PM to join Interruptions (Verena)

[Rowan Morealis]

Fall 10, 513 AV Rowan's body ached. Another training session with his father had left his bones in pain and his spirit trampled. Honestly, the nerve of the old man to make him train like some common pit slave. Was he not the Magecrafter of Kenash? Did he not concoct wonders with his hands? Why, then, did his father insist on testing that very part of him day after day at Blacksugar? Did he hope for failure, that one day Rowan would break and run from home? Honestly, there was no pleasing or understanding the enigmatic old man. So instead he found himself in front of the Mortal Solace, staring at the doors as though they might animate themselves at any moment, reach out, and bite him. It wasn't a thought he relished. Even so, Verena had always seen him before. Her coy game of feigning annoyance and outrage at his 'obtrusive' visits were only the prow of her feelings pushing from a lake of shy caution. How long had it been? Not since mid-last season when he told her about his fears that his newest romantic partner would not improve in lovemaking. At the time, it all seemed so important...but that was before he grew tired of the way her breath whistled through her teeth, as if she were calling out to a pack of hounds with each exhale. What was her name again? Something, surely...something that began with a vowel, yes...that was it. Ah...but women came and went. Their names were hardly important once he'd let them go. So he entered the Mortal Solace, staring past the assistant slaves as they tried to ask him to perhaps wait to be seated, or for Verena to see him. He simply pushed past them, too wrapped in the rigors of recalling a name to even hear the slaves, much less respond to them. Passing out of the waiting room as a frustrated Benshiran hurried ahead of him, no doubt to warn his mistress that Rowan had once again forgone protocol for one of his usual 'visits'. He dared not tarry in the healing room, a place where some lowborn might be convalescing and accidentally hear words not meant for ears not blessed with nobility. Instead he was quick on the heels of the Benshiran so when the slave knocked timidly at his mistress' door, Rowan pushed him aside and followed his timid knock with a rap-rap-rap of his own...but only after checking to make sure the door was, indeed, locked. "Verena!" he shouted, his fist reverberating with his words, "Come now, woman, don't play coy with me. It's been an age and a half since we last spoke, it's your dear friend Rowan, come to visit you!"

[Verena Lorak]

The young woman leaned against her crafting table, the messy knots of a braid hanging down beside her face. Completely absorbed with the task at hand, Verena did not notice when a familiar figure crossing the front lawn of her business. Instead, her eyes were trained on the recipe of a medicine scrawled on her thick journal. She had been rereading it, again and again, yet, she still had no idea how to perfect the brew.

Sighing, Verena took another spoonful mush of tree roots, mixing it with the liquid in a jar right in front of her. It was from a birch tree - for relieving headaches and pain. The journal had described something called Carayt Juice, a more advanced version of tulja poultices. Yet, she had infuriatingly failed . . . again. It was impossible. She was missing several key ingredients, but she could not find it anywhere. Even Uncle Doromer was unsure. So, the doctor had been trying to replace it with something more common. Didn't work. Her results were unsatisfying, merely a slightly longer-lasting tulja poultice. This Carayt was supposed to work on worse lacerations, something deeper and more critical. Verena couldn't be sure if the description was real, but it was said the medicine could relieve one's pain for an entire day and speeding up the healing process too.

On that note, she probably needed to improve her skills in philtering and herbalism. For now, she should be content with simple, common medicines.

She would've stayed in her office until the sun went down - or at least until another patient came in. The knocking of the door had jarred her out of concentration. It was a good thing. It could distract her from all this . . . Then came an unexpected voice, calling out for her in a most disturbing way. Rowan. Of course.

Verena sighed and considered for a moment to ignore the man entirely. The last time he was here, she had to put up with his ramble about some women he bedded. She had no interest in wasting her time. Of course, that was probably not the best of ideas. Rowan is a pretty insistent man, unfortunately. Better get over with this now.

After unlocking the door and throwing it open, Verena stood under the doorway, scrutinizing her latest visitor. Rowan towered over her, but she was having no trouble glaring at him. They had crossed paths more than once, but somehow, the Morealis had never seized to infuriate her with his antics. A part of her appreciated these visits of his. After all, he is one of the very few people who actually had no problem with conversing with her.

"Unless you're hurt or dying, Rowan," she started slowly. "I doubt you should be here."

[Rowan Morealis]

