Chapter sixteen: Conversation
More stats! Because there's two days left, I'm behind schedule, and I need something to take the edge off! ^_^;
Name: Rinabaar
Home: Twotower Lodge
Caste: Soldier
Lifestyle: Hedonist
Character: Dutiful
Tragic Flaw: Self-Loathing
Talents: Basic Athletics, Advanced Discipline
Skills: Basic Fighting
Knowledge: Poor Administration
Name: Jalon
Home: Tenchurch Abbey
Caste: Artist
Lifestyle: Hedonist
Character: Cheerful
Tragic Flaw: Doomed
Talents: Basic Athletics, Basic Charm, Poor Perception
Skills: Advanced Entertain
Knowledge:
Also, I looked around for actors that I would cast in the roles of my main characters. Behold: Dara, Rinabaar, Mansuur, Jalon and Aseena. :D
Chapter sixteen
Dara swept her fur-clad cloak closer around herself. It was getting disturbingly cold. Rimfrost was forming on the streets and walls. They were still stained with the rain of blood from this morning, and the effect of the rusty-red beneath the thin sheet of pale crystal was unnerving.
"The dark grows cold, when he comes..." she mumbled.
"Mystic?" Rinabaar said. "Is something the matter?"
Dara looked up at him, smiling shakily. He had cleaned up, combed his hair back into its normal pristine order, and changed into a dress uniform. She felt almost shy to look at him. She had always studied his appearance and tried to extrapolate his form beneath his clothes, but now he would know that she was doing it.
An interesting though unnerving question occurred - did that mean that he was undressing her in his head, as well? Damn it, how was this supposed to work?
"If we're not here on business," she said, "you should just be calling me Dara, shouldn't you?"
"Of course. Dara. Forgive me." He smiled faintly back.
He hooked his arm with hers - apparently that was standard practice enough that he was perfectly comfortable with it - and they walked into the restaurant. It was located in a large, well-lit house, containing several levels of fancy chairs and tables, lit by candlelight to create a discreet, romantic atmosphere. The walls were decorated with suits of armour, ancient weapons, banners and paintings of famous battles. The military air was, Dara supposed, entirely intentional - this was, after all, a place for Soldiers and for people who had decided that they liked, if nothing else, one particular Soldier.
"Major Rinabaar, and companion," Rinabaar told the smartly dressed Servant at the entrance.
"Of course, of course." The man bowed. "We have prepared one of our very best tables. I hope you will enjoy your meal. We have been given two extra chefs on a temporary basis, both of them highly renowned. Nothing is too good for our brave Soldiers when they are risking their lives to keep us safe."
They were led to a table for two. Rinabaar pulled out Dara's chair for her before sitting down himself, which made her feel odd - she was used to having others do everything for her, but those others tended to be made of stone.
She tried to gather herself together while they waited for their food to arrive. Come on, she thought, you can do this. Just talk. About something other than the case, preferably. You've seen how normal people do this, just imitate them or something.
"So, er," she said. "Where did you grow up?"
"In Twotower Lodge," Rinabaar said. "I'm afraid I have never been a very... mobile sort of person. I was born there, and all else being equal, I am entirely happy to die there. And of course, most of my family lives there. Though I admit, what with work sending me all over the city, I don't visit as often as I'd like anymore."
"Do you get along with your parents?" Dara said.
"Certainly," Rinabaar said. "They are good people. My father is a Colonel in the staff of the Lord Minister of Safety, and my mother is a drill Sergeant at the Steepcliff Garrison. They raised me to understand the value of propriety and loyal service to others. I make sure to write to them every week that I am away from home."
I bet you do, Dara thought, amused. Of course Rinabaar would be close to his parents. She had long since guessed that he was a man who fully approved of how he had been brought up.
"Do you have siblings?" she said.
"I have an older brother," Rinabaar said. "He did not, much to my parents' distress, join the caste of Soldiers. He is a Servant, though a very good one - he has been in charge of the cleaning staff in Twotower Lodge for the last ten years."
Dara went through the exchange of snappy questions and brisk answers in her head and found it eerily familiar. She groaned and facepalmed.
"I am not making small talk, am I?" she said in a suffering tone of voice. "I'm interrogating you."
