A tall, handsome man with vibrant grass-green eyes finds his way to Ariel's side, having studied her thoroughly from a corner of the bar.
But now that he's here, he bows rather respectfully to her. He's wearing a blue and red trimmed Roman tunic, and a dagger with an eagle in flight is tucked into his belt.
"May I offer you a drink, my lady?" He's going with lady--another spirit he knows doesn't object to it. She will get a sense of immense power, but one more tied to the elements of the earth itself than some forms of magic.
He likes her style of speech, and almost effortlessly begins to fall into it, without a second thought.
"Naught but some conversation. You are not of my land and skies--even had I any urge to request the aid of one of your kind, it would do very little." And then he smiles almost boyishly. "And the one who grants me aid when she is moved to might take offense if I did."
That might tell her a lot--that his dealings with someone vaguely like her are by the spirits choice, and he has no power over her, and doesn't wish to.
"I'm Aleran--we're related to the Romans, in some universes."
And then he smiles wryly. "When I ask it, although it has to be within her limitations and rules, and should she refuse I have very little choice about the matter. I believe she had no name before my ancestor first gave it to her."
"We call her Alera," he says quietly. "Our Realm has had the same name, this past millenium."
Beat. "I think it's because we provide her with some diversion from watching the endless dance of the elements and the years. We were the first to speak to her, and it gave her pause to consider us of more note than some races."
He shakes his head. "No goddess, as such. Her power is far from absolute. She is..."
He leans back, thoughtfully. "She is the land itself. We have those such as you--my aunt by marriage has a partnership with a spirit of the air, named Cirrus, who has helped her cross our lands swiftly, high above where most dare to fly. But Alera is... she is Alera."
And then with another wry smile, he adds, "Honestly, I suspect she was startled to discover she craved some company, some attention. And she is far fonder of us personally than she will admit to."
"Gaius Octavian." And then he smiles a little more softly. "Though when I can afford to do so, I'm known less formally as Tavi. 'tis the name of my youth. May I know yours, lady?"
"By my counting, you are," he says very firmly. She deserves his respect.
And then, "Your master?" Most Alerans who have discrete furies tend not to treat them that way, though some do. He remembers some with particular distaste.
But now that he's here, he bows rather respectfully to her. He's wearing a blue and red trimmed Roman tunic, and a dagger with an eagle in flight is tucked into his belt.
"May I offer you a drink, my lady?" He's going with lady--another spirit he knows doesn't object to it. She will get a sense of immense power, but one more tied to the elements of the earth itself than some forms of magic.
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"Will you ask aught in recompense for that?"
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"Naught but some conversation. You are not of my land and skies--even had I any urge to request the aid of one of your kind, it would do very little." And then he smiles almost boyishly. "And the one who grants me aid when she is moved to might take offense if I did."
That might tell her a lot--that his dealings with someone vaguely like her are by the spirits choice, and he has no power over her, and doesn't wish to.
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She tilts her head the other way. "Which one gives you her aid without you asking it?"
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And then he smiles wryly. "When I ask it, although it has to be within her limitations and rules, and should she refuse I have very little choice about the matter. I believe she had no name before my ancestor first gave it to her."
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Beat. "I think it's because we provide her with some diversion from watching the endless dance of the elements and the years. We were the first to speak to her, and it gave her pause to consider us of more note than some races."
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He leans back, thoughtfully. "She is the land itself. We have those such as you--my aunt by marriage has a partnership with a spirit of the air, named Cirrus, who has helped her cross our lands swiftly, high above where most dare to fly. But Alera is... she is Alera."
And then with another wry smile, he adds, "Honestly, I suspect she was startled to discover she craved some company, some attention. And she is far fonder of us personally than she will admit to."
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"'Tis well for you to have such friend so near," she says after a moment, thoughtfully. "What is your name?"
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"Gaius Octavian." And then he smiles a little more softly. "Though when I can afford to do so, I'm known less formally as Tavi. 'tis the name of my youth. May I know yours, lady?"
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And then, "Your master?" Most Alerans who have discrete furies tend not to treat them that way, though some do. He remembers some with particular distaste.
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After a moment, she shakes her head and looks at him. "Octavian. Alera's Tavi. Ay?"
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