Private Tales Warm Hellos for Rainy Days

[Rainie]

Rainie’s smiling expression slowly smoothed into a blank look as the wizard’s words registered. Consecrated, silver blade…. She turned a bit pale at the implication. Faurosk was her buyer. And he wanted the blade she was not allowed to want anything to do with. Her lavender eyes were fixed on his, wide and empty.

It was then that she watched him put the pieces together. He stopped mid sentence and returned her look dully, practically muttering his own epiphany.

Wordlessly, the bard leaned over and rifled through her bag. She withdrew the small knife with no semblance of presentation or flourish; she simply placed it on the table with a metallic thud.

The wooden sheath was decorated sparsely with holy, protective runes. The hilt was wrapped in black leather and the pommel proudly displayed the Templar symbol. Rainie was no holy woman, or even a practitioner of magic, but even she could sense the hallowed light the weapon exuded.

Expressionless, she reached for it and unsheathed it, flashing the pure silver blade in the dim fire light. More runes were engraved on the blade, swirling and delicate and beautiful. The blade had once belonged to a slain templar, then moved from hand to hand until it ended up in the hands of Rainie’s mark... She had known better than to steal it as well, but the temptation had been too much.

She couldn’t let Eila see it. She didn’t think the lich guards would even let her back into the stronghold if she had it.

All the merchants in town had lowballed her for the selling price. Rainie knew a scam when she heard one. It was why she still clung to the item, despite her desperate need to get rid of it.

The bard didn’t even realize she was chewing on her lip. With the blade in her hand, she pressed the tip lightly into her fingertip. With the barest amount of pressure, the deadly sharp blade managed to draw a bead of blood.

Noisily, she cleared her throat. “Well,” she allowed, “you won’t find a sharper blade.” And then she smirked privately at her own self-loathing joke. She swiped her bleeding finger along the flat of the blade. “But there, now it’s corrupted, right?”

Smiling, she offered the blade to Faurosk hilt first, balancing it delicately in her palm.

Faurosk

 

[Faurosk]

Faurosk's eyes fell to the wooden sheath Rainie had placed upon the table, pouring over the runes engraved upon its surface. To him, they were more than beautiful in their simplicity; The Templar were widely renowned for the runic arcana employed by their bladesmiths, and evidently the elite armorers spared no expense for daggers. His gloved hand gave a quiet creak of cinching leather as he suppressed the urge to run a hand along the sheath, to feel the power there.

His restraint was rewarded as Rainie withdrew the blade from its hiding place. Sterling metal cast off what seemed like more light than it took in, sending gooseflesh up the back of the mage's neck as a wave of faith-based magic rippled from the newly revealed artifact. Fists clenched tighter as the urge to handle the knife grew, and the mage could only bite his tongue to keep from asking Rainie just how she'd acquired such an item.

The wizard's neck tensed visibly as his friend pierced her fingertip on the knife, not only tarnishing the blade, but wounding herself in the process- it was the latter that brought pain to his eyes. An unbidden smile spread across his face, however, as she got back to making her sale, cracking a joke that deprecated nobody but herself and smearing her blood along the blade.

"But there, now it's corrupted, right?"

Faurosk took the offered blade in hand, rolling it carefully across his palm and feeling the warding runes meshing nearly seamlessly with the arcane tattoos barely concealed along his right arm. He blinked twice, as if only realizing what she'd said. Eyes wide, he gave Rainie a deeply disturbed look. "Wait, wait, corrupted...? You fucked the knife?" His voice came out in a hushed tone of urgency, only heard by Nota and Rainie. The dog responded by flattening out his ears and giving off the telltale "hrmnh?" of a canine's question. Faurosk's serious facade broke after only a few beats, though, and he was quickly back to grinning at the bard's mere presence.

"Sorry, sorry... That one was just too easy." His grin turned sheepish as he slid the knife delicately back into its runed sheath, and he glanced momentarily to the coinpurse on his hip. "How much are you looking for, Rainie?"