"There does appear to be some similarities in technique..." Rinabaar admitted.
"I'm sorry." Dara sighed. "I think it's as close to conversation as I ever come." She grimaced. "I suck at this."
"I do, too," Rinabaar said gently. "I never did manage to master any kind of social exchange that did not follow... strict rules of etiquette. I am good at rules. I thrive on rules. But where there are no rules, I am lost."
"Heh." Dara smiled weakly. "Usually, there are rules, even if you can't see them at first glance. You just have to look closer." She considered. "Maybe I started out wrong. We can't get through this by trying to be normal. We're neither one of us normal. We can't follow the normal rules. What is the Dara-and-Rinabaar rules?"
Rinabaar scratched his beard.
"Frank exchange of information?" he suggested. "That does seem to be what got us to this point..."
Dara leaned back in her chair.
"All right, how about this?" she said. "Forget about the practical details of our lives. How about we ask what we'd really like to know? And no weaseling out of each other's questions."
The corners of Rinabaar's mouth twitched.
"Daring," he said. "I like it. Ladies first."
Dara gave him a long gaze.
"You like me, it turns out," she said. "Why?"
Rinabaar blinked.
"How could I not?" he said. "You walk onto a crime scene, and within five seconds you have started unraveling a mystery that had me and all the clever people I work with scratching our heads. You know things, at a glance, that others fail to see no matter how long they stare. You speak without the slightest hesitation or fear to powerful and dangerous people. You seek out the truth without regard for your own safety. You are a power. A force for good. Who could remain unaffected?"
Dara stared. Rinabaar looked back, appearing nothing but sincere - even a little surprised that she had had to ask.
"That's what you think I'm like?" she said.
"That's what I know you are like," Rinabaar said. "I may lack your supreme perception, but I can see the facts and the testimony of my senses and put them together into a coherent whole, especially when all of them are in such complete agreement."
Dara realised that she was entirely lost for words. She tried to superimpose Rinabaar's picture of a fearless, dashing champion of right and good over her own self-image, but it just wouldn't fit. And at the same time, Rinabaar seemed so completely confident that it was hard to contradict him. She felt oddly warm inside.
"This surprises you," Rinabaar said. "Why?"
Dara bit her lip. But this had been her idea, hadn't it?
"Because that's not how I see myself at all," she said. "I'm not some valiant crusader. I just solve problems. It's all I do - it's my entire life, fitting together puzzles. The only reason why I'm useful is that it turned out that the Demesne had need of someone who was very good at solving problems. When I get called in on a case, I come, and I look, and I figure out what has happened and why, because that's... that's all I am. If I do any good, that's a side effect. A byproduct of my compulsions."
She listened to her own voice ranting away with a sinking feeling inside. She was blowing it. Rinabaar had seen something he thought he liked, and she was mercilessly telling him that it was a lie.
"I do not believe that that is true," Rinabaar said.
"Why not?" Dara said.
"Because if you honestly did not care about anything but following your... 'compulsions,'" Rinabaar said, "you would not care about not caring. And if you did not, you would not have sounded so sad just now."
Dara laughed, mostly of surprise, and looked down on her lap.
"I always... appreciated... how logical you were," she said. She glanced up, smiling weakly. "So I'm a great big hero, am I?"
"Yes," Rinabaar said simply. "If you could see the evidence from an outside perspective, you would agree with my assessment."
"Heh." Dara chuckled, in spite of herself. "I guess we'd better hope you're right. According to Jalon, I'm supposed to save the Demesne. Apparently it's my destiny."
"The Demesne does seem to need saving," Rinabaar said. "How will you go about it?"
Dara gave him a suspicious glance.
"Are you making fun of me?"
"I am entirely serious," Rinabaar said. He did look it, Dara had to admit, though of course he always looked like that. "Demon armies. Rains of blood. The government in upheaval. A rogue witch of supreme power. I must admit that I am concerned. If you have an idea for how to bring about a peaceful resolution to it all, I will be most relieved."
