Shirley ♕ 001

[truailligh]

Who: truailligh and ilpromenade
What: Checking out her place of solace/trying to get back on an even keel
Where: Her place of solace
When: Day
Warnings: Maybe some language? Oh and misbehaving jukebox

Comments

[showmeshinies]

She was certainly rather free with her information, and it made him slightly uneasy. Jarlaxle suspected it was either his friendly posture and appearance or the fact that they had something in common by being brought here against their will that made her tongue so loose. He prayed it wasn't a natural thing, else how would he find out if she was willing to use this bar to fulfill his own designs? His long, black fingers, clad in fabulous gold and silver rings that any king would be envious of, tap-tapped on the bar as he considered how best to approach this. On the one hand, bars were some of the best places to get information. That was something universally known, he suspected. By that same logic, however, this would be a place that their Hosts would likely watch closely for that same reason. Did he dare take his chances attempting to recruit her? The people he had met with had agreed to keep the group to just themselves for now, but Jarlaxle had never been one to play by the rules. If he could extend his own network here safely, it would be best to do so.

It wasn't as though he was risking any drow lives, or that of his friends, though he did rather like this woman already.

"I know not what 'Saturday' is, but I came to be here about half a tenday ago. My house is full of interesting people from foreign lands that I have not yet quite had the chance to get to know - " though he was sure he would have, were he spending more time at the house and less time scouting, " - most from completely different places. I do believe some of them have found companions of their own as well, however, so it seems that at least a handful of us are not alone here.

"Making acquaintances has ever come naturally to me, so I cannot completely appreciate your dilemma, though I do wish you the best in fixing it." He tipped his hat to her and took a long sip of wine, pleased to be blessed with five hundred year's worth of tolerance. "Perhaps if you kept this wonderful place open," he gestured grandly around the pub, "it would draw in all sorts of people that you could get to know."

He paused there, waiting to see if that was what she had planned before finding a way to quietly draw her into his web of informants. The look in his eye clearly suggested to her that he was planning to ask more of her, that he was expecting a favorable answer.

[truailligh]

If Jarlaxle had been a woman, specifically an older woman, he wouldn't have found Shirley nearly as friendly and chatty; blame the banshee power for that odd quirk that extended to those who were nothing to do with the blood.

"Saturday is the the first day of the weekend; Monday through Friday are the horrible working days of the week, Saturday and Sunday make up the weekend but half a tenday sounds just about right." So the other buildings she'd seen on her brief trips out and about were full of others who'd been inexplicably brought here against their will. "I've not really spoken much to my housemates yet bar one or two but I don't think any of them are from the same place as me or if they are, there are some very striking differences." Something that baffled, annoyed and worried her in equal measures, keeping her up at night trying to make sense of it. She needed a library with a nice stack of dusty old books to pore over even if that would remind her of other times spent doing that.

"It's more a girl thing," she explained, one hand waving lazily through the air but that wasn't nearly the half of it. The real reason was something she admitted only to family though because telling anyone else would let them know that underneath the bitchy haughtiness that hid behind the mask of cutesy girliness was someone deathly afraid of losing anyone she cared for and having to carry that grief around with her until she died.

She unscrewed the cap of the bottle and took a quick sip of it and nodded, "I'll be keeping this place open though, it's easy enough to modify the safeguard on it to keep out anyone I'd rather not let in. Although, if someone managed to bring us here then I doubt I'll be able to keep them out." Her magic was more a kick in the teeth. Grief and blood loss that just hastened her own end. What a great thing to be 'gifted' with and she closed her eyes, counted to three and opened them again. Seeing a flash of pure hatred running through her wasn't a good thing for a new acquaintance. "Getting to know people here wouldn't hurt and alcohol has always been good for loosening a tongue or six."

[showmeshinies]

So the humans where she lived spent only five days out of seven working. Quite frankly, that sounded like a marvelous idea, having two days out of seven to sit back and rest. Jarlaxle had never been so lucky, save for when he was adventuring. He enjoyed his job though, and so didn't really mind. With Kimmuriel in a position to take over whenever he needed a break, Jarlaxle was fine working ten tendays in a row if need be.

Shirley was not the only one wishing for a library full of tombs. Jarlaxle hoped to find one, that it might have more about this world and hers so he could learn more.

"A safeguard?" he asked, leaning a little closer and lowering his voice slightly. "Do you mean a physical trap, or a magical one?" He kept his eyes on her face, entranced by her reaction to her own mention of the safeguard. A flash of hatred had been there, he thought, and he wanted a second chance to identify the rest of the emotions she associated with whatever she was referring to. "I can give you a hand with safeguarding the place, if you like," he offered.

