Come, gentle night [TW: Graphic Violence]

[Nymeria Fyrechild]

The Paper Tiger ~ Vienda

27/03/2719 ~ 27th hour

Walking through uptown Vienda at this time of day, was way less dangerous than it would have been had she been walking through the dives. It had her own dangers for her, a human, but the quiet and cleanliness had lured her up there none the less. The promise of a drink on her lips and a well-lit pub waited to be kept, as she turned a sharp corner and found her self face to face with rough looking entrance to what she, on nights like these, had found to be her own sacred paradise. She would be able to be left alone, being an uninteresting human, and she could sit in silence pondering and relaxing. Enjoy the vast smell of tobacco and cologne, never found in the dives.

She pushed open the deceiving door, being met with a warm light bouncing off her hair resembling the dawn, where the sun would color the sky in orange and red hues. Standing still for a moment while the door closed behind her, she gazed over the lack of people in there. Seems like the goddess were in her favor. Swinging the black cloak off her shoulders in a graceful manner and hanging it up on a hanger near the door in almost one movement, almost made it seem like she belonged here. She breathed in the woody and masculine fragrance of the place and let both the silence and the soft tunes of the place, before she made her way towards the outermost barstool with the plush red seat. She knew that to get service she would have to speak first. Even if they weren’t hostile, they seemed to have bad eyesight when it came to human customers.

She approached the barstool in a graceful manner, aware that eyes were following her every move. She was a rare sight in a place like this, and though the eyes of galdori on her made her hairs on her arms stand, it was one thing that she would have to live with. The curious glances were something to get used to, and it wouldn’t be too long before something more interesting would be the center of the attention anyway. At least they found themselves too good to strike up a conversation with her.
She sat down, the metal cone dangling lightly on her side almost as a warning, and looked straight at the bartender, using the confused glance of his to capture his eyes. ” Gioran Whiskey, please, on the rocks” she bared her teeth in a smile, that was all but friendly. The please were clearly only used as a formality, and the tone of her voice made it clear that she wasn’t asking- She was ordering.

The bartender was ripped out of his confused stare, and right into the reality where he realized that he had to serve a human. He nodded vaguely, putting down the long clean glass he had been polishing. As the bartender began preparing her drink, she moved her glance from him and to the array of bottles decorating the back wall behind the bar. Her finger absentmindedly drew a circle on the marble bar mirroring the music in its movements. As the drink was placed before her in a crystal glass, she slightly nodded without looking at the bartender moving her glance to her drink instead. She lifted the drink to her lips, and took a tiny sip savouring the quality of what she was served.

She didn’t have enough money to treat herself like this often, and though the drink weren’t expensive, it was a moderate price that were asked. So, she savoured every note of the whiskey, as she got lost in her own thoughts. It had been a long month, first the girl with the hair of a terri bird’s feathers, and then the shopkeeper of the Woven Delights on the street of Painted ladies. She felt like she had possibly experienced more things in the past weeks than she had in all of the past year. And she was exhausted. More than usual. So, she had tried escaping into enemy territory, hoping that she could, just for a moment, let her world go. Counting on the Galdori prejudices to leave her alone, just for a single moment. Come, gentle night.

[Ralor Szczebrzeszynks]

🙞 the paper tiger / vienda

the 27th hour of 27/03/2719

The night had promissed to be boring, at best, and dangerous at worst. The young lad knew it was a good idea to learn how to defend himself, but his knowledge would keep him safe only from a staggering blithering drunk, perhaps. In times of civil distress the likes of which haunted Anaxas at the moment though... The current pressures and threat of civil war, it seemed a bit too much to stomach for someone like him just taking his first steps into politics. War is never a good prospect. Fortunately, the galdor knew it was unlikely to happen; rain season made a terrible season for breakout of war. The worse part was that after this season would come dry, warm season: perfect time for conflict.

