Something for this pain.

[Nixie]

Timestamp: 31st of Spring, year 512 AV

It was about four chimes past midday and the moon would soon rise to chase the sun from its place above. The sky danced with illusions that stretch down into the streets in an attempt to grab the attentions of busy folk. If only to entertain and distract them for a short moment before life's urgencies forced attentions back to the mundane and tedious. If there was such a thing in the city of Illusion. But Nixie refused to indulge in what the native citizens may have thought to be wondrous. Pain teared at the inside of her skill like a maddened beast ripping at its confines to be free. The continued exposure to the unyielding illusions gnawing at her mind and sanity, even while she tried to ignore the mocking images. Incidentally giving the irritation more power over her... Maybe somebody needed to explain just how one got used to cities playful tricks. Or perhaps she need only to ask the right person.
How can these people live here?... Why haven't I left yet? For one fleeting moment she thought the city was swallowing, not just her ability to navigate, but her direction as well. Thankful when the sound of hooves found her ear and reminded her of the goal at hand. That's right... Walking through the shifting streets of Alvadas, she could feel them cackling at her uncertainty. The further she walked, the more hopeless she felt as purpose and direction abandoned her.

Pale arms interlocked over Nixie's chest as she let her head hang forward bit. Her hair following suit as it fell forward to caress her cheeks and hide her face from peering eyes. Aimless step after aimless step, they eventually lead her to a blind door that spoke in silver lettering. If she had not seen the rising wall a short distance ahead, she would have run straight into it. That's when a question that begged an answer rose in her mind. What is this place? Standing motionless before the door, unaccounted moments passed as she debated whether or not she would step inside to investigate further and fill her curiosity. And before she had enough time to decide, she could hear the faint thumping of feet on the other side of the door moving closer. Instincts told her to retreat to safety, safety being the streets and more aimless wandering, but her legs would not budge. Frozen in place, she waited in fear and anticipation of what would come next.

[Victor Lark]

A man seemed to appear out of nowhere behind her, keys tinkling.

He had seen her from afar, waiting, frowning, hugging herself. She stood outside of the place like a lost dog—seemed thin enough to be similarly starving—and he had opted to gamble on how long it would take her to notice his advance. The illusions were tricky in more ways than one; Victor used them today as a distraction, slipping easily through the street beneath the images in the sky. He stepped lightly, moving quietly between the flattened heights of cobblestone, where there was no debris to crunch beneath his weight. As it seemed that he managed to go unnoticed, he made as if he had not noticed her, either.

He frowned at his keys until he found the right one. Then he stepped toward the door, through her, imposing on her proximity until she moved out of the way. “Excuse me,” he mumbled absently, then twisted the key and opened the door.

Behind it was Ned, arguably the most loyal patron of the Stallion’s Rear, who had managed to evade its owners’ nightly obligation to wake him up and throw him out. It seemed he had woken on his own, and was utterly perplexed as to how he would leave the building through a locked door. When Victor saw him standing there, he turned in the threshold to give him room to leave. “Get some work done, old man,” the Ravokian grinned, slapping his shoulder. “I’ll see you tonight.”

He slipped into the establishment without another word, ignoring the dog girl on the steps except to leave the door open before her. His feet led him to the bar, where he dumped his keys and retrieved a large notebook ledger. Only when he had opened it to the right page and was bending over it in examination did he steal a glance at the entrance, to see how she had treated the silent invitation.

[Nixie]

With the door, and the sounds that came from beyond it, keeping a strong hold on her focus, the nearing jangle of keys was mute to her. As did the approach of a stranger go unnoticed until he was upon her. All at once, a jolt of surprise shook her, stopping her heart for a moment as she felt anothers shoulder brush up against her back. What the hell?! A mysterious arm practically pushing her out of the way to unlock the door.

Without speaking a word, Nixie hurriedly moved out of the young mans way and pressed herself up against a nearby wall in an effort to keep herself a fair distance from him. She watched intently until he disappeared through the door and out of sight. And then hearing another voice, her eyes shifted in the direction it came from, it seemed gleeful to her. And when its owner appeared, her eyes followed him until he stepped down into the streets and disappeared. Another drunk? It seemed even the city of illusion had at least a handful of the type. When the stoop was clear, Nixie left the wall and took her place in front of the door once more.

After the passing of the two men as they parted ways, an irritation started to build inside her. What did the irritation stem from? Being ignored? No; she never really minded that. As ridiculous as it might have sounded, she was irritated because the presumed owner of the establishment had left the door wide open in front of her... Essentially forcing her to make, what she thought, was a rash decision. To walk away, or step inside. The door stood open, snickering at her. Posing a challenge and daring her to enter, to make a 'rash' decision. The only visible evidence of the self imposed aggravation was the ever so subtle glare she was giving the door. But she would take the opportunity to indulge her curiosity, letting her eyes shift to the inside of the building.

