Sir Jacob Frye (brassknuckles) wrote in valloic, @ 2020-11-02 19:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, assassin's creed: jacob frye, ₴ inactive: thurvishar d'lorus |
Thurvishar liked anything where he could hide in plain sight. No one cared here in Vallo, but it was a habit from home he had yet to shake.
He rapped on the door to Jacob’s --office? Was this his office? Thurvishar had been friendly with the other Frye twin since his arrival; in truth the man reminded him a great deal of his friend Kihrin. The thought of the two ever meeting was enough to ice the blood; who knew if Vallo would have survived such a notion.
“It’s Thurvishar,” he called out in an even voice. “We had an appointment? I beg of you to save me from this noxious music.”
Jacob generally didn’t use his office as an office. He’d had Serefin do blindfold training in there and occasionally did paperwork he couldn’t foist off on his sister for some reason. There was a handsome old-fashioned desk that took up a section of the center. A half-empty bookshelf. A well-loved chaise lounge. Odds and ends were scattered about of both assassin variety and boxing club variety.
He’d just finished using the ring for himself and dashed into the locker rooms for a quick shower so he was fully dressed but still damp when he swung open the door. “Right, sorry,” he smiled, waving a hand into the confines of his office. “Come in! Escape our perfectly respectable ringside ambiance,” he teased. Leaving the door open, he moved back into the room and snagged up a towel to wipe at his hair. “It’s a good thing you’re not obnoxiously early. I’m terrible at time management.”
Thurvishar, who prided himself on his time management, went straight to the bookshelf to investigate. Nothing immediately drew him in, although he picked up a tome on stealth techniques and flipped through it, speed-reading. “This won’t take long, I don’t think,” he said, distracted by a chapter on poison. Maybe he’d borrow it later. Setting the book back on the shelf he turned to take in the younger Frye twin with a raised eyebrow.
On paper, they couldn’t have looked more different. Jacob tousled and casual, damp and friendly; Thurvishar clad in neat black and reserved, with a smile that looked practiced. “What sort of space were you desiring to see?” Thurvishar asked, running a hand against the wall, testing for what it was made of. “Anything I can create will last, as I mentioned, two weeks without intervention. It’ll be interchangeable with the real thing, but anyone with magic will be able to tell its temporary nature.” He shrugged. “Which, honestly, who cares if you can achieve the sort of space you’d prefer.”
Jacob squinted at Thurvishar rifling through his books. It wasn’t as if he had any expensive tomes or anything; he just rarely had people step into his space, let alone inspect his books. When he did read, it tended to be for pleasure. Thurvishar might have found the only genuinely educational book on the whole bookcase.
Oh, wait, no. There was one about hockey, for sure. He still only understood a quarter of it, at best.
“By all means, make yourself at home.” Jacob snorted a laugh and moved to his desk so he could pour himself a glass of water from a pitcher there. “Actually, that’s kind of what I need. That--” He pointed at the chaise. “--Is the most comfortable thing here and I could really use a place to take a nap stealthily.”
Thurvishar looked upward, taking in the low ceilings, the small corners. It wasn’t a bad room so much as a basement-looking thing that had been hastily converted; and nestled within the ground in a cozy sort of way. The ground posed no problem; if he had magically burrowed out the Vane king’s jail, he could handle Vallo soil.
“So - let me make certain I understand,” Thurvishar said, his voice cool, professional as he took in the bones of the place. “You want a professional office that engages in all pretenses that you’re working, and working very hard, but you’d like a way to sneak off and have some privacy in a room that caters to downtime rather than business.” He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “A bungalow, if you will.”
“A bungalow.” Jacob made an impressed face, mouth turned down and eyebrows raised. “Sounds spot on. The less out in the open it is, the better, but as Evie can see through walls when the urge strikes, you don’t need to spend too much energy hiding it away. Privacy being the important thing, not secrecy.”
Taking a drink of his water, he set the glass aside and gestured at the liquor cabinet nearby. “Care for a drink or something first? Or do you need to be sober for this kind of thing to work? Come to think of it, I can’t remember if I asked what you’d need to get this done. Any materials involved?”
