Something for this pain.

[Nixie]

When he chose to push the subject, she bristled with what felt like a personal challenge. Setting the flagon off to the side with a thump, her stare flicked to meet his. It was hard to miss his attempt at her pipe, however obscure his intentions were. She wouldn't wait for clarification; lifting the pipe to her mouth and taking a long drag. The bowl of mixed embers and dried leaves sprang to life in a brilliant cherry color. A moment later when she removed the pipe, the breath was held as she leaned forward in the withdraw of the man. Little to no distance created between the two. An arm resting on the bars edge, and fingers wrapped around the pipe, Nixie blew a dark cloud of pungent fragrance in his face. Caressing olive skin and threatening to choke him, it lingered a moment before drifting up to the ceiling and disappearing.

Once it had vanished, she retorted.
"Do I need to repeat myself? Let me try and be a bit more clear." Disturbing the pipes contents when she tapped one end of it on the counter. "If you can not appreciate the bouquet, you have no place enjoying it." Yeah.. it probably sounded like a bunch of hogwash to somebody inexperienced with the finer points of tobacco, or had no passion for smoking it. But coming from Nixie, it seemed to be such a serious topic, perhaps one a bit too serious for a tavern. If there was anything to take from her words, or the simple motion of leaning towards the cause of her previous discomfort, it might have been that the ale was taking effect. Pausing to retrieve the slowly disappearing liquid, she took another gulp then returned it to its place. "How am I to trust a face with no name? It seems a fools game." The ale had most definitely aided in relaxing her, and was slowly loosing her lips.

[Victor Lark]

He saw her compensate for his retreat with an angry, eager lean. He savored the peculiar reflex, stepping back into the space behind the bar to see how far she would follow him. Alas, she was not as inelegant as to crawl onto the counter in pursuit; anyway, her teasing exhale caught him before he could escape too far, burning in his nostrils nonetheless. He made to itch his face, if only to distract himself from the fumes, but found himself coughing despite. Eyes watering, he clutched the bar and waited the short moments for his lungs to stop their petty protests.

Then he returned to his old spot, inclining toward her as if drawn to that detestable scent and incorrigible frown. “Victor Lark,” he answered on a murmuring whisper, knowing full well that she was close enough to hear. “What’s yours?”

His own mug of tart wine sat forgotten an arm’s length away. Victor reached blindly for it, turning his groping hand twice again before he managed to find its handle. Though his face was mere inches from hers, he made just enough room between them to lift the awful drink between his teeth. The mug’s wooden base brushed against her nose, knocked onto the surface beneath them as he heaved a wet sigh of refreshment. And suddenly his other hand was on hers, wrapped around the pale fingers that thought to protect her precious pipe.

Victor moved it swiftly to the sticky patina, trapping her between the toy and his grasp. Dripping like honeyed steel, his reply was, “And what will you do, exactly, if I dare attempt to enjoy it again?”

[Nixie]

Watching him struggle and recover from the smoke, a quiet chuckle caught in her throat and the hint of a smile curved her lips. Somehow it was amusing. She watched, unmoving, as he returned to his perch across from her and encroached on the space between them. In his nearing, and the whisper of his name, the glint of something metallic caught her eye, something hanging around his neck. The mundane detail shoved to the back of her mind when Nixie noted the closeness and considered her reply. The question was inevitable, but that didn't keep her from hesitance. Most of it stemming from the choice of who she wanted him to know her as. After his mug had brushed her nose, either by accident or on purpose, she let a long breath escape through it before leaning back in her seat. Slouching, her arms kept their place on the bar.

