Worldly

[Laszlo]

Fall 65th, 511 Nearly half past one bell. Alvadas had been hilly, today. Several customers had come into the Sun and Stars Tavern bursting through the door and panting desperately, claiming to have hiked uphill for miles. Someone had even said that some of the roads were broken into sheer cliffs, and Laszlo wondered if the city in tandem with gravity had perhaps taken a few lives today. Not sparing the energy to worry about it, he merely appreciated that his patrons arrived thirsty today, significantly more than usual. To top it off, the day's obstacles must have defeated the returning vagrant who always claimed the front corner table. It had given Laszlo a chance to scrub it down and remove the lingering odor of stale beer, filth, and hopelessness. Responding to the gentle calls of his patrons, Laszlo dropped his rag into his water pail, pushing himself to his feet and moving across the room. Collecting three mugs in his hand on his round up to the bar, he refilled each from the large, tapped keg upon the back shelves. The flow of ale was becoming light. He'd have to replace the keg soon. Tomorrow, he decided. In his Symenestra form, Laszlo would risk shattering something if he tried to move something more than likely heavier than he was. After returning the drinks to his customers, he decided that he'd earned himself a drink. Picking up an abandoned mug, belonging to someone who appeared to have left, he walked it back over to the kegs. He filled this one with cold lager, sampling it eagerly as he strode around the bar and sank into a tall, creaking stool. Just as he was enjoying his second draught, the front door opened again, producing a deeply tanned, six armed man whom Laszlo never thought to see again. He crooked a gray eyebrow and finished his swig early, offering a polite smile. "Ah, hello. I remember you. Ifran, wasn't it?"

[Ifran]

The hills did not bother Ifran. Though he had more often than not been carried in a palanquin around Ahnatep, his body had been trained since he was a small boy for the purposes of the stage, and so his body was both ornamental and of utilitarian use. In the vespertine chill of the world outside, he was a strange thing carved of marble. In the lights of the bar, he reverted to aged ivory, a curiosity too big for any cabinet, exotic without any effort whatsoever. He stopped as if he had meant to come to that spot all along rather than having been stopped by a strange Symenestra, those spidery, pale people of faraway Kalinor. There was a flicker of curiosity in his dark blue gaze, mysterious lapis. His brow arched in consternation. "You have the right of it, sir. I am Ifran, but I am afraid I do not recollect your face or your name." This was odd indeed; his memory had been trained as rigorously as his body from a young age.

[Laszlo]

"No, I suppose you wouldn't." Receiving Ifran's expected reaction, Laszlo quirked a reluctant smile with an edge of playfulness. His thin, white fingers curled tighter around the metal grip of his mug, lifting it to his lips but not taking a drink. A pair of violet eyes, looking more gray in the yellow lanternlight, took a moment to digest again the altogether foreign appeal of six armed attached to an otherwise normally proportioned human body. As Laszlo recalled, at least, Ifran was familiar with what an Ethaefal was. Perhaps he wouldn't have to descend into his usual explanations, which became more concisely worded every time he had to give breath to them. "All hail the Prince of the Crumbling Ruin," Laszlo offered coyly, tipping his mug back and taking another drink of refreshingly cold bitter. His slender arm pulled away and set the mug carefully atop the shining bar, then returned to snake his fingers briefly through his dark silver waves. The lightly built creature smoothly removed himself from the bar stool, standing to greet the Eypharian properly. "We met some time ago, just once, earlier in the season. I'm not sure if you remember, but I'm Laszlo. The last time you and I conversed, I had a set of horns. This is my night phase." Laszlo gave himself a downward glance, the side of his mouth widening briefly in a failed attempt at a smile. "Regrettable, isn't it?" He looked back up at Ifran as he plucked his mug back from the bar and held it fondly between two long hands. "So, can I get you something?"

