Chavi talk.

[Thomas Cosa]

33rd of Winter, 514 AV

A bath of warmth and dawn-light spilled into the Vestibule, the decaying grey and shadow of night chased away by Syna's joy. A lone figure stood beforea giant structure, all marble and curves. Dwarfed completely in the thing's morning-cast shadow, Thomas sighed.

He had spent season after season coming out here, early, late, in-between. He was always careful to not speak, or announce himself in any way loud, essentially hiding himself from the listening types that plagued the undead fortress. Still, what he was doing could be considered a habit, and however may he might try and hide, Thomas doubted he could keep these little Vestibule visits going for long. At least, without someone discovering him.

Or worse. Someone discovering what he was really after.

"Please." He whispered, hardly daring to even utter that. Still, asking a goddess for help wasn't something without ritual. At least, so far as Thomas was concerned. "Please," he begged, desperate enough to allow his voice to escape him for a second time. Thomas just needed something, he needed another vision to go on. Avalis had shown him a vision once before, why not now? He needed something more to continue his investigation.

"Show me something I can use," He thought aggresively, perhaps too much considering whom he was addressing. His divination mark sparked purple as he lost focus in this world, his conscious floating and fluttering against the dancing spirals of Chavi. He reached out, grabbing out in the sea of iridescence blindly, desperately searching for a lead.

[Fallon]

Part of Fallon internally groaned, her mind still slurred and sluggish from the restless nights. It rebelled against the notion of one of those morning walks, the attempt to feel close to human instead of dead. How her body craved the comfort of a real bed, of warm arms and a close embrace that could only seemingly be achieved by being close to a loved one. Exhaling, she let the stale air escape and be replaced, the dulled light tickle at her senses and the gentle slapping of cool glass within her palm. Her finger and thumb were twirling the red glass ball with thought, gently caressing the outer surface of the object with thought. A poor mental stimulus, but it was an attempt never the less. She needed to stay sharp upon the island, the numerous eyes and ears of the citadel always watching - supposedly - even when there appeared to be no immediate source as to how.

It was confusing to say the least.

Still, she continued on her way, the low hum rumbling from her throat and the occasional stray flicker of light turning red as it passed through the ball. After a while she passed it over to the right, feeling the weight shift and the muscles tense beneath it. Sticking, she gave it the smallest of twists and let the left arm hang down, relaxed in comparison to the other. It was from there she peered through the glass, looking for idle amusement in the dreary world of the dead before inevitably sighing. Despite all the excitements that came from Sahova, she was still for the most part bored.

Puffing her cheeks she moved on, the low humming still existing as she stepped, the small swagger of steps as she moved. Most seemed to ignore her here - she figured after a while - just an uneducated outsider who did not know the ways of magic or the citadel. A rough neck, common thug of Sunberth who was more likely to steal anything that was not nailed down. In response she simply allowed herself to smile and their decided judgements, and continued on her merry way. There was no use in arguing with them, it was merely a waste of energy.

The humming turned into a clicking when she heard that noise, barely a breath and enough to make her consider if it was just the imagination. Least, until she heard it again. It gave her a moment of pause, eyes peering down the wide space. The steps became lighter as she moved, turning the glass ball in her hands as she wandered into the space dubbed the 'vestibule', sounds turning into low, gentle whistling. Rarely ventured, a largely unknown place to her - but already she could feel the history oozing off it, almost intimidating for what she could garner from it. Lips were licked, the turning pivots and passing of the glass ball once more from one hand to the other, foot fall slowing and the movements becoming weaving, bobbing and prowling for the source. At least, that was until she managed to peer upon the standing shape of some gangly man. Another pause, a freeze of consideration, her eyes darted to one of the other statues and the immediate animation to step behind it out of sight took her -with a rather heavy footfall.

[Thomas Cosa]

A girl. A woman?

The vision clouded around her figure, thin and small. She seemed fragile in only the most strange of ways, a wild determination about her. The air was bitter with sea spray and salt, an odd sense of nausea overcoming him. He felt irritated at nothing, a wave of adrenline overcoming the nausea, the air scented sweetly by adventure. Anticipation.

The wood below creeked of meldew and rot, years of sea softening at the roughn stiffness of it. The planks gave easily to his step, a bounce pushing against his weight. It was different, unusual. He hated boats -- whoever he was seeing from, however, didn't seem to care one way or another.

"Fallon?" Thomas asked, a hint of worried curiosity mingling in -- there was a certain strangness to the name, as if it had just been learned and they were testing the out the results.

In a cloud of brown, she turned. Her face, square and youthful, pale. There was a glint of nervousness to her eyes, or fear, maybe? There was an island in the distance, a fog clingling greedily to the shore
...
Thomas blinked, the Vestibule coming once again -- only to catch the flash of something dart behind the statues.