After making up her mind, she was about to give a name, but it was lost when she noticed his hand moving to hers. The cordiality of a name for a name abandoned when she tried to escape his grip. She was too slow though, or he was too quick; caught in his hold, however soft or firm it might have been. Moving to break free, she froze when she felt the pipe pried from her fingers and taken away. Victors next question was a vexing one; he really wanted to push this again? A quiet growl sounding in her annoyance.
"If your so keen on trying to enjoy a good smoke, go buy your own pipe." The irritation far more distinct than previously. Then her eyes darted to the mug he had sipped from a moment ago, reaching and taking it for herself. "Or would you rather have this thrown in your face?" As far as retaliation went, she hoped her suggestion would be enough to convince him to quit his teasing. If it wasn't, she wasn't sure what her other option would be. Wishing to enjoy the relative peace and quiet a bit longer, she wasn't keen on the idea of threatening violence. Then another idea came to mind. "Look... I understand this is your tavern, so your welcome to do as you please. But if you keep playing this game, trying to get a rise out of me, then I suppose I'll take my leave. Find another, more hospitable, place to relax." Unaware that the rest of Alvadas taverns had their fair share of illusions inside. Something she wouldn't have found relaxing at all. After taking a drink from his mug, she set it down again. Her earlier threat proving empty, but only because another idea had snuck its way in. One that came under the influence of the taverns drink, and one she hoped would help him understand.

Leaning forward again, Nixie's gaze fell to the necklace he wore; something of a plan being hatched before her eyes went to his again. With a simple turn of her hand she held his wrist, a fair amount of strength in it. Followed swiftly by her free one reaching for Victors neck but stopping short when his necklace was in reach. Fingers closed around it and she stilled, her hold gentle around the potentially fragile chain. If he tried to free it, it could be done with little effort. Another long breath escaping.
"I have no idea if this hold any meaning to you, or if its important enough to provoke anger if it were taken, or if you bought it on a whim because you thought it looked nice." A pause to read his reaction, if there was any. "Likewise, you have no idea how meaningful this toy is to me. Leave it be." Would her words have any effect at all? Would he understand what she meant? There was no way of knowing, but she hoped he would.

[Victor Lark]

Victor leered at her, his brow gathered decisively in hesitation. It would have all been a waste if she became so exasperated that she left him here; in her wake would be the tedium of solitude and the nagging pang of failure. She seemed to prefer the role of the aggressor, and yet lacked the persistence required of a truly angry person. Though he was less fond of playing the complement than the foil, Victor managed to twist his expression into something like dread. After all, gods be damned if he would let the woman break his mother’s chain.

He raised his hands in submission, retreating from her stale fury like a frightened rat. “Don’t—” He gasped. His hand felt cool on the air, without hers inside it. “No need to be so defensive.

“My sister gave it to me,” he lied. “It’s... it’s all I have left of her.” He managed to make his voice crack, and so concealed the success in the maneuver behind a quivering chin. His eyes stared into hers, searching desperately for a reaction under the guise of a plea. Even a newfound sense of dominance would satisfy his thirst. Emitting a hasty laugh, he tugged gently away from her grasp. “Now, if you don’t mind...”

Whether or not she showed him what he sought, he forced himself to glance down at her pipe, this thing that somehow meant more to her than he could ever hope to know. Slowly, as his she had a knife to his neck instead of a fist, he lowered his hands to the table. “What’s your pipe’s story? I told you mine.”

[Nixie]

Had she actually frightened the man? If she could judge from the emotion his features displayed, it would seem so. And with he relinquished the pipe, her guess was even more convincing. It brought on a sense of relief and.. victory? It was an odd sensation; one that she was rarely able to indulge in. And while she may have wanted to revel in it for a moment longer, it disappeared; taken aback by Victors plea of what felt like desperation. Was that how she came across whenever her pipe was concerned? When he followed his plea with an explanation she listened intently, resting her chin in the palm that cradled it. It was short and to the point, but she could feel a strong emotion behind it. That was enough.

Then a question. Sometimes she hated questions. At first only responding with a grunt, as if to say she knew the question was coming. But before an answer would be given, she released his chain and sought any mug within reach. Taking several deep drinks before returning it to the bar, nearly emptied.
"Another." As if a drink was the cost of her story. And what would summon the courage to speak it.

