Azrael & Yennefer: Reservation for Two Who: Yennefer and Azrael What: Reservation for Two When: Saturday, 4pm Where: Ivory, Brightford
Yennefer arrived by portal, of course. Was there any other mode of transportation for a self-respecting enchantress? No, absolutely not. Grandeur was their stock and trade, just as much as might and miracles, and the sight of a yawning hole opening up in the fabric of space provoked exactly the reaction that it was meant to from onlookers. She stepped out from that twisting nether, as cool and casual and nonchalant as possible, as if this was utterly ordinary. The portal promptly closed behind her and space folded neatly back to where it was supposed to be. Yes, Yennefer was a grand enchantress, but also very tidy.
Naturally, one would not want to be upstaged by the vehicle of their arrival (alas, cars tended to be so much more impressive than their owners, Yennefer had discovered during her time in Ravenmoore), and so the enchantress' appearance was a carefully curated memory. She wore black, ever black-- like the night, like the raven's wing, like her heart (if the poets' ballads of her were to be believed). The dress' straps were off the shoulder, with a plunging neckline that made no question of the woman's confidences. From the tapered, fitted waist was a full, bell skirt of pleated, black tulle that hit above the knee. The dress was embellished with black crystal-encrusted sequins like ivy across the neckline, bodice, and hips so that glittered in the smallest refraction of light. Her hair was full, black curls. Her skin radiant. Her eyes an inhuman violet, dispassionate and malefic. They glowed with eerie light. Anyone might guess that she was an enchantress, how she radiated magic so.
As she walked, Yennefer briefly touched one gloved hand (ladies wore gloves, she was so inclined) against the only piece of jewelry she wore below the ears: a black velvet choker with a star-shaped jewel of obsidian that sparkled with countless, tiny diamonds. It was an amulet, sacred as a witch's wand or a painter's brush, and filled to the brim with the Power. No one would guess that the discreet gesture as she walked through the restaurant's front door was one of reassurance. No, the woman was much too confidant for that.
"I have an engagement with a gentleman, prearranged," Yennefer spoke to the host coolly, exercising the kind of restraint that made muscle movement in her face utterly minimal. She answered his questions forthwith, though with each answer grew a sharper edge of indignation in the undercurrent of her tone. "His accord, of course, so I imagine it would be under his name. Azrael--" the pronunciation was quite possibly off, for she spoke it as she would the Elder Speech (the elvish language), as it bore similar vowels, "--Four. I am never late, lest for punishment. You see it, yes?"