A New Night

[Siofra]

Fall 67th, 511 AV, Twenty-first Bell Time to try again. Siofra thought as she began to stride resolutely down a long street in Alvadas, her already soaked boots becoming caked with mud on the eerily muddy walkway. She hoped she wouldn't slip this time. Her last outfit had been ruined and now she was wearing that outfit she usually donned for her morning excursions. With a heavy sigh and a slight smirk that spoke of wry amusement at the antics of the living city, the Ethaefal turned her head around, her neck craning so she could try and see all the interesting things Alvadas had to offer for her amusement. As usual, the first notable location was the House of Broken Mirrors, facing her and looming above her like some impressive golem intending to intimidate her inside. She only smiled at it, however, and continued on. Next came the Garden of No Return, followed again by that hauntingly intriguing House, the Withered Rose, several vibrantly painted houses, the House again, and finally... that place. The Sun and Stars Tavern, as the sign proclaimed, had been a place somewhat recently discovered by her on one of those few nights she allowed herself to become drunk. She hadn't enjoyed herself there, as she had wanted, and she was tempted to stop in for a spot of drink before continuing on her wandering. After all, she had it in her mind now that if the House appeared to her ten times during her roaming, she would take it up on its offer and see what it had to show her. She hesitated however, remembering the last time she was there and that dream that she'd had. She frowned at the building, which seemed so innocuous and rundown, considering just continuing upon her merry way. Her indigo eyes darkened in her deliberation, silver fading. She had to also admit that the thought of saving her outfit damage was as equally appealing as getting a heady drink. With a shrug and a thought to steel herself, the Ethaefal entered the building, swinging open the door to do so and meeting with a cloud of mixed scents. Siofra's nose wrinkled immediately and she paused, remembering that the last time she was here she had been too drunk overall to scent the overwhelming pungence of alcohol. At least, for her it was overwhelming when compared with the stiff autumn air she had just left. Her eyes, dark as they were, darkened further in the artificial light as she scanned the room for a free spot in a table. The place she had sat last time was seemingly free, and she went in that direction, passing a drunk man she felt she'd seen before and someone chatting with a little clay man upon his hand. It was to Siofra's surprise that the little man was replying in a rather melodious tenor voice that didn't suit the small stature he carried himself with. Lifting her eyebrows, she skirted another table and plopped herself down in a chair against the farthest wall from the door, instinctively and subconsciously guarding her back. Once again, like before, she looked around for someone who may serve her, if they served people here directly to their tables. That was when she saw him. That unmistakeable Symenestra with the violet eyes and silver hair. Soft hair, she remembered as her fingertips twitched. She felt a mixture of things as she narrowed her eyes upon him. She felt warmth at the memory of the only other time she had seen him, and chilled at the memory of how they parted and at the realisation that he had most likely avoided her and the Inn since then. She had to wonder to herself now if she should stay and ask why it was that he had not sought her out or leave and avoid an awkward encounter. She couldn't tell if he had noticed her entrance and she reached for her hood to tug it up over her head, hopefully concealing her visage in the darkness underneath the cowl from his penetrating Symenestra eyes, while she considered avenues of possible escape or interrogation .

[Laszlo]

