Red and Black Checkers

Log Info

• Title: Red and Black Checkers

• Emitter: Slixvah

• Characters: Slixvah, Aelwyn

• Place: Temple District

Temple District, Early Afternoon

The weather's been the same- hazy and hot, but less humid than days prior. Towering white clouds cause large shadows crawl across the city. Within the Temple square, a rust red egalrin woman in a simple brown vest and cyan pants is finishing elucidating to a mishmash of clergyfolk. "I kno' ya'll busy wit' a bunch of stuff, but if there's any folk ya can spare, th' Aerie could reall' use spare healing hands." An awkward air goes through the group.

"Our efforts are spread thin here for the destitute," the Althenean sadly informs.

"The Felwood and security matters are our priority," the Daeusites relay.

"Likewise," the Elunan sighs.

"And they need our expertise in the woods," the Gilean shuffles.

Slixvah's rainbow wings shift. Her eyes crinkle in a simple as her beak grinds. "Of course, I undastand. Thank ya'll fo' ya'll's precious time."

Goodbyes are said, and the priests scatter. The egalrin waits. Clenches her fists tight together. And slowly shudders an exhale before she drops herself into a seat next to the fountain.

Hot, hazy and humid. The three excellent qualities; only made better with a dash of red. Wandering across the garden with a playful tip of his tail and a well sealed box over his shoulder, Aelwyn meanders his way over towards the fountain.

The ruddy sith-makar - once again wearing very little but his red loincloth to properly enjoy the heat - clicks his glaive down and tilts his head towards Slixvah. "Long day on those feathers again?" He asks - and then reaches over into his satchel to offer her a hard stick of something strongly gingerish. His jaw makes a sound as it settles. "The poor met poor?"

Slix looks up, pulling her face out of her hands. "Heya Ael," she coos, voice strained. "You could say dat."

She looks down at the stick offered, her accepting and inspecting it. "Something like tha'," she grumbles. "I'd ratha get a no than excuses jus' so I can move on ta something else." She looks at him. "What'cha got today?"

It is some kind of chewable ginger stick. Candy, perhaps, but it definitely doesn't look sweet. A bit spongy. Good for the teeth (or the beak). Maybe burns the tongue. Aelwyn looks over his shoulder, then after a moment, rolls his shoulders. "Somebody from the temple asked this one to fetch something for them." He explains, "This one does not ask questions."

His tail sways behind him, and then he moves to sit besides her. Casually, he stretches his body out and raises his arms. "Should this one ask what she was asking?"

Slix didn't care, ginger's good for an upset stomach, and hers was in knots as she idly chomps onto the stick and grimacing at the sharpness. "I see," she says, glancing off the in the direction of the Althenean temple. After he takes a seat, Slixvah slowly tips over until she's leaned up against him, her face in a hand. A long sigh escapes her. "M'Aerie that came in some time ago is gettin' hit wit' sickness. It's not /bad/, the illness, but it's spreading. And my people are- pardon my language- fuckin' bull headed. Doubly so at any advice I give. I also can' fix everyone, and they overworkin' me, so I left ta petition for some help," she vents.

Chomp on the stick in frustration. "Good lot I'm doin' right now. Friends are helpin'- I appreciate that greatly. But I need institutions, groups, organization. I need a dozen Altheans fo' a couple weeks. That'll wipe it out. But no, it's too far- too much time- blah blah blah."

Aelwyn was warm, all those scales just soaking up the heat. One could even say he was hot. His arm raises up and then without a pause, wraps around her shoulders.

"Bull headed? Her aerie? Tch, now that is a thought." The ruddy sith-makar rumbles in amusement, but he doesn't interrupt her otherwise, just lets his hand rest over her arm. He pulls out a ginger stick for himself and puts it pointedly between his sharp teeth, tipping his head back and gnawing at the very tip as if it were the finest cigarette. "She is running herself ragged as is doing all the work of an organization, so what is there to stop her from starting one?"

Slix lulls her head against Aelwyn's shoulder, tucking her wings in to make the looping arm easier to hold her. It was some comfort, despite how blazing hot he was. The spray from the fountain helped with that. A little laugh leaves her. "Aye, bull headed. Happens when ya deal wit' Khazad fo' centuries. Always gotta be transactional, rather do it themselves," she elaborates.

A long sigh escapes her. "Gods I wish, hon. I can whip a group of people inta shape right quick. But I ain't got the /pull/ fo' that. I ain't a priestess, I ain't a professor at the University, and th' magic I do is borderline unaccepted in polite society." She looks at him, a weak smile in her eyes. "I appreciate th' idea tho'."

