PM to join An Evening for Relaxation (Cham)

[Zandelia]

21st Winter – Grath’s Rest

Grath’s Rest was not a tavern after the Sunberthian fashion, peaceful and jovial in abundance and without a singular cause for threat or misery. It was quaint and enjoyable, yet a large portion of her heart yearned for the days when she had to be careful. In many ways she thought that she had let herself slip in that regard, after all having nothing to fear meant her own unique talents were at risk of corroding as an iron blade in the rain. Still, she made the most of what she had, her scant numbers of informants more than happy to give her information for a smaller price than she had ever had to pay. The Spires, it seemed, had a lot to learn in that practice.

Still, we saved the damned place and they will learn quickly enough. In that we have done well. A safe haven at any time of our lives is nothing to scoff at she thought as she leant back into the enormous chair, comfortable and large enough for a fully grown Jamoura.

She had received word that an old companion had been sighted, Chamaeleon the beautiful star of the Spires. Zandelia could not, in truth, call her a close friend, but she had come with them from Sunberth so long ago now. They had met on occasion and she seemed nice enough, her music itself truly magical to hear. Still, she was rebuilding what fragments of her previous life that were left. Ana and Ximal were not enough, not for the seasons of effort she had forced into building it all. She had trained them, protected them, fought enemies for those of the Crimson Edge that they would never know of – could enver know of.

“And now it is gone” she whispered to herself morosely, “all gone and only scrap remain. Will it be enough?” she asked herself, honestly not knowing the answer.

She growled deeply in her throat and tossed back what remained of her drink, fruity and alcoholic enough to keep a warm glow within her veins and arteries for a short while. Many of the other patrons avoided her, giving her worried looks, and well they might – she was turning a dagger in her fingers as if it would reveal all the mysteries of existence just by touch. It was a simple dagger, if overly ornate on the hilt, but a dagger nonetheless. It held little importance to others. To Zandelia, however, it represented much indeed. The most overwhelmingly large portion of what it meant was hatred – pure, vicious, unquenchable.

Just to look at the symbol on the pommel, a mask with a dagger through it, filled her with anger. It had been her father’s, and her father was now no longer a father as far as she was concerned.

I wonder how long it will take her to arrive, if she will indeed come? she thought to herself absently.

She had invited Chamaeleon here, to neutral ground, to rekindle what fragments of knowing there had been. They all needed friend and allies, each one of them coming from a different world – in Chamaeleon’s case quite literally. It would be good to have gathered up one more thread of the past to build a possible future upon. However, she knew not whether the other woman would even care enough to come and so she sat, turning the metal in her hands as she drank.

[Chamaeleon]

Chamaeleon entered Grath's Rest slowly, angled eyes narrowed as they adjusted to the dim and her ears adjusted to the noise. Pregnancy had done its work on her body and her tastes. She wasn't one for alcohol before, but she found herself uninterested in companionship as time wore on and her stomach swelled with child. Her entrance barely stirred the patrons of the Rest. Some frowned as though trying to place the Symenestra that had wandered into their den, but she was reclusive and didn't make small talk with them, especially during the night when her pregnancy looked most strange on her freakish form. The amethyst gaze settled upon the figure of the woman Chamaeleon had come to meet. She had been reluctant to come, unwilling to reopen a part of her life she had closed. The request had brought up many memories that the Ethaefal had been content with forgetting. Sunberth had been a mistake for her. The Crimson Edge had been an even worse one. Her only worry had been that Cade would have sent somebody after her, or after one of these others that had lingered in this peaceful city, but rumours had come of an extermination of the remainder of their gang. It was said nobody lived of their group in Sunberth any longer. The news had both pleased her and worried her. She hadn't known what had happened to Roka after Spring and worried he had gone to Sunberth as well. But here she was anyway, because even though she regretted her memories with the Crimson Edge, she had remembered that Sunberth gave her what Spires lacked: adventure. It was quiet here, tame even, and in Sunberth she reveled in the chaos and thrived in the violence. Spires couldn't be more different. Being pregnant only enunciated her boredom. She itched for action. That was what Zandelia symbolised. The freedom Sunberth provided. She approached the woman slowly, care for the child in her evident. She expected surprise at her condition. However, as she sat down in a vacant seat across from Zandelia, she smiled indulgently as though greeting an old friend. "Hello, Zandelia," she said, keeping her voice evenly polite as she folded her spidery hands on the table between them. "It's pleasant to see you again." The niceties were a formality that heralded her true question. "What can I do for you, today?" That was the only reason an old Crimson Edge member could want her company, she had reasoned earlier that evening. Zandelia must have needed something.

