It had been a guess if it was an intentional pun or not, but she's pleased that it paid off.
"And in this new place, we can grow, branch out to things that may not have been possible where we were before."
A pause.
"Please don't tell me you've got an abundance of those stored up, the last one I have is some riff on 'bearing the fruits of our efforts' and after that I'm spent. Til I've had a little more time to dwell on being clever, anyway."
"My dear, I have had one thousand years to accumulate all manner of wordplay. I could keep this up all night."
He leans forward and rests his chin on the backs of his hands as he says through a mischievous grin, "You don't know what the meaning of the word spent is until you've had an hour with me."
Taking his hand, she rises from the table, nothing keeping her from this appointment. It's only when they're outside and on their way that something seems to dawn on her.
"New endeavors bearing fruit. Now why couldn't I think of that earlier?"
"It always comes to you later." He chuckles as he pats the back of her hand. "I've had just over a thousand years to perfect the art of swift comebacks. And, yes, that does mean I practiced."
"Now I just have the image of you going about your day, murmuring different sentences and retorts under your breath to fine tune them until it sounds perfect."
She laughs a little, letting him continue to lead the way.
"That was always supposed to be a myth. The poor thing. How long has it been since he saw his own face?" Erik is, truly, horrified by the concept. It's hard enough to retain a sense of identity after death, but to not even be able to observe the subtle changes that occur over all those years? Not to be able to look yourself in the eyes even once? It has to be maddening.
"Perhaps he keeps them for spite. To remind him what he lost."
"From what he told me, it was two hundred years ago. Though..." She pauses, considers how much to give to someone who doesn't know him. How much is permitted. "I've no idea if the face I know as his is the face that he had when he was turned."
How it could have changed as he did, from elf to vampire.
"If Astarion appeared before us, I'd have to warn you about him. I won't deny he's an utter ass in several ways. He's not to everyone's taste. But I'd trust him with my life without a drop of hesitation. Nor would I refrain from openly calling him my friend."
"Only two hundred? Why, he's still a baby," Erik says good-naturedly. Not quite a fledgling anymore, but certainly in the teenage vampire range.
"My dear Fever, I would be shocked if he was anything else. Believe me, most vampires even where I come from are, shall we say, not to everyone's taste. If he ever does arrive, so long as you call him friend, he will be welcomed by me." There might even be offers of mentorship.
"If he arrives, I will introduce you to him personally, so long as you promise to call him a baby in front of his face so I can see his reaction."
She wouldn't miss that for the world. She can half picture it in her mind's eye, the way his gaze would narrow trying to decipher if it was a jest, an insult, or something else entirely.
"That is, of course, assuming he remembers me. But one can always hope."
"I wouldn't be able to stop myself," Erik says, grinning with full teeth on display. He'd have to tease, but then he'd also make a genuine offer of mentorship shortly after.
"There is always hope."
They've made it to his home now. He unlocks the door but before he's gotten it all the way open a ghostly orb sticks his face through the wood and yells "Ghaaaaast!"
"Maxly," Erik chides his pet ghost pokemon, "What have I told you about waiting until I'm properly through the door?"
"Ghaaaaast..." moans Maxly apologetically, retreating back through and waiting on the other side until Erik's opened the door all the way.
"Please excuse my pet," Erik tells Fever as he motions for her to enter. "He's enthusiastic about meeting new guests. He's harmless, I promise."
The creature had surprised her, and she had stepped back on reflex, the syllables of a cantrip on her tongue, but thankfully Erik spoke before anything rash could happen. Oh. A pet entity - how quaint, really. Narrowly averting disaster, Fever comes in, eyes glancing around in appreciation, but also to see if she can catch the strange one in her gaze again.
"I've never seen a creature like him before. Is he some kind of spirit?"
To get through doors and such, or else just some innate magic.
"I'm sorry he startled you," Erik says as he shows her into the neat but sparse living room.
The way he dresses, one would think the furniture in his home would be extravagant to match, but aside from the very handsome writing table in one corner, most of the furniture seems to be leftovers from the previous tenants. The door of his work bedroom happens to be open, revealing that the furnishings in there are a lot more thoughtfully chosen. The centerpiece is a St. Andrews Cross. The leather straps are stretched in a way that suggests they're well-worn.
"Yes, that's right. He is a spirit who does not remember his former life. He seems bound to only be able to say his creature name, Ghastly. But we have worked out a system for communicating in yes and no answers. He can understand you perfectly well."
Erik turns his gaze on Maxly again, "Which means he should be able to remember what I tell him. For now, Ghastly, I want you to go play outside."
The ghost pokemon sinks lower in the air, dejected at being tossed out when there's new company to meet.
"Oh, I'll get to know you later, promise. When I'm not busy with things that won't interest you at all."
There's a reassuring smile she gives the spirit, trying to cheer it for later. Behave, and she'll be happy to give it attention. Erik doesn't seem the sort to need her to immediately leave afterwards, so there'll be time.
Her gaze tracks across the house, devoid of judgement. Her own apartment looks much the same, a reflection of who was there before save the discreet altar, and they make do with what they have at present. Or, they innovate and create their own, like the cross. That gets an extra heartbeat of attention, but like most things, she has no plan. Merely improvising with what comes, to see how it all unfolds.