Ralor undid the knot at the back of his head, and brushed his fingers through his hair, exhaling sharply with his eyes closed. Sitting at one of the corners of the Paper Tiger, he let his fingers massage his stressed scalp for a moment while he let in the scent of the tavern. Quality burnt tobacco leaves melded with brewed beer brushing the air in which the spiced sauce of his finished meal danced. He let his hair dangle loosely, grabbed the tall glass in his corner table and took a sip of the hoxian brew; he may never have felt at home in Hox, but he couldn't deny they made tasty beer.

The door hinges sung as they opened, and a fair galdor with burning red hair walked through, letting the door close behind her as she took the ambient in.

Ralor stayed himself; he didn't want to be noticed, and still objects were less likely to draw attention. Something was wrong.

The lady held herself high and proud, clad in a garb one could confuse for a typical night dress of a galdori lady, but her features betrayed her nature. From this distance, Ralor would never be able to sense her field, if she even had one. With features like that, it was more likely she had a glamour about herself rather than an actual field...

Ralor caught himself as his thought trailed with intrigue. He looked down to the table, and smirked. Whoever this young lady was, she peaked his interest.

He tied his top hairs at the top back of his head in a neat knot, letting the rest dangle carefully.

” Gioran Whiskey, please, on the rocks”

Even more interesting. A refined taste, to be sure, and not a cheap one if recurrent. Ralor got off his table, grabbing his bag and neatly bringing the strap across his chest, straightning his jacket, grabbed his beer and made his way to the balcon.

As he approached, he failed to sense any field or glamour; a human, then. He smirked lightly, keeping his own field indectally calm.

"Hello, miss. Mind if I keep you company?"

He gestured to the empty stool near her, the smirk barely visible. He could feel the numbness in his cheeks; the beer was starting to make him less inhibited than he would usually be.

🙝

[Nymeria Fyrechild]

The Paper Tiger ~ Vienda

27/03/2719 ~ 27th hour

Someone started to move around in the far corner of the room, but it didn’t draw Nymeria’s attention at first. Not even as the shadow slowly approached her, making their way through the room. She was sitting at the place where people would go when they need a new fill of whatever they were having. So, she lifted the cup once again, sipping the burning liquor, ice cubes clinking against one another In the finely carved glass.

As she sat down the glass on the top of the wet mark it had already left, she let out a quick sigh as if she had been holding her breath. "Hello, miss. Mind if I keep you company?". She turned her head slowly, not sure that he was actually speaking to her. She hadn’t been called miss, in an environment such as this- Ever. She was met with the sight of what was clearly a galdor. Studying his features gazing over his body from his inky black hair, to the soles of his feet, and up again where she met his eyes. Covered in leather clothing, an air of confidence around him, he couldn’t be anything else.

This must be some kind of joke, she thought, already deciding that she wouldn’t play along. She wasn’t in the mood to humour some bored golly. Under the smile on her face lured a sneer, and as she turned her attention away from him, she took another sip of the drink that once again had found her hand. ”You may sit” she replied, neither denying him the right of sitting beside her, nor making a promise to be his conversation partner. She wasn’t dumb enough to be rude towards him, but if she could avoid being his entertainment for the evening she would.

She glanced towards the bartender, not knowing if he should approach the two and risk having to interact with the human once again. Then she glanced at the beer that the galdor had brought from wherever he had been sitting before. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been sitting side-by-side with a galdor, if she ever had. Usually they weren’t interested in being that close to a human, and she the other way around. She peered over her shoulder, looking around for the possible previous company of the boy. But she saw no snickering faces, who had dared him to approach her. Only even more curious stares of the rest of the patrons, and the very odd pair sitting beside each other.

She turned her head back, her eyes shortly resting at the galdor beside her, before she once again turned to her whisky. Almost empty, and in her confusion, she had forgotten to savor the two last sips of the flowing gold. Damn galdor, she thought and almost let her annoyance at the interruption show at her face. Then she lifted her gaze to his, the blue, almost grey hues meeting his that seemed black. ”How can I help you?”, the smile on her face never reaching her eyes. Any other evening, she might have tried to use this to practice her skills at interacting with the galdori, but she were tired. And she hadn’t planned on a galdori sitting next to her.

