Closed [The Laboratory] Can't Shield from Sickness

[Matthew]

60th of Fall, 513 AV. He sat alone in the dark, on a small table that he had cleared of dust. He had tried to shade the windows as much as he could, though some light still filtered through. He had avoided those lightbeams when choosing his seat, just because it hurt his head. He wasn't sure if he was just tired from having woken up so early in the morning to practice, or if he was feeling particularly dreary. Whatever the case, the dark had felt more comfortable to him this morning, and he had been able to focus much better in it. The goal for this morning was to shield against dust. After some focus, Matthew had already managed to physically manifest some shimmering strands of Djed. While they were unseen by the normal eye, he had diverted a tiny bit of Djed to his eyes to use his Auristics. With just a little bit of focus to the Auristics, he could just barely make out the shimmering strands of Djed that he held in his hands, which made them a bit easier to work with. He wasn't sure if wizards shared his feelings on the art, but he liked seeing what he was getting into. He wouldn't really call himself a wizard, though. He simply liked learning. Perhaps that was what a wizard was, though. Someone who simply liked learning about the different sorts of magic that were in the world. It was dangerous though, and he felt slightly intimidated even studying what he felt were the safer arts. Pushing thoughts of doubt to his mind, he slowly lifted the shimmering strands of Djed and applied them to his face. He used them like paints, stroking the strands over his flesh to make an invisible mask of Djed. The entire time he focused a thought on it, firmly telling the strands that their entire purpose was to block out dust. He even glanced at a few patches of dust once or twice in order to try and get the point across. After a few chimes he managed to apply the Djed to a point where he felt somewhat comfortable with it's coverage. It had varying degrees of thickness, but it should do. The harlot hopped off of his little table, and headed toward the dustiest corner he could find. The man was graceful in motion, and was absolutely gorgeous to look at. It was an odd sort of beauty though, almost feminine in attractiveness. Full lips and long eyelashes were certainly pretty, and then there was a lean body beneath meticulously assorted clothes that was handsome. If anything, one would notice how much attention the harlot had given to his outfit. His hair was perfectly combed, his clothes perfectly snug, every little detail thought about and adjusted for optimal appearance. Now standing in the corner of the abandoned workshop, Matthew took a deep breath and then quickly churned his arms. He revolved them in a sudden motion that kicked up a small gust of wind, enough to send the layers of dust in the far corner exploding into the air. Wincing slightly, the harlot took another deep breath, attempting to inhale the dusty air and praying that the shield would stop that from happening. The dust bypassed the shield completely, and Matthew doubled over in a series of racking coughs and sputters. He still didn't have the whole "tasking" thing down quite yet.

[Wrenmae]

Outside the laboratory, inquisitive eyes held Matthew as he slowly manipulated strings of Djed toward a shield. It wasn't much effort to flex the djed in his eyes and seek out the aura of Matthew's own djed being manipulated. It was more a cascade of color that lanced from his aura, and the sharp metallic taste at the back of his throat whenever magic was being performed around him. It seemed, then, that his suspicions had been correct.

He hopped off the table, all fluid motion and ease. Zan liked him, to the familiar, Matthew moved like people should...as if they were water, caught within the flow of the universe. Wren saw nothing of it however, although would admit a certain gracefulness...likely learned in the bedchambers.

Matthew was not a hard man to gather information on. Finding his place of employment was not difficult, and inquiring a few customers...while earning him knowing smiles that unsettled the mage deeply, was likewise painless. What had driven him to the search was a feeling he'd gotten off the man a day or two ago when he passed this similar location. There was the feeling of static, the taste of metal in his mouth...telltale signs of magic being used. It was the first time that Wren spied in on the whore.

A wizard practicing in secret was no ally of the Knights. More than likely, as he had seen posted around the city, the incentive to turn in discovered mages were driving the naturally talented into hiding. He didn't believe that they were going to start lynching like Sunberth, but almost certainly being identified as a wizard would have some fairly heavy consequences in a controlled city like this.

Folk were most pliable when attempting to hide something...the weight of a secret was easily one of the most versatile resources. Used to extort, he could control and manipulate...used to comfort, he could establish a strong bond by joining in with the secret willingly.

Given, Wren had no love for Matthew's line of work. His own limited experience with sexuality only cast the practice in eerie mystery and almost slanderous disrespect. Why he would stoop to be so willingly vulnerable for another was beyond him, paying to play weakness...or at least he assumed.

But...if people like Matthew continued to cower in abandoned laboratories, magic would continue to be seen as a base and terrifying practice. If only the mages of the world had something better to rally under than the Knights or the Nuits...both extreme in their own rights.