[truailligh]

"Magical," she clarified and held out her wrists, tilting them in the light that filtered through until the faint silver markings became just about visible; on the left a horse shoe facing towards her and on the right a pentagram. "Scáth," she nodded towards the right wrist, "and cosaint. Scáth means shade or protection, it's for hiding myself or an object. Cosaint is safeguard and it wards a building." It wouldn't hurt to let him know that; it wasn't as if he would know about the blood sacrifice (or lack thereof in the case of these markings and spells) or how the markings worked. And if need be, well there was her little bone knife tucked into her clothes.

"A hand would be good but I don't know well anything is going to work in Promenade as it is; I mean, they might have some sort of interference running. Not to mention that this place has a lot of magic floating around as it is," the till took that opportunity to open slightly and the jukebox flashed, "If anything changes though I'll take you up on it. So just what sort of magic is it that you have?"

She'd revealed enough about herself for this second; it was time to gain a little something in return before she said anymore.

[showmeshinies]

That was interesting. Jarlaxle leaned forward and scrutinized the marks closely. He had seen pentagrams and horse shoes before, of course, but it was more curious to see horse shoes being used that way. "Magical tattoos?" he asked. Some wizards were rather fond of them where he came from, and it would not surprise him to discover that even his own brother had a few of them tucked away under the robes of the Archmage.

He grinned as he leaned back and took another sip of the wine. So she wanted him to reveal something of himself? He could easily do that without revealing too much. Slender shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I can lay physical traps about the places you need them," Jarlaxle answered. "My brother may be willing to lay wards of protection about the place - from scrying and the like - though he will likely want something in exchange and I will have to convince him to do so."

Though if she were willing to allow him to use this location to cast while he looked for another one, maybe Gromph would trade for that. Jarlaxle would have to ask him. He had not seen or spoken to the archwizard since the old drow had arrived. Perhaps it was time to check on him.

[truailligh]

"Not tattoos, markings. They're cut into your skin with a knife made of bone." She didn't reveal her own, no sense in that, not when it was the only weapon she carried with her at all and when it was so needed for her to be able to perform any magic and in a dream world, a quick blast of truailligh or gnáthaigh even in their weaker forms, might be more powerful than they usually would. People would be bound to be suspicious if someone started being violently ill for no reason or starting seeing ghosts and shadowed images stalking them down the streets and in their rooms.

"Physical traps? How so? Booby traps?" She was trying to come out with something but outside of the hidden nets that were triggered by catching a foot, she really couldn't think of anything much and those would be obtrusive to say the least in somewhere with Alea's layout. "You never told me the companion from home was your brother, must be nice."

A note of wistful longing accompanied that last sentence; with Cedric around, she might not have felt so lonely and that was something she didn't enjoy. Alone and lonely, in her book, were two separate entities with alone being the choice you made for yourself and loneliness being thrust upon you, leaving you floundering in the dark and making choices you wouldn't otherwise make.

[showmeshinies]

Perhaps this human was tougher than she looked. Many humans were not, from his experience, able to withstand the pain of a knife carving into their skin. The new information forced him to reevaluate his opinion of Shirley, and he found that he liked it. If she could withstand something like that, one of a million different methods for torture used by his own race, she was a cut above the rest here.

"Sort of," he replied. "My traps can be rather intricate, but I can design them to kill or neutralize, if you like."

Jarlaxle offered her a grin. "Of course, it's nothing like what Gromph is capable of doing. He's far older than I am though, and has had much longer to practice his art. It might be that he could help, were he able to find a safe place to practice his art. I believe he can get me the information we need to figure this place out."

There it was, on the table. In exchange for her information and perhaps for allowing Gromph some space when she was not using, he could give her the best protection he could think of. His brother's wards were no small matter; for a male who spent much of his time practicing divination, his abjurative - his protective - spells were good indeed.

[truailligh]

If Jarlaxle had been in Orbis Alia when she'd been receiving the markings, he'd have heard the screaming and crying because it had hurt more than anything else she'd experienced, shooting from searing, blistering heat to feeling as though she'd been submerged in ice and even now she shuddered at the phantom memory of it, especially the line across her throat, hidden by her necklace today.

"Unless that creeper scientist guy is lurking around here and mouthbreathing all over my windows then I think I'd like to rule out the killing option. It's painful. For me." Death was something she was hoping to avoid here because a break from the grief and from the never ending migraines it caused would be a welcome relief, no matter how short.

"Is it rude to ask how old you live to be? It's only supposed to be rude if you're asking a lady and unless your race is extremely different then you're definitely not a lady."

[showmeshinies]

Genero. The mention of his name brought a dark look to Jarlaxle's face. The expression was one that had sent many of his subordinates scurrying for cover over the years, and one not often seen on the face of the cheerful and sly mercenary. "If he is lurking outside your windows, I imagine it might take more than a few clever traps to keep him out," he said, face and tone utterly serious. "But yes, I can make sure they don't kill anybody."