All the furnishings were tell tale signs of the typical tavern. Leaning forward, into the building, searching eyes further examined the inside. There wasn't anything extraordinary about the place, except for a random smattering of ceiling tiles that reflected the sky that caught her eye. It was perfect. Empty, quiet, and mostly normal. That was her first thought on the place at least, unaware of what surprises might have been waiting if she entered. And yet her mind was still undecided as she turned and took a few steps away. Looking out at the ever changing streets, and the illusions that played in the sky, pale lids were forced shut to block them from site when pain shrieked in her skull. That was all she needed to make up her mind to go inside. And it was then that an ever loyal friend called out to her, as it always did at just the right moment. She could not refuse it ether, pulling a wooden pipe from the confines of a pocket. She filled the cup at one end and lit the substance ablaze.

Inhaling deeply, once, she let the billowing black cloud fill her lungs to extinguish some of the pulsing pain and sooth her nerves. Exhaling eventually, the smoke spilled out through her nostrils then disappeared. Puffing a few times on the pipe, she felt a weight upon her; the eyes of the dark haired man were on her. Feeling his gaze even before eventually turning to enter the tavern at a lethargic pace, lit pipe in hand. She entered, but stopped just inside the door, shutting it behind her with a loud bang. As if she were claiming victory over the mocking door and its failed attempt to force her into a decision.

Making it a point not to look at the young man at the bar, Nixie's eyes wondered over upturned chairs and empty tables. Somehow believing that if she paid him no mind, then he would ignore her presence... even after slamming the door shut. When she spotted an especially dark nook of the room, she strode over to it nonchalantly. The thump of her boots against the floor resounding through the quiet room. Perhaps it was odd, but she held herself as some men did. With little grace. But what she lacked in grace, she made up for in silence of tongue. Taking her seat, she settled into it and began to slouch, crossing an ankle over her knee. Then she simply sat in the shadows with her eyes closed and enjoyed the silence and normalcy of the taverns atmosphere. A dark red glow could be seen from the end of her pipe, short tendrils of smoke risings from it and starting to fill the room with its rich fragrance.

[Victor Lark]

Victor found a pencil and scratched a bit of nonsense at the middle of one page, pretending to be intent on some calculation or note while his guest contemplated the door. He had glanced up once, and only for a moment, to see what it was that delayed her. There he saw angry deliberation on her brow, and seemed to lose interest. Like a contagion in air, her expression caught on his; the barkeep’s face furrowed in a glare, and a mirror of her internal conflict stared down at his ledger book for as long as it took her to enter.

He heard the door slam, and his reflexes jumped in him, but he did not look up as the floorboards moaned, as the barstool creaked, as the leaves sizzles in her pipe. The pages rang and rustled as he shuffled back a few weeks, as if to check previous profits against recent ones. They continued on in that manner, ignoring each other, for as long as Victor could stand it. He did not leave her the silence she seemed to prefer because he thought it would comfort her, instead engaging in a dare which he ultimately lost. He looked up at her and his frown melted into a honeyed smile.

“You’re early,” he mentioned, eyes grasping for a hold on hers. With a flick of his wrist, he slammed the book closed, loudly and suddenly. If his words did not earn her attention, he figured, that should.

His face did not falter. He slid to the center of the bar, opposite the seat she had chosen. His hands grasped his elbows and he leaned idly toward her. “Tell me what you were doing standing outside a closed tavern while it’s still daylight. Do you need a drink so badly?” He set a hand on the spigot of a beer barrel. “Want to drown your sorrows in some shitty ale?”

[Nixie]

Nixie sat with her arms crossed, eyes closed, and a pipe to her lips for far longer then she could have hoped for. And while she couldn't have known or understood the motives behind the young mans silence, she appreciated it just as much. Only assuming that he was ether busy, or her effort to go unnoticed was successful. And as the seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes neared an hours length, the pain that threatened to crush her skull slowly left, losing its intensity and allowing her to relax a bit. But as Nixie knew, all good things would need to eventually come to an end.

A few hushed words drifted from the other side of the room, but they were far too quiet to merit her attention. Only when another sound erupted from the same direction did Nixie care to take notice. Peeking out through one partially opened lid, it seemed the stranger had finished his work and now meant to interrogate her. To have her precious silence broken over something so bothersome was disappointing, but did she have the right to expect anything less in this place? Perhaps not.