"Stop Mansuur, I suppose," Dara said with a shrug. "He seems to be the one who started it all. If I can shut down his stupid cult, then I think that everything else will calm down on its own." She sighed. "Assuming, of course, that there is any stopping it now. To hear Mansuur talk about it, it's all inevitable. Jalon says that maybe it isn't, but even he isn't sure..." She shook her head. "Ugh. Sorry. I'm not being a very fun date."
"But certainly an unusual and interesting one," Rinabaar said. "If you need to talk about this, I would be honoured to lend you an ear."
Dara hesitated. This was wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She might not date much, but she knew there were all sorts of rules, and she was breaking all of them.
But then, maybe every couple had their own rules. Maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to experiment a little. And anyway, she did need to talk.
"Jalon says..." she said. "He says that the only way I can pull this off is if I'm at my peak. If I'm... pure at heart, or something. Focused. At peace." She grimaced. "And the thing is, I have never in my life felt as lost as I do now."
Rinabaar nodded silently.
"I mean, it's not entirely a bad thing," Dara said. "For the first time in years, I feel like maybe I could be... I don't know. More. Not just the weird lady who lives along in a mansion and talks to her gargoyles. Like I could be someone else. Like I don't have as many limits as I always thought I had."
She looked away, ill at ease.
"But I'm used to knowing who I am, and now I don't," she said. "All right, so I'm not the eccentric who lives alone and only ventures out to look at dead bodies. But who am I then? It could be anyone. It could be a hero, or a thug. A friend, or a murderer. A saviour, or a bad joke." She shook her head. "If the fate of the Demesne rests on me being centered and secure in my identity, then we're all royally screwed."
"You still seem as yourself to me," Rinabaar said.
Dara snorted.
"I'm not sure if I take comfort in that or not," she said. "It'd mean that not only do I feel lost and confused, but I haven't even actually changed. I'm the same freak I always was, it's just that now I don't even have the courage of my convictions."
"No. You misunderstand." Rinabaar gave her a direct look. "I understand that you are re-examining your life. People do that on occasion. I believe that it is healthy. But fundamentally, we remain the same. The things that genuinely makes you who you are are unlikely to be re-examined, because they are so integral to you that you are barely even aware of them. In your case, you remain Dara of Sablecrest Manor, caste of Mystics. You remain brilliant and powerful. You remain a force for truth and justice in the world. These things have not changed, nor do I believe they can change. All the things that you perceive to be in flux were weaker constructs, built on that rock-solid foundation."
Dara stared at him for a moment. Then she laughed. She was surprised at the sound - it sounded light and happy and far younger than she felt.
"For someone who doesn't talk much," she said, "you have a way with words when you do decide to talk."
"I like to believe that I think carefully before speaking," Rinabaar said modestly.
The waiter arrived with two steaming plates. Dara gratefully dug into her lightly fried fish in its subtle white sauce. She could have eaten a horse, at this point. Rinabaar, she noticed, had ordered some kind of mix of fresh vegetables and meat so rare that you almost expected it to moo.
"I guess you have to maintain a pretty careful diet," Dara said. "You know, to maintain..." She lifted her arms, making a show of flexing her muscles. She was already starting to wonder if this remark had been a mistake. Possibly it wasn't Done to remark on your dinner companion's body before dessert, or something.
"Indeed," Rinabaar said, unruffled as always. "A Soldier must keep himself in the best shape possible." He paused. "No - that is perhaps too broad. There are men and women in the officer corps who rarely command from the battlefield anymore, but are brilliant strategists and administrators. Many of them have let themselves grow plump in their middle age, and I think no less of them for it. They serve the Demesne well. However, I fear that I am not so mentally gifted. I perform a merely adequate work of keeping my small investigative force functioning smoothly, and the few times I have been given larger commands I have proven... unremarkable, shall we say. But I do happen to have a very large and potentially powerful frame. I was born to battle on the walls, so that gentler folk can sleep easily in their beds. So that is the duty I must seek to excel at."
Dara raised an eyebrow.
"'Gentler' folk?" she said. "Oh, come on. You are one of the gentlest people I have ever met."
Rinabaar was silent for a moment.
"You have seen me covered in blood, bellowing like an ox, carving my way through a pack of demons," he said. "Please understand me. I would never doubt your sincerity. But I do not understand how you can hold the opinion of me that you apparently do."