[Ralor Szczebrzeszynks]

🙞 the paper tiger / vienda

the 27th hour of 27/03/2719

Cold eyes peered and trailed his figure as if taking a measurement, before coldly conceeding. "You may sit" she stated as a matter of fact. It was an interesting interaction, almost made funny by the tension of the situation.

The hoxian adjusted his bag away from the woman and sat next to her, a wolf pawing carefully in the snow so his deer cloack doesn't fall off, scaring the does, holding his beer carefully before settling it softly on the counter so as to not agitate the brew and bring out the foam that gave it it's consistency.

As the doe looked around at the other wolves, Ralor took her measurements as she had done to him with a quick glance. He decided she would likely be very appealing to other humans. As she turned her gaze back on him, he avoided her gaze and feigned instead a bleak interest in his beer, sipping some more of it, but leaving the bottom along some foam; the hoxian brew was tasty, but he never got used to that last drag of it.

When she was almost done with ber whiskey she spoke again, but not before a slight sign of distress; perceptiveness came almost naturally to the galdor, although if he Conversed to get more context or confirmation, he risked her realising he was using magic, and that was not worthy at all. He did turn to meet her gaze this time, looking into her eyes and focusing on observing the color, a known trick among diplomats to make the targets more receptive to the observer.

"How can I help you?"

The chilling smile was almost as cold as her eyes to which the smile reached not, two pools of cold water amid a placid tundra, all of jt so cold it might as well freeze the whiskey in her hand into a solid golden block of ice.

"Your name would be lovely assistance", he started, keeping his own cool and slight smirk. "But it would be rude to ask it without giving something in return. My name is Ralor Szczebrzeszynks" he rasped his last name with surprising softness. It was a paradoxical situation, to say such a convoluted name in the natural way it'd come off an hoxian's mouth.

He raised to fingers and beconed the galdor behind the counter, his tone now slightly less bemused. "Barkeep. Two more, please, Gioran whiskey on the rocks, and bring us some coasters for it, we're not animals."

He turned his head back to the fire maned young lady beside him and drew a smirk once more. "May I have the pleasure of your name, then?"

🙝

[Nymeria Fyrechild]

The Paper Tiger ~ Vienda

27/03/2719 ~ 27th hour

Two can play that game, her mind snarled at him as he returned the eye contact- Something that would normally be considered polite. But she didn’t feel like he was trying to be polite, not at all. She felt like he was challenging her, or himself to see what kinds of reactions he could force out of her. Therefore, she kept her face bare of emotion, as she ascertained just how much of an asshole he was.

At the request of her name, her every movement stilled as a doe realizing it was standing in front of a bow with no way out. But he continued, offering his own name as leverage. A weird name, matching his hoxian features. He too was an outsider in this godforsaken city. Not that it mattered. She followed his fingers movements as he ordered another round of drinks for the two of them, just as she desperately needed one. She downed the last of the whiskey and pushed the glass away from her with a slight movement of her wrist.

” We’re not animals”, his voice rung in her ears. Saying those words so easily with no consequences, that she had been wanting to bark at every galdor for months. She wanted to rip his throat out, but instead, she lifted her chin in a defiant manner and tapped her fingers impatiently at the marble tabletop. ” I’m not sure I want to give that to you,” She said, wanted to wash that confidence right off him, ” Who knows what you’re going to do with it”.

She didn’t know if galdori could use names for the curses of theirs, but she certainly wasn’t about to find out. ” Might even have been a mistake to give me yours, who knows what I might do with it.” Not that she would ever be able to pronounce that last name properly, but he didn’t need to know that. Knowledge is power, and she wasn’t going to give him any more than he already had.

The drinks were placed before them, this time on coasters, and she lightly grabbed the cold glass put in front of her. At internal war with herself on whether she should ever accept something given by a galdor, she took a sip and set down the glass. ” Thank you.” the words burning in her throat, but none the less polite. She might not have been hiding her distrust and dislike of this man, but she wasn’t going to be forgetting her manners. Or get killed because of it.

