Interlude with a Vampire

It is past the noon hour in Wilderness Pointe, and Dolan really should head back if he'd like to make the gates before sundown. A shopping excursion to Wilderness Pointe might take all day, but Alexandria's recent hatred of the adventuring guild means that the price difference, and the ability to acquire certain things, is well worth the trip. After all, when the provisioner who sells what one needs won't sell to adventurers, best said adventurers seek another source.

His shopping done, his knapsack at his feet, an empty plate of strew before him, Dolan leans back in his chair with a mug of ale in his hand. Warm, comfortable, full - he doesn't have to go back out in the snow yet, does he?

There's a slight gust of cold wind as the door opens to allow another entry into the warmth of the Wayfarers Inn. The man allows himself a moment to adjust to the difference in light and atmosphere to the outside, his green eyes roaming the interior with sharp interest. It's those green eyes that draw the gaze. Set into pale fairly unremarkable features. He has black hair, pushed back and perfectly coifed; his clothing fine and black down to his shoes. Really he could have been anyone save those eyes. Unforgettable.

They light on Dolan and the man smiles more broadly, stalking forward almost silently toward the table. Everyone else seems utterly forgotten; unimportant. He goes directly to where Dolan is seated and stares down at the other man unblinkingly. "Hello." His voice too is memorable. Deep and accented with a place that is hard to discern by that alone. "My amber-eyed one."

Dolan's head snaps up as that voice pierces his idle train of thought, and he freezes, cold.

The animal brain speaks first. _Fight, or run. I suggest run. You can't take this man, and you know it._ His heart starts to race, and he quickly sets down the mug in his hand, leaning forward -

_But wait,_ whispers a thread of his training, coupled with the cerebral cortex that isn't quite ready yet to sit down and shut up. _If you start something here, who else will get hurt? No. Be the hunter, not the prey. Learn your quarry. Learn your enemy, Brydion, and that will give you the upper hand when the hunt begins._

Willing himself to slow, to think, Dolan sits back, his entire demeanor sharpening as he does so into the observant inquisitor of Daeus. "I'm not _your_ anything, Kol Demontry," he heard himself saying, without moving. "What is it you want from me?"

"We are friends." Offers Kol, his eyes bright with amusement, and he takes the seat closest to Dolan. Not the one across from him, but the one that is beside him. He idly traces an unimportant and meaningless image on the table with his fingers. As if he has to be moving. Yet his eyes are all for Dolan. "That means that after a fashion we belong to each-other yes? You ask 'what do you want', it is very simple."

Here he leans forward, eyes sharpening and breath indrawn. "Take the thing off your face." He motions with his free hand toward Dolan's false eye. "Let me see what you truly look like, yes?"

_Friends? Not on your thrice-benighted unlife, asshole,_ whispers the farmboy in the back of Dolan's mind, and the chocolate-brown eye flashes. Still, another deep breath, and it is the inquisitor who speaks, the words much more measured. "I don't know about friends. We're not exactly off to a great start. That's all you want? To see what I look like without this?" He gestures to the topaz gem in its ring of steel and bronze where the left eye should be. "It's not much different, but I'll show you if you tell me why you care."

"It... is like something stuck in your food. Something that does not belong." He smiles at Dolan. "It is a feeling, like an itch that one can not scratch, to see someone hiding their true face from the world. That is why I care." It's an odd explanation to be sure, and Kol is rubbing his fingers forcefully into the wood of the table now. As if he can hardly contain the effort of not removing Dolan's eye himself.

_That's interesting._ Dolan's remaining flesh and blood eye sharpens on Kol, measuringly. Slowly, he reaches up, twists the eye left, pulls it out a little, right, pulls it out a little more, and left once more to a different point, finally removing it fully to reveal a concave hollow of steel and bronze, inset with tiny hooks and latches and springs. Outside of that, it is featureless. "I can't remove the mount," he explains, holding it in one hand. "What makes you think that I am hiding something? Do you see it as a mask?"

Kol watches, enraptured as Dolan twists the eye and removes it. He seems utterly bespelled by the little movements, and compelled by the fact that it's gone. He stares, but it's not in the way that other people might look at scars and the internal machinery that is Dolan's empty eye. The vampire looks as though he is seeing something truly beautiful. A work of art. Something that fills him with joy. "Yes." It's almost a whisper. "It is a mask. A mask for something beautiful you were given. It did hurt did it not?"

For a brief minute, Kol had almost seemed to Dolan like a man - a man with natural curiosity. Then, those words slip from his lips. Words that remind the inquisitor that he is dealing, not with a man, but with a monster. A particularly dangerous monster, with a mind that doesn't work the way a normal mortal's does.

That reminder is stark indeed, and he sits up more fully, the gem and its frame still in his hand. "Very much," he says slowly. "Still does, sometimes." An honest enough answer. "Does that appeal to you?" Every line of him is - not tense, or coiled, so much as - waiting.

Kol blinks, trying to draw his attention somewhat away from the place where Dolan's eye had been. He licks his lips and smiles broadly at Dolan. "Oh yes." His green eyes swim with dark thoughts, leviathans riding the ocean of green and make them swim with shadows. "Would you let me give you such pain my amber-eye?"