Was it rude? He grinned, seriousness gone as quickly as it had come. "I don't mind, really. Most drow are not terribly shy about such things." Jarlaxle shrugged, causing the fine fabric of his piwafwi to bunch and move as well. "I myself am over 500. Drow usually live to 700 if they don't die by any other means. My Matron lived to be over 2000 years old." His older brother might live to that old age as well, thanks to the amulet of eternal youth he wore. Gromph was over 800, by Jarlaxle's reckoning.

[truailligh]

The last time she'd seen a look like that, it hadn't been from someone with their head attached to their body still; the face that had given it had been tucked under an arm, mouldy and melting like rotten cheese and it was more unsettling to see it coming from someone living. Not one to cross then if she added it along with the trap making expertise. She was glad he'd walked in though because if she stayed on his good side - and he was a man, she had no problems in getting along with them if they had manners - then he could be a potential ally.

It was only going to hurt her in the long run to keep up the barriers completely.

"Human woman are incredibly sensitive about it," she muttered under her breath and Shirley was no exception but not for the usual reasons. Dagda she wasn't expecting a reply like that to her question - hundreds of years for a life and one weighing in at over two thousand years? Her own lifespan in the end would be but a blink of the eye to someone like that and she couldn't keep the shock from her face, especially with her mask hiding nothing. "Certainly puts things in perspective," she finally commented, shaking her head and taking a fortifying drink.

[showmeshinies]

"Perhaps it is a universal thing. I have never been particularly shy, least of all regarding my age, but I have heard of ladies of the court being upset by such a question. It is no bad thing to age." He paused to take another drink, then gave Shirley a smile.

"Unfortunately for humans, they are rather short-lived, and that can be exceedingly limited on one's viewpoints. Many of my race hold that against them, but I believe it makes them more ingenious, more motivated."

And indeed, it could. He had seen humans do incredible things over the course of his long life, Artemis Entreri not the least of them. Ah, but if only he were here to meet Shirley. Jarlaxle thought they might get along.

[truailligh]

"Court? Royalty with Lords and Ladies or something similar?" That had always interested her, both the courts of the Gods and Goddesses and other deities and the courts of old that they'd talked about in history every so often. Maybe it was the opulence and the luxury she enjoyed but stories about them would never get old to her.

"Can I ask what race you are? This pub normally has an awful lot of variation from vampires to demons to regular people and All-Father knows what else; I don't really have enough time to ask on the average night." Or she didn't speak the language beyond the drinks part which had been...interesting at times to say the very least.

[showmeshinies]

"The very same," he assured her with a smile. "Though of course, everything is different for my race."

Jarlaxle removed his hat, pushing it back and dropping it to hang at his back. The action revealed his bald head, completely removed of his white hair, save his thin eyebrows. It also more completely revealed his crimson eyes and the multitude of piercings on his long, pointed ears.

"I am a drow, a dark elf."

[truailligh]

"There's always something reassuring and comforting when you hear that when it comes to some things, we're not always so different." She'd definitely have to hunt down a notebook and pens and see if she could find out a bit more of the history of Jaraxle's world; always interesting to note things like that down.

Her eyes widened at the piercings - well, the elf ears weren't so much of a surprise anymore but that was some damn fine jewellery on display, respect Jarlaxle.

"That gives you the esteemed honour of being the very first Drow I've ever met then."

[showmeshinies]

He laughed a little when her eyes widened, and then more when she spoke. This place was so very different from his own world, and Shirley was just full of reminders. "I don't believe I've heard anybody say anything like that before - least of all without any fear in their eyes and voice.

"Drow do not exactly have the best reputation where I am from. We are among the most feared races - if not the most feared race."

That sort of thing depended on personal opinion, he was sure. Most humans were at least terrified of them, but who knew where drow compared in every human mind to the demons they regularly hunted, or the devils of the Nine Hells? Not Jarlaxle.

[truailligh]

"Well, maybe if I was a normal human who hadn't seen some of the things I'd seen then I'd be backing away with my fingers held up in the sign of the cross but I like to think I'm open-minded with the supernatural/not from this realm situation by now." Being a banshee, she really couldn't judge unless someone or something was horrifically, inescapably ugly (like the sparkly vampire in those awful books and films) or if they did terrible things like torturing people or animals who hadn't done anything wrong.

"Considering everything that humans have done, that should make us the most feared race. We're really not a bastion of morality or good judgement." Still, she was intrigued and she rested her elbows on the bar, chin propped up in her hands as she smiled at him. "What makes you the most feared race then?"