She let the glass hover at her lips, a pondering look at her face, as she had had before he had joined her. She looked almost as if he had left her alone once again, but he hadn’t, and the anger that hid beneath the expressionless mask hadn’t either. She sipped the drink carefully, letting it sip on her lips for just a moment and savoring the taste. Then she set it down before her with a discontent snort and turned all the way around in her chair to face him.

” What do you want.”

She was just tiniest bit shorter than him, but with the lift of her chin she peered down at him. Almost a warning, though anyone would know that she’d never stand a chance in a fight against him. No, for her to have a chance of winning it had to be a battle of words. Or a battle of seduction.

[Ralor Szczebrzeszynks]

🙞 the paper tiger / vienda

the 27th hour of 27/03/2719

Never sail a ship you can't affor to lose, as the Mugrabi saying goes, linguistic nuance asside. Ralor's gesture was not returned; in fact it was resisted with contempt, which she may have tried to hide from him but was just too strong in her. It was not unusual; most humans resented galdori for their superiority, which asserted itself through Conversation. They didn't openly defy galdori, but they sure didn't kiss ass either.

Her comment was amusing though. "Are you going to give my name to a wick troupe? I would pay to see that, actually. Haven't met many anaxi who could say my name." He spoke through his smirk, which he was finding harder and harder to contain as a smirk and not let blossom onto a smile, such was the feeling of smugness within him.

The glass of whiskey clunked as it was placed over a cork coaster; Ralor curtly bowed at the barkeep, took the drink in his hand and brought it to his lips. It was dignified and balanced, no particular strand of taste overwhelming the others, but also sweet in that it left a wet feeling in the mouth that you could almost take a second sip out of. A whiskey like this slips through the throat with scarcely any burning sensation. Unless, of course, you're a human thanking a galdor for a drink.

"You're welcome", he took another bow as he observed her through the corner of his eye. He couldn't quite put his finger on her, what were her motives for being here. Her relief with the offered drink could be an indication she would be able to enjoy this second drink, but why relief then? Could she not afford the second? Or she didn't want to drink too many. He didn't have too much time to think on it; she put her drink down and twisted in her chair, facing him.

"What do you want?"

He looked at ger sideways, before taking another sip of his whiskey. He let it swirl at the back of his mouth before swallowing, leaving a nice corporeal feeling that you could taste, before twisting lightly back to face the woman. Her pose struck him as defiant, to be sure, a proud pose as a galdor might hold, but almost out of place as well, as a cat that puffs its fur and stands sideways to intimidate a mutt.

He tried his best to hide condescendance, but that might prove hard; in direct contrast to his companion, he slouched ever so slightly in her direction, holding his head downward which made him look up at her. "I already made it clear, I was hoping to know your name. A name doesn't say much but it says something. It can tell a story of where one came from, where one might belong."

He gave a very curt indication with his index finger before bringing it back down. "It wouldn't, however, say what a girl does in a place where she seemingly doesn't belong. I was wondering why a doe would walk among wolves... You don't quite strike me as someone who is confortable in this situation. So, it's likely you're here because even though it's risky, the risk outweighs staying where you thought you were confortable. You're trying to hide, in plain sight, no less. Am I close?"

It would've made sense to him. Should he feel trapped among his peer, haunted by responsibilities and foreign expectations, he might risk dressing in rags, dirtying himself to try and pass off as a dredge of society in a lowly ill lit tavern just so he may enjoy not only a drink, but also peace.

Of course, by the nature of this action, Ralor was imposing on the lady's peace. But her mannerisms confirmed this for him; elsewise she may have been able to mask her anger much better. His dark eyes peered up expectantly towards her towering glacial stare.

🙝

[Nymeria Fyrechild]

The Paper Tiger ~ Vienda

27/03/2719 ~ 27th hour

He was clearly amused with her behavior, like a cat toying with a mouse before killing it off and devouring it. This interaction was a mere curiosity, a game to pass time with out of boredom.
"Are you going to give my name to a wick troupe? I would pay to see that, actually. Haven't met many anaxi who could say my name.". He seemed highly aware that his name was a strange one, and he somehow managed to act like this as well made him superior. A name sounding alike to a curse didn’t seem like a superior one in her ears.

”A name can be used for plenty of other things, but I’ll keep your idea in mind.”.