His hand moves, the one on the table. So fast! So incredibly fast that Dolan has no time to flinch before Kol is already touching his face. Already stroking the edge of the scar that bleeds down his cheek.

The innkeeper nods politely to Rocky as the sith-makar enters, and even offers a smile. "What'll it be?"

The Inn for Wayfarers. Verna is not typically one to fare her way so far from the city, especially in the Alexandrian winter... unless on a distinct task. That, indeed, she is this day. While they do grow a variety of herbs, aromatics, and related in their own garden, they cannot grow all. As well, the growing season is quite past for most items. Thus she enters, brushing stray snow from her cloak, to seek out more fresh, or at least freshly dried, options available. All in the wake of the large Makari who spares her the need to fight with the door.

A shiver runs down Dolan's spine at that touch - at its speed, and at what it means, the animal brain in the back of his mind starts up with its yelling again, and it takes him a good moment, a gulp, and a deep breath to bring himself back under control as flashes of what caused that particular injury swim through his mind. "Nnnmn," he starts. "I don't think we're _that_ good of friends yet. Let me think on that one for a while," he says _very_ carefully.

Rocky chuffs softly, bobbing his head in thanks to the Innkeeper. "Stew or soup, fish if you have it. Whatever is hot. Bread. Warm drink. Please." Important food matters advanced, the greyscale glance around once more, head bobbing politely to the fellow greyclad, avoiding staring at the couple at the table.

"No?" Kol sounds crestfallen, but there's still a soft smile on his lips that makes it difficult to read him. He doesn't stop touching Dolan's face, tracing the scar lovingly. It's not hard to mistake them for a couple. "Pleasure then, people always want pleasure. Or tell me what I can do to make us better friends.... Yes. I would like that very much."

Verna rustles her cloak a second time, this time to allow warmer air within, also doffing her hood. To that end she starts towards the hearth. As she nears she notes a familiar face. Mostly familiar, that is, as something seems .. off about Dolan before it fully registers what it is. With his admirer turned towards Dolan, Verna does not immediately recognize the other by visage. The distinct interest, however, begins to register post-lifting of gloved hand to Dolan and mid-way through greeting. "Good day, Dol..." The rest trails off.

Trying not to make it look like he's pulling away, Dolan leans back in his chair, and switches the hand that holds his eye to the other one so that he can pick up his ale in his free hand. "You don't become that good of friends overnight, Kol." His gaze on Kol is both sharp and speculative, every movement controlled despite the tension in his limbs. The hand holding his eye holds up, one finger raised in a clear _wait_ signal to Verna. It's an acknowledgement.

Rocky glances to the Innkeep to make sure all is well on that front before heading towards the fire and an open table. The tension at the couple's table is vaguely noted but entirely misunderstood.

Kol doesn't seem to see or even notice Verna, so attentive is he to Dolan. The other man draws away and Kol lets his hand fall, fingers rubbing against one another as if trying to chase the sensation of flesh. "I do." He says. "And I am very... what is the word?"

He trails off thoughtfully, trying to think of the word that is on the tip of his tongue and yet so far from his mind. He doesn't notice Verna's greeting to Dolan at all. Doesn't seem aware of her at the tableside. "Persistent." He smiles victoriously.

Verna lowers her hand at Dolan's acknowledgement. She nods, or at least believes that she does: whether her head moves enough to qualify may be a matter of debate. Her hands move, however, clenching into fists at her sides. This is not the time, or certainly not the place, to be rash. Perhaps it is best, in some regards, that Kol seems unaware or unconcerned of her presence, yet it is .... undesired...?

"Yeah, I've seen that. So tell me-" Dolan is working awfully hard to maintain that casual pose, but a deep breath and a hard swallow give it the lie. "Do you like getting pain as much as you like giving it?" Still he does not acknowledge Verna beyond the held-up hand.

Rocky grabs a seat at his chosen table, placing himself with his back to the fire, setting the chair sideways so the chairback doesn't block the heat of the flames.

Kol's eyes sharply dialate, answering the question before even does he. "Oh, yes. Is that what you prefer amber-eye? Giving pain to others? I can understand that desire." He leans forward, still ignoring Verna and grasps Dolan's hand which holds his eye. He runs his thumb over the other man's fingers. "You should join me and my other friends. You would be welcome there with such... appetites."

As Rocky sits down the innkeeper brings the sith-makar his food. "There you go. Enjoy!"

GAME: Verna rolls will: (6)+24: 30
GAME: Dolan rolls wisdom: (12)+3: 15 to Aftershock
GAME: Dolan rolls will: (1)+10: 11 (EPIC FAIL)

A Mourner cannot stand such an abomination, a blasphemy to exist. Verna's own dreams are haunted by Kol Demontry, specifically. Threats of violence to others ... or worse.