"Stranger, did you see that?" Thomas asked, too nervous to care about the listening types now. It wouldn't matter what they caught, if he ended up dead before they could report anything.

"Please be more specific. See what, Master Cosa?

"The thing -- it went right behind the statue there," Thomas sighed, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone. "I wasn't imagining it, I know." He said matter-of-fact.

"There was a humanoid there, momentairly. It played with some kind of red ball."

"Who's there? Why are you hiding?" Thomas called out, the pull of magic bubbling his stomach. The pleasant feeling of power rushed inside as he called his auristics. Whoever they were, they wouldn't be hiding for long.

[Fallon]

For a moment Fallon stiffened from behind the statues. Her entire form had hunched down, her lips pursed into a line and both hands cupping over the glass ball as if it would protect her from the world - not that it would. Low, her knees had bent, leather creasing as she held the position there, silence consuming as she listened. Had she been spotted? Heard? Probably, she was not exactly stealthy in her movements to get out of sight. Regardless there was that long span of anticipation, wondering and considering if she should peer out. There was no need to worry for too long however, she heard the words spoken about her and thus grimaced.

"Cripes, you Sahovan types are uptight," she muttered, "Always watching, we know everything. We are the power, et cetera." Biting her tongue she cleared her throat, the rough accent of Bitzer being adopted for this occasion, "I'm not a thing. A thing suggests I am little more than an object, an article that belongs to something, inanimate and material. When I last checked, I had a pulse and held the capability of thought and conversation." She released a snort then, "Looks like I still do."

Shoulder leaning up against the stone she sighed, allowing her forehead to brush against the cool. Both hands clapped around the ball now, turning it and admiring the sheen in the light, as the rest of her relaxed and listened to the other questions that came now, seeking and searching, "Less hiding, more seeking not to disturb." She held the glass ball out then, letting it peek pass the statue as she let the light glow through it, "Now who, that is a better question."

Fallon swung herself up then, rocking up onto her toes and straightening out. In the left she held the ball once more, it was the right that was in the process of trying to rub a smear out of the surface as she stepped on out. The orbs looked at him from beneath the dark brow, the steps slowing down, left behind right, right before left, light footwork as she came in closer and gave the stranger a wide berth, "Just a Scar, in answer to your previous question. Your lot here call me Redwulf. Sometimes with a Lady or a Mistress at the front. I'll let you decide which one." Her attention turned upwards then, her brow knitting into a line as she looked upon the statues, "So who are they anyway? Seems odd for a place like Sahova to have statues here. Successful mages? Or Gods?"

[Thomas Cosa]

Thomas snorted, idly passing a hand over the Stranger, the jewled collar hung tightly against his neck.

"You'd be surprised how many things could match your capability of thought and conversation," he snided, his eyes following the wild fire of her aura. It burned angrily -- or aggresively? He mouth pulled from it's default to a confused frown; he'd always had the most difficult time differentiating the two. They both breathed like fire, burning in spouts, giving off an uncomfortable phantom heat. Her aura flicked, sharp, and ice to him. She was a complex individual. "And, of course, things tend to be useful. People, which is what I'm sure you'd prefered to be considered as, are not always so", he watched her aura for a reaction, the slight shimmer marking her for a mage.

But on Sahova, a mage wasn't exactly a rarity.

He listened, ever watching, as she gave him a name. Not the name he'd know her by, but a name all the same. "I don't know who the statues are of -- I never really gave them much consideration, to be honest," he paused, glancing at the hard stone faces. They were rendered beautifully, almost life-like. He smiled, the thought amusing; almost life-like, like the nuit. Or an animation.

"Maybe they're busts of the ones who reign the CItadel. They're faces, I'd think, look quite different now. Maybe a reminder of better times." he shrugged, turning his face back towards her, his magic exploring ever further into her aura.

"And just Redwolf? No other names you want to give me?" Thomas smiled, his voice teasingly rhythmic. Oh, how he wanted to see how she would react to her name. To her real name. "I'm not much for...names like that, I suppose, I can't think of a better description. I wouldn't have you address me as, oh, I don't know," he paused dramatically, rapping a finger against his lips, "Bluedog, or Yellowcat, right? It sounds stupid."

"I bet I could think of a much better name for you. Would you like to see me try?"

It was a small bait, and unimportant. He wanted to know why she hadn't given the name he'd heard, and would say it whether she agreed to his proposal or not.