With a click, the door swung open, revealing an exasperated Verena staring up at him. Behind Rowan, her slave mouthed an apology and threw up his hands. This wasn’t the first Rowan had visited and saw no one else but her. The tall Morealis stared at her for a moment, then smiled and pushed past her into the office. “A good jest, Verena,” he drawled, sprawling himself over one of the chairs nearest to her crafting table. It didn’t much matter to him, but he gravitated toward any of the nicer ones in the room, “But we both know my injuries would be seen to by the Morealis doctors.” He smiled, “So I am happy to report I am whole and unharmed…my but you missed me I see,” He poked at the failed compound on her crafting table, almost deigning to taste it with his pinkie and then thought better of it, “Shutting yourself away from the world in this dingy office is most unbecoming, Verena…what would your family say?” He was hardly one to talk, of course. His affairs had created a situation where almost no one had any faith in his commitment. Rowan should have been married years ago, but repeated scandals had a way of weighing against his merits. As if it was a crime to appreciate beauty…perhaps, in a past life, he would have been an Askara. Yes, that must be it. He’d have to tell his friend about that one. In any case, it was not lost on him that his brother was already in negotiations for a marriage and he was head of house. If ruling the Morealis required a brood of children and some Dynasty wife…well then, perhaps he would have to give serious consideration to his continued dalliances. He met with exasperation with a traditional smile, crossing one leg over the other and laying his head back against the chair. “Verena, Verena, Verena…are you seeing anyone lately?” He paused, almost chuckled, shaking his head. “Perhaps that was rude of me, but curiosity compels me all the same.” Stretching his head up, he looked at her, shrugging his shoulders, “I am not, by the way, seeing anyone I mean. You see, the last woman I shared my passions with had the most curious way of beginning a laugh. You’ve heard a donkey bray, yes? Well she began as if braying, but it settled into ordinary laughter shortly after…but it was the beginning, you see…it stuck with me, haunted me, tormented me.” Leaning forward off the chair, he stared down into the bowl and then pushed it across the table towards her. “Well you can imagine that I did not allow that to continue much farther.” He scowled, “Father disapproved, as usual, but he stepped down from head of house so I should hardly be kowtowing to his drumbeat.” He rubbed his right shoulder absently, wincing as he pressed against the bruise there, “What sort of vile father commands his son to be beat senselessly again and again? We are not the Konrath, and Dimitri never went through my rigors.” Rowan pondered this, tapping a thumb against his lips, “Do you suppose the old bastard is getting forgetful? Perhaps as his mind goes he thinks me someone else or…” With a dramatic sigh, Rowan fell back against the chair again, “Dash it all, I have no idea.” Through a web of fingers he focused on Verena again. “But what of you, lovely, lovely Verena? Do tell me you have someone who strikes your fancy, at least…let your family rejoice quietly that they might yet marry you off, hmm? Or…” He considered again, “Are the rumors about Cassius true? Does the doctor stoop to marry the lecher and tie both households in the ribbons of matrimony?”

[Verena Lorak]

"Rowan!" she snapped as he slipped past her and into her office. No one was allowed inside, yet the Morealis had simply barged in. As always. He seemed to be having trouble with understanding her words. The young doctor was very tempted to simply drag him out, but she doubted she had the strength. So instead, she cursed under her breath for the interruption and followed him inside.

Her office was no place for anyone but herself to see. It was a cluttered mess of books, potted plans and papers. Verena did not really care if anyone saw it, she was more upset that this man might disturb her things. "I'm afraid you're mistaken. I am most certainly not missing you in any way." She glided over her table, looking mournfully at her latest failure. Well, at least she could use this a a normal poultice. "Don't touch it!" The young woman leaned back on the table, half her mind still gravitating around the mystery of the recipe.

"I am sure my family is quite pleased that I'm working on my skills." Why wouldn't they? A Lorak had created the recipe, yet no one had been able to replicate it as far as she could tell. She needed to be the one to make breakthrough, to discover the secrets. The book was entrusted to her, and the least she could do was do something about it. And she will never stop until she got it.

She barely finished her words when the man continued. Just as she had guessed, Rowan was here to ramble about his seemingly endless love life. Verena never understood why he had chosen her to be the one to confide to. It was not like she had ever reacted or give a story in return. He didn't seem to mind, perfectly content with a one-sided conversation. A completely absurd one-sided conversation. What kind of man is haunted by someone's laughter. It made no kind of sense to her at all.

Surprisingly, he directed the conversation to her, asking her about her nonexistent romantic relationships. Almost nonexistent. Verena blinked slowly, her mind reeling to answer his curiosity. No one really asked her about it, knowing that only reason she's attached to anyone was because her family forced her into it. Earlier on, she had thought it would be a bother, that it would disrupt her work somehow. It did not. Her life went on normally, though she spent a great deal more in the Stormsgrace Plantation.

"It's no rumor. I am bethrothed to Cassius Paille." The lecher, he had said, and the doctor. That's what everyone was thinking, was it not? Stooping, a most peculiar word. That should mean she was degrading herself - which made no sense since there was no other man who was interested with her. Still, Verena didn't seem the least bothered with the comment. "You're a lecher too, Rowan," she pointed out simply, eyes wandering around the room, never quite settling on her guest.

Cas. She couldn't help wondering why people had reacted so badly to the fact he frequented the brothel. As far as she could tell, he was not the only one. He simply got the bad luck of being exposed to everyone. Everyone was acting like it was so scandalous - like they've never even seen a prostitute. "Why are you asking me this?"