 

[Rainie]

The bard’s jaw dropped at Faurosk’s teasing question, then sputtered in horror and indignation. It wasn’t until the wizard gave her a shit-eating grin that she relaxed. Huffing, she leaned back in her chair and kicked him fiercely under the table.

“First of all, language. I swear, it’s like you’ve been living in a brothel since I saw you last.” After a beat, she added: “And secondly, I’d be careful where you hold that,” with a significant glance at the hilt and pommel. She waggled her eyebrows again, playing into his joke. Her grin mirrored his own.

When he asked for a price, her shoulders sagged. She flashed back to all those merchants who had offered too low, and her turning them down one after another. While she was no expert on magical items, she could feel in her gut that this blade was worth something. Quite a lot, actually.

“Just take it,” she heard herself saying. Internally, she winced. “Consider it a gift.” Her smile stayed firmly in place, even if she was dying a bit inside. Damn her. Damn her and her idiotic sense of loyalty. Why was she doing this?

Despite everything, she couldn’t bring herself to regret not selling to those lowballing merchants. No, giving the dagger to Faurosk was more rewarding than receiving a paltry bit of pocket change from a stranger. It wasn’t like the thief had spent a penny on the thing. And that’s all it was. A thing. An object.

Taking a deep breath, she settled more deeply into her chair and reached for her cold tea. Grimacing, she set the cup back down with a clatter and amended, “Tell you what, order us a new pot of tea and it’s yours. Really.” She cocked an eyebrow at him and smiled crookedly.

Faurosk

 

[Faurosk]

The mage took the dagger in hand and gave the wood of its sheath an analytical look. The knife twisted elegantly in his grip, turning to allow the various engravings to catch the room's light at different angles. At Rainie's comment about his use of four-letter words, the mage simply rolled his eyes. There were words to make even the most impish of bards blush, and being a wizard, he knew at least three of them.

His gaze fell back to her, level and stubborn, at her suggestion to watch his grip. Carefully, deliberately, the mage flipped which end he held the dagger by, cradling the sheath across his palm while leaving the grip untouched. "Thank you for the warning, Sweeting... Glad you have a respect for history." Try as he might to play his part as the straight-man to her jester, there was something about the patented Lorraina Night eyebrow wiggle that cracked his stoic expression and perked his lips to a smile.

Analyzing the blade further, the wizard's thoughts began to stray to just how he could utilize such a potent focus. He could reforge the pommel to bear an emblem of his faith, or he might be able to inlay the sheath with silver to give the wards there a lasting effect, or--

"Just take it. Consider it a gift."

Faurosk felt his brow crease before he'd fully registered what his friend had said. He found himself staring at her, an unbidden look of concern crossing his features. "Are you, ah... Are you sure?" The bard seemed lost in thought, then, as though she herself was wondering just why she'd offered up such a rare find for little more than a couple cups of tea. The mage went back to analyzing the knife once more, a fair bit hastier this time around. The engravings were expertly done, the molding of the pommel and grip just right to suit his hand, and the metal was of the finest quality silver he had ever seen. All in all, it was much too precious to be gained for nothing.

Rainie gave him an offer, then, and paired it with a crooked smile. Faurosk looked at her, still more than a little stunned, and managed a slow nod. "Alright... Alright, you've got yourself a deal. But--" The wizard held up a single finger, offering an addendum to her proposed agreement. "I can't take this for only a kettle's worth of tea. So, either you'll have me indebted to you, or..."

He trailed off, wondering just what he could offer beyond the realms of money and materialism. What did he really have that she could use, if not magic, coin, or company? Faurosk snapped his fingers, giving his friend a bright smile. "Or I could show you to my favorite place in the city. It's a great view in the day, sure, but when the sunset hits the towers of the college just right..." His eyes went distant, as if envisioning someplace idyllic and far away. "... It's like music. Like the whole world's singing out that you're alive, and that fact alone is beautiful, you know? And if you don't know, well..." There was yet another shrug, the very image of confident nonchalance put on for little more than a joke. "... I can show you. Sound like a deal?"

