Under a Different Light [Laszlo]

by **Seven Xu** on October 10th, 2011, 5:46 am

Not one to be disenchanted by the prospect of not drinking wine, Seven donned a relieved grin and a chaffing remark of accordance when Laszlo stated his preferences lie in ale and not the first acerbic offering. There had been a sudden urge to impress the mysterious creature that now walked at his side, a head taller and then some with all the grace of a spider on his feet, who had been named by a child rather than his own mother; Seven’s anxiety had never truly subsided. The unfortunate scarf in his hand was an outlet for said discomfort, constantly being folded and unfolded and picked and pulled at. He thought to pry deeper, but a defensive wall had been thrown up and Seven hardly had the tact to pull out the proper bricks without having the entire thing come crashing down.

The russet and gold-kissed leaves of young trees that lined the cobblestone street rustled in the chilly autumn wind. A raven bristled on its slender branch as the pair crossed its path and quorked. Seven paid the bird no heed; he could not even be sure it was real. “I have fun, sometimes.” His fingertips brushed his nose as he snuffed an itch. It was true; the City of Illusion was a much different place in the company of Victor. There were no daunting shadows, and he didn’t feel as if he was constantly being watched. “You could be right. I’ve read that Ionu’s enchanted the entire city, everything within its walls. I was a skeptic before I set foot in that gate.” The borrowed scarf was surrendered to his neck again.

“The Cubacious Inn,” Seven mused, finally letting his own fingertips gather warmth in the pockets of his fitted trousers, “Are there only two inns in all of Alvadas? I cannot imagine a worse place than a building that turns on itself, but the lodging is cheap and the bed is comfortable.”

Their short walk had left them at the gloomy door of a corner tavern. Its windows had all been drawn shut by heavy velvet coverings, and the constant hum of voice and music seemed to make the very walls come alive. Again, the depths of Seven’s stomach twisted at the sight of the somber entrance, but he managed to put one foot in front of the other to shuffle in single-file after the Symenestra. Once inside, however, the passing sickness was just that, and the world was filled with the smell of charred meat, of burning incense, and of roses. So many roses.

The table they were lead to was a fair distance from the rest; Seven had never seen such a furious shade of ebony grace the delicate petals of a rose. After they settled, Seven urged the threadbare conversation on. “I have never seen you at the ‘Inn; do you stay elsewhere?”

by **Laszlo** on October 10th, 2011, 6:17 pm

The interior of the Withering Rose wasn't at all what Laszlo had expected from the outside. The rich, warm décor of burgundy and rosewood was gently lit by the dim, yellow lighting of hanging lanterns. The Ethaefal craned his neck to take all of it in, feeling as though he'd just stepped into a wine label. The fragrances of wine and incense were nearly intoxicating, and sent a wave of calm through him. Once at the table, Laszlo gave his order to their server, and let Seven do the same.

"No, no," Laszlo answered Seven's question dismissively, leaning back in his chair. With one long arm, he reached over and picked up the rose in the center of the table, examining it curiously as he turned it in his hand. He ran a fingertip over one of the thorns experimentally. "I stay there too. If there are other inns in Alvadas, I haven't heard of them." He set the rose back down. "I've seen you a handful of times, actually, in the company of another resident there. Victor Lark, his name was? I had the pleasure of running into him my first night there. Interesting fellow, if a little energetic."

Seven had mentioned coming to Alvadas in the company of his friend. He wondered if Victor was that friend, if the two were a traveling pair. Laszlo felt a warm flash of envy, for a while having longed for a similar companionship, a sense of belonging and acceptance. Being alone was liberating, but it got quickly old. When he'd left his caravan upon arriving in Alvadas, he felt it more than ever.

"But you're mistaken. You have seen me before." Laszlo leaned over, resting his arms on the table. Their server returned, placing a mug of ale on the table next to him. He didn't seem to notice. "Earlier this evening, before sunset, we passed each other. You glared at me like I'd done something to you."