Evie can see through walls. Thurvishar filed that one away for later; he’d known she had some sort of soul-seeing ability, but wasn’t quite certain how far it ran. “Oh, I appreciate the drink offer, but I’m well,” he answered, inclining his head. “This won’t take long, I don’t think. It being underground and all.” As if that was enough of an explanation. “Besides, if that’s human liquor, I don’t think it’d make much of a difference,” he chattered distractedly, running his finger alongside the wall to gauge whether it was cement block or something else. “My mother was half-Vordreth. Hence the height. Comes with a disappointingly high tolerance; I’m not a cheap date.”
He shot Jacob a smile that looked less by-wrote and more genuine, and rolled up his sleeves. With a wave of one hand, the ceiling abruptly shifted upward about eight feet. There was no noise, no wind, no rush of anything, no twinkling of bells, just a sudden change from a low ceiling to a higher one, instantly giving the place a more airy feel.
“That’s better,” said the wizard, and with another flick of his hand produced tapestries that hung from the top of the ceiling down to the floor that showed every manner of fight and battle in woven colors of bold green and crimson red. “Red or green? Or both? Or I could do blue, I suppose...”
All flippant joking aside, Jacob was very intrigued by magic. He’d seen a few different varieties here and they never ceased to thoroughly baffle him. Not having this one aimed at him meant he could watch the changes with a casual air of interest to hide his reckless curiosity.
It was probably a good thing he had no magic beyond that of an Assassin lineage. He’d get up to no small amount of trouble.
“Green goes better with my eyes,” he said, batting his eyelashes and flashing a smile. Nonchalance was somewhat abandoned as he moved closer for a better view. “We don’t have anyone call Vordreth at home – as far as I know. Does it give you anything good or just make it harder to get sloshed after a hard day?”
Thurvishar wasn’t immune to wanting to impress people with his abilities - truthfully, the realization that while he might have been one of the most powerful wizards back home, here, he was strictly average galled him - and Jacob’s obvious interest relaxed his shoulders a fraction. “They’re a race that primarily lived underground,” he said, resisting the urge to go into lecture mode. “And are known for their architectural abilities and magic. This magic would be nearly impossible for a full human to do, so it’s a perk.” He made a face. “Alcohol, drugs, any of that - it typically has little effect on me, or it has… very unpredictable effects. I got hit with a tranquilizer dart a few months ago and was as high as a kite - and not tranquil - for about three days.”
While he spoke, the world continued to shift. The tapestries sparkled a stately green and bronze, Jacob’s raggedy bookshelves becoming carved from a dark wood and integrated within the wall itself. The desk had a makeover - it was finer, and possessed more storage, though Thurvishar kept Jacob’s chair as it was since Jacob had indicated it was comfortable. Jacob’s liquor cabinet acquired black lacquer panelling and wheels so that it was mobile. The final piece was a large, weather-beaten map of London adorning one wall. When Thurvishar was done, Jacob’s office looked like it might have belonged to someone of importance without being stuffy.
“If you look behind the tapestry with the lions on it,” Thurvishar said, indicating the one he meant with his shoulder, “you should see a small, cozy room. Lots of pillows. It’s not hidden, exactly, but the tapestry should keep it a little bit of a secret.”
“Some people pay very good money to be high as a kite for three days.” Jacob spoke with his eyes on the changing pieces of the room. His eagle vision showed the items as they appeared, and the room beyond that Thurvishar promised, which was unsettling and thrilling all at once. He spared Thurvishar a genuine smile as he set his glass of water aside and moved to the tapestry.
“But I suppose if you didn’t choose it, it’s not quite the same.” Lifting up the tapestry, he peered inside and made a pleased noise. “Bloody hell, you really did it. Just like snapping your fingers.” He glanced sharply over his shoulder at Thurvishar. “Does it take anything out of you?”
“A little,” Thurvishar admitted, and dabbed at his temple with a dark blue handkerchief. “But it’s not anything dire as in… I must pay a price for this infernal magic or whatever,” he clarified, his voice going briefly spooky-ominous before returning to normal.