"What?" Dara shook her head in amused disbelief. "You think because you fight, you're disqualified to be a gentleman? Oh, come on. There is an actual phrase, 'an officer and a gentleman,' which describes you."
"Well, obviously I try my best to mitigate the damage," Rinabaar said. "I am gratified that I am successful. But at last analysis, I am a great hulking monster of a man, fit only for the most brutish of tasks."
Dara laughed sadly.
"So we both hate ourselves," she said.
"I don't hate myself," Rinabaar protested mildly. "I am merely aware of my aptitudes and limitations." He was silent for a moment. "And you shouldn't," he added quietly.
Dara ignored that last part - it was too much to deal with all at once.
"Let me tell you something, Rinabaar," she said. "You say, 'a great hulking monster of a man.' I say, 'a spectacular, magnificent physique that leaves me weak in the knees.'" She plowed on, determined that if she was going to make an ass of herself, she might as well do it properly. "And then I say, 'oh God yes, cut me a slice of that!' So less of the self-depreciating, all right?"
Rinabaar smiled at her, almost shyly, clearly at a loss for words. His expression was less carefully guarded than usual, in this moment, and she caught a glimpse of what was going through his head. It gave her a strange, warm feeling inside. Knowing that her attention and interest meant something to a man was such an unfamiliar sensation.
"You... you are very beautiful, also," he finally managed.
"Oh, come on," Dara said. She leaned forward on her elbows, grinning wryly. "I just said something completely and utterly inappropriate. If you don't return the favour, I'm going to feel stupid. It would be very ungentlemanlike of you to let that happen."
Rinabaar struggled with himself for a moment.
"I have been aware of your strength and intelligence for some time..." he said.
"That's not inappropriate," Dara said. "I want inappropriate."
"Be patient," Rinabaar said. "I have been aware of your inner qualities for a long time. However, not until yesterday, when I first saw you in a dress like the one you are wearing now, did I find out that in addition to being brilliant and magnificent, you also have a pair of amazingly large and well-formed breasts."
They sat stunned for a moment. Then they both broke into helpless laughter.
And somehow, the evening... worked.
Name: Rinabaar
Home: Twotower Lodge
Caste: Soldier
Lifestyle: Hedonist
Character: Dutiful
Tragic Flaw: Self-Loathing
Talents: Basic Athletics, Advanced Discipline
Skills: Basic Fighting
Knowledge: Poor Administration
Name: Jalon
Home: Tenchurch Abbey
Caste: Artist
Lifestyle: Hedonist
Character: Cheerful
Tragic Flaw: Doomed
Talents: Basic Athletics, Basic Charm, Poor Perception
Skills: Advanced Entertain
Knowledge:
Also, I looked around for actors that I would cast in the roles of my main characters. Behold: Dara, Rinabaar, Mansuur, Jalon and Aseena. :D
Chapter sixteen
Dara swept her fur-clad cloak closer around herself. It was getting disturbingly cold. Rimfrost was forming on the streets and walls. They were still stained with the rain of blood from this morning, and the effect of the rusty-red beneath the thin sheet of pale crystal was unnerving.
"The dark grows cold, when he comes..." she mumbled.
"Mystic?" Rinabaar said. "Is something the matter?"
Dara looked up at him, smiling shakily. He had cleaned up, combed his hair back into its normal pristine order, and changed into a dress uniform. She felt almost shy to look at him. She had always studied his appearance and tried to extrapolate his form beneath his clothes, but now he would know that she was doing it.
An interesting though unnerving question occurred - did that mean that he was undressing her in his head, as well? Damn it, how was this supposed to work?
"If we're not here on business," she said, "you should just be calling me Dara, shouldn't you?"
"Of course. Dara. Forgive me." He smiled faintly back.
He hooked his arm with hers - apparently that was standard practice enough that he was perfectly comfortable with it - and they walked into the restaurant. It was located in a large, well-lit house, containing several levels of fancy chairs and tables, lit by candlelight to create a discreet, romantic atmosphere. The walls were decorated with suits of armour, ancient weapons, banners and paintings of famous battles. The military air was, Dara supposed, entirely intentional - this was, after all, a place for Soldiers and for people who had decided that they liked, if nothing else, one particular Soldier.
