It begins with a door...

[alittlebitdodgy]

... a door you're quite sure wasn't there a moment ago.  Backing out of it is a man, his attention completely taken up by the unknown person he's conversing with.

'Yes, well,' he clears his throat, 'a dead family is all well and good, but I think it's about time I called in that favour, my lady.  Needs must be met, clients to meet and all that.  So

Comments

[emobard]

Daeron jumped slightly at someone coming out of the wall, of all places. He watched him yell at the wall, holding his lute just a little bit tighter at the sense of danger.

[alittlebitdodgy]

'Beautiful instrument you have there, sir,' the Marquis says. 'Do you play?'

He knows that a bard is a useful tool for publicity - at home he always had one in his employment, ready to spread tales of... of... well, of whatever falsehood he felt like spreading about himself at that moment.

[emobard]

'I do,' Daeron answered quietly, nodding to him. 'You are- new to this place, I take it?'

[alittlebitdodgy]

'Extemely,' he says honestly. 'Do you have any suggestions as to how to avoid a painful death in this place? I've already experienced one - I have no desire to go through it again.'

[emobard]

Daeron does not really look surprised at the claim. He shrugged. 'The same as you would in other places. Do not pick fights and watch yourself. There are many powerful people, even gods, and not all are kindly folk.'

'I would not worry overmuch about death, in this place, though,' he added after a moment.

[alittlebitdodgy]

He nods, 'Thank you for the advice. I'll do my best not to upset the higher-ups. Fallen angels I can deal with, but gods? Somewhat trickier.'

'And I never do,' the Marquis says, lying through his teeth. 'Death is an inconvenience, albeit a painful one. Mind you...' And he trails off after this, losing himself in his thoughts. Then it dawns on him what the musician said.

'Why shouldn't I worry about death here, lad?' He asks, thoughtful once again.

[emobard]

'Fallen angels?' Daeron echoed, curious despite himself.

He looked vaguely amused, but whether that was about the Marquis' comment on death or being called 'lad' was unsure.

'It is still an inconvenience, and often painful, but it is temporary anyway you get there.'

[alittlebitdodgy]

'Yes,' he remarks candidly. 'Have you ever been to London? Where I live, the Angel Islington isn't just a trendy place to live. Or I should say wasn't, for I vanquished it, with a little help from some not-too-important friends . It was a nasty piece of work, hating both God and the Devil, so it's a good thing you never had to encounter it, eh? You might have fainted over your lute.'

It occurs to him at this moment that although the musician appears young to him, patronising him probably isn't the smartest move. In this place, who knows what he could really be. And if what he says about death is true, then the Marquis should really watch his back. Death at the hands of another, however temporary, doesn't sound all that promising.

[emobard]

'I have, but you are right, I am glad to have missed that.' He cannot help quirking his eyebrow a bit; he had been to London many times throughout his life, but he has never seen anyone that dresses quite like the Marquis.

[alittlebitdodgy]

The Marquis is the unarguable pinnacle of high fashion.

'You've been to London? Wonderful. You should have looked me up and I would've taken you out for a night on the town. That is, if I knew you then. But I've entertained many strangers.'

As much as he tries to keep apart from this strange world (in the vain hope that if he doesn't get attached, he'll suddenly be back in London Below), the Marquis can feel himself starting to care. It is a wretched feeling.

'Where do you come from?' He asks, cursing himself for his catlike curiousity. 'And who are you, actually? Something tells me you are not just a musician.'

[emobard]

But of course.

'That's very kind of you. I live in Wales at the moment.' Daeron smiled, but hestitated a moment; it is hard to admit his kindred, after pretending to be human so long. 'I am an Elf, if that is what you mean.'

[alittlebitdodgy]

Are all the inhabitants of this mansion bloody elves? is his first thought. He has nothing against them, personally, but there does seem to be rather a lot of them about.

The Marquis also suddenly realises that everytime he has called the musician "lad", he opened himself up for ridicule. Something de Carabas is not entirely fond of.

His mouth inadvertantly opens and closes like a guppy as he tries to think of things to say. Finally, he settles on, 'So what's it like being an elf?'

Trite, perhaps, but the question will give him time to recover from the prospect of embarassment while sizing up this elf to see if he'll make another good ally. Or if he could use a favour. Either's good.

[emobard]

Daeron is not one inclined to ridicule, but the Marquis' reaction does not fail to amuse him; he attempts to suppress a smile and is not quite successful.

'I would not entirely suggest it,' he replied.

[alittlebitdodgy]

'I fail to see a downside, beyond an overwhelming desire to prance and say ridiculous things.' Yes, the Marquis has read too much cliched fantasy from London Above.

'What could possibly be bad about it?'

[emobard]

Daeron had to laugh at that; luckily for the Marquis, he has too. "Neither the company nor the lifespan is exactly as delightful as everyone seems to think."