeezed his hand back and leaned into him again. It was odd to lean into his shoulder instead of his ribs.
 
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"It will still end up in pieces and scattered across the floor," she added. She squeezed his hand back and leaned into him again. It was odd to lean into his shoulder instead of his ribs.

"As if I would be so crude," he protested weakly. He ran his hand up her spine. It was a strange experience to be affectionate and not have the same profile beneath his hand. Strange, whilst a little exciting at the same time. Perhaps today he was more immersed in fae culture than he had been at the gala.

He decided not to add that his comment on the longevity of her outfit had been more about it remaining place after their retirement and not about their long walk. That, he decided, would have been crude and beneath him.



The location carried a distinct air of exclusivity rather than as an exhibition. It was a small house near the centre of town. Someone smartly dressed waited inside the door for their invitations.

It amused Draedamyr even more that they had not originally been on the guest list. It was probably an event for the second or third sons of some local lord to show off his own art and those he was patron of.

A shirt corridor and two glass doors opened into a wide hall filled with artistic pursuits. There was a small stage with a young woman playing piano. Pictures hung from the walls or on easels looking fresh from the workshop.

"Where to first?" he mused.
 
For a moment her eyes were distant as she worked a different kind of magic than was her normal custom. She was a sorceress and had been for more time than many could comprehend, even among the immortal Fae. Her Art was broad in its application, but it was destruction that she had specialized in.

This was a far more ... subtle touch.

She brushed minds that were wrapped up in themselves to such a degree that even the Fae would have been impressed. It was too easy to mislead someone who only cared about appearances and not about truth. The subtle shift touched everyone in sight as lightly as a lover, tied in knots round their heads so that she would not have to maintain the illusion actively.

"Anywhere is fine, love,"
she said lightly. A mischievous part of her almost wished to approach the host and hostess of the soiree just to see what they would say, what clever inventions their own minds would make up to mask what they were not allowed to see. "This evening is for you. We can stir up trouble later."
 
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"Well then, let me enjoy a touch of controversy to start the evening. You know, as a younger elf I used to find topics to stir up trouble just so I could be duelling. No sword fights tonight."

He offered a little smile. She had arranged this little evening of entertainment but it's end would be a treat for them both.

Taking her hand, he led them to a large landscape across a wall. He arranged his expression into a mask of serious contemplation.

"I would say, this definitely has shades of a Ladonairre piece," he stated loudly.

Two people scoffed, much to his amusement.

A tall lady in a black dress approached them both.

"I am sure," she said politely, "that Mr Sindler would be grately put out to hear such a comparison."

Draedamyr had to keep a smile from his face.

"Oh? You do not see the dotted brush strokes in the detail work?"

Ladonairre had been a tortured genius whose works had been quite popular two hundred years ago. After expressing controversial views about the council of Allirian of the time before joining a cult he has been ostracised from the artistic community.

"Well a brush stroke hardly calls to inspiration," the lady replied with a shake of her head.
 
She walked alongside him, hand on his arm as they went to the painting.

She had little appreciation for artwork, or rather little appreciation for artwork down with brush and canvas. She had spent more years than most could conceive of simply honing her Art before ever coming to this world. Her creativity extended to the subtle use of magic in every conceivable way.

It was just a shame there were so few, if any, who could appreciate the level of finesse she had achieved over the eons.

Draedamyr was trying to keep his expression even, but Seska didn't have any compunction about using his comments as a springboard. She looked the woman up and down quite directly and grinned. "The look of that stroke is to inspiration what the look of that dress is to the current vogue."

Her own attire was distinct and separate from all the other in attendance. "Of course, black suits so many," she added.
 
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Draedamyr collected two glasses from a passing server. Draedamyr took a sip but almost immediately choked on his drink. He had been trying to find a way to level insults at the guests without being too obvious.

Seska saw the opening and drove a proverbial hatchet through it. He collected himself.

There was no retort. There was only the slow shift of expressions as she pulled herself together and then turned her back on the pair.

As she strode away, there might have been something muttered under her breath about inviting the wrong sort of people.

"You know, if you really upset people... I did not bring a sword," he mused, handing her a glass. He looked around the gallery.

"Does anything catch your attention?"
 
"Please," she said lightly and low. "I've cut people to pieces with my tongue for more years than I care to remember. Besides, I could always turn them into frogs." She laughed at the image that crossed her mind then, eyes dancing through the gallery without much interest.

Portraits of supposedly great people looked back at her. Mountains and forests and cityscapes decorated walls, some with the style of whimsy and others surreal. Her eyes fixed on a tower at sunset, light illuminating the many windows that decorated its size.

"Reminds me of one of my homes," she said in slightly louder voice. It recalled, if but vaguely, the spires - Spires - that she had commanded dozens of Lords and Ladies from. Where she had laid many mighty people low and been humbled herself once or twice. The games of power had somewhat soured themselves on her over the millennia.

"But which..," she mused aloud, lost in the thought.
 
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Draedamyr smiled at her comment.

"You and I have lived in very different homes," he mused. It struck him that he had barely called any places home over the years. He had come to call several cities home, but had owned few actual abodes of his own. Few had ever felt like home and he had barely known his birthplace.

He glanced around at the art. There were a few pieces that he felt like taking the time to study. The uncharacteristically bared shoulder beside him was quite worth of his attention and utterly distracting.

He waited patiently to see if she found the thread of the memory the painting has tugged at.
 
"I was among the mightiest of the mighty, once," she said distractedly. She stared at the spire with reminiscent eyes, lost in a fragment of the past. "Heavy is the crown, as they say."

She shook her head and leaned into the steadying presence of the elder elf. It felt good to have another to touch and to hold and be intimate with in more than just matters of the flesh. Some kinship could not be forged in such fires. Shared experience and honesty with one another were valuable commodities that had no price.

"Grand edifices and thrones, crowns and coins...not worth it." She laughed as her eyes resumed roaming the gallery. "Absolute power is enticing, but there are always others waiting to take it from you. And besides that, the heights are lonely. No one can truly get close with their subjects."

She paused.

"I do miss the view, though. Looking out over the world as the sun rises..."

She could recall quite vividly the light stretching across the horizon, slipping above distant mountains.