She had chosen a long shadow on the far side of the room; otherwise Laszlo would have noticed her sooner. The tall, lean figure of the Widow had been in the middle of refilling a rotund sailor's drink when the pallor of her perfect skin caught in the corner of his eye. His head turned on its own to look at her, the daughter of Leth, hunkering down in her dark, personal refuge like the moon itself. Laszlo found himself staring, unable to decide at whether he was simply surprised to see the woman again, or that he'd missed her altogether until now. A Symenestra's vision was supposed to be superb. This had been an error on the side of his own wits. "C'mon, lad, I don't think the table needs any." A gruff voice snapped Laszlo out of his stupor. The Ethaefal briskly shook his head and muttered an apology, realizing that he'd overfilled the sailor's ale. A fresh puddle of amber now sat proudly atop the man's table, but Laszlo didn't bother to clean it up. The wood of the table would absorb it, and then it would dry. Laszlo had other things to worry about. Siofra, that was her name. Laszlo had only met the woman once, and only seen her in passing in the days that followed. Her eyes, now studiously narrowed at him, were strange. He didn't know them. He knew every curve of her body, the sounds she made when Laszlo had held her against the side of the allyway, the way her soft, delicate hands felt as they moved over his skin. He knew the warmth of her and the taste of her neck, but he Laszlo didn't know her. Perhaps it had been thoughtless of him to avoid contact with her after that shared moment, but Laszlo had only wanted to be embraced by someone, to feel another person swim in the same uncertainty and disillusion he faced day after day. As for her… she had been too similar to him. He wouldn't know what to say to her, what to converse about. They had both tasted true unity and paradise and lost it—what was there to talk about? Regardless, it would be callous to ignore her now. Laszlo owed her something. He wasn't sure what, just yet, but he was certain that what she wanted from him would become clear. The Symenestra began to fluidly walk toward her table, carrying a pitcher of ale in one hand. He tried to avoid her stare as he approached, feigning nonchalance and forcing his violet eyes to look at other things until the gap was fully closed. When he finally arrived at her table, Laszlo set down the pitcher and sank into chair opposite from her. With a long, clawed hand, he moved the half of his silver hair from his face. "Uh… hey," he mumbled, and immediately regretted it. Horrid, just horrid. Where was his Symenestra charm now? "It's been a little while. I'm glad to see you, Siofra. How have you been?" Laszlo glanced up briefly, taking refuge in the calmly shifting mosaic above their heads. "I don't think I've seen you in here before. Do you like it? The tavern?"

[Siofra]

Oh, of course he had seen her… Siofra’s lone thought swam through her mind. She had no idea what to say as he looked at her, directly at her in her small haven, and then ambled his way towards her carrying a pitcher in all his Symenestra glory. She wished she could have gone invisible, but as that wish registered she sneered at it. She didn’t need invisibility here.

His questions, spoken in that graceful little Symenestra voice, snapped Siofra out of her reflection and she allowed a brief smile to cover her moment of confusion.

“Me? I suppose I am fine, Laszlo.” She murmured quietly, slanting her eyes from him before she allowed anything of what she had truly been feeling out. When she looked back at him, she suddenly chuckled. “I am glad to see you as well, I suppose. I didn’t think I would have anymore and I was surprised to see you here of all places.” This dream was getting to be confusing. Where was the fun now?

“I like the tavern, very much… Expecially the ceiling.” At her words she looked up at it, the slowly moving expanse of sky. “It’s like I’m in Lhavit, but I can touch these stars.”

Once again, she diverted her gaze from that which she’d have loved to stare at. She loved the stars.

“So, how have you been, Laszlo? I’d often wondered if you’d been hurt. I am glad to see you haven’t visibly.” She looked back at him, watching him watch the stars. Even in here he was a charming creature in appearance alone. He was pretty, that was for sure, but she had to wonder if he had avoided her to be cruel to her. She had to do something to make light of this. It felt wrong to be awkward.

“What’s it like working here? Do you do this alone?”

[Laszlo]

