Private Tales The First Law of Merriment

[Himitsu]

Mitsy glanced up at him over the rim of her mug at the sudden change in the pitch of his voice; one of the perks of more acute hearing like she had was that she could detect much more subtle shifts in tonality and quality of people’s voices than most normal humans. It was handy especially to try and figure out when people were lying to her -- though, really, maybe it was more correct to say when they weren’t actually lying to her, since that happened more rarely -- and also sort of a cue to people’s moods.

Like right now.

The Kitsune’s eyes narrowed at the description of this, ahem, enchanter, and she had half a mind to have Faurosk guide her shift so that she could go on a spree and /really/ mess that dude’s life up -- because, really, she could do quite a bit of damage when her mind was put to it -- but even as she squinted at the mage he sort of swam in her vision.

Oh, boy, this stuff was strong. And then Faurosk was asking about her and romance and she scoffed, going to cross one leg over the other as she leaned back in her seat, grinning at him.

“Pfft? Me? Romance. Yeaaah. I like a good romp in the hay or a good barfight as much as the next fox-spirit, but nah. Sometimes I forget which face I had on -- or have on -- and if I can’t even remember who the hell I am how’s a relationship supposed to work?” She sort of snorted into her tankard, downing another big swig. It burned all the way down, leaving her squinting at the liquid .. up until he made his cheeky offer and she laughed, not mockingly but just genuinely entertained by that grin on his face and how proud of himself he was.

“Oh, yeah? Too bad there’s no proof that anyone in this room has actually slain a dragon, I wager that would have gotten him more than a few points in the ‘dashing hero’ category,” she responded, her tone light and dancing, just the slightest slant of coy there. But then again, that seemed to be on par with the white-haired creature in front of him. Everything she said, even when sober, sort of hovered on this question of somewhere between coy and challenging and sometimes both at the same time… Like she was always sort of pushing at everyone around her.

“Though…” She abruptly leaned forward, planting her mug on the table and grinning at him as she pointed at it. “This shit? This shit right here? This is some good shit. I guess you get tons of points just for this. Ain’t gonna stop me from taking aaaaaall your clothes tonight, though, I suppose that earns you at least one article of clothing you get to keep. I’d recommend your socks. Soooo uncomfortable to walk around without socks, after all!”

 

[Faurosk]

Faurosk half-scrunched his face in confusion at her mention of not remembering who she is, what, with all the shifting she must be capable of. Perhaps it was his drunkenness that lent itself to his puzzlement, or maybe sobriety would have made him more confused. Either way, as a transmuter, he thought he was pretty in-tune with what it was like to change from one state to another, but Mitsy must be operating on an entirely different level to be able to change herself on command.

The mage knitted his brow between his thumb and forefinger, dismissing the vexing thoughts of what identity meant to someone without a definite form. Instead, he let out a peal of laughter at her accusation that he was trying to talk himself up without evidence-- And, hey, he was plenty dashing! Maybe he wore nerdy, out-of-fashion-robes all the time and tried to edge away from danger at most turns, but that's just a lifestyle choice.

"Sure, nobody in this room has proof, but I wasn't talking about me!" Faurosk gave his new friend a wide grin, eyes half lidded from a mixture of mirth and alcohol. "No, I know this one guy-- Lives up on a mountain, you know? Young man, impersonab-- inperso-- No, ah.. Abrasive! Yeah, abrasive, prone to emotional outbursts, good with animals... And he totally fought this one big beastie, yeah, but he's halfway across the world, in another continent, up on its highest peak." The mage gave a teasingly sympathetic shrug, but he couldn't quite suppress his smile. "Sorry."

He gave another brief outburst of laughter at the kitsune's entirely too kind off to not steal one article of his clothing, cupping his hand in his chin in a mockery of thought. "Hmm... Well, I hate to break it to you, but I think there's something else that'd be even less comfortable to go around without."

If the mage were at all capable of sober thought at this point, he'd probably request to keep his component belt. After all, there were enough arcane reagents there for him to track the white-haired woman for a good few days, and he could even sell some of the pricier components he kept to purchase a new set of clothes. Or he could transmute an entirely new set of clothes from any cloth he had on hand, which might be the single most clever option he had.

"I'll keep my nether garments, thank you very much."

Perhaps there's a lesson to be learned here, and maybe- just maybe -he would learn it in due time.