Trying to soften the resentment in his voice, Laszlo picked up his mug and took a small drink, wetting his mouth with the bitter fluid. Staring down at his mug, he revealed a dim smile. "I'm used to getting looks like that at night, but I thought I was free from prejudice in the daytime." Wanting the full story, Laszlo wanted to prevent Seven from possibly getting up and storming out, so again he tapped into his djed. He looked up at Seven from under his brow, locking his eyes on the young albino's shimmering reds, pinning him to his chair. Hopefully a mild sense of shame might prevent any urge from shooting to his feet. "Did I upset you personally, Seven, or do Ethaefal just bother you? I can't imagine someone like you would judge based on appearances."

Receipt :

by **Seven Xu** on October 10th, 2011, 7:57 pm

Beneath the dim orange glow of a nearby lantern, Seven’s jaw tightened.

“That explains a lot.”

While the halfblood’s placid countenance could have been carved into chilly marble, his fluttering eyelids and tiny pupils floundering in oceans of fire told of the searing worms in the pit of his stomach and the breakneck speed of his racing mind. The man was as much an actor as he was in the theatre of spiders; his gait had the grace of instinct, but the accent in Laszlo’s greeting and the very nature of his name had haunted him. It wasn’t right—his mind had told him that, but he’d ignored it. You’re so stupid. He chewed his bottom lip and tore himself from the rancorous violet across the table. It was then that he realized his legs were useless flesh beneath him.

Panic swelled up and replaced the lump of contempt in his throat. “Someone like me,” at least his arms still worked (though his fingers felt stupid and clumsy); Seven snatched the glass of frothing ale and pressed it to his parched white lips, “I don’t lie about what I am. My blood may be low to both races that have a stake in it, but I’m not masquerading as something else.” Seven drank deep, before letting the amber drink clatter to the wooden tabletop.

“It’s no fault of yours though,” despite Laszlo’s web of lies, he immediately regretted pegging him against the same wall he’d put her. After all, the man had fed him, and bought him a drink; he was one step from being the ash-skinned man’s guest. Seven sighed. “Her name was Runas.” He spat the name, as if it were a curse. “She was a manipulative cunt. I slighted her somehow, unintentionally, and she took it out on Victor.”

Seven laid his left hand on the table, palm upturned. A gash had long since healed across the diagonal length of his hand and left raised scar tissue behind. It disrupted the natural creases on his skin. “She wanted to hurt me, by hurting him. She cut open his palms and kicked him unconscious when he tried to resist her. That’s all I know.” His hand closed and slipped beneath the table to grope at one knee, still unable to move under its own will. A hint of a smile played at the corners of his lips. “She tried to mark him, to remind me of her power. I cut myself and made the mark ours.” The smile flowered into a wan grin. “I apologize for glaring at your horns; I guess I’m not much better than any other pair of eyes that judges you for walking at night.”

by **Laszlo** on October 10th, 2011, 9:56 pm

Seven wasn't without his own set of claws, evidently. Laszlo felt the sting of the halfblood's barbed remarks about lies and masquerades. The Ethaefal couldn't deny that he'd been intentionally misleading, and he had even outright lied to Victor Lark. That was inevitably going to backfire on him, whenever the truth was found out, but that was an issue for another time. For now, Seven's emotive eyes held him captive, surging with powerful emotions that Laszlo was fascinated to behold. His words were dripping with venom. He hated her. To feel that strongly about something…

Finally Laszlo looked away, releasing his hypnotic hold on him. Leaning his head to one side, he pensively stared at the floor. Seven's bluntness was difficult to swallow, but honest. "And I apologize for misleading you, though I haven't lied about anything." They were alike, the Ethaefal and the halfblood, both coming from two worlds but belonging to neither. The difference was that Seven was a true mix of both, neither human nor Symenestra. Laszlo was a full blooded Widow at night. In the daytime, he was nothing, belonged to no place. At least nowhere in Mizahar. Seven could enjoy his pride and honesty. For Laszlo, sometimes deception felt necessary.