Every time she said his name, Laszlo found himself wanting to wince. She spoke each syllable with such bitter sharpness, so cold and deliberately distant. The last time he'd heard his name rolling off her tongue, there had been such heat to it, such fond familiarity. The contrast was mildly alarming, but he should have only expected that time would ebb away at whatever they had shared that night, unless… she blamed him. Laszlo wasn't certain, but Siofra sounded a bit accusatory. More than once he'd wondered if she'd taken it personally that he hadn't gone out of his way to see her again. Now it was becoming clearer. Laying one of his arms upon the table, Laszlo helplessly scratched at the back of his head. "Uh, it's fine, it's fine." Resting one hand atop his other, Laszlo turned away his violet gaze and stared dutifully at the pitcher of ale, not willing to look at Siofra's perfect face and its stern scrutiny. He could feel those dark eyes, shattered with silver fragments, fixing themselves on his Symenestra pallor. "It keeps me busy. I'm grateful for that. I own this tavern, bought it with some friends of mine. They do help, but I do much of the work on my own. They have other jobs." Quietly, Laszlo tried to work out what Siofra had meant by her comment. I'd often wondered if you'd been hurt. Why would she think that? Was that sarcasm, or genuine concern? Visibly… For all the similarities between the two Ethaefal, he couldn't begin to know what she thought of him now. "Are you—" Laszlo turned back to the woman, laying his eyes upon her golden horns, sleekly glistening in the low tavern lights. He'd felt them under his fingertips, not so long ago. Felt at them as he'd fucked her. The Symenestra blinked once and aimed his eyes back down. "Are you angry with me, Siofra? I know we didn't really… talk, afterward. I just… didn't know what else there was to say. We live in the same hell."

[Siofra]

In response to his words of being thankful for his work, a wry smile twisted her thin lips. "Do you like this work?" She asked. She gestured towards the pitcher, her dark eyes blinking languidly at his obvious discomfort. Did she have that affect on him before? Was this something she'd missed while they were embracing outside the House of Broken Mirrors? Sometimes, she could be so very blind. She almost reached out to turn his face to hers. In this view, Siofra could stare at his profile and watch his long hands move. She could allow herself enjoyment at once again being able to watch him and speak to him. Dimly, she wondered at what she had done to scare him away from her, but she held her questions back for now. Laszlo's eyes suddenly flicked to her, alighting first upon her horns then, with a blink to swallow whatever emotion he'd felt, upon her eyes. She would have blanched had she had more colour to her face, yet as it was she leaned back. His sudden interest was fascinating enough to kill that rueful smile from a chime or two ago. "Am I angry, Laszlo? What is there to be angry about anymore? I've thought about that night every time when it is quiet enough in this nightmare we live and I've come to realize I was not worth it." She had to fight back placing a sting in her words. She had to hold back on letting out her resentment. She felt that if she released it, the illusion would shatter and she'd be alone. Alone with the moon to laugh at her misery. "I would have resented you if I had spent my nights alseep like the rest of the world. As it is, I've thought of it. I've sought you out to see if it was because of me that you left me." She stopped speaking now before she began to speak louder and forced him to leave. She couldn't explain how much that had hurt her when she couldn't find him. He was the closest illusion to a friend she had ever had, and she could have needed him the last time she was here, or even before that when she had made the mistake of sleeping and seen herself die. "I am not angry, Laszlo." She said, softly, lowering her eyes. Inside her rage boiled, but she kept it down for later when she'd be alone again outside the House. "And nor is this truly a hell... For me it is a nightmare. All of it. Nothing is real anymore, nothing has substance." Including you, she thought to say. With a heavy sigh she leaned back and looked at him, slanting her lips just slightly in a smile. She didn't really want to alienate the only other of her race here. She genuinely liked Laszlo, despite his coldness to her. For being fake, he was surprisingly... enjoyable... "Do you mind being in my company?"

[Laszlo]

