Mortal Mist (ACCEPTING)

[Alledae]

Taharan, Uhmma /// Verlmilion, Vivienne, Jon /// Uninjured

The soppy due had pulled themselves together before Vermilion had a chance to respond, so Orridan simply plastered on a charming smile and gave the guard a friendly wave as they drew closer. From where he was sitting, he had to strain his head to look at the woman when she spoke, while her counterpart barely stood taller than him currently. "Of course we'd love to help you as much as we can, but I don't know how much good we will be. This is fellow here is Vermilion and I'm Orridan," he paused to wink up at the 'good cop', "But you can call me Danny. What can we do for you lovely folks?"

The good thing about being a bard was that one gets a fair amount of practice in stretching the truth and shining people and far better light than they're actually deserving of. Which should be easy to do with Ivich; as far as any witnesses in the tavern were concerned, she had just stayed politely out of the mess and bought them some drinks, and this would play out very much to their advantage. Not to mention these two looked like they could really use a drink.

[Rexton Grey]

Vermilion
Location: Taharan, Uhmma | Tagged: Jon, Orridan Kahlash, Vivienne

Vermilion meets smile with smile. It's not hard to, even with his cheek starting to smart something fierce and the mildly precarious situation. He's still experiencing some residual mirth from the entire ordeal and the words directed at him are civil enough, even if the tall guard lady isn't smiling with her eyes. If he can smile genuinely at an angry five-tails, the annoyance of a pair of human guardsmen are nothing.

"The pair of you look like you've had a hard night," he said once Orridan had finished speaking, "I wouldn't mind sharing this bottle of fine wine with two more, if you care to take a seat. Truth told, I've probably had enough tonight." He pushes his empty glass across the table to rest in front of one of the unoccupied chairs, with Ivich's also empty and abandoned glass in front of another. Two empty cups and two empty chairs. He hefts the bottle of wine to show off the vintage, because he can't quite remember the name and it's written in one of those fancy calligraphy things that he doesn't want them to know he has trouble reading. Fancy calligraphy generally means good wine, and it didn't taste half bad when he was drinking it.

Also that whole story about the Order and a demon, but he was trying not to think about that.

Thing was, Vermilion was not the best with higher-class things. Like wine. Sure, his mother and his brother both had positions of some importance as a diplomat and a chief scribe, respectively, but Vermilion took after his father in temperament even if he took after his mother in appearance. He much preferred wandering, exploring, and sleeping out under bright stars with crisp, clean air in his lungs. It's been a point of contention between siblings that he never bothered to learn about the finer things civilization can offer, like wines and dining etiquette and how to say something without actually saying it.

So, he was sort of relying on his natural charm to see him through. Hopefully it would also be enough to see him into the fancy place they were trying to get into, later.

[.synthetica]

________________________

✦✦✦
ivich || vermillion, orridan
taharan || brb meanwhile
heres more jon
________________________

Jon sighed heavily. The two boys clearly had their reasons for not wanting to speak with them, and were getting fairly cheeky about it. He saw the same bright-eyed look in his daughter's eyes whenever she did something he wouldn't be pleased with, like sweeping the shattered pieces of one of his antique vases under the priceless Grumoh rug in his study. No idea what happened there, Papa, do you want a boiled sweet?

No idea what you're talking about, officer, care for some expensive wine?

As for Vivienne, she was a good and proper member of the watch, but Gods, she needed to relax a little. He could see the corners of her eyes starting to twich - she just couldn't handle cheek, which unfortunately was a quality that criminals carried in spades - and as she opened her mouth to lay down the law, he took the opportunity to sit heavily down in the space next to the blonde one. Danny. He watched her struggle internally with the fact that he was sharing a space with potential no-gooders, but in the end she relented, and sat down in the last remaining space.

"I prefer brandy, personally, but go ahead, lad." His voice was gruff from the biting cold outside and he coughed a couple of times to clear away the heaviness in his chest. "Dog's weather, this," he muttered, draining half his glass in one go as it was offered to him.

"Now look," he paused to give Vivienne a warning look because he was about to twist the truth and she wouldn't like it, "we wouldn't press about your friend if it wasn't serious, but you've gotta know that two traders have gone missing recently and she's our connection. Big mess. Doesn't say anything about you, obviously... you just don't know with people, sometimes." He sighed again, and gave each of the boys a grim look, just on the right side of sympathy.

He drained the rest of his glass.

"You just don't know."