[Fallon]

Fallon looked at him and sighed. It was happening again, that snobbery of superiority, that placing of one's self up onto a pedestal. It was a tiring repeat that most of the resident Sahovans had adopted, and in response she found it as little more than a waste of her time - poking at holes, looking to climb up over those they had chosen to be beneath them. So, she simply peered at him from beneath her brow as he positioned himself above her in the social ladder of Sahova. Still, she was quiet and patient as he spoke, laying down his already decided judgements as she stood, idly passing the ball from one hand to the other, the steps slowly circling round. She could continue walking, she reasoned as she looked on past him - nonchalant for the most part, "I see, many faces, many people, but probably only one owner."

"I have other names, but for sake of profession and business, such is my time in Sahova, I am going to keep to the given name of Bitzer Redwulf. Of course, it would not be a surprise if you happened to know another name of mine," She shrugged then, "But, should you deem such a title to be silly, wise and powerful man of such knowledge and grace, then I shall merely bow my head and humbly accept your opinions with good grace." She gave a step away then, peering upon the nearby bust with some bored interest for a chime or so in silence.

He continued on, her gaze not lifting to meet him as he planted down the bait. It was with an inhale she thought upon the notion of centring herself, putting up and forward that unflinching mask. Cool the fires, appear disinteresting and uninterested - perhaps then he would then there would be some peace. The gloved hand gave a small reach forward, gently tapping upon the surface as she pondered over it, "You have decided already. Though, I do not care for gambling." It was an equally bored tone that rummage forth, another deep inhale as she focused only upon only that neutralisation, humour him for the moment. Nonchalantly she spoke, "Your esteemed wisdom is before you though..." she shrugged, and begun to move off once more.

The glass ball was passed from one hand to another, the orbs focusing upon him once more. Such a mundane object, but it was also a tool for her to use as necessary. She looked at him through the glass, bemused before she at last turned back on her heel to face away and view the rest of the vestibule, "Everyone has a method of discerning information and the truth though. It's just all down to the moment."

[Thomas Cosa]

Something shifted in the pits of her aura, a release, a veil of opaque black fell over her, almost covering her colors. Thomas smugness faltered, if only for a second, as he pressed his magic against her covering; he'd seen this before, with Keene. She didn't seem to have the same control over her emotions, or maybe, she just had emotions -- he still wasn't sure about the initiate.

"You're here on buisness?" Thomas asked, not entirely believing her. Her aura did shine enough to show she had talent in some magic or other, but Thomas hadn't encountered anyone who'd been invited to the island on buisness before -- or maybe most hadn't cared to leave their precious little ships. "Like a merchant? What do you sell?" He asked, suddenly interested. It never occurred to the animator that anyone higher in position than him could have invited the woman to the isle. She didn;t seem important enough.

He cocked his head to the side, the cloud covering inky, becoming heavier and thicker as it sloshed around her aura, dampening the fires of emotion. Maybe she was more like Keene than he first anticipated -- or maybe it was really that simple to hide from his magic. It wasn't particular strong, after all. "No. You don't sound like much of a gambler. You seem far too safe for that," he paused, gathering his magic together before pushing it against the clouding ink again. "Here though, that isn't so much of a bad thing. You seem more of a philosopher than anything. You think a lot," Thomas guessed catching a whif of electricity in her aura, metalic and charged. He'd understood that as active consciousness -- many of the wizards around the Citadel carried that in their auras as well. He did too; Sahova wasn't a place for the spontaneously stupid. You always needed a plan to survive the Citadel.

"But you're right. I've already decided. How clever of you to notice," he paused, again, relishing the reaction he'd hoped to stir in her. "I think...I think I'd like to call you Fallon," he smiled, watching the inky black slime down her aura. It wouldn't be there for long, he'd imagine. "It suits, you, right? What do you think, Fallon?".

[Fallon]

"I am here on business, however you will have to ask your Council for the details. I am a firm believer of client confidentiality," She lowered the glass ball then, her head inclining to one side as she let that mask sit in place and the more negotiation orientated mindset slipped into place. Allowing one to be run by emotions here would only spell their downfall, much was the case in Sunberth. Still, she caught that glimmer in his own mask - that revealing of the truth beneath on what he was perhaps truly thinking. Insecurity was the word that rattled about in her mind and it was there that it settled as a notion. A point she could niggle herself in at should she need to.

Reigning her own fires of self control in, she let the cool gaze rest upon him as he continued his verbal probing. Of course, she had no idea on what he was exactly doing, as far as she knew he was simply trying to verbally snake his way in to her defences - exploit her for manipulation. Keeping the expression neutral as she begun the slow steps back in and round towards him. Steps slow, close, the hands pasting the ball from one hand to the other.

Calm the mind, keep it neutral even as he did his taunting. Her old patron taught her to not fall for taunts, they more than often had some trick behind them that would cause more harm than good. And in her time fighting on the field taught her taunts were good lures, socially the case was probably the same here too. There was the fixing of the gaze at some point beyond in the horizon, some far off point in which to channel her gaze onto some far off bust. A deep inhale, she forced the step so she was within hands reach of him now. What would he call her? What name would he use?