"Of course I don't," Laszlo lied without hesitation, his features softening into something that was between pity and sympathy. Uttering an uncomfortable sigh, he cast his violets downward, beginning to play at the surface of the table with one long, sharp thumbnail. It really wasn't that Laszlo minded being around Siofra, but that she was so similar to him, and she reminded him of the plight he tried so hard not to think about. She was younger than he was, going through the same trials. It pained him to see the first year of his life staring back at him through her eyes. A small splinter of wood chipped from the table, and his thumbnail halted. Laszlo attempted to look up at Siofra again, but a moment later found himself unable to keep her indigo scrutiny. "It doesn't have to be a nightmare. I know nothing feels real, but… everything in this world has consequences. Every action you take affects something, is noticed by someone. You learn to think of that as being reality." Laszlo had not before voiced his reconciliation with his mortal existence. It felt like he was trying to convince himself as well as her. "I know what you're going through, Siofra. I'm still going through it. But I… I have friends now. This tavern." Suddenly he felt a little silly, claiming those accomplishments as noteworthy. This tiny mortal world could be considered laughable by those who'd ascended to something greater. Laszlo sounded like a child to himself, fascinated by his toys and taking them just a little more seriously than they deserved. "You have to make the effort, or this feeling will destroy you. I've more than once broken down, but… what choice do we have but to move on?" No, there was one other option, a grim one. Laszlo chose not to acknowledge it. A voice called from across the room, asking for another drink. The bartender lifted his head and sent one long, skinny forearm in half-hearted wave of acknowledgement. As he rose from his chair, its legs skidded against the wooden floor. Instead of walking away, he instead stepped smoothly around the circular table and stood next to the slender daughter of Leth. A set of bony, white fingers laid themselves over her hand, his claws a stark contrast to the both of their skin. It was something Ambrose would have done. Even if Laszlo could barely stand to watch Siofra suffer, he still wanted to help her. He saw himself in her; if he could bring her some peace of mind, perhaps it'd help him to better cope as well. "I didn't leave you, I just…" He didn't know. Perhaps he'd been afraid of her. "I'll be right back. Someone needs a drink. Can I get you something?"

[Siofra]

Indigo eyes lowered as he spoke to her. She could choose to ignore his words as mindless fantasy; what could a dream person know of the real world, after all? However, she could not deny that he sounded sincere. She thought to provoke him into admitting he wasn’t real, but she doubted she could. Maybe this was some sort of test from Leth to see if she could survive in a world where everyone believed they were real and only she understood that they weren’t. They wouldn’t understand what she would mean if she told them they were fake, as was evident now with Laszlo. “I just… don’t want it to be real, I suppose…” She said quietly, almost to herself. Her eyes inexplicably brightened at his words. Where they might mean nothing, it was a great idea to find something to call a friend, or to find some way to have an accomplishment that wasn’t attempting to break the walls of the dream down. As much as she loathed this nightmare, she didn’t want to find out that she would be alone without it quite yet. To an extent, it comforted her as much as it revolted her. “I just wish I could wake up and be done with it, Laszlo,” she said, quietly again. She heard the call for another drink and felt a dark scowl beginning to build. At least this time, he’d have a good reason to leave and to conveniently “forget” she was still there. However, he surprised her. He came around and placed his hand against hers, causing the slightest of shivers to course up her spine and come to it’s end between her shoulders. Such a soft hand, and it made her remember things she probably shouldn’t have remembered for they would leave her angry and hurting again when she was alone. Seeking for a way out of the hypnotising allure of his graceful hand, his slender fingers with the beautiful, unbreakable nails, she swallowed and sought the answer to his question. “I’ll… take whatever is in that pitcher…” she muttered. She hoped by Leth’s name that it wasn’t a weird form of chamber pot.

[Laszlo]

"Certainly." Laszlo's hand slid away from Siofra's, gently clasping her shoulder in a brief, parting gesture. He paused for an additional moment, noticing his hazy, warped reflection in the curl of Siofra's horns. Lifting his hand from her shoulder, he gently drew the backs of two fingers against the sheek, polished surface. "Let me get you a mug." He left then, crossing the small tavern and lifting away his patron's mug without ceremony, visiting the tap behind the bar to refill it. A few customers sitting up at the counter had needed a few drinks as well, and so had to tend to them. He filled three new mugs before he was on his way back to Siofra, carrying a clean, empty mug for her to drink from. Hooking his clawed, dexterous fingers around the hoop of the pitcher's handle, he poured the room temperature ale into the mouth of the glass, a snaky tendril of froth overflowing and running down the side. The bottom of the mug groaned and Laszlo slid it in her direction and then slipped back into his chair. "It'll get easier," he assured her softly, his silken, Symenestran voice naturally soothing and meant to relax. He rested both of his long, slender arms upon the uneven table, leaning his weight onto his elbows. One hand visited upward to sling an offending curtain of long hair behind his ear again. "It did for me. I was lost, but… compelled to move forward. There were men in Syliras after my head, so I had to leave the city. I stayed in Kalinor for a year, learning about my Symenestra half. Perhaps…" Laszlo angled his eyes up at her, sparkling like twin amethysts. "Perhaps it would help you to go where the Dhani are, to learn about them." Doing so for Laszlo had not exactly helped him. He had tried to become Symenestra, tried to ingratiate himself into the culture and adopt his past identity. All he'd managed to do however was cobble a pathetic false life, a sad continuation of what Vethis Orthilia had started. He'd learned then that he wasn't and could never be a true Symenestra. While that realization had been harsh and painful, it had given Laszlo reason to find an identity of his own, gave him the illusion of purpose. He might not be sitting in his own tavern if he hadn't learned what he did in Kalinor. "Are you still staying at the Cubacious Inn, Siofra?" Laszlo asked her, tilting his head. He'd been glad to leave that place, even if the walls and floors here were as thin as paper. "You could stay here if you like, just for a few days. With me, I mean. I'd like to help you, if I can. We could help each other."