"Major Rinabaar, and companion," Rinabaar told the smartly dressed Servant at the entrance.
"Of course, of course." The man bowed. "We have prepared one of our very best tables. I hope you will enjoy your meal. We have been given two extra chefs on a temporary basis, both of them highly renowned. Nothing is too good for our brave Soldiers when they are risking their lives to keep us safe."
They were led to a table for two. Rinabaar pulled out Dara's chair for her before sitting down himself, which made her feel odd - she was used to having others do everything for her, but those others tended to be made of stone.
She tried to gather herself together while they waited for their food to arrive. Come on, she thought, you can do this. Just talk. About something other than the case, preferably. You've seen how normal people do this, just imitate them or something.
"So, er," she said. "Where did you grow up?"
"In Twotower Lodge," Rinabaar said. "I'm afraid I have never been a very... mobile sort of person. I was born there, and all else being equal, I am entirely happy to die there. And of course, most of my family lives there. Though I admit, what with work sending me all over the city, I don't visit as often as I'd like anymore."
"Do you get along with your parents?" Dara said.
"Certainly," Rinabaar said. "They are good people. My father is a Colonel in the staff of the Lord Minister of Safety, and my mother is a drill Sergeant at the Steepcliff Garrison. They raised me to understand the value of propriety and loyal service to others. I make sure to write to them every week that I am away from home."
I bet you do, Dara thought, amused. Of course Rinabaar would be close to his parents. She had long since guessed that he was a man who fully approved of how he had been brought up.
"Do you have siblings?" she said.
"I have an older brother," Rinabaar said. "He did not, much to my parents' distress, join the caste of Soldiers. He is a Servant, though a very good one - he has been in charge of the cleaning staff in Twotower Lodge for the last ten years."
Dara went through the exchange of snappy questions and brisk answers in her head and found it eerily familiar. She groaned and facepalmed.
"I am not making small talk, am I?" she said in a suffering tone of voice. "I'm interrogating you."
"There does appear to be some similarities in technique..." Rinabaar admitted.
"I'm sorry." Dara sighed. "I think it's as close to conversation as I ever come." She grimaced. "I suck at this."
"I do, too," Rinabaar said gently. "I never did manage to master any kind of social exchange that did not follow... strict rules of etiquette. I am good at rules. I thrive on rules. But where there are no rules, I am lost."
"Heh." Dara smiled weakly. "Usually, there are rules, even if you can't see them at first glance. You just have to look closer." She considered. "Maybe I started out wrong. We can't get through this by trying to be normal. We're neither one of us normal. We can't follow the normal rules. What is the Dara-and-Rinabaar rules?"
Rinabaar scratched his beard.
"Frank exchange of information?" he suggested. "That does seem to be what got us to this point..."
Dara leaned back in her chair.
"All right, how about this?" she said. "Forget about the practical details of our lives. How about we ask what we'd really like to know? And no weaseling out of each other's questions."
The corners of Rinabaar's mouth twitched.
"Daring," he said. "I like it. Ladies first."
Dara gave him a long gaze.
"You like me, it turns out," she said. "Why?"
Rinabaar blinked.
"How could I not?" he said. "You walk onto a crime scene, and within five seconds you have started unraveling a mystery that had me and all the clever people I work with scratching our heads. You know things, at a glance, that others fail to see no matter how long they stare. You speak without the slightest hesitation or fear to powerful and dangerous people. You seek out the truth without regard for your own safety. You are a power. A force for good. Who could remain unaffected?"
Dara stared. Rinabaar looked back, appearing nothing but sincere - even a little surprised that she had had to ask.
"That's what you think I'm like?" she said.
"That's what I know you are like," Rinabaar said. "I may lack your supreme perception, but I can see the facts and the testimony of my senses and put them together into a coherent whole, especially when all of them are in such complete agreement."
Dara realised that she was entirely lost for words. She tried to superimpose Rinabaar's picture of a fearless, dashing champion of right and good over her own self-image, but it just wouldn't fit. And at the same time, Rinabaar seemed so completely confident that it was hard to contradict him. She felt oddly warm inside.