Waiting for the drink, her gaze, and her hand, went to the pipe. She held it between loose fingers and gently tapped it on the bars surface. Disturbing the bowl and turning its contents a few shades brighter before setting it down again. The hand under her chin moved up and through wild locks before coming to rest on the back of her neck, her chin tucked in. Another hand of feckless fingers moved over the smooth wood, tracing patterns that didn't exist. Gaze fixated on the pipe, her brows furrowed in thought and uncertainty.
"Do you have many friends?" Perhaps an odd way to begin a story. "Any close friends?" Sitting back in her chair, her gaze went to her lap and both hands caressed the object that seemed to turn the corners of Nixie's lips into a subtle frown. Nixie bit down on unspoken words, clenching her jaw; perhaps debating whether or not she would continue the story. Then glancing at him from beneath her brows for but a moment before looking away again. "Most people have others in their life... Others that always seem to be there for them. Even if its just one." A long breath of resignation leaving her. "I had somebody like that..." A pause, and silence. "They're gone now." Her words came slow and quiet, shrinking to a whisper. "In everything I've had to face--" Cutting herself off in an attempt to keep herself from reliving an unsavory past. She cleared a growing knot from her throat before continuing. "This has been with me through everything.... The stories it could tell." Silence fell once more. "You could say that his is my dearest friend. The only one I've been able to rely on."

[Victor Lark]

There was a joke to be made out of that, a shield to be broken, an anger to be unearthed. There was potential in the admission, which he could only assume was not a lie, and yet something told him not to take it. For every encounter that had ended in blood and fury, hot red frowns and furrowed brows, he could not remember many that had shown him something like happiness. It was its clearest in Seven, his only close friend, the face to which his mind wandered when she mentioned it. And so was it possible in everyone else.

A second of hesitation passed over the waning cruelties on Victor’s face, and then it broke into a smile. The hand that had once held her with force retreated to his side of the bar. His brow tilted up for once, his mouth hanging softly. His eyes fell to the pipe, lingered there for many long moments, then tilted up to meet hers.

Then he seemed to realize the faux pas in the silence, turning to retrieve the bottle of wine. He refilled both mugs quickly and sloppily, and with the same grace shoved it to one side. As if there were some bravery to be summoned in order to ask the question, he wrapped his fingers around his mug and mumbled politely, “Who was it? You said you had them, like you don’t have them any more.”

He paused as he remembered a trick. He could almost hear his mother’s voice speak alongside his own when he spoke again, ice cold lies behind the warmth of loaded words. “Are you okay?”

[Nixie]

When no other words were shared, and some time passed in awkward glances, Nixie wandered what ran through his mind with his attention turned to the pipe again. The ideas that came caused her heart to dance in her chest from the anticipation of another discourtesy. Just from this first meeting she wouldn't have put it past him to make another move for her pipe; he seemed the type to be so bold. Even after having worked up the gall to share a bit of herself. But when instead he turned to fill their cups, she let out a quiet breath and her gaze moved to follow his motion. Some kind of tension broken with the pouring out of wine, in which she wasted no time enjoying. That calm was fleeting though, leaving as soon as he asked a question. It brought a face to mind, only remembered through the eyes of a girl younger than herself. And that image festered, turning lips down in the seconds that passed before another question took precedence over the first. A question that somehow felt strange to come from him, but she managed a halfhearted smile.
"Do you think I'm okay?" Pausing a moment before dismissing her own question, Nixie breathed through her pipe but this time took special care to keep the smoke from Victor.

She steeled her words, closed her eyes, and let her head fall back a ways.
"I had two, maybe three... But never all at the same time." Taking a moment, she thought about the short list of faces and names and began with the one that came easiest. "There was a short man." In Victors company names seemed unimportant and so left it to descriptions. "He left without so much as a goodbye and I still don't know what became of him... Hes probably dead somewhere. He had a tendency to get himself into more trouble than the could handle." Falling into silent thought, the second face came but instead of mentioning him, moved onto the third and most important. But first.. there was him. He had such a kind smile... And strong, gentle, hands to match it." Behind closed lids, images flashed and details grew in clarity from memories of a face she loved. They brought a genuine, if not sad, smile to her features. But as they became more lucid, her lips were pressed into a flat line before opening just a crack.

Eyes opening wide, it looked as if she had come to some revelations. Why hadn't I seen it before?
"You--" Moving to the edge of her seat, she was fast upon Victor and only stopped when there was but a small space left between them. Then reached a hand over to hover a moment at the side of his head before letting nervous fingers take a strand of hair between them. She was quick to release it, but only to move a few strands that fell in the way of his eyes. Her own, glossed over as she looked upon him. A sense of fear and amazement made her heart frantic and her breaths shallow. "You look just like him," she stammered in a whispered whimper.