Hesitant at first to meet this man in conversation, Nixie straitened in her seat. If it had not been for his sweet voice, she may have been a bit more annoyed with his pestering query. Shifting, she leaned forward onto elbows perched upon the table and plucked the pipe from her lips. Her eyes met his searching ones, but she wouldn't speak just yet as her mind raced for a suitable answer that might satisfy the curious person. Though she wasn't sure she had one to give. Could she just leave him to the silence that had fallen? She had considered it, but something else nagged at her. Perhaps if this person was of clear mind and rational thought, his company would do her some good in this place of madness.

With the taste of smoke still fresh on her tongue, her mouth hung slightly agape. Her gaze falling to the side for a moment before flicking back just as quickly, perhaps using the time to chose her words.
"You know this city... it takes you where it pleases." Her voice was as quiet and husky as her eyes were smoky and guarded. Speaking as if she knew well of the city and its tricks, while in truth, she had only just scratched its surface. She would have refused the mans offer of drink though, if the familiar pain from earlier hadn't started creeping back up her spine. Evident only in the subtle twitch of her eyelids as it crawled back up and pierced her mind. Even with so few and quiet words it seemed the beast would not still. Without another word, stiff fingers struck the table in an almost silent acceptance of the drink he offered. Then she pressed them to her temple in an attempt to massage the ache away. Maybe some ale will drown out this pain... Or at the very least, it would numb her.

[Victor Lark]

Hesitance. Discomfort. Distraction. These were not the traits that Victor preferred, but they were the rules he was used to breaking. He eyed her as he perched a wooden pint beneath an unopened barrel; he pulled the cork, filled the mug, retrieved an unattached spigot, and plugged it into the hole he had made. The bartender’s practiced dexterity failed to prevent a small slough of ale from escaping to the floor with a loud splat, but if he noticed, he did not seem to care. He pushed the lukewarm pint at his latest customer as she held her head, noting the weakness without saying anything of it.

His hidden feet tipped to balance on the toes of his shoes as he leaned against the bar, in an effort to increase his meager height and bring him closer to the hard-faced girl on the other side. “Yes, well,” he replied with marked frustration, testing the extent of her concern for a stranger’s comfort. “You cannot blame Alvadas for everything. The Trickster led you here, but your feet brought you in. Your eyes frowned at me, and your beautiful lips said nothing. What’s your excuse for that discourtesy, hm?”

Eyebrows raised, lips pursed in an expectant grimace, Victor’s face was a caricature of annoyance. A joke.

[Nixie]

The sounds of worn wood sliding over polished wood, and the slosh of ale, were ones that Nixie accepted greedily. Moving her hand to stop the mug from sliding past her. When she felt it meet the open palm of her hand, she looked out threw partially closed lids and wrapped slender fingers around its curvature. But before she had a chance to enjoy even a single sip, the young man neared, leaning in towards her. Instinctively, Nixie leaned back in her seat, attempting to keep some distance between the two. Taking the mug with her, whilst leaving her still warm pipe on the bar. Even with some distance gained, he was still a bit too close for her liking. But it was then that she finally took a good long look at the curious stranger.

For what felt like hours, she searched him. Following tufts of dark hair that seemed to flair at the ends. Studying his fair complexion yet failing to notice any flaws, if there were any. Struck and captured in the stare of soft eyes. His features nagged at the back of her mind. Somehow they felt familiar, though she was unable to place it. Perhaps she was only viewing him in the way she wished him to appear. Making something, out of nothing. But just the inkling of familiarity was enough to persuade her to divert her gaze; her mind searching for a suitable explanation.

The thought only lasted a moment though, before being quickly pushed to the back of her mind when the dark haired boy interrupted her thoughts. More questions? She thought to herself before meeting his gaze yet again, a puzzled look to her features this time. They were such odd questions. Unable to understand where his interest stemmed from, nor the expression he held. Letting out a long breath of resignation, her gaze fell to the mug she held. Then dipping the tip of a finger into the drink, she brought it to her mouth, and pushed it past soft lips for a taste. Just another attempt to delay her answer.
"I don't have an excuse; you were busy. Wouldn't it have been rude to speak?" Only answering part of his question, her voice held no hint of apologetics. Falling silent again, Nixie twisted to the side in her seat, as if to avoid any further questions. Then brought the mug to her lips, letting the tepid liquid run down her throat. She wasn't much of a drinker, so the bitter taste that followed was rather surprising. Pale lids shot open wide, and shoulder quaked in the convulsion of her coughing. Quickly she lifted a hand to her mouth in an effort to keep the drink down.