[Alledae]

Taharan, Uhmma /// Vermilion, Vivienne, Jon /// Uninjured

Orridan was genuinely a little surprised when the male guard took up their offer and decided to sit heavily in the seat next to him, but he was quick to overcome the shock and let and even broader smile tug at his lips. Oh, how he'd missed this lovely little dance; far too many guards these days were in the trend of just arresting and asking questions later. The faux-friend act was truly a dying art.

However, it did put him a little on edge.

If nothing else, it meant this man was seasoned at his work and knew all the tricks, all the lies, and Orridan didn't really trust himself or Vermilion to be able to hold an elaborate story together for very long. Short and sweet, close to the truth. That's what they needed. That, and to keep their, heh, guard up.

"Well," he started, "I can't really fight for or against her since the three of us just met an hour or so ago, but I feel obligated to say I'd be very surprised if she was involved in something like that. She was genuinely a very kind person to us. She even offered to get in touch with some friends of hers and see if she could get us a gig at some bar or another for the festival; I'd give you names if I could, but she didn't let on too much about it. Just said she'd look for us if we got an audition." Orridan looked over at his companion to see if the kitsune had been following along. The tall guard seemed hesitant to accept her drink, but he held the bottle in offering to the man next to him with a friendly smirk and raised brow and topped up his glass after receiving a curt nod. Alright, so far, so good.

[Rexton Grey]

Vermilion
Location: Taharan, Uhmma | Tagged: Jon, Orridan Kahlash, Vivienne

Vermilion listened. He was good at that, the listening, even if he usually preferred to stand out and be listened to. If he had been among friends he would have filled the silence with a joke or a story or an anecdote about that time in Dantop with the mountain lion. He liked people, liked talking to them, and this whole lying business wasn't the sort of thing that he typically engaged in. He took a moment to wonder whose side he should really be on here. He liked to consider himself a good person (even if, sometimes, he really wasn't) and if what the guard was saying was true... But Ivich was a demon, and in the face of overwhelming humanity demons could not afford disunity. It was the sort of thing that transcended ordinary morality and problems, like one's relationship with demonkind was just a step under close friends and family, but born out of necessity. You helped them bury their bodies, because one day you might need their help with yours.

His smile had faded to a grin in the interim of the conversation, and that grin turned wry as he considered the beverage poured for the guardsman. Perhaps he had quit the bottle too soon if he was having thoughts such as these, or maybe he had done so too late and being tipsy just made him maudlin. He didn't think he was tipsy, but he'd been a poor judge of the issue in the past.

"She offered me a chair and a drink when she saw me take a blow," he offered, anticipating the attention turning to him as Orridan's answer finally settled. "Honestly, I think she was paying for the amusement at the sight rather than sympathy for my soon-to-be-bruised cheek." His smile contained a hint of teeth as he broadly gestured to his face, by proxy also showing off how his hands were not red and puffy from abuse. No punches had been thrown by the young man with the bright red hair, the skin seemed to say, or at least none that had landed. He didn't want the guardsmen thinking him an instigator or really even a participant of the brawl.

Speaking of guardsmen, the pair made for an interesting sight. Not quite as interesting as the sight of Danny's dark skin and blonde hair, prosthetic limb and Mark amulet, but interesting enough. The older male with the limp and the taller female with the twitching eye. He didn't get any feelings from them that whispered of his giant, extended not-family of demonkind, but he had the feeling that he'd remember these humans after this meeting. Perhaps even meet them again.

[.synthetica]

________________________

✦✦✦
ivich || vermillion, orridan
taharan || positively ecstatic
________________________

As the two lads took the opportunity to spin and skip around the truth - definitely performers - Jon let his mind wander a little towards his upcoming promotion. And how he wouldn't have to do this song and dance anymore. The likes of Vivienne would take his place and really shake the streets upside down and he wasn't really sure what would fall out, or if it would do any good. He was looking forward to it. Taharan could do with a little shaking.

In that moment, though, he was still the boss. And he could see that Viv wanted to waste more time talking to these jokers, because she was like that, but it was time to let them go. He cleared his throat and pushed the glass away. "Alright, lads. Thanks for the drink." He said, standing up and stepping away from the table. Vivienne hesitated.

"Say," she said, and this time her smile was all charm. She even took a long drink from the offered glass, though Jon knew she hated wine. "Big opportunity like that, you don't remember the name of the tavern this gig's at? We have some time off at the Festival, we'd love to come by."

Hell, maybe it would work. Then Jon nodded towards the pair of them, and the guards left the tavern to return to the outpost.