Maybe, you can use that money on something worthwhile, like paying someone to get your head out of ass. For once she hoped that the galdor could read her mind. Or at least figure out exactly what she was thinking from the look of her face. Can’t kill me off for a thought.

He had a hard time hiding his superiority complex, playing right into her assumptions about galdori men. Drowning in their own pride, not being able to see the wave that would be coming from them. He slouched slightly towards her, looking up at her in a manner she imagined that some galdori women would be finding alluring. She kept her eyes on him, wary of his every move as if he might suddenly pounce on her at paint her body crimson red with the blood of her throat.

”Nymeria.”. Still unsure whether or not giving her name out was a wise choice, she had decided that if he really wanted it, he could probably find out another way. And the way he had stated that he ’Already made it clear’, made it seem like it was a small demand that she couldn’t even comply to.

As he kept talking, guessing at her presence in enemy territory, she lifted her glass to her lips never once letting her eyes leave his. I was wondering why a doe would walk among wolves.... She took a sip, lowering her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips at his description of her. Putting down her glass, she, for the first time this evening, leaned in closer towards him. As she got as close as she wanted, she looked up, into his eyes, a secretive and confident smirk, like his, on her pale rose lips. ” I’m wondering who the doe is?”, she leaned backwards into her seat once again, the words only heard as a light whisper between the two of them. A shared secret.

Glancing at him sideways, she took another sip. The ice cubes clinked in her glass, slowly melting into the liquor, and a ring of water had made its mark on the cork coaster. She had fallen back into her expressionless mask again, studying and contemplating his every move. The daring smirk, along with the momentary closeness had disappeared without a trace. She had whispered a secret in his ear that no one would believe.

[Ralor Szczebrzeszynks]

🙞 the paper tiger / vienda

the 27th hour of 27/03/2719

A beautiful name, to be sure. And while it wasn't enough to disarm him, what happened next would. A snide comment, enough to raise the hair in his arms, almost enough to make them twitch forwards and wrap his hands around her high collar protected throat.

"I could punch you full of holes right here and now and no one would even care, you--"

His nose snarled in a micro expression just as the thought flared through his mind, as though a flash of lightning that is following by rumbling thunder. The beer and the whiskey were clouding his mind, it seemed.

Hoping the woman's gaze was averted and her perception not as sharp as the Perceptive trained at Brunnhold, he made sure to sigh loudly while raising his eyebrows, feigning disappointment at the woman's comment.

"I’m wondering who the doe is", it echoed.

He straightened himself on the bar stool and faced the bar, then stretching his right arm to rest on the counter while his left hand brought his drink up, sipping without letting the ice bite its cold onto his lips, looking forward. Bringing it back down carefully, he let the ice playfully hit the sides of the glass while he stared at it.

"You're boring," he barked as a matter-of-fact, "but you're not nearly as smooth as Gioran whiskey as you seem to think you are", he said while looking at her, before facing the bar once more. "You barely manage to come off as cold as the ice floating in it", he bit once more.

It was at least obvious to him that she didn't like him, and that the doe comment dug deep into her. Whether she didn't like him because he was galdor or because he was a man had been unclear, but when she questioned his positing of which of them were which, she confirmed for him that it was the species difference that mattered. And that bothered her. But why did it bother him?

"I don't know why you would come here, since you won't bother in sharing with a galdor" he mocked, "but if you do and you are forced to speak with my ilk, you'd do better to learn how to mask your distaste more actively, or you may find yourself in trouble." Scarce a threat, not many galdor he knew would even approach a human, let alone allow them to speak like this without repercussion.

Perhaps it was the way she held herself, her clothing that purported to imitate galdori fashion, or that she was near as beautiful as a galdori lass, but the curiosity had soured into a light irksomeness. Perhaps it was that this situation was his own fault, feeling too comfortable in known territory, allowing an outsider to spark his curiosity and be throw him swirling in a trap of his own creation. Nymeria. Nymeria the vixen.

He turned his head toward her and addressed her in a more casual tone.