[Zandelia]

As Zandelia was forced out of her hateful reverie a series of expression flickered across her countenance, some of them reminding her just how little about the reclusive woman dubbed Chamaeleon she knew and some out of a sheer perplexed nature. As the female Symenestran – for that was undoubtedly what she was – sat before her she was inclined to tell her to move onwards and find someone else to thoroughly annoy. It was only as the words were spoke, the strange accent impossible to pinpoint but the way of speaking altogether familiar, that she realized who in actuality sat before her. It was strange to say the least, she had not expected a Symenestran, though she could hardly have expected her usual form – she was an Ethaefal after all. Still, it was slightly unnerving to her, not least because of the obvious pregnancy that deigned to throw itself in the way of what she had planned.

Definitely not something I can ignore! she told herself, mentally backtracking and taking a soothing sip of sugary alcohol to help get herself back into the right frame of mind. She had invited the other woman to talk after all and talk is what she would do, not sit and gawp at the unexpected.

“Good evening Chamaeleon,” she managed to keep her voice steady after some moments of composure, “I just thought that I would invite you for a little relaxation, some talk perhaps. I have been absent for a while and like to know how previous comrades are faring” she finished her reply, deciding to leave the crux of her desires to the side for one moment.

She called for a pitcher of berry flavored water for the other woman, her initial thoughts of having a few easing drinks together now shattered amidst many of her other, less-thought through, plans and ideas. In truth she had been impulsive inviting Chamaeleon to Grath’s Rest, leaving out research and merely opting to ask the woman. She was not even sure why she had even turned up as she had not entirely expected her to in actuality. Still, she was here and that was the first initial hurdle she had envisioned – she was at least interested in her old life, even if she would not rejoin it perhaps. She inter-twined her fingers in front of her for a few moment, smiling at her company as the water was brought and a cup was half-filled.

“Plans in need of adaptation it seems, I had no idea you were with child my dear, may I ask whom it belongs to?” she attempted the small foray into the mundane as a circuitous route to the more important, “who managed to seduce the woman of divine-like beauty?” she grinned then, sipping another tiny bit of her beverage.

She placed the dagger of her father upon the table as if it meant nothing to her, though she was sure that the other woman had seen her face as she had gazed upon it. She tried to ignore its constant presence and focused her attention upon the moan before her. She looked very far along and, in many ways, Zandelia found herself resenting Chamaeleon fo her fortune. Her own child had been stolen from her, murdered before it had even lived and she knew her life would be different if it had not been the case. There was a chance for Chamaeleon to live that peaceful life and it irked her slightly deep in her heart. She shrugged it off and kept up the joviality whilst pushing her demons away to the recesses of her mind.

“What you can do for me depends entirely upon you, my dear,” she continued as she twirled her cup before her, her gaze taking in the ripples of the fluid with thoughtfulness, “I was planning on trying to re-create a semblance of the past…though in a different fashion. Perhaps fate has cheated me of such a dream with you already?” she asked, her gaze now pinned to the other woman’s eyes.

I remember an adventurous woman, filled with zeal in some ways. Are you still that woman? Do you yearn for something more than tranquility? she wondered as she tried to read those alien eyes.