"This surprises you," Rinabaar said. "Why?"
Dara bit her lip. But this had been her idea, hadn't it?
"Because that's not how I see myself at all," she said. "I'm not some valiant crusader. I just solve problems. It's all I do - it's my entire life, fitting together puzzles. The only reason why I'm useful is that it turned out that the Demesne had need of someone who was very good at solving problems. When I get called in on a case, I come, and I look, and I figure out what has happened and why, because that's... that's all I am. If I do any good, that's a side effect. A byproduct of my compulsions."
She listened to her own voice ranting away with a sinking feeling inside. She was blowing it. Rinabaar had seen something he thought he liked, and she was mercilessly telling him that it was a lie.
"I do not believe that that is true," Rinabaar said.
"Why not?" Dara said.
"Because if you honestly did not care about anything but following your... 'compulsions,'" Rinabaar said, "you would not care about not caring. And if you did not, you would not have sounded so sad just now."
Dara laughed, mostly of surprise, and looked down on her lap.
"I always... appreciated... how logical you were," she said. She glanced up, smiling weakly. "So I'm a great big hero, am I?"
"Yes," Rinabaar said simply. "If you could see the evidence from an outside perspective, you would agree with my assessment."
"Heh." Dara chuckled, in spite of herself. "I guess we'd better hope you're right. According to Jalon, I'm supposed to save the Demesne. Apparently it's my destiny."
"The Demesne does seem to need saving," Rinabaar said. "How will you go about it?"
Dara gave him a suspicious glance.
"Are you making fun of me?"
"I am entirely serious," Rinabaar said. He did look it, Dara had to admit, though of course he always looked like that. "Demon armies. Rains of blood. The government in upheaval. A rogue witch of supreme power. I must admit that I am concerned. If you have an idea for how to bring about a peaceful resolution to it all, I will be most relieved."
"Stop Mansuur, I suppose," Dara said with a shrug. "He seems to be the one who started it all. If I can shut down his stupid cult, then I think that everything else will calm down on its own." She sighed. "Assuming, of course, that there is any stopping it now. To hear Mansuur talk about it, it's all inevitable. Jalon says that maybe it isn't, but even he isn't sure..." She shook her head. "Ugh. Sorry. I'm not being a very fun date."
"But certainly an unusual and interesting one," Rinabaar said. "If you need to talk about this, I would be honoured to lend you an ear."
Dara hesitated. This was wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She might not date much, but she knew there were all sorts of rules, and she was breaking all of them.
But then, maybe every couple had their own rules. Maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to experiment a little. And anyway, she did need to talk.
"Jalon says..." she said. "He says that the only way I can pull this off is if I'm at my peak. If I'm... pure at heart, or something. Focused. At peace." She grimaced. "And the thing is, I have never in my life felt as lost as I do now."
Rinabaar nodded silently.
"I mean, it's not entirely a bad thing," Dara said. "For the first time in years, I feel like maybe I could be... I don't know. More. Not just the weird lady who lives along in a mansion and talks to her gargoyles. Like I could be someone else. Like I don't have as many limits as I always thought I had."
She looked away, ill at ease.
"But I'm used to knowing who I am, and now I don't," she said. "All right, so I'm not the eccentric who lives alone and only ventures out to look at dead bodies. But who am I then? It could be anyone. It could be a hero, or a thug. A friend, or a murderer. A saviour, or a bad joke." She shook her head. "If the fate of the Demesne rests on me being centered and secure in my identity, then we're all royally screwed."
"You still seem as yourself to me," Rinabaar said.
Dara snorted.
"I'm not sure if I take comfort in that or not," she said. "It'd mean that not only do I feel lost and confused, but I haven't even actually changed. I'm the same freak I always was, it's just that now I don't even have the courage of my convictions."
"No. You misunderstand." Rinabaar gave her a direct look. "I understand that you are re-examining your life. People do that on occasion. I believe that it is healthy. But fundamentally, we remain the same. The things that genuinely makes you who you are are unlikely to be re-examined, because they are so integral to you that you are barely even aware of them. In your case, you remain Dara of Sablecrest Manor, caste of Mystics. You remain brilliant and powerful. You remain a force for truth and justice in the world. These things have not changed, nor do I believe they can change. All the things that you perceive to be in flux were weaker constructs, built on that rock-solid foundation."