---

A week later, Ivich was kicking herself a little bit. She imagined the boys would have auditioned already, and she was starting to think she'd played it just a touch too big this time.

"What do you mean you don't remember them?" She demanded of the thin wisp of a man who'd declared himself the performance manager at the Golden Cockerel. A quarter-hour earlier she'd waltzed in dressed in the finest clothes she could piece together, a sweeping crimson dress and short black jacket, fine dyed boots she'd spent the whole morning polishing, and with her hair pinned up in the fanciest way she could recall from her mother's endless lectures on presentation. She imagined she was quite the intimidating sight.

The wisp, shrinking away from her outburst a little bit, clearly thought the same.

"I- I mean... Well, look, madam, how about you introduce yourself?" He tried to posture his way back into the conversation, but she was enjoying herself far too much, and took a step closer. He stepped back.

"If you don't know who I am, sir, then I think there's been some miscommunication here." She took a breath and stood firm with her hands on her hips, casting an imperious glare around the tavern. "I want to speak to the head performance manager of the Golden Cockerel this instant!"

The thin man fled, with a venomous look in her direction. When the real manager emerged, a tall, broadly built, dark-skinned man in his late fifties, Ivich realised she'd chosen the perfect tavern without even realising. As he greeted her politely and she spun out a suitably fancy fake name, apologising for her outburst with the assistant, she started out with some casual chat about the Festival and ascertained that he didn't remember her.

She supposed he wouldn't, considering the last time she saw him was as he was fleeing her grandmother's rooms at the break of dawn, all the way back at her home in Lallequ.

"The thing is, Master Hawksborne, that the boys I represent have a wealthy patron who said their talent only deserved to be shown at the finest establishment in Taharan. I wanted to take them to Jeleban, you see, but she was quite insistent. In fact, she sent along a token for me to present you with," she chatted on as she pulled her grandmother's signet ring from her finger, and Hawksborne gasped quietly, "to assure you of her confidence in this venture."

"Yes, well, ah," He muttered, and cleared his throat. He'd clearly stopped listening as soon as his eyes fixed upon the (very stolen) signet ring. He reached for it and his hands were actually trembling as she handed it over. He grasped it as tightly as, she thought, the torch that he still held for her grandmother. She couldn't believe her luck. Schooling her expression to one of polite impatience, she waited as he recovered his composure.

"The Cockerel would be pleased to host the two performers your... patron is so invested in. Now, I must apologise profusely for my manners, but I have correspondence to attend to. Good day, madam."

As he fled, she wondered about the letter her grandmother would recieve in some ten days time. Hopefully the poor sod wouldn't get his heart broken too badly, but it really wasn't on her mind too much as she smiled victoriously at the assistant and sorted out all the details. Sometimes luck really did smile on her.

A short walk later she was entering the Tender Pig, where she quickly spied the shocking red hair and metallic glint of prosthetics that she was looking for.

"Allo, loves," she hummed as she slid into the booth next to Vermilion, "Care to guess who will be performing at the Golden Cockerel during the entire festival?"

[Alledae]

Taharan, Uhmma /// Vermilion, Ivich /// Uninjured

Orridan had taken the liberty of preemptively sorting through his frankly disturbing amount of lyric sheets and incomplete compositions to pick out some of his festival songs - though plenty were simply revived traditional choirs tweaked to suit a more party-savvy group - and from there to select what few were at least moderately tasteful. The sheer number of play on words one could derive from sheep and honey was simply astounding. His quaint room at one of the local inns was a ravished mess by the time he'd finally found suitably fancy clothes and fled for the tavern. Gods bless his sisters for getting him decent clothes for his last birthday. He wore sleek black trousers - with one leg rolled up, of course, to display his character piece - a white dress shirt with, could it be, actual silver buttons? All of which had been pulled together with a rich lazuli blue vest with detailed gold stitching of vines lining the seams and breast pocket. He'd even gone through the effort of tracking down that single damn tinkling gold earring he'd obtained somehow through his travels. Perhaps not the fanciest look in town, but certainly he was enough of a haughty high-class looker like this.

Him and Vermilion had quickly but pleasantly parted ways after the guards finally deigned to leave them alone the other night with quiet agreement to meet at the Tender Pig as previously instructed when it was time. Now, the smaller man with flaming red hair was pouring over the sheets with this strained sort of look as though he couldn't get why comprehending maps was easy but the barest pitch and tone directions were like a foreign language. Orridan had taken his wine away ages ago, alternately feeding him shots of olive oil and glasses of water. To get his throat in top shape.