"Ghastly! Ghastly!" Maxly cheers and does a circle around her before he finally obeys Erik and zooms out through the door.
"He's probably going to come find you and haunt you later," Erik comments, amused. "I can't tell sometimes who has adopted whom." Basically, Maxly is a cat. A very attention-loving cat. (He definitely adopted Erik.)
Erik catches her looking at his cross and his eyes glimmer with playful wickedness. "Curious about my most recent business acquisition? You are welcome to have a closer look."
The little chuckle she gives as Maxly circles her should say enough on how she feels about being haunted later. He's a cute one, in her opinion. But on the other end of things...
"Well, now that I've been invited."
She strides into the room as if it was her own, drawing near to the cross to examine it, fingers touching the straps. Solid workmanship. Made for someone with specific preferences. She's got no doubt the equivalent exists in Faerun.
He follows close behind her, enjoying the view from that angle unabashedly.
"It's been met with curiosity. I've had several try it once and decide it wasn't for them while others have become quite enamored with it. I'll never name names, of course, but I've seen a lovely array of tastes in my clients. If you would like to satisfy your own curiosity, I'm more than willing to show you what I can do with it."
"Believe me when I say I'm curious about almost anything. But, Lord Osborne, that includes something particular."
Her eyes are full of interest, when she turns to look at him again, the circlet on her brow catching a bit of the light. One of her hands absently toys with one of the leather straps for the texture, nothing more.
"I'm the most curious about what you want. Your work's about satisfying others, listening to what they'd ask of you, fulfilling those wishes. So, since this isn't work and entirely about our own pleasure...what haven't you gotten to have for yourself?"
Herself, she knows, she could go with anything. Willing and amiable to try different things, discover how she felt about them. But him? What does he want, if he's allowed to choose for himself outside of the framework of getting paid, if it's just for his own desires? That holds her attention far more than any particular set of bonds.
"Hm?" He lifts a brow as she mentions she's curious about something in particular. Fool that he is, he doesn't see the most obvious of questions coming.
What he wants? It's as if he's been switched off suddenly--no simulations of breathing or blinking, just shocked stillness. What does he want? He can tell she's asking in earnest so why does it sound like a trick question?
How many seconds have gone by now? He has to answer with something. He can't tell her the truth? What will she think of a whore getting sentimental about sex? He can't come out and say that what he's desired most is for deeper connections, for it to mean something. No. That stays good and buried.
"I... hadn't give it much though," he lies. "I'm not choosey, so long as we both have a nice time."
Hm. With how it catches him like that, she's almost willing to believe him. And yet, there's something familiar in the shape of his words, something she can dig out and recognize. Something she knows intimately, enough to step closer, search his eyes for the cracks in his facade.
"How sweet. But I don't believe you."
Her words are softly spoken, though there's a hint of steel behind. He isn't allowed to run away. They're very close now, close enough that she'll see every twitch.
"Tell me the truth, Erik."
What does he want for himself? If he persists in lying, she'll turn around and leave.
It's not often someone calls his bluff this directly. Well. All right. It didn't used to be often. It's happening more and more these days. He might be losing his edge.
"It's half of the truth," he hedges, meeting her eyes and then wishing he hadn't when he sees the steel behind them.
"I'm terrified you'll laugh. For someone like me, my wish is...embarrassingly mundane." He hasn't said what it is yet, but he also hasn't lied.
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lordoftheozarks) wrote2023-06-13 08:20 pm
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"And in this new place, we can grow, branch out to things that may not have been possible where we were before."
A pause.
"Please don't tell me you've got an abundance of those stored up, the last one I have is some riff on 'bearing the fruits of our efforts' and after that I'm spent. Til I've had a little more time to dwell on being clever, anyway."
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He leans forward and rests his chin on the backs of his hands as he says through a mischievous grin, "You don't know what the meaning of the word spent is until you've had an hour with me."
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Finishing her drink, she mirrors his pose, looking into those amber eyes.
"Either way, I'd be delighted to test that."
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That said, he straightens up and offers her his hand. "Shall we go back to my place?"
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Taking his hand, she rises from the table, nothing keeping her from this appointment. It's only when they're outside and on their way that something seems to dawn on her.
"New endeavors bearing fruit. Now why couldn't I think of that earlier?"
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She laughs a little, letting him continue to lead the way.
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This is a genuine surprise.
"The man I knew, he couldn't see his reflection. Though he still had mirrors, for reasons I cannot fathom."
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"That was always supposed to be a myth. The poor thing. How long has it been since he saw his own face?" Erik is, truly, horrified by the concept. It's hard enough to retain a sense of identity after death, but to not even be able to observe the subtle changes that occur over all those years? Not to be able to look yourself in the eyes even once? It has to be maddening.
"Perhaps he keeps them for spite. To remind him what he lost."
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How it could have changed as he did, from elf to vampire.