As Jacob investigated his new working space, Thurvishar rested by the drink cart, for he’d made sure to include a lot of nice seating (and one painfully uncomfortable chair for people Jacob wanted to get rid of). “Do you really not have magic much where you’re from?” he asked, his voice curious rather than judgemental. “I recall from speaking with your sister that there were artifacts that produced effects like magic, from… an earlier race, I think she said.” He didn’t have his notes on him. He gestured to the drink cart silently. “May I?”
“Please, I insist,” Jacob gestured magnanimously. He’d be getting a drink himself sooner or later but he was distracted inspecting the space beyond the tapestry. Only a thin measure of self-restraint stopped him from taking a running leap at the pillows. Later. For quality assurance purposes, of course. He smirked and let the tapestry fall back into place.
“That’s about the extent of our magic, yeah. Artifacts with immense power, fought over for centuries. People like to throw around the word witch when they feel like persecuting someone, of course. And some of the things we pick up from having an assassin lineage might be considered supernatural too, I suppose.” He crossed to the new and improved drink cart and ran his hands over the wood. “Nothing like this though. You do good work, mate. Have you sorted out what you think your time – and energy – are worth?”
Thurvishar poured himself a tumbler of whiskey and leaned back into the now-comfortable seating. “The ability to see the state of someone’s soul would be extremely useful back where I’m from,” he said, and shot Jacob a quick, tight little grin. “You and Evie would likely be so powerful you’d break our world, in fact. A great deal of the Quur economy is based on servants that can’t gossip and slaves that can’t defy an order. That’s soul magic. And if you aren’t certain it’s happening…” he shrugged. “It continues. As for the compensation…”
He glanced at his work. Jacob’s compliment had been kind; Thurvishar was unused to such save the odd one from Talia, who would have complimented the dragon about to kill her. “Let’s see how this holds up,” he suggested at last. “I told you it’d last two weeks, but that’s at home. Vallo’s… unpredictable with magic. So let me see how long this lasts, and once it starts to collapse I’ll have a better idea of how much upkeep it would require. Does that seem fair?”
Jacob was a little surprised – and pleased – to hear a compliment to his and Evie’s special skillset. They didn’t get to talk about it at home, not really. He frowned though, at the reasoning for why their ability would be useful. “Sounds like the kind of system we’d delight in tearing down.”
It sounded like a vow, for all it was worth. But his expression lightened at the rest of Thurvishar’s words and he got down a brandy glass to fill halfway. “Sounds more than fair. Evie will probably want a look for herself and will have an opinion anyway.” He took a drink, smirking around the rim. “You said you’ve never sold your ability before. Does it make you uncomfortable? Because I’m sure there are other options.”
Thurvishar took a sip of his drink, a little startled at Jacob’s words, at the fervor in his tone. It was fervor that he entirely shared, but his impression of the younger Frye twin had always been one of-- well, not of lack of care, exactly, but of a cheerful disposition that didn’t run much deeper than that. He had misjudged him, clearly. Evie certainly wasn’t as dour as she sometimes strove to be, either.
But Jacob continued forward, returning to his regular grinning self before Thurvishar had the chance to completely recalibrate, and it left him replaying back the question he had been asked before he was able to answer. “Oh-- I’m not uncomfortable with charging for it,” he said, taking a sip of his whiskey. “It’s actually somewhat novel, getting to do it because I want to, and being able to set a value to it. I wasn’t--” how to say it, how to skirt around it, “able to have much independence at home. Perhaps,” he added lightly, steering things back to humor, “we might have found one of those hobbies you were pestering me to take up.”
Despite Jacob’s general desire to do things the easy way, he shared a quality with most Assassins; he was nosy. Especially when people even so much as hinted at inequality or being under anyone’s bootheel. He stared at Thurvishar over his glass, quiet and considering.
It had to be some special kind of rude to ask someone if they’d been a slave. Even if he’d seen Thurvishar talk about race not being as much of a thorny subject at home.
“Making choices for yourself and getting paid for it? There are certainly worse hobbies to have. Coin collectors! Now those are some baffling blokes.” He drank down his glass in a quick swig and set it aside. “You’ve made me curious about your world, but none of it sounds particularly good so...I’m trying to keep my nose to myself.”