"For all it matters, I do apologize for calling you a doe. Clearly it bothered you." To be reminded of your place in the food chain he might've added if he wanted to engage in a pissing contest with someone that had to squat to compete. He took the rest of his whiskey, signalling the barkeep for another round with his hand. Two glasses came, and Ralor didn't object; he wanted only one, but he decided to take the high road on this. He did invite himself to join her, he might as well keep her entertained, if not with actually interesting conversation, then by inebriation.

"So, what made you so upset with galdori? Did some galdor steal your candy when you were a baby, lady Nymeria?"

🙝

[Nymeria Fyrechild]

The Paper Tiger ~ Vienda

27/03/2719 ~ 27th hour

She had hit him where it hurt, it was clear. He was a hurt animal, no longer able to conceal the blood flowing from his wound. But wounded animals are dangerous, and he bit back reminding her that she shouldn’t stick her fingers too far out. And yet she couldn’t help herself throwing her head back in a joyful laughter at his growls. For bystanders her laughter might have looked like flirtation, laughing like a young girl in love with the boy beside her. She turned to face him, the laughter still lingering at her lips and her eyes almost seeming warm. ”I’m sure I am horribly boring, and lukewarm in an amazing, highborn, galdors eyes,” she drawled, ”And I am sorry if I offended you good sir, a mere human such as me should be punished for being such a disgrace”.

As he kept biting at her, she studied his movements. He seemed immensely upset with her behaviour, like a spoiled child being denied the toy that he wants. And though the alcohol running in her veins, made her brain a little fuzzy and her judgement less precise, she knew that it was about to be her time to take a leave. Unless she really wanted to get hurt. She drew a heavy breath, and fell into a different mask, the one that she had seen on the shopkeeper. A pleasing one, always smiling a soft warm ember glistening in her eyes.

”I am sorry, sir, my behaviour can not be excused” her tone now gentle, apologizing. She still bore herself pridefully, but it was not in the same defiant way as before. ”You must understand, that I am a mere, dumb, and weak human, so I came off as defiant and cocky, trying to scare of possible attackers.”, spitting out the lies left a sour taste in her mouth, but she didn’t let it show on her face. Every time she felt like spitting on the floor, she drew a deep breath and visualized the bird-like woman’s mannerisms, and controlled behaviour.

It botheres me that you thought that you were any better than I, that you were the hunter, and I the prey. She looked at him, a still and gentle smile on her face. She kept her truth to herself, and as another drink was served before her, she didn’t even gaze at it. She didn’t want anymore of his poison, that she had once enjoyed so.

She put a hand over her heart in a surprised manner, her lips slightly parted like she had just been accused of stealing out of the cookie jar. ”Me? Upset with galdori?” she laughed again, a ladylike way, just as fake as the highborn ladies. ”Never”. She looked at him, eyes slightly wide, the corners of her mouth tucked into an innocent smile. She highly doubted that he thought her pretence genuine, but this might be what he wanted. A submissive human woman, nurturing his fragile ego. Letting him build his masculinity on oppressing others.

”Well. I have embarrassed myself for too long, and must take my leave” She downed her old drink, and fiddled with the pouch at belt. Putting money for the drink that she herself, had othered, she smiled sweetly at Ralor. ”You won’t find my sorry existence here again”, she got off the stool on the side away from him, a precaution to make sure he couldn’t grab her. Then she smiled one last time, a sweet one, but her real thoughts gleaming in her eyes. And then she turned around on her heel and glided in graceful steps over the floor towards the door. She grabbed her cloak, and swung it over her shoulders, before she turned her head one last time. She looked at him over the fur, the corners of her mouth drawn into that smile that she wore when questioning their positioning on the food chain. And then she pushed the door open and left.

[Ralor Szczebrzeszynks]

🙞 the paper tiger / vienda

the 27th hour of 27/03/2719

R
alor could feel her growing agitated, excited, giddy with the though that she was getting to him. "Might as well play along with it, see what else she'll let me know." He pushed his hips back, straightning his spine while looking down, his lips pursed ever so slightly at the corners of his mouth in an annoyed expressed. As he shifted his weight, he could feel the scabbard of his dagger pressing against the jacket. "Not today, I think. She's too interesting."