Aelwyn lifts one leg to the bench and leans his arms against it and he rests his hand against his head, when he turns to look down at her. "Not a lack of pull, this one is certain she has plenty - " He rumbles as he flicks his tongue at her. "But does she not just need healers and able hands, not professors or priestesses?"

There's a bit of a ruminating rumble. "Always a few desperate people in search of coin, if nothing else." His tail sneaks from behind him and up around her - to lightly smack at her ankles. "Or to deliver goods for her at friendly rates." He flashes his macabre grin.

Slixvah sits upright and off of Aelwyn, her pulling her knees up and hugging them. Her forehead thuds into them. "No, I need professionals that know how ta work diseases," she sighs. "Altheans are best fo' that."

The ankle smack is met with a feather animating and lightly bopping the top of his head. "Cheeky. Yuh, could use ya services jus' fo' medical supply delivery. Tho'- ya usually end up eating half the stuff," she teases. "Bu'. Yuh. I may have ta end up hirin' jus' some run of th' mill healers jus' ta abate some problems."

She rubs her face, resting her beak on her knees. "Got thi' issue, that weird shit wit' th' blood manor, that /weird/ box that keeps cropping up. Ugh."

/

"Hey, nobody is going to miss a bite or two!" Aelwyn protests with his arms wide as she leans away from him, "The merchants always put a little extra on top on the shipments anyway." He then nudges her side. "Besides, medicine tastes awful."

Returning the ginger stick back into his mouth, he rumbles. "Then this one supposes she just needs to find their price. Everyone has a price. Maybe it won't even be a coin." Chonk on the ginger stick.

Then the chewing stops, and he tilts to look at her. "Ah. This one was supposed to talk to her about that." He rubs the stick against his teeth. "But part of this one wanted to forget the blood." The orange slit eyes turn towards Slixvah. "And this one felt she did too." Another bite off his ginger stick. "Though this one is curious about what kind of box could bring her down with all that?"

Slixvah rolls her eyes playfully. "Yes, because its not like shipments have manifests or anything," she chuckles. "But yeah. Medicine is gross. Means it works." Speaking of, nibble nibble on the ginger stick. "I guess. I'll try and see what they need. I'm not above sticking my beak in places it ain't supposed ta be."

Espionage.

Seeing as topics were changing, she sits cross legged, turning some to face Aelwyn. "Talk wit' me 'bout it? Sure. But yeah, forget the whole... gross bits."

Her eyes narrow. "You know what box I'm talking about. The box. /That/ box. That box got magical and made everyone break into some kind of messed up musical. Not to mention what happened to the dude that was trying to move the box. Tha' was a ridiculous amount of violence." She shudders.

"Tch, there's still _always_ little extra. If nothing else, for rats." Aelwyn rumbles in amusement. "Let this one knows if she needs someone to smooth her way in." He flashes his sharp teeth. "This one will treat them very gently."

Returning to the less cheerful topics, there's a bit of deflation in his form. "Tch, the blood..." He rumbles, taking a bite off his ginger stick, finally finishing it up it in one swallow. He was not really eating it for taste, but there was something refreshing in the sharp taste in the hot heat. "The crazy person, Silverbranch? Used to be a professor or something of the arcanists. Seemed to have fascination with dead people." His tail makes a bit of a thump. "This one is pretty sure there'd be something else if this one had kept asking questions." And, as Slixvah might know, he doesn't like asking too many of them.

The ruddy sith-makar grinds his teeth in thought as he tries to connect _the box_, before his head suddenly whips by, ribbons swaying. "A musical?" He asks, then leans towards her with a long grin, stretching his neck proper like. "Did they make her sing and dance? Tch, why don't she take me to these parties?"

Slixvah shakes her head once more. "I'll keep that in mind. Thankies."

She finishes her ginger stick as she listens. "Mmm. Giving necromancy a bad name, Silvervranch," she intones, rubbing her beak. "Tha's a good lead. Names open many doors. I can ask mo' 'bout it, since I can change m'face and stuff. I turned in all the horrid shtuff to the Society, th' journal was warded, didn't open it jus' ta be safe so it doesn't flash fire and burn away. Good job."

The head whip and lean in gets her to lean back and away. "I had ta dance and rhyme, aye," she says slowly. "But it wasn't a party- th' box was forcin' people ta do it 'til they fingers bled from strings, coughing up blood from singing. Couldn't perform any lethal violence either. Fussed up spells and magic, too 'cause I had ta figure out how ta rhyme my incantations while getting hit."