It came, and Fallon paused there on the spot. There was a small pinch of her lids, the passing ball slowing before she took a step around him, tactic prowling and stalking as she peered upon him. Her lips parted, the wolfish expression plucking at her features as she picked out her target with ease. "You are lucky this is not Sunberth," she spoke slowly and firmly. The Bitzer accent still held in place, hard and unwavering with the reveal, "It would have ended poorly for you, wise, powerful wizard. Man of grandeur and knowledge... But, this is Sahova, and I wish not to cause embarrassment for those who requested my presence."

"Does it matter what I think? You have decided your own opinion on the name already, that it suits and that it is something you would like to call me. I imagine your peers would be disappointed however, that one of their colleagues does not know the art of tact or politeness when dealing with a guest," the ball returned to its steady passing, before she stopped and offered it to him to take, "Humour me, wise one. It will not hurt you."

[Thomas Cosa]

Thomas watched, his eyes narrowed to catch any glimpse of color -- rage, he imagined, but was only disappointed to see the ink swirl only harder around her aura, clingling to the thing, her emotions to in check for the pulser to divine anything of import. He caught, he thought, a flicker of orange fire, a tight escape of feeling that she quickly doused with inky control. His fists tightened as he lashed his magic out, tendrils sneaking and feeling around her, searching for any break in her defense.

"Such control. And, wow, an apparent knowledge of the inner workings of the CItadel," he clapped, his mouth tightening into a smile. Her working for the council surprised him, and worried him, even. Thomas only hoped he could rectify his poor impression -- not only for the sake of saving face, but because he knew Fallon was worth something to his search. Avalis knew. "Maybe my peers would be upset. Maybe they won't be," he shrugged, his head cocked to the left as a he caught a flash of color -- an icy blue, opaque and frigid. He wondered why her emotional control appeared this way, a thick cloud of liquid black, wile Keene's had frozen over his aura. "I think it really depends on how useful you've been, versus how useful I am."

"But you aren't interested at all how I've divined your name? Don't you want to know how? You haven't asked, so I assume no, but I'd like to hope that maybe you would be interested," he paused, licking his lips, a slient prayer to Avalis. Please be interested. I need you, Fallon. She sent you here for a reason.

He considered his options, and decided -- perhaps stupidly, to take off his glove. The mark, a black seer's lily, obviously a gnosis. It reflected a dim glow, a purple-black that tinged his hand. "I can know other things too, and I would like to talk about it -- maybe we can take a walk down to the docks?"

It was all too much, he was only too aware. But he needed to get out of range of the listening golems that hid around the Citadel, and the Vestibule too, he assumed.

[Fallon]

"Are you done?" She asked. He was attempting again, that press against her and attempt to undermine her. Her toes flexed, eyes catching that expression as it twisted and changed. Her own skin gave a twitch, that shudder of a scrutinizing that probed at her, looking for a way in - or something more perhaps? Her gaze gave a flicker down to his clenched hand, brow raising with curiosity. Anger? Was he about to lash out at her if she pushed further, or perhaps he was focusing on something, an action made out of concentration? The question of what however brushed against her consciousness once more, and left her for the most part wondering.

Still, let him continue his idle games alone should he desire. He was trying to bait her for something, what exactly she was not yet sure - but she had the lingering feeling that he needed her for whatever it was. Such words, such prods and pokes at her - a retaliation and attempt to rile her up into something. Or agree to something, an action Fallon was not about to bend to. Something was at play here, and she was not about to allow herself to be trapped within without more information first discovered. And then he removed the glove.

Her lip gave a small curl, eyes narrowing down as she recognised the mark to be of divine origin - who exactly however was beyond her for the moment. Her ears gave a twitch, she heard that almost pleading tone, a beg for her to agree to his whims. It was only then that she released a low, rumbling laugh, "You need me, don't you? For whatever little game you have in mind." She looked at him then from beneath her brow, the glass ball passing between her hands again as she thought to herself. Her throat released a hum, the wolfish look smothering her features - prowled and preyed upon were the words that played in her mind, "So much you require of my cooperation, I would say you have yourself in a predicament. Suck on whose whims?"

The passing paused, and the ball was placed into one of her coat pockets. Her own hand shifted then, pulling at the leathered gloves of her left and placing it carefully in the space between them. Peeling it away she let her own gnosis flicker into sight, the golden edge of the lormar glimmering in the light. It was in a quieter voice, and the small incline of the head in the general direction of out of the vestibule, "If you climb down from your podium, I can be persuaded to assist." The eyes gave a narrow then, the glove being neatly tugged back on, "So, how can wisdom help you?"