He twisted his head towards her, stiff shoulders and thorax in place, facing the bar, looking at her through the corners of his eyes as she threw her head back in jovial laughter, confirming his suspicion that she was having fun at the prospect of annoying him on purpose.

"Who told you I was highborn", he might ask, but then again, why interrupt someone when they tell so much about themselves. The notion that galdori were above humans was well ingrained in society, galdor revelled in it, humans despised such notions. She resented this, heavily. Her own comment about being a mere human and deserving punishment let him know that she thought humans deserved a place next to the galdori, rather than beneath them, and that galdori deserved punishment for their ways.

He purssed his lips once again, tongue sliding between his lips and teeth, and took a deep breath to accentuate his annoyance. One thing was apparent to be true across all races: women speak as though they never received a good slap on account of a comment they made, because truth was, it's an ill conceived notion to lay hands on a woman unless say, she's swinging an axe at you. This seemed to be true for galdori and human alike. Many times in Brunnhold, Ralor had learned that the weigh of his words are in equal weight to the swinging fist of the target of his words, only accelerated and thus, heavier. He felt women seldom learned this lesson, except maybe from other women.

He raised his glass to her at the behavior comment. "I'll take that one. We've both been out of line, I believe." It was an honest sentiment. She talked herself into a corner she was unlikely to crawl out of with another galdor, and he didn't step into the corner he could very well have sat in, high and mighty, an ivory tower from where he could decide her fate with little repurcussion. Her words, however, must've burnt like the cheapest moonshine distilled in the deserts of Mugroba. The thought was a plesant one, and he put effort into not breaking character with the slightest display of enjoyment.

He rolled his eyes visibly when she mentioned galdori never upset her, half actor, half heartfelt exhasperation. "You really are a dull creature", he thought. Every human was upset at a galdor for some reason, and most made sure to paint that feeling with the broadest possible brush onto all galdori. She'd been better off admitting it, but because she didn't, she confirmed for him that it wasn't upset, but a visceral, murderous resentment that she felt. He was glad he had his dagger with him, lest he found one of these unhinged people in the streets at night. Not that he'd be able to do much with it. But better have it and not need it, than needing it and not having it.

She up and turned away, announcing her departure, paying for her drink but leaving the one that had come in untouched. Ralor lifted his glass to her, not looking at her, but unpursed his lips long enough to bid her goodbye.

"Farewell, lady Nymeria. Do be careful out there... These are dangerous times..."

While he felt tempted to follow her, there were more pressing matters. He lifted his bag up, drew his notebook, the fountain pen and a bottle of ink, set them on the table, and got to writing down the evening details. He drew her badly due to his lack of skill, but tried to leave her impression on paper. He'd done horribly but somehow captured her self-ulimportant posturing. He wrote down some details such as hair and eye color, then got to writing down the details of her psyche as best as he could remember from the interaction they had. The pen scrathed furiously at the paper, leaving behind the blazing umbral trail of information.

🙝

Near one hour later, already bothered, the barkeep asked that Ralor pay up and left; he didn't need to go home but he couldn't stay. Ralor coughed up a pretty coin for the meal, beer, and five whiskeys in total. He didn't leave the tavern so much as he stumbled out of it. It was a cloudy night outside, but shafts of moonlight pierced through the cracks in the sky to bathe Vita in it's milky shine. Ralor walked slowly, reliving the events of the night. He had calmed down considerably; for something that started as a way to test the mettle of the mysterious woman that held herself so high, he thought he did pretty well. He knew her name, her semblence, and that she would either try to kill him, or try to get to him through jeering snide commentary. Either way, she had her hooks on him; like the Mugrobi would say, a small boat fishing for leviathans.

There was coughing from a dark alleyway. Ralor stopped for a moment to listen; the coughing came again, accompanied by a wheezing breath, and a bottle knocked down, clinking as it rolled a few inches.

The hoxian stood and looked around. Empty streets. Dark windows with wodden blinds shielding the glass behind them. A few torches here and there to light the way in the street, but not in the alleyway.

