Cian (thebettingsort) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-02-23 22:34:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, cian wilde, siri d'albis |
Who: Cian & Siri
What: “What’s a girl like you doing sleeping in a bar like this?”
Where: The Blue Bear
When: Late last night/early this morning, after this
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
He didn’t need another drink, but he went to the Bear anyway. No one went there for the beer anyway, nor for the company. He just needed to get out. He wasn’t brooding about the kid, exactly. He’d do fine in Roscoff, and Cian would still get his dice on schedule with his other deliveries -- wasn’t like they took up a shitton of space -- so it wasn’t like he was going to be inconvenienced. But he could admit (privately, to himself) that it had put a damper on his mood. So, the Bear. And then maybe a casino, if he stopped feeling like his luck was crap. The bar was nearly empty at this hour -- a pair of men dicing in a corner, the bartender with his soiled rag, a woman -- probably a prostitute -- in too-small clothes alone at the bar, eyeing the men. And then there was the woman asleep at one of the corner tables. With her tidy clothing, she looked out of place, but then, Cian was beginning to suspect that this particular woman was out of place everywhere. Occupational hazard. He walked up to her and put a hand on her shoulder, gave it a slight shake. “Could get knifed, sleeping in a place like this.” There was exhaustion at the very fabric of her being; dizzying spells of madness that kept her on her toes, mixed with the spent energy and injures of the fight. Siri had wanted to sleep but she had been scared to do so in her room at the tower. Had more faith that better rest would be had on the table of one of the sleaziest places in town and as it was Cian who had woken her up, Siri knew that she had been right to come here for a nap. The wooden table was uncomfortable, sticky with repeated spills of drinks that were barely wiped off. She turned dark sleepy eyes and smiled, “No, I won’t.” Voice was low, rough with the lingering exhaustion, but factual as if Siri was so sure of this in the same way a normal person was sure the sun would rise the next morning. “Hello, World Serpent, did you like the fire outside?” "Pretty chilly now," he said. He could only assume that she meant the latest in a series of bizarre attacks targeting the city. This one, at least, hadn't gotten past the Palings; like Lemach, who had voiced her disdain semi-publicly on the network, he was less than likely to engage in heroism unless he found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. "I prefer the cold," he told her, "so I stayed home. Looks like you played hero though." She had the tell-tale look of someone recovering from injuries. "I should warn you, the beer here won't help, And the wine, such as it is, might actually make it worse." Cian appeared to always keep up with her words, it made Siri happy in a simple, childish even, way. “Magic Taskforce, it is expected.” She hadn’t stepped onto the battlefield with delusions of heroism and grandeur, she had gone — because she had to. Not just because of the Taskforce thing, but something deep inside of her which always called for destruction and madness. The same things that drew her to Cian again and again. It is only just beginning. “Your house is cold?” she tilted her head, sleep leaving her with each passing word. “Like poison that drips from a serpent’s fangs?” But Siri had not come here to drink, but to nap and to look for him. “Worst part of volunteering is having to show up.” He’d heard a little about this taskforce from his information sources, though not much. Probably useful in battle, then -- he made a note to ferret out sometime exactly what she could do, aside from being insightful. Waste not, and all that. “Better than too much heat.” Double meanings -- his forte. “There are ways to keep warm, anyway. And as for the drinks, comparing them to serpentwyne isn’t far off, provided it’s been improperly distilled in a leaky barrel.” He took the seat opposite her now; the bartender was there instants later with a mug of watered-down beer. “So,” he said, curious, “why this bar? Looking to slum it at little, or just looking for me?” If Cian wanted to use her, all he had to do was ask for it like that; Siri wouldn’t deny the World Serpent that — she might even desire for someone to have some control over something, control that she could not which, sadly, was everything. Siri gave smiled slowly, still sleepy, “I don’t mind. Faram would want me to help people if I can.” But that was her life, always, giving it to Faram and his will. “Yes, there are.” Ways to keep warm and she held out her hand, palm up on the table. The expression of slumming it up a little puzzled her briefly, “You mean if I was seeking to roll in mud and dirty?” Granted she could only picture a wave of mud-shaped people clinging to her skirts and crawling up her legs. Siri shuddered, no she had not come for that. “For you, I knew you’d come by. Here first, then other places.” “Not that kind of dirty, prophetess,” he said. “This isn’t your sort of neighborhood. We’ve got a few kinds to choose from, around here.” Not that anyone at the Bear would bother her after seeing her with him -- but the Tenements were full of idiots, and not all of them would have gotten the memo. “Felt like a walk.” He considered briefly before placing his hand over hers. What would she tell him tonight? “Guess you already knew that.” Drunks, thieves and murderers were not be feared, Siri had seen much worse in the depth of those Feywoods — even in the man she called Serpent, in the woman she called snake. Those were different types of hume, but the average man on the street was not her concern. Siri cast a conscious glance around the place realising for the first time where she really was. Oh. “Most know better than to touch Madness.” Her fingers tightened around his hand, she relaxed. “Something is off tonight.” Siri tilted her head in thought, “It will be fine, but you already knew that.” He pulled his hand back, not quickly, but purposefully. “There’s a thing you’ve got to learn about me,” he told her. “I’m always fine. Anything else is a waste of my time. You worrying about me?” It was not, generally, the most advisable of activities. Siri let out a small sound of protest when he withdrew his hand, she liked touching — more specifically, she liked touching him more than most. “I already promised that all your secrets I would keep, World Serpent.” I’m on your side whichever side that was. “I cannot help what I see or not.” Meaning also that perhaps, in the long term, lying to her was an exercise in futility. She tilted her head the opposite way, “I don’t really think I need to worry about you. You encircle the world with your coils, strangle those in your way — your scales are an armour seldom pierced.” “Lots of ways you could help me,” he admitted -- at last