[Victor Lark]

He should have expected her frown. Something in his gut had told him that his curiosity, his caring, would bring a smile to her face, but his gut was not right about much. Before he was rewarded for his efforts, he was forced to watch carefully as her expression instead fell from taught anger to something else, which his inexperienced eyes could only describe as sadness. He imitated her as well as he could, carving out the shadow of her sloped brow and limp jaw on his own face, excusing the peculiar motive for mere sympathy.

Strong hands, she had said. Victor was hardly a man of strength, but Nixie knew well enough that he could be forceful when he needed to be. Gentle, on the other hand... he reached out to her again, tentatively, as if to ask for permission, and then wrapped both of his small olive hands around the long and masculine fingers that gripped her lukewarm mug. He could be that man, whoever he was, at least for the length of her stay here. The gesture was as calculated as it was spontaneous, desperate to urge out the trust in her, the smiles.

“Do I?” He whispered at her sad intimacy, feeling his own breath bounce warmly between them. Satisfied with his version of her sadness, he flashed a teasing grin that recalled past cruelties with a frivolous edge. He raised his own hand to mirror hers, fussing pointlessly with her hair. “And who is that? Surely he is not the same man who gives you such grief. Was he, at least, any better than I am at smoking your pipe?”

The question was not entirely figurative.

[Nixie]

His voice was too sweet, and his actions too charming; just like in the memories she had of her brother. Such an uncanny resemblance left her disarmed to fall into a sense of safety without a fuss. She did try to fight it for a moment though, to keep herself distant, but staring into the eyes of who she might have claimed a ghost of her brother made it impossible. It was excruciating, the pain in her chest; a pain she had chosen to forget over the years away from Syliras and those she was supposed to call family. When he pushed for answers and further explanations, another wave of emotion stemming back to that dreadful season began to swell. But this time it ran its course in moments rather than years. First the grief of losing a loved on, then the confusion of why and how, followed by bitterness and regret over the story she refused to speak of. Her features would not display each feeling though, brows and lips frozen in one expression while the wave washed over her. Reminded of that tale, Nixie could not bring herself to keep meeting Victors gaze; tucking chin in and to the side, away from the hand that had mirrored her own.

At first she hesitated a moment before answering with a subtle shake of her head, jaw clenched beneath imperfect skin.
"He was just a boy. But his dream, that wonderfully cursed dream..." Her words trailed off, taking in a deep breath and letting it out before continuing. "He was so consumed by it that he rarely took the time for things normal boys his age enjoyed, let alone thought to smoke anything." Nixie had taken his words literally. "He was so persistent, my brother... Patient with me too." Carrying on, her courage built until she found the strength to meet his gaze again. Yes... Your remind me of him. But I'm not sure if you're persistent or just pushy." She didn't sound angry with him for pushing the matter, rather, it seemed answering such questions exhausted her.

[Victor Lark]

He chuckled softly, holding a flame against the stretched string of her misery, urging it to break into something smiling. They always seemed to go in the direction opposite to his efforts: when he tried to anger them, they laughed and when he tried to amuse them, they cried. Victor had come to observe not his own misgivings in the art of manipulation, but a pattern in the cycle of emotion which he rarely had the chance to complete. From what little she showed him of her, he could at least hope that the woman’s grief could turn again to some form of confidence, if not happiness.

Meeting her eyes, he tried to distract her from the differences she perceived by emphasizing the similarities. Persistence. He squeezed her hand as gently as he could, though the brief moment of it might have been less encouraging and more painful. Patience. He sighed through a careful smile, meeting her eyes with a forlorn quiet. The Dream. There was little he could do to impersonate that, but he could still tread lightly toward the idea of it.

Too lightly, perhaps.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked in a low voice, as if it were a secret to be hidden from this empty room. A knot of dread, that he would push her away by pursuing the subject, caught on his progress. He retreated painstakingly, grasping the honey without breaking the glass, and with a hopeful tenor proposed, “You can tell me.”