Circling around the Laboratory, he took a breath before pulling open the door as Matthew bent over, hacking.

"You need practice," The mage said to him simply, closing the door behind him with a quick glance either way outside, "And perhaps to conceal yourself better. If a mage knight were to happen by, they'd be able to sense your practice."

In antithesis, Wren only wore what was comfortable and useful. His steel-cloth cloak hung around his shoulders and a somewhat stained shirt and slacks only cast him in the role of a wanderer, and a poor one at that. Only his belt drew attention, and not for the belt itself, but the exquisite rapier sheathed there, along with a long dagger on the other end and a faintly glowing bottle.

"How long have you been practicing magic, anyways?"

[Matthew]

Matthew probably would have let out some sort of surprised noise at Wrenmae's sudden entrance, but his self-induced torment would not allow him. Instead, he merely turned to focus intense blue eyes upon the man before once more doubling over in hacking coughs. He held up a finger, signaling that Wrenmae give him a moment, an apologetic frown crossing his handsome features before he sputtered out a few more coughs. A few chimes later and he was successfully sucking in air, though breathing a bit hard. The shield hadn't worked at all. Why hadn't it worked? He was pretty sure he had tasked it. Had he made it the wrong way? He frowned, a hand lifting to touch to his shielded cheek. The stranger was right, he needed more practice. His eyes darted as he soaked in the man, his eye for detail extending to others as well. He looked poor but rich, and there was a bottle that was glowing. Was there some sort of herb that did that? He tried to make out other details about the man, but aside from the state of his clothes and his slightly darkened features, there wasn't much else he could see. The building was just a bit too shaded. The harlot did notice that the man was alluring, so there was that. He had a professional eye for it, or at least he thought so. Oddly enough, the man didn't have any of the classic 'handsome' or 'pretty' features. He was just merely better-looking than most, somehow. Matthew had no idea how that worked, and didn't linger on it very long. The man had walked in quickly and easily, and had known right away what the prostitute had been doing. Had he been watched? Why would he be watched? His lack of talent was obvious. He spoke, words carefully pronounced and soft in tone. "I am actually here on the suggestion of Devandil, the Magecrafter of Syliras. He suggested that it would be best for me to practice something defensive in nature, so any World Magics I attempted to practice could be contained. I went to him just so I wouldn't have the Knights suspicious, though they no doubt may be nonetheless. My profession of choice does help offset that a bit, oddly enough. I am not sure why." His blue eyes sharpened a bit as gears turned behind them, but he quickly abandoned the thought process and moved on. He was learning not to linger on thoughts that didn't matter in the here and now. "But, yes, that is why I am here, to study and practice. I haven't been studying it very long, really. Off and on over a few years, out of pure curiosity? I am more inclined to study the World Arts, just because they feel safer to me. Shielding is only to help with actually being safe." He tilted his head, still watching, sharp gaze curious. "I assume you practice as well?" Every word was in almost a monotone, but not for lack of emotion. He simply wasn't the sort to really show it. Instead, now that he had his composure, he oozed of professionalism. His posture was straight, his hands had started to brush dust off of himself, and his stare was polite. The information he shared was rather open and honest, though not out of trust. He simply spoke what was on his mind. "Were you watching me through a window, and did you follow me here? If so, why would you do that?" His head tilted the other way, Matthew not looking disturbed or offended by the thought. He simply looked curious.

[Wrenmae]

Wren frowned, already regretting his decision to so brashly enter. The magecrafter of Syliras had advised him then...which meant he was as near to being sanctioned as a Mage Knight without wearing the colors. Pushing two fingers into his knotted brow, Wren debated the merits of simply stabbing the fellow and leaving with his secrets intact.

He dismissed the idea almost as soon as it arose. Maybe once, in another time he would have been ruthless enough to slaughter for that sort of cause, but he wasn't the same man anymore. Experience had taught him to weigh his options more carefully. A dead man was no good to anyone, but a living one could always be bent in different ways.

Besides, it wasn't as though Matthew was speaking to him in a cruel manner...on the contrary, his tone was soft if but emotionless. There was professionalism there, but not the kind Wren imagined he used for his job.

He waved away the question for a moment to think, and then sighed.