By worse, things that may be very much implied by the 'invitation' he makes to Dolan. No. Not if she has something to say about it. In this case, her choice of words is perhaps less than proper, to accompany actions significantly less than logical. She steps forward and brings one clenched fist at him with all of its librarian might. All so that she might ask, "Would you enjoy this?!"

GAME: Verna rolls 1d3: (2): 2

Without warning, the festivities that Dolan had been ruling himself with an iron fist to avoid break loose at the hands of another - and in that moment, a terrible understanding - and an even worse idea - blooms in the back of his mind, a flash of inspiration whose very audacity scares him to his soul, the farmboy within screaming at him _are you out of your mind? Don't do that!_ "Verna, what in all the green garden hells are you doing?" Instinctively, he goes to scoot back, but Kol's hand is still holding his, and he jerks at it, trying to tear it free.

GAME: Rocky rolls perception: (9)+12: 21

Rocky finds softskin mating rituals odd. But he's not utterly oblivious. Something is clearly wrong. Exactly what, the Warrior Caste is still a little fuzzy on. Still, the Sith stands, eyeing the trio with concern.

The strike hits Kol on the temple, it seems to do... well nothing really. Dolan scoots back, and yet Kol does not so easily let go of him and the vampire allows himself instead to be drawn forward off his own seat by Dolan's motion. The sudden forward momentum of Kol's weight throws both men to the floor with the chair tipping backwards. Kol laughs, a deep grinding noise as they hit the ground with him on top. "Do not worry about me my amber-eye." He says gently to Dolan, their faces mere inches apart. "Only, give me a moment to deal with this woman yes? Then we can leave and... You can have what pleases you."

With that thought lingering he climbs to his feet like a puppet drawn on strings and turns his green eyes on Verna. "You are interrupting." There's no recognition in his gaze. No sense that he is familiar with her. "But I would be happy to entertain you another time if you are willing to wait yes?" His hands spread wide.

Verna did not expect to lash out at him... well, certainly not in THAT fashion. Having Aryia as friend and confidant may have led to some unintended inheritance? Or perhaps it was simply the most immediate, visceral reaction made manifest? Whatever it was, her surprise at her own actions tempers much of Verna's seething.

When Kol turns his focus upon her, she is both relieved and not, until she meets his gaze. This is ... wrong, as in it she sees not spark of even cognizance. Even if his predilections ran distinctly elsewhere, she would expect more than random annoyance. Verna blinks once. "I ... thought you were someone else. I was mistaken."

"I haven't agreed to anything." Dolan's now flat on his back, twisted out of the chair, and slowly sits up, taking the time to put his artificial eye back in. He can't do anything else about the fight going on above him, not until that's done, and that requires all of his focus.

Rocky is still confused, tense. There's a potential for violence here, that much he understands. But things seem... polite? Diplomatic? Not quite ready to relax, the sith stays still. At least the fire at his back is pleasant.

Kol shrugs one shoulder but turns away from Verna. Apparently he is satisfied with this, and he offers a hand to Dolan to aid the man to his feet. "Come amber-eye. Do not be difficult. You know what you want, what you desire. You only need to accept it and come with me." His eyes glow, but there's no compulsion to them.

GAME: Dolan rolls will: (7)+10: 17

Verna now, too, turns her gaze to Dolan. She does not say anything further, lest she be further accused of interruption and cause far more unpleasant collateral effects. Instead, she simply stares at him, seeking to meet his eyes with rather pointed intent. While there is no magical compulsion within the glare, it bears all the challenge, reminder, and/or threat of a school marm that she might muster.

Choose your actions carefully. Do not be foolish. Andelena will be informed.

These and similar are what she intends to convey.

For a long moment, Dolan stares at that hand, then shakes his head, and grabs his knapsack, rolling away from that hand, and not incidentally from Verna. _Remind me not to get on her bad side!_ "Not today, Kol. I need more time to think about something like that. Thanks for the offer, though." His heart, somehow, is pounding in his chest as he rolls to his feet, knapsack in hand, and when he does, he turns his back on Kol and Verna, and those who can see his face see him staring off into the distance, breathing deeply.

Rocky chuffs softly. He's missing something here. Some subtext that explains it all.

...

But it's still missing, and his food is getting cold. With a shrug, the warrior re-takes his seat.

Kol's eyes flash with disappointment, his smile fading to some mere thing. "As you say." His eyes track back to Verna, but then slide away and the vampire takes a step toward the door. "I suppose I will have to find someone else to entertain me." He sounds almost depressed at this thought, but the small smile still lingering on his lips still makes him difficult to properly read.

Verna's eyes flit back to Kol as his turn her way, then continue to pan as he moves away. Her brow furrows with a mix of concern and consternation, though she does not move beyond turning her head as needed.

Without turning towards Kol, Dolan picks up his cloak and his pack, clearly intending to leave, and finally turns towards the door, a pounding heart screaming with inner terror and an urge to flee, locked inside an iron cage of training and cool exterior. He doesn't look at either Verna or Rocky.

The vampire leaves first. Emptying the establishment quite quickly really since Dolan follows him out. Nothing further than a blast of cold wind remains in his wake. Well that and a chair laying on the floor.

-End