It was after perhaps half an hour of this quiet dance that a familiar voice sounded and Orridan looked up from polishing his flute, a strange wooden instrument with strings, keys, and a crank handle balanced precariously in his lap. "Dare I guess it be the latest mash of polar opposite arts, also known as us?" he asked, grinning at Ivich.

[Rexton Grey]

Vermilion
Location: Taharan, Uhmma | Tagged: Ivich Whitby, Orridan Kahlash

Despite Vermilion's usual hopelessness when it came to dressing up, his appearance really wasn't the issue at the moment. His mother had insisted - insisted - that he pack something presentable with his traveling gear, just in case. The black slacks and gold-embroidered scarlet tunic might have been a little bit creased from haphazard stowing, but they were presentable enough. He even remembered how to properly tie the golden silk sash around his waist, and how to properly pierce his ears with the ruby studs. No, he was probably looking better now than he had in months if not years. That wasn't the problem.

It was the damned music. Sure, he had enough of a lack of modesty to admit that his voice was pretty and definitely above average when it came to range (he could hit alto notes with a lot of preparation), but he had always just memorized by listening, before! There was a world of difference between learning a simple drinking song by rote and interpreting these squiggles. The crash course Orridan had given him in musical theory did not help nearly as much as he needed. Was that a sixteenth note or an eighth note? What was the difference?

He'd nearly ruined his tunic with the first shot of olive oil, too focused on making sense of the directions to actually listen to what Orridan was saying when it was handed to him. Only good reflexes saved him from soaking both his clothing and the music sheets when he took an unprepared gulp, and only the promise that it would help had saved Orridan from a very irate redhead. Every little thing that they could do would be done. He was not going to embarrass himself.

When Ivich settled by him and spoke, Vermilion didn't even look up from the sheets. He acknowledged her words with a heavy groan, though.

"Doomed," he said, "I am absolutely doomed. Call the undertaker; have me fitted for the coffin. Danny, is this an eighth or a sixteenth note?" He practically shoved the papers in the other demon's face, pointing to the offending squiggle in question.

[.synthetica]

________________________

✦✦✦
ivich || vermillion, orridan
taharan || ooc; my fav boys
are back <3
________________________

Gods, but the pair of them could dress up pretty when they wanted to. Ivich regarded both of them appreciatively as each spoke in turn, taking in their suitably elegant outfits. Now, the fact that they weren't actually the master musicians she'd boasted of was, obviously, no big issue. Ideally the appearance of finery and two handsome faces would make up for whatever hiccups happened on stage; watching Vermillion's hysterics, Ivich thought his gift for drama would also serve him very well.

Most importantly, it didn't particularly matter if they sounded like braying donkeys so long as the audience was well and truly distracted. It's true that their tips would consist of pretty silver and maybe a couple heavy gold coins, and if they performed well (and Ivich pressed the matter of her patron a bit harder) the payout from the Cockerel would be nothing to sniff at, but the real treasure would be found in the pockets and on the belts of the excessively wealthy and suitably drunk merchants and nobles in the audience.

She felt a little dizzy just thinking about it.

Searching the table for a drink to steal and finding only water and olive oil, she rolled her eyes and waved for a server. Once there was a tankard in front of her, and her successful negotiation was properly toasted, she spoke.

"With a talent like that for exaggerating, maybe we should send you up there as a jester," she mused, raising an eyebrow at him as if considering it. "The red would go so well with a lovely hat with some bells on. Maybe we could just tie them into your hair, that works well enough..."

[Alledae]

Taharan, Uhmma /// Vermillion, Ivich /// Uninjured

"Go easy on him; everyone's first show is nerve-wracking and doing so at the Cockerel isn't something to scoff about." Danny chuckled, pausing to specify that the little line - which frankly, barely even crossed through the scribbled note and did more of a downward scoop, so the misunderstanding was more than understandable - was indeed a sixteenth, and watch out over here, the song bubbles a bit but vocals are supposed to be carried in a long single note. Patting the strange instrument in his lap,
Orridan leaned back with a sly grin and said, "Besides, I, ahem, borrowed this lovely little contraption here from a fellow napping in the inn lobby this morning. Nothing fixes a shaky show like a round of mead and a well-played Hurdy Gurdy. But don't worry, Vermillion, I doubt it'll come to that. And I suspect you, our lovely representative, will be 'mingling' through the show?"