His drunkness seemed to have kept walking down the street, for his heart pumped his body with adrenaline. Wicked thoughts crept through his mind as though arachnids twitching their limbs through the underbrush of an unkept forest, silently but menacingly.

"I’m sure I am horribly boring, and lukewarm in an amazing, highborn, galdors eyes."

He reached a depression in the wall between two houses where a few blankets and wooden boards sheltered a drunked man, and he stood still omniously over the creature. His clothes were brown, likely already like that before the dirt and mud clung to them. The stink that permeated them and the man was palpable, if not visible on the dirt and grease in the features of the man that could be seen even in the faint moonlight.

"And I am sorry if I offended you good sir."

Ralor took another step, inching closer to the man on the blankets. He seemed completely out of it, the empty bottle his only companion so far, and no longer a useful one. He ignore the wretched stench, analysing the features of the man. Shaggy brown and gold beard, but trimmed not too long ago. Some teeth were missing in the gaping mouth, and from the way he snored, he either lived under stress or was an alcoholic. Evidence pointed to both. His hair, likely a mix of brown and gold as the beard, was covered by a cap that shielded the man's head from the cold.

"A mere human such as me should be punished for being such a disgrace."

Another step and the man shifted, his eyes parting through the yellow patching at the corners. He looked at the galdor, confused and bewildered. Shhhh, eased the galdor, looking at the man calmly. "What's your name, good sir?"

The man's expression drew a blank, not knowing what to say until it occured to him to answer in a voice so raspy he might as well have been a miner all his life. "Cleatus, if it please ye, sir." He took off his cap as way of greeting, showing the oily hair kept down in the shape of the cap's interior.

Ralor smiled once again, a contained smile that touched not his eyes. His eyes were trained on Cleatus' dark eyes."Well, he calmly started, "this is no place for a human being to sleep in, Cleatus. Let's get you somewhere warm."

Cleatus eyes lit up; was this the fabled galdori charity? Ralor leaned in and extended his left hand to the man; Cleatus shifted his weight, bringing his hips closer to the edge of the blanket, and grabbing the entire forearm of the galdor, as though he might run away if not aggressively held on to. As the left hands held to one another, Cleatus pushed his right hand into the blanket, bent his legs and pushed up. Ralor's right hand went behind his back, unclasped a band of leather and after grabbing tighly onto an oiled wooden handle, brought his hand out and drove ith into the rising torso of the homeless man.

As soon as his hand punched into the torso, Cleatus whimpered as a sharp pain shot into his side just bellow his ribs, and he tried to push himself back away from the pain even as Ralor clasped his left hand toward him firmly. He swung a leg behind Cleatus' calf, and pushed him back onto the blanket, deftly kneeling beside him. He kept his eyes on the man's, and as pain and confusing swirled, he pulled the dagger in his hand out of his torso, before bringing the knife down again, and again. Cleatus' right hand tried to stop Ralor's hand, but his drunken stupor had left him weak, while Ralor was a physically healthy individual with pure adrenaline in his blood. The whimpers kept going, turning into a low howl, before the sound ceased with the last breath of the man. His dark eyes that begged the heavens for relief were now as empty as the heaven's response.

Ralor's hands were sticky and wet, hot with the blood and the heat he himself was generating such was the rush. He brought himself up from the body, and now the overwhelmimg reality of his actions crashed down on him; he turned around and spewed chunks of food cascading through a mixture of whiskey and stomach acid. He retched a couple of times more, careful not to hurt himself with the dagger in his hand. He had to leave the scene.

He stumbled off, now weakened from the vomiting, not even giving a second glance at what he had done. The sharp taste of bile in his mouth and at the back of his throat wouldn't go away. As he passed through a well, he hovered his hand over it and let the knife drop down onto it. It made a plop as it broke through the water's surface, but it went down, and wouldn't come back up. Good enough for him.

He did his best as he could to dry the blood from his hand on the fabrics of his jacket; as soon as he went home, he would burn it. "I'll replace it. It's replacable. The jacket. The dagger. The humans. All beneath me. All replacable."

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