[Siofra]

"The Dhani?" Siofra repeated hollowly, her eyes lowering even as his eyes flicked upwards. Her hands curled around the warm, uneven mug and one returned to her mouth so she could lick off the trail of froth upon her index fingertip. The dark orbs set into her face lifted to meet his and she smiled slightly, returning her hand to her mug. "I have thought about it. During the day, I can feel where home is. It is like a little garden snake wiggling in my chest, trying to nose its way to its Nest, but the feeling is faint. I can only assume, from memory, that my Nest is therefore far from here. Far north, to be exact." Here her voice slowly dimmed until it died completely, and she lifted the mug of ale to her lips and pulled a long draught from it. Once she had taken her drink and licked her lips free from the after taste, lowering the mug again, she addressed something that had caught her attention. "What is Syliras, and why were people chasing you there?" Afterwards, a dim part of her mind wondered aloud if it were a personal question she had asked for, after all, Laszlo could have murdered a man and he might not have wanted to talk about it, but the louder part of her told that part to shut up. By Siofra's logic, it was easier to ask forgiveness than to beg for allowance. Another smile curved the edge of Siofra's lips as she looked at him sidelong out of the corner of one dark, shattered eye. "You'd offer me a place to stay, with you, Laszlo?" She asked, a teasing lilt in her voice. Where she had gotten the desire to tease him confounded her. Maybe she was a lightweight. "I have my own little ward at the Cubacious Inn, my first friend lives there with me." What an amusing notion, an animal as a friend. It was a joke, really. A sad, terrible joke she had just shared. "Why would you even wish to help me?" That harsh tone from earlier threatened to contort her voice, and so she dipped again into the warm ale that filled her body with an indescribeable warmth. She eyed it suspiciously and took a third, smaller draught. Still, she put the mug down harder than she should have, but thought nothing of it. Her attention had focused entirely on her Symenestra companion and the rest of the bar could have been an oil painting in the background. "Maybe you can help, Laszlo, but why? We aren't even alike. Maybe you have gone through this, but I don't think I could and end up as whole as you are. You have things to see you through it, and I have only the faintest stirring of where home is every day. I don't think I'll make it and survive, like you did for Kalinor." She tried not to sigh, but instead turned her eyes away to look at the oil canvas she imagined beside them. She could feel him looking at her and wished he wouldn't. She didn't want to see the same thing in his eyes that she had seen before in the eyes of many others. Someone nearby slumped forward in his table and began a hearty snoring that would have woken any bear from his sleep. Siofra smiled again, on the verge of laughter, but looked away. It would have looked foolish if she had laughed and ended up pitching forward in her own drunken stupor, anyway.

[Bedlam]

Thread Completed!

Player Name

Experience:
3 Bartending
2 Subterfuge

Lores:
Customers and Kin

Notes:

I would like to clarify that I give bartending points for interactions with the customers, rather than the pouring of ale, mead lager or beer. Everything seemed fine in this thread, but I’ve seen some confusion about it before.