stating it aloud (he knew that she already knew it). “This isn’t one of them, though. I’ve got it handled. It’s not about secrets.” Only about weakness -- the small bit of it he retained for the select few in his inner circle. Far deadlier than most secrets, in the wrong hands. “Any insights on our visiting dragons?” he asked. “Still roosting quietly, or have you heard,” or seen, “something?” Siri didn’t voice that she liked to see the world from his side, the feelings that he kept tightly wound around himself; endless coils spiraling down. “I’ll help as long as it does not betray my commitment to Faram.” Whatever was between herself and the deity. “You know this is a two-way street, double edged weapon.” There were limits and margin for error, she was not all-seeing and of course there was always the chance - however small- that one day she might see something Cian really would not like her to see inside him. Though Siri reasoned that if she did that one day she would never let him know she knew. For a moment it looked like she may not reply, since she dropped her head on the table. She was so tired, so tired; an abyss laid out before her, the screams and fire from the fight. That was all she could see for a few moments, whisperings that made no sense. It was not often than she choose to look into the darkness of her own volition; it assaulted her during sleep, at times it even crashed into her perception when she was awake. She didn’t lift her head, just turned it so it was her cheek against the wooden surface while her eyes stared into nothing slowly coming back into herself. It was dark here but it was not an void. “Red scales multiply and scatter, they settle down throughout, it is all quiet. Nothing stirs, nothing whispers.” Having left her hand where it was before, palm up across the table she closed her fingers, there was nothing to grasp, she spread her fingers. “Give me your hand” She needed a hand to pull herself out from inside quickly, before she saw something that would cause her nightmares and regrets. It was cruel to withhold it, though he considered doing just that. He wasn’t in the habit of answering demands; it wasn’t the best precedent to set. It wasn’t her obvious distress that settled him in the end, though -- it was curiosity. A dangerous thing, this knowledge of the future and the secrets hidden within the hearts and heads of people. Fallible, as she said -- nothing was perfect -- but he couldn’t help but be drawn to it all the same. Most know better than to touch Madness. Well, he’d never been the sort to live safely, had he? He put his hand back on hers, curled his fingers around. “Breathe,” he suggested. “You drink hard liquor, prophetess?” What was it with him today and offering his personal whiskey reserves to people? But just like the kid earlier, she seemed to need something to ground her. It was a relief that he did so, visible in the way her posture eased when the touch brought her back to now. Not anyone’s grip could do, some helped better than others. Cian’s was steady, pulling her up with little effort and she could breathe again. The abyss was not going to swallow her whole just because she had peeked curiously into it to find something. Even if it had not been much. There was an implicit I trust you in the fact she had willingly looked into things he asked without expecting payment or anything in return. Gil, power, payment in some form or other — mattered little to her she had done it because she genuinely liked Cian. Siri shut her eyes counted to five, allowed herself to follow his instructions and breathe. She was not fishing in his head, she didn’t want to be anywhere but in her own head in this moment. Of course by grounding herself using Cian she drew the other closer, subtle ties that bind. Don’t let go, don’t let go — do you understand now the contract you signed? A subtle rope from him to her. Dark eyes fluttered open and remained fixed on the spot, she didn’t bother to lift her head just yet. “Yes. Okay.” He raised his hand in a vague gesture and the bartender materialized at his elbow almost immediately; the usually-ponderous man never moved so quickly as he did when Cian called. “Whiskey,” Cian said, “the reserve.” The only worthwhile thing to drink in this bar, truly; that he was sharing it with this woman would secure her safety in the eyes of anyone who saw her. They’d assume she was a new lover, if they didn’t look too closely. All the better. (He wasn’t sure yet whether she would be, though he’d entertained the idea; for the moment, she was something other, more like Fee than the empty-headed women he picked up when the mood struck, while remaining as unlike the other gambler as night and day.) The man came with a whiskey and two glasses, leaving them on the table. “What the hell,” Cian said, and poured both. He’d make another exception this evening, it seemed. He slid the second glass along the table, told her, “Drink up.” At his words she lifted her head, looked down at the amber liquid in the shot glass before her. "My thanks." Her free fingers curled around the shot glass, savouring the sensation of the surface. This was all real, and she took his advice drained the glass whole in one go. She hadn't intended to do that, a sip or two would've been more polite; however the liquid did its job, tracing a path down her throat to her stomach and settling there. Ah. She wondered if a drink after a nightmare would be just as effective as now, normally she drained a glass or two of water, parched tongue lodged in mouth from the silent screams. A second or two and then she released Cian, once she was sure that letting go wouldn't mean falling back down. Metaphorically. "Thank you." Siri made a gesture towards his hand indicating that she had also appreciated that. She did not ask if whatever she saw was useful, that was Cian's business, whatever he sought to get out of that information. “Don’t mention it,” he said. After all, he was getting something out of these exchanges too. He still wasn’t sure what something was, but it wasn’t nothing, that much was for damn sure. “Another?” He was already pouring. He’d abstain -- two was one more than he usually had, even on a bad night -- but no reason to deny her. He found himself curious about what a drunken prophetess might be like. “You got plans for the night?” he asked her, considering his own. “Seems my luck’s looking up, so I think I’ll go test it. No fist fights on the agenda this time, though who knows?” He offered her a knowing smirk. “We could get lucky.” No reason to deny another good drink, Siri drained the second offered glass without protest and a muttered ‘thank you’. “You were the plans for the night.” The prophetess replied without missing a beat, a slow smile spread across her features and she seemed to be feeling a bit better - injuries and unsettledness aside. “We could get lucky, yes.” The smile became warm, affectionate — Cian understood her, that alone made him invaluable in her world. “Let’s see, yes.” |