"I practice a varied field of magical research, cultivated in both Zeltiva and Sahova. World magic certainly lends itself to safer practices, but I suppose my confusion would stem from your own forays into that realm yourself. Certainly as a who-" he stopped himself, swallowed the word and cleared his throat, "As a...man of your profession, that sort of possibly illegal work could be dangerous...detrimental to your...wares." He looked away pointedly, blushing. As in matters of anything involving sexuality, Wren's own inexperience was as vast as the sea he had nearly drowned in. That aspect of Matthew's life made the hypnotist nervous, unfocused, unbalanced...it was just an area he had no prior sort of purpose in.

"What brought you to magic in the first place?" Wrenmae asked, composing himself. "I sensed magic off of you by chance and followed you here...I did not think you'd want to be confronted on your abilities in public so I chose a private moment...I apologize if I startled you too badly."

[Matthew]

Matthew found his momentary pause amusing for some reason. A smile touched the corner of his lips, and he shook his head, voice soft like always. "I am not offended if whore is the word that you use. That is what I am, after all. Though, I think whore is usually more appropriate for women in my profession." His eyes narrowed for a moment, the wheels turning. "Manwhore is usually what I get titled with. Either works, though." The blush by the man was noticeable, though confusing for the prostitute. It was easy for him not to be shy about his profession though. He was beginning to understand that it wasn't as simple for him as it was for everyone else. Tilting his head, he quietly and readily answered the questions provided to him. He didn't have anything to hide. Or at least he thought he didn't. "I like knowledge. Women are a puzzle, so this profession is certainly a good one for learning how to solve it. I enjoy finding all the small details and seeing to them in the best way that I can. It gives me a certain level of pleasure, though not at all what one would think. As for World Magic, it is just something I have always been interested in, and I enjoy learning. About anything. I was once a student at the University in Zeltiva, where I studied medicine. I stumbled upon World Magic back then. I always make sure to practice it with the permission of whoever I am with, for my safety and their own. This makes it difficult at times, but at the same time makes my life a bit easier." He waved a hand at Wrenmae's apology, shaking his head. "I appreciate your apology. It isn't needed. You were polite in approaching me in private, and I am easy to startle. Did it simply make you curious to see another magic-user?" Reasonable enough, Matthew thought. Curiosity would lead men to do many a thing, and this was no different. "I am Matthew, by the way. Named after the bay in Zeltiva." He stepped closer, a certain seductive grace to his movements, offering a firm hand for a polite and formal shake.

[Wrenmae]

Wren took his hand after a moment, noting how eerily soft the palm of Matthew's hand was. Certainly he should have expected a silky finish to a man who traded pleasure for coin, but it was startling to not feel the usual calloused tattoo of a sword hilt, or the rough scratches of a brawler. He almost drew it away, but kept a level gaze with Matthew and firmly shook once, twice, before releasing. They had begun a hunt, the two of them, even if the other party did not know it. Social interaction was a predatory game of high and low ground. Matthew's grace was his conscious or subconscious prowl, treading into Wrenmae's personal space moments after noting his discomfort.

Like a wolf hungrily eyeing the throat of a nervous deer, Matthew's smile was all muscle and teeth, but they might as well have been pointed. Wren held his ground, forcing the confusing tumult of emotions in his stomach to ease into a careful silence.

"Wrenmae," He said simply, "I find that those who seek to pursue magic have higher ambitions, much more than say...a farmer, or sometimes even a Knight." his eyes pored over Matthew's form. He was handsome surely, although his face and figure were perhaps a touch girlish...then and again, that could only help. There was no fear in Matthew, nothing of the startling remained in him, gone or quashed the moment he had identified the cause. Here was a man well versed in the complexities of expression. Wren doubted he'd see anything more honest on him than that moment he had walked in on him earlier.

From here on out, he would only see what Matthew wanted him to see.

Intriguing and dangerous.

"Syliras is not a place to grow in your magical craft." He said it plainly, shrugging, "Unless you subscribe to their brand of justice, you'll only rouse suspicion and their attentions the more powerful you grow. It is easiest, although perhaps not well spoken enough, to find someone better learned in the craft you are pursuing...that way they can teach you."

Sliding off the table he slipped away from Matthew's domination of the personal zone, playing it off like he wanted to stretch, "Wizards are the most foolish and ambitious of creatures, seeking to trade the currency of their own soul for a grab at power beyond strength of arm or mind. Each one is flawed by a sense of hubris, one that can inevitably lead them to ruin. So yes, you might say I was interested to see the measure of a man you were."

Smiling, he bobbed his shoulders, "There was no motivation farther than that. Tell me...did you choose the bed as your workshop because you were good at it, or because tongues grow looser under skilled hands?"