Dara stared at him for a moment. Then she laughed. She was surprised at the sound - it sounded light and happy and far younger than she felt.
"For someone who doesn't talk much," she said, "you have a way with words when you do decide to talk."
"I like to believe that I think carefully before speaking," Rinabaar said modestly.
The waiter arrived with two steaming plates. Dara gratefully dug into her lightly fried fish in its subtle white sauce. She could have eaten a horse, at this point. Rinabaar, she noticed, had ordered some kind of mix of fresh vegetables and meat so rare that you almost expected it to moo.
"I guess you have to maintain a pretty careful diet," Dara said. "You know, to maintain..." She lifted her arms, making a show of flexing her muscles. She was already starting to wonder if this remark had been a mistake. Possibly it wasn't Done to remark on your dinner companion's body before dessert, or something.
"Indeed," Rinabaar said, unruffled as always. "A Soldier must keep himself in the best shape possible." He paused. "No - that is perhaps too broad. There are men and women in the officer corps who rarely command from the battlefield anymore, but are brilliant strategists and administrators. Many of them have let themselves grow plump in their middle age, and I think no less of them for it. They serve the Demesne well. However, I fear that I am not so mentally gifted. I perform a merely adequate work of keeping my small investigative force functioning smoothly, and the few times I have been given larger commands I have proven... unremarkable, shall we say. But I do happen to have a very large and potentially powerful frame. I was born to battle on the walls, so that gentler folk can sleep easily in their beds. So that is the duty I must seek to excel at."
Dara raised an eyebrow.
"'Gentler' folk?" she said. "Oh, come on. You are one of the gentlest people I have ever met."
Rinabaar was silent for a moment.
"You have seen me covered in blood, bellowing like an ox, carving my way through a pack of demons," he said. "Please understand me. I would never doubt your sincerity. But I do not understand how you can hold the opinion of me that you apparently do."
"What?" Dara shook her head in amused disbelief. "You think because you fight, you're disqualified to be a gentleman? Oh, come on. There is an actual phrase, 'an officer and a gentleman,' which describes you."
"Well, obviously I try my best to mitigate the damage," Rinabaar said. "I am gratified that I am successful. But at last analysis, I am a great hulking monster of a man, fit only for the most brutish of tasks."
Dara laughed sadly.
"So we both hate ourselves," she said.
"I don't hate myself," Rinabaar protested mildly. "I am merely aware of my aptitudes and limitations." He was silent for a moment. "And you shouldn't," he added quietly.
Dara ignored that last part - it was too much to deal with all at once.
"Let me tell you something, Rinabaar," she said. "You say, 'a great hulking monster of a man.' I say, 'a spectacular, magnificent physique that leaves me weak in the knees.'" She plowed on, determined that if she was going to make an ass of herself, she might as well do it properly. "And then I say, 'oh God yes, cut me a slice of that!' So less of the self-depreciating, all right?"
Rinabaar smiled at her, almost shyly, clearly at a loss for words. His expression was less carefully guarded than usual, in this moment, and she caught a glimpse of what was going through his head. It gave her a strange, warm feeling inside. Knowing that her attention and interest meant something to a man was such an unfamiliar sensation.
"You... you are very beautiful, also," he finally managed.
"Oh, come on," Dara said. She leaned forward on her elbows, grinning wryly. "I just said something completely and utterly inappropriate. If you don't return the favour, I'm going to feel stupid. It would be very ungentlemanlike of you to let that happen."
Rinabaar struggled with himself for a moment.
"I have been aware of your strength and intelligence for some time..." he said.
"That's not inappropriate," Dara said. "I want inappropriate."
"Be patient," Rinabaar said. "I have been aware of your inner qualities for a long time. However, not until yesterday, when I first saw you in a dress like the one you are wearing now, did I find out that in addition to being brilliant and magnificent, you also have a pair of amazingly large and well-formed breasts."
They sat stunned for a moment. Then they both broke into helpless laughter.
And somehow, the evening... worked.