Ari ♫ ♪ ♬ (gracenotes) wrote in emillion, |
Ari had drawn the door nearly closed behind her and was in the process of running her hand through her very slightly mussed hair when the greeting came, delivered by an unfamiliar voice; she looked up (and up; why were all the people in this guild so tall?) and offered the stranger a friendly smile. She had never seen him before, but that meant little; as much time as she spent in this particular hallway, lately, she was hardly acquainted with all the fighters who trained and worked here, and the councilors often had visitors or petitioners besides, as she had previously learned to some chagrin. “Good afternoon,” she replied pleasantly. “If you’re looking for Aspel, I’ve relinquished her at last, though she may be drowning in papers as we speak.” “Relinquished?” Bram repeated in slight surprise, rolling around the unusual word choice. “Most non-fighter visitors don’t often hold us council hostage. Unless they’re councillors from other guilds.” And he didn’t recognise her, which meant she certainly couldn’t be the latter. She laughed and said, “Me, a councilor? Horrifying thought; my guild would be a shambles. I wouldn’t dare try holding Aspel hostage for longer than it takes to eat lunch,” she added, her growing amusement evident in her expression. “I’ve brought her back unharmed, I promise.” Something nearly approaching a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth, the smallest of twitches. “Rare enough occurrence,” he said. “Twelve years at this job, never seen anything like it — just because sentinels are good at soaking up damage doesn’t mean they must.” Evidently the younger (much younger, she must only be in her twenties) woman was a friend of his colleague’s, which meant some dry familiarity would hopefully be well-received. To ease the rest of the introduction, he held out his hand for a greeting, all scarred knuckles and large hands. “Bram Thornton.” “I have come to suspect this is in fact the case,” Ari said with a theatrical sigh; that was Aspel’s way, after all, to come out of things half broken — and that was a good day; she didn’t always manage to settle for half. “I do try,” she said. “I am not always successful, I am sad to report.” Her own hand was very small compared to his, but the pads of her fingers were calloused, and her grip was not entirely limp as they shook. “Pleased to meet you — I’ve been wondering how long before I would.” The name identified him as Aspel and Drake’s colleague, and she certainly spent enough time in this hall that it would have been more surprising had she managed to keep missing him. “Arielle Chiaro. Not a fighter, nor a councilor, but also not a kidnapper, so I suppose I have that to recommend me.” “A pleasure,” he said. Hers was the easy sort of flippant charisma that Bram typically associated with bards (but then again, the mages occasionally had a few surprises up their sleeves). He tended to gravitate towards equally stoic personalities, and so this visitor set a curious counterpoint to the dragoon; for every single word of his, she had five to offer, like a bubbling conversational brook that rolled along at its own merry pace. Come to think of it, Arielle Chiaro would be a strange sight beside Cassul for similar reasons. “Truthfully,” Bram said, “I thought you might be a burglar. But—” And then the name sank in, not with immediate recognition but a slow-dawning familiarity as his brow furrowed and he managed to dig it up at last: “Chiaro. A performer, aren’t you?” Seems he’d been right on the bard assumption. |