[Matthew]

There was something festering in the air, but he wasn't sure what it was. His brain was starting to work on overtime, and he wasn't sure why. Wrenmae was drawing some sort of reaction out of him, and he didn't know if he liked it. He didn't like the unknown, especially when some part of himself was the unknown. Two shakes, not one. Both firm, though initially hesitant. Is he uncomfortable? Pausing to think? Was the second shake a show of dominance, or merely a second shake? It isn't common, to shake twice. Usually it is only a single firm one. Isn't it? Thinking back, I only remember one shake in my most recent interactions. Sometimes they linger more often than they should, out of desire or dominance. Perhaps the second shake is just a minor quirk, then. I am probably overthinking it. Or am I? Why didn't he shake my hand three times instead of two? I doubt he is uncomfortable, he is holding my gaze professionally and firmly. No, now he is looking at me. He is looking at me like I look at him. Why is he looking at me like that? What does he see, I wonder? I should look at myself in a mirror sometime and see what he sees. Pick apart what he is picking apart. I wonder if he realizes how expressive his eyes are. Men never seem to like it when I let them know they have beautiful eyes. His mind had already turned to a blur before he knew it, and he had to struggle to get it back under control. Wrenmae had already moved away to stretch, and Matthew hadn't even noticed the movement. He returned his gaze to Wrenmae's, feeling slightly rude that his attention had wandered off. He listened carefully to the words spoken, and turned them over and over in his head. The question was an interesting one as well. He put thought into his answer, feeling a need to answer as best as he could. Wrenmae was obviously putting some sort of thought into his questions, as he had gone to some effort to interact with Matthew in this way. The harlot only found it fitting to respond likewise. "I wasn't good at it when I first tried, and tongues certainly didn't grow loose. I would say it was the exact opposite. I chose the bed because I was bad at it. It was a mystery to me, as were women and men who seek to satisfy their lusts, and I found it exciting to try and understand. To try and become something they would like. It is the same thing when it comes to magic, or hunting, or swimming, or learning how to mold a sword. Learning and applying excites me to an extent, and very few things excite me. Does that make sense?" He tried to explain as best as he could, brow furrowed. The harlot spoke very plainly and clearly, with well-pronounced words that betrayed his intentions to make it as easy for Wrenmae to understand as he possibly could. While Matthew's face was politely composed, his words and eyes were oddly transparent. He was forward and open with his thoughts and ideals, and as Wrenmae would soon find out, just as open with his curiosity. "Are you foolish and ambitious yourself? Are you burdened with a sense of hubris?" The words were spoken without judgement or hesitance, just plain unfiltered wondering.

[Wrenmae]

ooc :

Hope you don't mind me borrowing your Sherlockian mental thought aside. I rather like how it was done...and I shall mirror, just to try it out

Matthew turned to address the sorcerer and Wrenmae paused, unsure of how to treat the new turn to attention. His mind wanted him to take a step back, a motion of caution in the face of a venomous snake.

Observe. His eyes are calm, vivid, focused. Momentary confusion, why? Did he expect me to stay seated? Did I throw his sense of analysis? No. Back up, redefine. Confusion, weakness, vulnerability. Calculated feint, don't follow. The upper hand is held through caution and confidence, seamless mixing of moves and countermoves. Balance, don't let up, catch his eyes and hold them. Bright, vivid, blue, like dark-sea on the horizon of Alvadas. Brow furrowed, thought? The absence of? No, too complicated a counter-move, likely honest. Read his mouth, his body, damn the stillness, is he immune to fidgets? Don't look away, hold gaze.

Wren almost lost what Matthew was saying in the time it took him to analyze the harlot's body language. Almost, but there was enough cognizance to sort the sentences into ideas that blistered across his mind in the form of enlightenment. He was hungry, starving...that's why Wren had felt the air of a predator about him. But he wasn't looking for the upper hand on Wren, not directly. This was a dog, starving behind the facade of a wide-eyed lamb. It was in his words, blatant and black as brands.

Knowledge. This boy starved for knowledge...any kind, instructional, social, or physical. Magic was just another conundrum, as were people. Oh! How the tables had turned. Wren's right eye twitched, as did the edge of his flat expression into a triumphant grin, but only for a moment.

Tease and bait. The dog might not know it to be a dog. Tease and bait. Tease and bait.

Wren brought his hands together in a swift clap, letting a natural smile return to his face. "Brilliant, just brilliant. You, the scholar and the learner. Is the whole world simply an open book for your perusal then?"

He paced around Matthew, almost circling him, but diverting his course slightly enough as to not seem so threatening.