Thurvishar knew that the whisky would have zero effect on him, at least not in this quantity, but he polished off his glass anyway before he answered and with a whisk of his hand cleaned it with magic and set it to the side, ever the polite guest. “I honestly consider coin collectors to be even more boring than chronic readers like myself,” he said with a light snark in his voice, and then addressed the meat of Jacob’s question:
“I appreciate your asking - albeit subtly - rather than simply looking it up in the available information. It’s called a gaesh - a separation of the soul into two pieces. Enough soul remains with the body so that your personality and intelligence is intact - what makes you you - but the rest of it is changed into a charm or bracelet that your owner wears. It isn’t a mindless servitude. You have to apply your own brain to figure out how to follow the orders that you’re given, and if you don’t, you die a violent death, your soul going to hell forevermore. It’s total and complete bullshit,” he added sweetly, snark now in full effect, “and illegal as all get out, of course, though that doesn’t stop the wealthy from taking advantage. Everyone in Quur expects the servants to be gaeshed, at least the important, clever ones. No one suspects that the Lord Heir of one of the most powerful noble Houses would be so.”
He folded his hands in his lap. “Obviously that’s over with now,” Thurvishar said in a tone that moved things along, “due to more than a bit of good luck and sacrifice. But given that being a lackey for one of the most foul wizards in Quur took up a good twenty-four years of my life, and the rest has been spent aiding the Empress and running from one crisis to another… you can likely understand it when I say that Vallo provides both a learning experience and extremely-unusual-to-me down time.”
Jacob’s eyebrows rose and he lifted his chin in surprise. It felt like Evie had mentioned a little of this but the annoyance of the hotel had left Jacob forgetting everything but the immediate issue of his own mental stress. Now he sat down on one of the new chairs and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.
“Jesus. That’s a bloody awful system.” His frown deepened. Their conversation about gods and heritage came back to him. “So you were kidnapped and raised in spiritual captivity. How did you break free? Hope there was some comeuppance involved.”
“I met someone, by chance, who made an educated guess that my… somewhat erratic behaviour was the result of a gaesh,” Thurvishar answered, “rather than my being a complete and utter asshole. I’d have been killed with the rest of the dark wizards, otherwise.” His smile was fond, if a little sad. Gods, he missed Kihrin. “And yes, the malcontent that cast the gaesh in the first place was killed, as were most of his allies and… well, nine-tenths of the D’Lorus family tree.” He shrugged, not sorry for most of them. “Family reunions are going to be tense from here on out.”
He crossed one long leg over the other. “Anywho. You can likely understand my interest in your objects of control and power that you mentioned from home - as well as my own concerns with some of the illusions that magic-users from other worlds are capable of casting. It’s hardly my business to pass judgements on the inherent morality of other people’s spellwork and objects of power, but… oh wait, it is my business, and if I get a whiff of anything that involves mind-control or enslavement, I’m going to become very, very unpleasant.” Thurvishar’s smile was still polite, and very cold. “I was glad when I heard that your organization and yourself sought to keep those magical objects from being used on the population at large, back home.
Otherwise, I’d have charged you an absolute fortune for this,” he added, voice lighter. “It would have been a total shitshow.”
“I certainly can understand, yeah,” Jacob murmured, running a hand over his mouth as he frowned. “It’s not nearly the same, of course, but I was hypnotized once and forced to steal for a con artist bloke. Can’t imagine a life of that. Of worse...”
His expression darkened. Thinking about anyone suffering under the unbreakable control of people with darker intentions than Enzio, people like Crawford Starrick - it sat like ice in Jacob’s veins.
“Even if I hadn’t already been set on a path to hunt down Templars and stop them from using artifacts, I’d have been bloody sure to stop anyone from forcing people to do things they didn’t want to do.” A smirk slowly eased the tension from his face and he refilled his glass to raise it in a toast. “You’d probably have made a good addition to the Brotherhood yourself, actually. Even if you had charged me more for this.”
Thurvishar inclined his head, and gestured to the verdant tapestries Jacob had agreed to. “I do look good in green.”
He stood, taking another look at the transformed office space. “Let me know if you need any additional alterations,” he said, “and of course I’ll come by and check on its rate of deterioration every three or four days.” He smiled, then, the gesture more sincere than it had been in their previous interactions. “And if you wind up collapsed into an alternate dimension, I’ll be sure to explain the situation to Evie.”