"Runas was an Ethaefal?" Laszlo turned back to Seven, his violet eyes innocent now and void of their artificial manipulation. It wasn't out of guilt that he decided to be genuine, because he didn't feel wrong for using Hypnotism. Even if Seven's description of Runas was more than unsavory, Laszlo felt all his machinations were harmless, and even helpful in bringing out the truth. "I've never met anyone who was like me. I'm not very old. This winter will mark my second year of existence in this shell."

He shook his head, cradling his mug between both hands. "What happened?" Laszlo asked insistently, genuinely perplexed. Seven slighted her, and she went after his friend? She sounded insane. "What could you possibly have done to make her go that far? Why would she…?"

It was difficult to know what to think. Laszlo wasn't sure if he felt mildly responsible for what Runas did, or if he pitied her. What was she like? How old was she? Was she still alive? Was she really insane, or was this just one part of the story? "What happened to her?"

by **Seven Xu** on October 11th, 2011, 12:15 am

Had guilt not boiled up in the back of his throat like acid, Seven may have refused the Ethaefal’s questions regarding his kin. Had his body not failed him to some manipulative force—under which Laszlo was as much suspect as the city itself—he may have left; neither seemed to be up to him. The scarred hand lifted to brush back a curtain of recently cropped bangs.

“She was Lethborn,” Seven acknowledged Laszlo’s question with a curt nod and another sip of ale. He let the bitter coolness sit on his tongue for a moment of thought before he swallowed, “I came upon her on a beach at the edge of the Suvan, but the way she spoke to me I can only assume she’d been around for years.” Unwittingly freed, Seven crossed his legs at the thigh and flexed his toes. He began to turn the heavy glass mug in his hands, its raucous grind against the polished wood of the table drowning out the murmur of conversation around them. “We didn’t see eye to eye on a few things, and she took my lack of interest for disrespect.”

If anything, Seven was adept at choosing his words wisely.

“Victor would have been fine, had he never told her that he was affiliated with me.” Seven’s nose wrinkled at the ambiguity of the remark—why couldn’t he manage to say it aloud? Because he’s a stranger, and proper gentlemen lie with women. Seven cleared his throat, crimson darting upward in an attempt to arrest the mauve irises that had glued him to his seat with their influence. “You say you’ve met him. I’m sure you can understand that he has trouble keeping his mouth shut—” frustrated, he shook his head. A vexed half-smile lingered, “—anyway, I don’t know what happened to her, but I can only hope some other loathsome creature fell from the sky and flattened the whore where she stood.”

Seven could drink to that.

by **Laszlo** on October 11th, 2011, 1:00 am

Laszlo had to grin broadly at the halfblood's mention of Victor Lark. Whatever their affiliation was, Seven left ambiguous, but it certainly sounded like a treasured bond. He didn't bother to speculate at its nature, and instead continued to quietly wish he had something to compare it to. Victor was playful and restless; he'd likened the human to a mischievous housecat, attracted to quick motions and turning any old thing into a toy. Picturing Seven alongside Victor seemed like a good pairing, despite how little Laszlo knew about the both of them. A dynamic like that would be nice.

"She doesn't sound like the other Ethaefal I've heard about." Laszlo picked up his mug, sloshing its contents and aiming a bored stare at the shimmering reflections. "I was made to believe that my kind, whatever they are, were lovely, benevolent, and tragic. I don't understand it…" He took a long drink, leaning back as he emptied his mug, then set it down again with a hollow thud. Picking up movement in the corner of his eye, Laszlo turned to see their server giving him a questioning look from across the room. He shook his head at her offer, sliding his mug away. "I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't even want to be here. Everything feels like a dream, Seven, like it's not even happening. Like no one exists, and this is all in my head. All I want to do is go back, but I don't know how…"

That was too much. He abandoned that train of thought. "Before, I talked about that girl, and her father. I told half-truths so I could sound like an actual Symenestra. So you, a stranger, would think I had an identity. I didn’t want to hurt her. I didn't even know about what happens when… well, I assume you know." Laszlo felt at his throat again, remembering the way it felt when her father had sprang on him. It took almost a week for his neck and throat to fully heal. His own Ethaefal "talent" had been useful for that, even if he wasn't aware he was using it. "I envy you. You've lived a life, you have a past, someone you care about. I'm sure I will too, someday but…" But, but, but. Oh, the counterpoints for that could go on forever. "You're lucky, Seven."