[Ifran]

After an expressive furrow of the brows, his eyes lit with recognition and a spare smile was allowed his acquaintance. Lapis eyes pored over this new face, linking it in his memory to the horned glory of his day form. If there had been mention of his Symenestra past, there might have been an earlier spark in his memory, but alas, he needed the clue. "Ah, hello, Goat-Head. I suppose that Ethaefal look closer to a human with horns than anything else; one almost expects a... less glorious version of the same, although now I can see the similarities." They were trace, to be sure, but they were there. A body was shaped by the soul that inhabited it; the same soul would, with time, he believed, carve similarities between its bodies. Hence twins were more easily discernible as the years passed. "Regrettable? I think not. Beauty is infinite in its manifestations, and this is another one." His words, though admiring, were the brutal declarations of an aesthete, not meant to pet his ego, but an honest statement of fact. And, after all, beauty was in the eye of the beholder. "I will have what you are having."

[Laszlo]

Laszlo was helpless to stop his smile upon hearing "goat-head" again. It was surprising to hear that Ifran observed similarities between both forms, wondering how the Eypharian could even remember clearly what the Ethaefal had looked like so many weeks ago. Surely the two phases couldn't look the same—the Symenestra were pale and unnerving, and his day form was… Or perhaps Ifran saw something that Laszlo was unwilling to. "You're kind for saying so." Laszlo set down his mug and slithered from his chair. With inhuman grace, he walked easily around the bar, fetching a clean mug and looping it around his slender fingers, all with the same, smooth flourish. He passed the keg of ale and arrived at the further one, opening the tap and carefully filling the dark, wooden mug. "Others would disagree. I wasn't very popular in Syliras. At least here, in Alvadas, even those unfamiliar with the Symenestra are used to seeing them." It was implied what Laszlo meant by "unfamiliar". He couldn't be sure what Ifran knew, but he seemed educated. He already knew what Ethaefal were; it stood to reason that he'd also know why the Symenestra were called Widows. Returning to the front of the bar, Laszlo offered the mug of chilled lager to Ifran, minding the owed price inwardly because he was feeling too polite to ask for it outright from an acquaintance. "It's good seeing you again, anyhow. I acquired this tavern in the time since we last met." Picking up and holding his own mug between both hands, Laszlo sent an amethyst glance upward at the shifting, nightsky mosaic on the ceiling. "Do you like it?"

[Ifran]

"Not at all," he averred. Eypharians were not known for saying pretty lies to stroke the egos of those they considered their inferiors, and this one was an artist to boot, with a keen aesthetic sense as well as the vocabulary to critique what he saw around him. "A predator such as your vespertine self would have to be physically enticing or the race would die out." There was no judgment in the statement. People died everyday. It mattered little to him in the long run. Though he was generally able to case a room with one sweeping glance, the which he had done upon entering, he took time to take a slow, surveying look around, eyes spending more time on the details. With a spare nod, he agreed that it was a likable sort of place. "What is more impressive is that you were able to acquire such a place in such a short amount of time. You seemed new and lost when first we met. Perhaps you are a financial wizard or just blessed by Xyna."

[Laszlo]

Predator. Laszlo flinched at the word. Ifran had meant no offense, but the Ethaefal had firmly resolved in recent months that he was not a Symenestra. To be compared so readily to the haunting and suave people of Kalinor was more than a little unnerving. The compliment wasn't lost on him, however honest it was, and the Ethaefal flashed a brief, quiet smile. Slipping into the barstool nearest to Ifran, Laszlo cradled his mug in his lap, tilting his head back to idly watch the mosaic's changing colors. A delicate set of claws fingers flicked back an errant lock of silver hair, tucking it behind the shell of his ear. It was easier to focus on something familiar, the ceiling overhead, than to look at the square-jawed, perfectly symmetrical face of the Eypharian. The desert noble was a handsome product of fine breeding, and he seemed to be well aware of it, carrying himself with a proud sort of grace. Something like him didn't belong in a tavern as dark and gritty as this one. "I'm always new and lost." Seconds after saying that, Laszlo belatedly chuckled as he lingered on those words. "I'm not sure if I told you before, but if you count my age starting from the day I fell to Mizahar, then I'm not even two years old. Not that I'm trying to brag of my accomplishments. The tavern is a pitiful joke compared to my true home." He drew his thumb thoughtfully over the curve of the mug handle, playing the metal against the pad of his fingertip. "One… makes do, having as little experience as I do. I'm hardly well-to-do in terms of money. I bought this place with two other men. A human and some attractive mixed-blooded fellow. He's got Symenestra in him, as well."