[Rowan Morealis]

Rowan leaned back in the chair, throwing his feet up on the desk, much to the burning indignation of his host. Pushing his arms behind his head, he offered a shrug no more committal than the meandering desire that brought him here. For the first time this season, Rowan really looked at Verena. There was much in her to like, he supposed. Her hair was the usual dark graceful of the Lorak line, not unlike the crow-feather hue of the Morealis and the Askara...although there was an inner brightness in it that glimmered in coppery tones. Her face was not seductive like her sister Eyasia, set with topaz eyes that burned like fire. Instead her gaze was an unerring dark...albeit narrowed when he met her eyes with his own.

To the glare he only offered a disarming smile, drifting down her pale face (although not so fair as Eyasia) to the line of her mouth. Not entirely unkissable lips, but they were ugly in that exasperated, pursed expression. The rest of her was hidden in her doctor attire, nothing distracting, alluring, or unattractive about it all. She left it to imagination, but Rowan couldn't be troubled to make the effort.

"Lecher? Me?" He considered it, frowning. "No, I much prefer connoisseur of the beautiful. Besides," he swung his feet off her desk and onto the office floor with a thump, "I never pay for it. That is chiefly where the division between Cassius and I lay...and make no mistake, Verena, it is an important distinction."

Sighing, he looked down at his hands, spreading his fingers wide and then playing with his signet ring. "I am to assume, then, that you had no other suitors? Certainly you couldn't have, else Cassius would be left to the comforts of the whore's bed and not to share a marital one with yourself." He looked up at her, and it was not haughty, almost wistful.

"When I was younger, I often imagined your marriage to be with an outsider." He held up a hand to stop what he expected to be a swift retort, "Now, come, let me finish." He sat back again and looked up at the ceiling, but finding no interesting art to alight his eyes on, returned them to Verena. "Some Syliran Lord...a Knight perhaps, or someone of highborn status elsewhere in Mizahar. He would sweep across Kenash and take you in his arms. I swear, Verena, you smiled in that imaginary union...a strange expression to see on your face but I think you would wear it well." He winked at her, "Much more attractive than your frown now."

His shoulders pumped in another shrug and he poked at the papers on her desk with neither interest nor boredom. "At least if you could not be mine, as I imagined it, you would not belong to anyone else from Kenash. I would not see you happy with another man each day on the Dry Isle or at the Askarade." Grinning faintly, he drummed his fingers on her papers and then focused again, laughing, "But then, that was some time ago. I'm sure your union with Cassius will be a happy occasion. See that you keep your eyes on him though, for his eyes will be on those he won't be possessing."

"See that your marriage bed is not used by your bridesmaids before you lay with him." There was no mirth in Rowan's voice, only a cold, dull, hatred, "You may not seem to care who deserves your love, but if he sullies you, I'll take from him what he values most, and damn the consequences."

It was a moment, broken by another short laugh. "But enough of that, then. How has business been?"

[Verena Lorak]

Verena could feel Rowan's gaze sliding over her, scrutinizing her. It almost made her want to squirm. He barely made any effort to conceal it. When the young woman couldn't take it anymore, she turned her head away in an effort to find some other thing to focus on - a movement outside the window or a flicker of the candle - to no avail. Being stared at had always made her feel judged and she knew all too well how Kenash judged her. They did not seem to have any problem showing it to her.

Look at her. So talented, but always so odd.
Who would've thought a lovely face like that could be so cold?
Why is she so quiet? She doesn't even look at anyone!

The doctor saw no difference between the two men's affinity for women, truthfully, but she did not respond to his statement. Her reflexively wandered to the stories involving Rowan and some of the Lorak women - a whole bunch of them. She did not truly understand what had made so many fall for the charms of the Morealis.

"When I was younger, I often imagined your marriage to be with an outsider."

She had wanted to ask why he had imagined such a thing, but Rowan seemed to have read her mind, continuing his speech without giving her a moment of pause. At the end, Verena could not help the slight tug on the ends of her lips, finding the little fantasy amusing for some indiscernible reasons.

Verena could understand Rowan's thoughts about Cas, however. It seemed like she was the only person in the city who did not care for the Paille's reputation. And Rowan was not the only one to warn her to be careful. Zorane had been furiously against the betrothal, arguing the whole time with Lorana, begging the Head not to let his sister be married off with such a man. Never before had she seen her brother so intent on disagreeing with Lorana. Of course, he did not succeed in the end.

But just like Rowan said, it was not like she had any other choice. There was no other suitor. Nil. At least at the moment - her arrangement with Jed Sitai was broken off when the young man got sick once more. She didn't have any romantic relationship with anyone before and had no one to introduce to her family. It has never been crucial in her life. Even now with her betrothal.

At the mention of her business, her eyes went alight, clearly grateful to finally talk of something she finds comfortable with. Relationships are definitely not something she wanted to dwell on. The sentence seemed to trigger a response from her mind. Her concentration suddenly shifted directly to the man in front of. Djed pumped into her eyes, clearing her vision. Rowan glowed with a restless light, pulsing and expanding for some reason, bright. Taking a step closer, Verena could sense the ache of his body, dull and throbbing, hidden under the layers of clothing.

"I thought you said you're completely fine," asked the girl, cocking her head just slightly, clearly unimpressed.