He gave a thoughtful shrug, crossing his slender arms. "Maybe that's what she wanted." Maybe I'll go insane, too. "But I'm not like her, and I'll thank you not to compare me to some crazy harlot." Laszlo quirked a brow as a smile teased his gray lips. "Besides, I'm Synaborn. Way different. Did you want another drink, or did you want to head back to the Inn? It's still early, but I don’t like carrying all this money on me in public."

by **Seven Xu** on October 11th, 2011, 4:24 am

Laszlo was being cryptic.

The crinkle returned to Seven’s small white nose as the Ethaefal divulged pieces of his life that did little more than further confuse his audience. He could only imagine what Victor may have said in his place. The Ravokian had a flare for the dramatic and was haughty to a fault. While he often probed and pushed at the boundaries of social interaction, Seven would sink into the backdrop and listen. Without the boisterous other half he had grown accustomed to, Seven was left grappling for a foothold. His features smoothed and he searched for an appropriate smile.

“I can’t blame you for wanting an identity,” it was hard for him to say, but harder still to comprehend. While Seven had not always been content with who he was, at least he’d always been able to self-identify as something, whether it be human or otherwise. He was lucky. “No doubt you’ll live long enough to have those things a dozen times over.”

His smile cracked further at the woman’s expense; the gesture was a clumsy white flash beneath a thick rim of glass before it was swallowed by a tide of amber. One, two, three (and a half) mouthfuls claimed the remainder of the pint before he sat the weighted mug down again. “Maybe you aren’t crazy after all, Synaface.” Seven exhaled the last word in a japing breath. There was story there somewhere, because soon after, a short laugh erupted from him. “But I have only just met you.”

The autumn chill had barely had a chance to work its way from Seven’s fingertips when Laszlo suggested they leave in favor of a trek back to the Cubacious Inn. He thought to protest, wary of what the winding streets the City of Illusion held for him if he dared step onto them again. Instead, his chin dutifully bobbed up and down in agreement and they traded the thick sweet air of The Withering Rose for the crisp cool darkness of an unfamiliar street.

Seven fell into step at Laszlo’s side, unconsciously straightening in an attempt to close the absurd gap between their heights. The ale was working through his blood, warming his cheeks and loosening his tongue. “Your Symenos is off,” he remarked, insipid brows mounting beneath a veil of bangs. “You put too much weight on your consonants; you speak it like a foreigner. Like me.”

by **Laszlo** on October 11th, 2011, 5:43 am

"Is it?" Laszlo chuckled lightheartedly as he pinched his long cloak shut at his chest, protecting himself from the cool evening air. He couldn't even feel the ale's effects, though he felt a mild lightheadedness which he attributed to his use of Hypnotism magic. His dark eyes scanned the deceitful rows of building along the ever-shifting streets, searching for the Cubacious Inn's familiar, bizarre shape. Their footsteps crunched on the road, sounding inordinately loud in the empty streets. "Well, I am a foreigner. I was born outside Syliras, and I went to Kalinor for, well, this." He gestured loosely to his ashen face, then tucked a stray lock of silver behind one ear. "I was taught the language by a physician I stayed with, and then by my… a friend, the Lady Orthilia." Laszlo mulled over her first name briefly, then decided not to use it.

It felt comfortable to have someone walking alongside him, after that revealing conversation. He'd done the same with Victor Lark and Ifran of the House of the North Winds, but he'd barely known either of them. All parties remained distant, cordial, and guarded. With Seven, at least, there had been an exchange of emotion and some heartfelt memories, which served to make this evening's stroll a little more genuine.