[Ifran]

Dark blue eyes remained watchful though his gaze didn't long weigh upon the man beside him. His unblinking stare was often disconcerting for people, and he had no special wish to make Laszlo uncomfortable. It was entirely possible he liked the changeable fellow, in fact, which was a rare thing for those whose emotional life was a holographic show hiding what truly lay beneath. "Just a boy," he said, amused but not exactly mocking. He had nothing to say about the Ukalas, anything he could have said would be the parroting of another man's poetry. He had noticed a habit of existential angst among the fallen Ethaefal, which was only to be expected, but there was naught he could do to remedy it. If they had been faithful enough to be assumed into the heavens once, then they knew the route. Why most of them didn't seek it out again was anyone's guess, but Ifran wasted no time on it. "The gracious manner in which a gentleman accepts a compliment is with a mere Thank you," he supplied helpfully. "Business partners well chosen are a sign of wisdom, not weakness. The money will come to he who prepares a path for it."

[Laszlo]

A pair of dim violet rings forced their way back to the Eypharian's hard eyes, set so angled and sure beneath their tanned, well-shaped brow. Laszlo regarded Ifran with the curious tilt of his head—he hadn't expected his guest to begin chiding him on manners. He had to have been joking; who could be that elitist? Unless it had something to do with Ifran thinking that Laszlo was "just a boy". The Eypharian was a little hard to read, being as quietly intelligent and secretly judgmental as he quickly appeared to be. That was just fine. To be honest, that sounded so perfectly familiar. "That's a generous way of putting it," Laszlo replied arbitrarily with a cautious smile, hoisting himself up into the wooden throne of a well-worn bar stool (which offered seating just an inch or so higher than his own waistline). Hooking his boot heel in one of the foot bars in the stool's legs, Laszlo cradled his mug in his lap and aimed a catlike stare into Ifran's deeper, somewhat intimidating scrutiny. The man was critical, but the Ethaefal suspected that he was also good humored. "More I saw an opportunity and I needed stability—and I'm not a boy. In terms of worldliness, you could describe me as naïve, but the concept of age simply doesn't apply to my kind the same it would for yours." Drawing his mug to his lips, Laszlo took a careful sip, allowing the bitter, aromatic flavor to warm on his tingling tongue for a moment before he swallowed. "Thank you for the compliment," he added, the curl of a smile at the corner of his lips betraying any serious tone in his voice. "I am glad for the opportunity to meet you again. I feel as though our last parting was a bit hurried, and tragically so. Seeing a familiar face is probably one of the warmest comforts I've experienced in this world."

[Ifran]

Laszlo did not like the word predator and he did not like the word boy. For all his fluency in Common, Ifran wished he had a fellow Eypharian with whom to speak in his native tongue with all its nuances. His humor, he feared, was lost in Common more often than not. He had no great wish to offend Laszlo, and what would have been the gentlest of jabs in High Arumenic, laced with a congenial air, riled the earthbound celestial despite his innocent intentions. He did not deflate, but he diminished somewhat, perhaps imperceptibly. The smile that Laszlo's last words pulled from him was as genuine a thing as one was likely to see on his face. "Indeed," he said, "and I feel the same, though your face is new to me again. I find it odd that the strange ones remain strange here where everything is strange. Perhaps there is something there, something about the spirit of a thing and its seeming." He paused and threw out subtlety. "It is good to see you again as well, Laszlo. Perhaps you will come to the Crooked Playhouse someday, or I will make this place my favorite place to come after a show. As you say, there is something to familiar faces."