"If Astarion appeared before us, I'd have to warn you about him. I won't deny he's an utter ass in several ways. He's not to everyone's taste. But I'd trust him with my life without a drop of hesitation. Nor would I refrain from openly calling him my friend."
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"My dear Fever, I would be shocked if he was anything else. Believe me, most vampires even where I come from are, shall we say, not to everyone's taste. If he ever does arrive, so long as you call him friend, he will be welcomed by me." There might even be offers of mentorship.
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She wouldn't miss that for the world. She can half picture it in her mind's eye, the way his gaze would narrow trying to decipher if it was a jest, an insult, or something else entirely.
"That is, of course, assuming he remembers me. But one can always hope."
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"There is always hope."
They've made it to his home now. He unlocks the door but before he's gotten it all the way open a ghostly orb sticks his face through the wood and yells "Ghaaaaast!"
"Maxly," Erik chides his pet ghost pokemon, "What have I told you about waiting until I'm properly through the door?"
"Ghaaaaast..." moans Maxly apologetically, retreating back through and waiting on the other side until Erik's opened the door all the way.
"Please excuse my pet," Erik tells Fever as he motions for her to enter. "He's enthusiastic about meeting new guests. He's harmless, I promise."
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"I've never seen a creature like him before. Is he some kind of spirit?"
To get through doors and such, or else just some innate magic.
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The way he dresses, one would think the furniture in his home would be extravagant to match, but aside from the very handsome writing table in one corner, most of the furniture seems to be leftovers from the previous tenants. The door of his work bedroom happens to be open, revealing that the furnishings in there are a lot more thoughtfully chosen. The centerpiece is a St. Andrews Cross. The leather straps are stretched in a way that suggests they're well-worn.
"Yes, that's right. He is a spirit who does not remember his former life. He seems bound to only be able to say his creature name, Ghastly. But we have worked out a system for communicating in yes and no answers. He can understand you perfectly well."
Erik turns his gaze on Maxly again, "Which means he should be able to remember what I tell him. For now, Ghastly, I want you to go play outside."
The ghost pokemon sinks lower in the air, dejected at being tossed out when there's new company to meet.
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There's a reassuring smile she gives the spirit, trying to cheer it for later. Behave, and she'll be happy to give it attention. Erik doesn't seem the sort to need her to immediately leave afterwards, so there'll be time.
Her gaze tracks across the house, devoid of judgement. Her own apartment looks much the same, a reflection of who was there before save the discreet altar, and they make do with what they have at present. Or, they innovate and create their own, like the cross. That gets an extra heartbeat of attention, but like most things, she has no plan. Merely improvising with what comes, to see how it all unfolds.
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"He's probably going to come find you and haunt you later," Erik comments, amused. "I can't tell sometimes who has adopted whom." Basically, Maxly is a cat. A very attention-loving cat. (He definitely adopted Erik.)
Erik catches her looking at his cross and his eyes glimmer with playful wickedness. "Curious about my most recent business acquisition? You are welcome to have a closer look."
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"Well, now that I've been invited."
She strides into the room as if it was her own, drawing near to the cross to examine it, fingers touching the straps. Solid workmanship. Made for someone with specific preferences. She's got no doubt the equivalent exists in Faerun.
"Does it get a lot of use?"
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"It's been met with curiosity. I've had several try it once and decide it wasn't for them while others have become quite enamored with it. I'll never name names, of course, but I've seen a lovely array of tastes in my clients. If you would like to satisfy your own curiosity, I'm more than willing to show you what I can do with it."
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Her eyes are full of interest, when she turns to look at him again, the circlet on her brow catching a bit of the light. One of her hands absently toys with one of the leather straps for the texture, nothing more.
"I'm the most curious about what you want. Your work's about satisfying others, listening to what they'd ask of you, fulfilling those wishes. So, since this isn't work and entirely about our own pleasure...what haven't you gotten to have for yourself?"
Herself, she knows, she could go with anything. Willing and amiable to try different things, discover how she felt about them. But him? What does he want, if he's allowed to choose for himself outside of the framework of getting paid, if it's just for his own desires? That holds her attention far more than any particular set of bonds.
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What he wants? It's as if he's been switched off suddenly--no simulations of breathing or blinking, just shocked stillness. What does he want? He can tell she's asking in earnest so why does it sound like a trick question?
How many seconds have gone by now? He has to answer with something. He can't tell her the truth? What will she think of a whore getting sentimental about sex? He can't come out and say that what he's desired most is for deeper connections, for it to mean something. No. That stays good and buried.
"I... hadn't give it much though," he lies. "I'm not choosey, so long as we both have a nice time."
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"How sweet. But I don't believe you."
Her words are softly spoken, though there's a hint of steel behind. He isn't allowed to run away. They're very close now, close enough that she'll see every twitch.
"Tell me the truth, Erik."
What does he want for himself? If he persists in lying, she'll turn around and leave.
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"It's half of the truth," he hedges, meeting her eyes and then wishing he hadn't when he sees the steel behind them.
"I'm terrified you'll laugh. For someone like me, my wish is...embarrassingly mundane." He hasn't said what it is yet, but he also hasn't lied.
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Her look softens by a degree, but it still asks for him to reply.
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