Laszlo watched Seven from the corner of his sensitive eyesight, his white hair almost glowing in the night. It was interesting, the way he kept fondling his scar. Though Laszlo couldn't begin to compare himself to someone who was in reality much older than he was, Seven's visible anxiety reminded the Ethaefal of his first months of life, tenderly navigating new social interactions and groping at appropriate responses.

"Where did you come from? By the look of you, I'd estimate your father was human, right?" Wouldn't do any good to ask about his mother, Laszlo assumed, though he wasn't keen on whether or not Symenestra halfblood births were quite as deadly as their fullblooded kin. "You look young, but your eyes seem so weary."

by **Seven Xu** on October 11th, 2011, 3:45 pm

Seven inclined his head in a deep nod, tearing his eyes from the ugly line on his palm and letting the hand slip away into the warmth of his pocket. “And my mother was a half. Technically, I guess that makes me a quarter. I’m pretty diluted.” The lilt in his voice told of a body incapable of handling his alcohol. Another noise escaped him from deep in his chest, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I was born in Lhavit,” he pursed his lips in thought; “there weren’t many Symenestra there. My family was human; I grew up human.”

His mouth opened and closed a few times after the superfluous explanation lingered in the air between them. Laszlo was as much a stranger in the skin of a spider as he was, so why did he feel so compelled to act the part? Furthermore, why did he feel guilty that he could not?

The comment regarding his eyes had gone without rebuttal; Seven detested them. The hallowed garnets never failed to showcase whatever it was he wanted to hide. They were too drawing, they made him a terrible liar, and they were inhuman. His face twisted into something unreadable beneath a milky crown of hair, but those fiery reds remained a glassy reminder of his loosening grasp on sobriety.

“I’ve never been to Kalinor.” The comment came after a long period of silence; it was punctuated by the obscure shadow of the Cubacious Inn that loomed before them, like a ship emerging from a thick fog. The heavy timber door shuddered when a set of white hands urged it open, and a breath of tepid, stale air greeted them. Had Seven been a pious man, he may have thanked the gods for an eventless return. “I’ve read that every building is tear-shaped rock and the streets are made of silk. I should like to see that, someday.”

Seven scanned the lobby in vain expectancy.

by **Laszlo** on October 12th, 2011, 3:56 am

Laszlo's eyebrows shot upward as he glanced down at Seven, grimacing involuntarily. You'd hate it there, he thought immediately, observing his acquaintance's round face and the mixed heritages easily identified in his features. The Symenestra could be quite vocal about their glowering disapproval of halfbreeds. Seven would probably have it worse off than Laszlo, by a longshot.

Shrugging off the grim prospect, the Ethaefal glanced around casually, observing the small evening crowd lounging in the lobby. It was warmer in here than outside, but Laszlo pulled up his cloak's hood anyway, to better obscure his gaunt, pale visage. Though he'd implied otherwise to Seven, Laszlo wasn't comfortable letting people associate him with his night phase. People generally didn't like Symenestra; that's what he'd learned well in Syliras. Seven was a special case for obvious reasons, and at the Withering Rose he'd been among strangers and so didn't mind people seeing him for what he was. Here at the Inn, however, were people who lodged next door to him. People he saw every day.

"I wouldn't call them roads, exactly," Laszlo responded reflectively, for lack of a better response. He dutifully ignored whatever odd look Seven might give him for his reclusive gesture. "I wouldn't mind going back, though. I only left because there was nothing for me there. Just the crumbs of someone else's life."

Growing uncomfortable standing in the middle of the floor, Laszlo regarded Seven for one last time with a soft, appreciative smile. "I'm going to head to my room for the evening. It's been a pleasure meeting you, Seven. I'm not sure how long I'll be in Alvadas, but I hope we can do it again. I'd like to get to know you better, if you'll let me. Goddess knows I could use a bloody social life."