"You could say that, yes," he offered the harlot with a shrug, "Mages reshape the fabric of reality with their will and soul, if we were not possessed of greater ambitions we would hardly be pressed to tread in such dangerous territories."

He held up a finger, as if asking the harlot to pause a natural retort. "Tell me, Matthew, what do you know of Alahea?"

[Matthew]

It was almost completely confirmed now that Wrenmae was looking at Matthew exactly how Matthew looked at other people. The way he held his eyes, the way he soaked in the little details... Matthew found himself once again wondering how he looked in the eyes of his guest. He wanted to ask, but he held his tongue for now. there was still something in the air that was putting him on his guard, though he still had not a single clue what it could possibly be. He wasn't usually the sort to be uptight. Oh well, he was sure it would click into place later. He had learned that if he strained too hard to fit the pieces together, then they would often break and leave him with an unsolvable problem. He absolutely hated those sorts of problems. He smiled. Was he pleased with how I handled the extra handshake thrown in? Perhaps it is some social rule I am unaware of. There are so many. To keep track of. Ah, but what a brief smile. He is another person who likes to have control over his emotion. Does he hate them like I do, or does he just find it an advantage to be able to keep his face clear of all emotion? It would come in handy to be able to do that. I suppose I am something of a stone statue myself, but mostly because I am not that emotional. I've spent so long faking it for customers that it has made me quite the blank canvas. I sometimes wonder the damage that will linger from this profession after I've moved on. The sudden smile and clap took Matthew by surprise, something that displayed on his face in the form of a few rapid blinks and a momentary look of utter confusion. Then, when Wrenmae mentioned the world being a book, Matthew's eyes suddenly sharpened to a razor-like state, though they were focused far-off. Somewhere very deep inside of the harlot, there was a library. A majestic library filled with dozens upon dozens of books, each one of them labeled with gorgeous gold script. They all had very simple names, from Auristics over there to Wilderness Survival over here. Some had names Wrenmae might know if he could see them, from Edreina to Zeltiva. At the moment, Matthew could be found on a table in the middle of it all, a blank book under his paused pen, a few notes scribbled across the pages. The book was appropriately named Wrenmae. It would find a place among all the rest. "That is a good example, yes." Matthew nodded, confirming Wrenmae's suspicions about his outlook of the world. "I have never thought of it in those terms, but I think they are accurate." The harlot was now being circled, and he was briefly confused again. Would it be polite to continue and try and hold his gaze, or just let himself sit in the middle of the paced circle? Pacing was normally a nervous habit, so Matthew just left it alone, making eye contact when Wrenmae was in a position to do so. Another soft and polite nod was given at Wrenmae's answer to his earlier question, the harlot accepting it at face value and mentally writing it down. The next question was a bit random Matthew felt, but he quickly answered. "A very small amount. Only what was taught to me in Zeltiva University, as part of my various studies. I am certainly not anywhere close to an expert."

[Wrenmae]

"But you know the story, yes?" Raising an eyebrow, the hypnotist chose a spot to the side of Matthew to perch, ceasing his wanderings and planting his feet into the ground. Within his boots, his toes curled up so hard they turned bone white, a reminder to the folly of dancing around. It suggested a certain flightyness, not something he wanted to convey.

"Large nation, united humanity, magical and technological progress." He ticked them off a finger at a time, "Then along came the Valterrian and it all was destroyed. Five hundred years later and what do we have? A handful of city states so varied we can't even begin at playing empire." He dropped the hand and shrugged. "If the world is all a series of books to you, Matthew, than certainly you can comprehend the conundrum of it all. Dangerous travel between cities, perilous even, and information is spread across the whole of Mizahar. You could spend your whole life traveling, short as it might be, and still not tap into the sources of inspiration that once birthed Alahea." He stepped back, mostly inadvertantly, and spun to seat himself on one of the discarded laboratory tables again.

"But what's a man to do? Travel, I suppose, and that's where I'm going. Sunberth."

Why did he find it so easy to talk to the harlot? There was nothing between them, magic perhaps, but little else...they were simply two people who had met rather by happenstance and shoddy planning. Still, there was a feeling, gut-level at least, but enough to keep the hypnotist chattering.

"I'm trying to do something, In Sunberth I mean, something that may rattle this world one day...but..." He threw up his hands, "Maybe just the jabbering of a mad wizard, that's what they call us anyways."

He smiled, letting much of the pretense of poise go.

"How long will you be what you are, then?" He asked Matthew, raising an eyebrow, "How long until you've learned all you can about what pleasures others?"