[Victor Lark]

Victor met her gaze for a few long moments, waiting for idle consideration to melt into something resembling conversation. But she took too long to examine him and so, impatient, he stole her pipe from where she had left it beside her mug. For a moment he inspected it, but then she replied. Victor looked up, smiled.

“Probably.”

Then he tucked the end of her pipe into the corner of his mouth and bit its end, careful not to inhale the pungent flavor he tasted there. He only removed it when she started coughing, more observant than concerned. She did not seem the type to appreciate the sort of doting pity required of a caring host. Instead, he took a breath and lifted the pipe again. “What, you’re not a drinker?” A shimmer of mischief leaked out through the whites of his eyes as he silently dared her to lift her mug again. He let it all shine through and more, embellishing the joke like the color of a rose in the brightest sunlight. “That’s okay; I’m not a smoker.”

And then he inhaled deep, in all the wrong ways. The herb’s embers flared and acrid smoke burned at the back of his throat. Coughing, he dropped her pipe onto the table, and together they were fools to inexperience.

He stole her drink and took a large draught from it. Hoping to soothe the pain in his throat as quickly as possible, his haste only made him choke. He managed to swallow the greater part of it before finally giving in to reflex, coughing ale and spittle into his hand. Breathless and teary-eyed, he turned to her and wiped his hand on his leg. “Delightful,” he smirked.

[Nixie]

Nixie had yet to notice the man examining the pipe; her eyes having been riveted to the mug she cradled intently, then distracted when the liquid threatened to suffocate her only a moment ago. But once her lungs were relived and she could breath again, she let stuffy tavern air fill them in several deep breaths. Her skull still throbbed a bit from the lingering head ache, only intensifying slightly after her coughing fit. Stealing a sidelong glance at the one who watched her, she had heard his question but blatantly ignored it. Smoky eyes opening wide at the site of the pipe, her pipe, fixed between his lips.

Twisting in her chair to face him fully, brooding eyes shifted subtly between his playful ones, and the pipe he held hostage now. His coquet mischief, twisted in her sight, to cruelty. Nixie never let anybody hold her pipe, let alone use it. It was her hands that had worn the woods glossy seal thin and faded. It was her that kissed it tenderly with ever use. And it was him that had defiled it when he inhaled deeply and was unable to appreciate that bitter sweet taste that she so enjoyed.

With hands in her lap clamped tightly closed and knuckles white, she leaned forward in her seat. Body tensed in a burning ire that evoked but one word.
"Stop." It was a sharp, yet quiet, command. She wanted to do something more, to say something more, but before she could act, the pipe fell from an open mouth in an eruption of choking. Hastily she snatched it up, minding the heat at one end and being careful not to spill its contents. Just as he had relinquished her pipe, she watched as he stole her drink next, though it didn't bother her nearly as much. Realizing that, as she was unaccustomed to the ale, he must have been unaccustomed to the smoke.

Clutching the pipe, she wanted to speak, but not while he was in the middle of recovery. But once his fit was over, and his composure regained, she spoke.
"I would advise you, do not take my pipe again." Her voice was quiet, only holding a slight connotation of the passion she had been keeping at bay. Though in all honesty, if he were to dismiss her passive warning, she wasn't sure what, if anything, she could do in retaliation. Maybe if she weren't so solemn she could have at least chuckled a bit at the mans humorous display. Some more drink would surly lighten her mood and hopefully allow her to enjoy the company of a pretty face. Besides that, she hated leaving things on a sour note. "Thanks for the drink." With that said, she pulled the mug away from him, and took another swig. This time anticipating the taste, she was able to keep it down, though in her eagerness she unwittingly swallowed too fast. Leaving her feeling a bit light-headed.

OOCPipes are serious business. >.>

[Victor Lark]

Victor watched as unexpected anger rose in her, clear enough for even him to see. Excitement welled in his gut and burned like anticipation. He should have known it would be easy to inspire fury in someone so persistent in silence, so eager to glare. He had thought only to annoy her, but he was not disappointed with the results.

He urged her on, lifting a pair of incredulous eyebrows over a mocking smile. “You’re welcome,” he nodded. “But I’m not sure I understand. What exactly would you advise me against?” His fingers slithered over the bar, making as if to steal her pipe again. But even if she did not recoil, he only teased the threat; with that excuse to near her, he leaned closer across the counter. He pouted.

“I’m not sick, or poisonous. What could I do to your precious toy?”

Then he shrank back into the space behind the bar, arms slipping from her like a pair of retreating snakes. The act might have been better if he had cast his eyes downward, pored humility at his shoes, but he could not resist watching her. He guessed that she would be relieved at the distance, but secretly hoped it would increase her anxiety. He reached for his wine and bore another swallow. “Don’t you trust me?”