Her eyes narrow. "It wasn't until Lavaboy grabbed the box and flew out wit' it that it all stopped. And then this... person popped up and assassinated th' leader wit' the box. Dagger, then set on fire. Was prett' fucked up. Some person inna red jester's fit-"

She stops. Eyes belying a lot of dots being connected as she searches Aelwyn's face. "A jester in crimson and a face mask," she says slowly.

"Ex-apprentice of his... raising dead in a crypt to serve as those grotesque things." Aelwyn lets out a deep breath. "What is the obsession with blood in this side of the sea?" He lets out along with a deep breath. "Could find them and give them a shake, this one supposed, but is that something we would wish to push our necks in?"

At her descriptions of the events though, the ruddy sith-makar slowly loses his joviality, listening on her. "That _does_ sound like an awful party." He tilts his head upwards as he contemplates, tail swaying behind him. Perhaps just to imagine the scene in his head.

Then she mentions the jester in crimson. His eyes slowly turn towards her. Wide. The slit pupils narrowed.

"What kind of a mask?" He asks.

Slixvah shrugs. "Blood is a powerful conduit for life magics," she says. "Necromancy is a quick way to get a lot of stuff done. Bad thing that most of those things are nefarious." Her eyes flutter half closed, an uncommon expression crossing her face. Smugness. "I'll stick my neck in it. No one uses me fo' sick experiments and gets away wit' it."

She meets his slitted gaze. Closes her eyes in thought. Inhales. "Black and red checkered jester's suit. Skintight. Incredibly dexterious, was holding a handstand with a dagger between their toes, a red ribbon on the hilt. The mask was..."

She tilts her head up, thinking. "Mask was black and red. Big smile on its face, with tears running down like it was laughing its ass off," she slowly relays, watching Aelwyn closely through a cracked eye.

Red ribbon, daggers. Skintight suit. "A dagger that burst into flames." Aelwyn slowly rolls his own glaive; thumb running across its polished surface. There's a long silence as the ruddy sith-makar falls quiet, looking towards her; or somewhere past her.

"Hmmh." Aelwyn lets out. "The ones of the circus do make great assassins with those bodies of theirs, don't they?" He says, with a strangely typical grin of his; macabre and full of teeth. "This..." There's a moment of faltering there, but he steps over it like it was nothing, "This one wished he knew more about them, or that box. Where is it now, with Lava?"

A shoulder moves to elbow Slixvah on the side. "If she is planning to stick her beak in, this one's price is still very reasonable. Won't even need a coin."

It's clear as day that Slix has already connected the dots previously when she was relaying this information to Aelwyn. "I dunno what Lava did wit' it. If he's smart, probably dumped it in the ocean. It jus' gonna pop up again."

She's elbowed, but she just gives a placating smile. "I know." A pause. She leans in, speaking quiet. "Ya don't have ta pretend ta be okay," she coos. "If tha's where ya came from, then tha's where ya came from."

There were not many dots left to connect; that was true, and Aelwyn does not shy away from the leaning in close. "A lot of jesters wear red," He points out, "And I do not know them."

He looks down at his hands, holding onto one of his older looking ribbons. "I do not know what any of this means." He twirls the piece of fabric between his fingers; before he palms it and looks at her. "Not like that. But perhaps, words for another time."

Slixvah quirks a feathered brow, looking down at the ribbon. "I think ya do," she counters. "Ya jus' don' wanna admit it. But tha's fine. We can talk 'bout it later."

She reaches forth, putting a hand over his and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Then, she stands, and stretches her wings wide. "Alright. I'm done wit' this place. Where you goin', hon? I walk wit' ya," she offers, gesturing to the package to be delivered.

Aelwyn slides his finger underneath hers for a moment, before he puts the ribbon away. "Ah, it could mean many things." He says, stretching his arms out in front of him. "Maybe just a circus mad jester looking for a career change." His joints make faint pops and then he rumbles in amusement. "Just look at the knife juggling gobbo."

Ah, the box. The other box. The not so crazy box. "Ungh, one of these temples. One of the pointy hatted priests." The Dragoon vaguely gestures. "Might be a long walk." He bumps her on the side, before he gets back onto his feet. It was quite incredible he still got customers.

Slix shrugs. "If it helps ya sleep at night," she teases with a giggle before returning the bump with one of her own. "Pointy hatted? Now tha's the Serrielites. Pointy helmets," she smiles. "Bit of a walk, but its away from this mess. C'mon, this way, hon."

Let's make sure he still /somehow/ got customers.

-End Scene-