 

[Rainie]

Rainie watched the wizard inspect the pure silver blade with a wry smirk. He seemed a bit conflicted about taking it without trading something for it. With a growing sense of accomplishment she watched him war over what he should do to repay her.

After he snapped his fingers and began to describe a beautiful view in the city during the sunset, her heart actually ached a bit behind her ribs. He was absolutely adorable. She furrowed her brow incredulously the more she listened. Was he serious? She scoffed under her breath and shook her head.

Once he finished his little monologue, she gave him a sardonic smile. “That sounds lovely, dear,” she admitted earnestly. With only the slightest sense of irony, she offered her hand to shake on it. “It’s a deal. Tea and rendezvous to the College towers at sunset.”

Her gaze slid slowly to the nearby windows, which still pattered with the staccato rhythm of rain. Wordlessly, she raised an eyebrow. “Does this mean it will be a raincheck, though?”

Faurosk

 

[Faurosk]

His hand met hers halfway, warranting a single gentle shake before retracting to his side of the table. He began to drum an accompanying beat to the rain, quietly countering the plinking of water on glass with the padded sound of fingers thumping wood. "That sounds like a plan to me. Drink another kettle, part ways, and rendezvous later... I'll meet you in the entrance courtyard, right where the city ends and the college begins." A grin played across his face and showed his teeth in an all-too-embarrassed expression. "Or, ahm... Just outside the courtyard, perhaps-- There are still some people I'd rather not run into around those parts. I think you can understand that, right?"

Faurosk took another swig of tea, which proved slightly less bitter than what had been poured more recently from the over steeped batch. He cast a brief glance towards the bottom of his cup, realizing that there was hardly any left. Without any further sense of etiquette, he knocked back what little remained and gave the serving maid a small wave to signal for another kettle. His head noticeably flinched towards Rainie at her request for, eugh... A 'raincheck'...

"Well, I suppose that entirely depends on when this all clears up." His eyes fell on her in an even stare, and his grin had vanished without leaving a trace of its presence. The mage was fully committed to showing no response to the pun, whether he'd enjoyed it or not. Though, yes, he had to admit it was somewhat clever.

"Or perhaps you're just trying to slink away, hm? Good excuse, I won't lie-- You've already pawned off this potentially cursed blade on me." Faurosk casually slipped the knife back out of its sheath, producing a cloth of white silk from one of his belts' numerous pouches. He gave the cloth a light flick, sending light shimmering out of its surface in tiny flashes. He'd hate to waste bound sunlight on something so mundane, but the knife did have a fair bit of blood smeared across its surface and he couldn't be certain if Rainie had acquired it from a dark magician's trove. In any case, some purification was necessary considering its potential, uh, corruption.

With a shrug of concession, the mage began wiping down the dagger from tip to pommel, cloth clinging to whatever impurities lingered upon its surface. In a single pass, any trace of Rainie's blood was gone, and it seemed as though the silver shone just faintly brighter from his efforts, as if all the dirt and dust of disuse had been washed away. Tragically, the silk and its reserve of sunlight were spent beyond repair. The shimmer was gone, and the cloth had been tinged to pinkness, folded away into its previous pouch.

 

[Rainie]

Aw, he didn't appreciate the joke. Rainie's heart sunk a bit; disappointed and ashamed. That's what she got for trying a new brand of humor, she supposed. Faurosk was apparently a tough crowd.

With a slow sigh, she observed the wizard as he cleansed the blade with his sparkling cloth. "I'm not going anywhere just yet. And, well, it's not cursed," she grumbled. "Practically the opposite, really. I'd show you how well my scar has healed since I've obtained it, but, well," she glanced around at the populated tearoom with a raised brow. Unknown to her, her hand was clasped tightly over the pink scar on her stomach.

Rainie eyed the dagger with a bit of longing before she stifled the want, then wondered, "Where are you staying? I'm down at the Singing Gull, of course." Her grin renewed, she stated, "You just can't beat the company of pirates, really." She reached down and scritched Nota behind the ears again.

Faurosk

 

[Faurosk]

Faurosk cocked an eyebrow, wondering just how much she had pierced her thumb to warrant a scar; Neither him nor the familiar melting under the bard's ear-scritches noticed where her hand laid across her stomach. "Well, I trust we'll see each other another time. You could show me then if you're so committed to vindicating yourself." The mage gave his friend a smile, not entirely grasping what he might have been implying.

The serving staff on duty brought over a new kettle, still steaming from its spout. They seemed somewhat confused as to why the kettle they took from the table was half full, but given Faurosk's sheepish smile, the stranger soon understood his casual incompetence. Once the staff left with the botched batch, the wizard turned back to Rainie, cocking an eyebrow as she admired the knife once more. She asked him where he was staying, then, and he used the chance to slip the dagger into a larger bag that hung from his hip. "Well, actually, I have a place that I used to stay at while I was at the, ahm, College. Still pay what little upkeep is due on the place, so I just stay there when I'm in the city proper. If you're staying Dockside, though, you can't beat the Gull."

The mage gave a short shrug, flashing Rainie a bright grin. "It's a bit drafty and old, but the landlady's nice and I don't mind keeping her purse lined with copper, so... It's a fair enough deal we've worked out. You do grow to miss those pirates, though. What, with their unwashed hair and sailor's tongues... Though if you ever tire of the scoundrels and vagabonds for whatever reason, I do have a roof you can sleep under." The offer was made in jest, but there was something to his voice that seemed earnest enough. She was a friend, after all, and friends don't let friends sleep on the streets.

 

[Rainie]

The bard listened for a bit, her teacup tracing her lower lip idly. Apparently he still had a room at the college, so... After a moment, she decided that she was being dismissed. With a smile, she set her cup down in her saucer with a clatter, and stood up from the table.

"Well then," she concluded with a stretch of her torso to either side. "I believe I will see you around. I'll be in town for a week or so; got a few things to do. Do try to stay out of trouble for the time being; at the very least without me!"

With their business concluded; she could be on her way. She sent the wizard a wink, scratched Nota between the ears, then hoisted her bag over her shoulder. Without another thought to it, she headed towards the door where the rain still pattered loudly against the stone streets beyond.

Faurosk

 

[Faurosk]

Faurosk couldn't help but grin, reddening just slightly at the bard's saucy wink of farewell. Even as he grew more used to her mocking flirtation, Rainie still had the right level of impudent cheek to make her wizard rosy on occasion. "Well, don't feel too left out; all the trouble goes with you, anyhow!"

That call was the last thing he got out before the door closed behind Rainie, leaving the mage alone with his words' reverberation, the looks strangers cast his way at such an outburst, and his dog. Nota's tail still thumped happily against the ground even as the bard grew further away. In many way's, Faurosk's state was similarly elevated, and he spent the day with an uncharacteristic pep in his step. What could he say? Rainie was delightful to be around, as far as he was concerned.

~=*=~
​

Faurosk lasted was nearly twelve hours before the call of trouble became too strong to resist. The weather had settled down a touch over night, leaving only overcast skies and the occasional drizzle to linger on in the absence of the past day's downpour. The mage had transmuted his robes in the early hours of the day, drinking his morning tea while donned in a short-sleeved tunic plainly unbefitting for the normally swaddled man.

Not long after the sun rose above the horizon, Faurosk found himself back in an all too familiar setting. The Gull was already alive with the hustle and bustle of sailors and smugglers alike seeking out their breakfasts and midmorning alcohol, and Faurosk sat at the bar among them with his familiar curled up near his feet. With his burly forearms on display and nearly covered with a smattering of tattoos, it was only the immaculate cleanliness of his face and hair that telegraphed to other customers that, no, the mage wasn't a deckhand.

While Faurosk enjoyed the mediocre food and mundane drink just as much as his fellow revelers, his attentions were set on something else entirely.

With the sound of a crowd mingling to the ambiance of the dockyard itself, one key feature of the familiar soundscape remained undefined. No music lingered in the background-- Not yet, anyhow. But the mage had all morning to wait, and he hoped it would only be a matter of time before a certain bard began her set for the morning.