Closed [The Scholar's Demise] Drink with me, Stranger (Arcturus)

[Brandon Blackwing]

The 21st of Fall 513 AV ~ 20th bell Standing in front of the tavern, the bat suddenly wasn’t so sure if he’d enter or not. Not only had he never been to a bar before, his sensitive ears could hear a whole lot of noise coming through the door. Even without his insane hearing he’d have hear it. Way too loud. Maybe he shouldn’t go in after all. It seemed quite full, so he doubted there still was a free seat for him. On the other hand, he wouldn’t know if he didn’t go in. Also he was quite curious what a bar was like from the inside. The sight of the outside of a tavern however, he was way too familiar with. Staring at the light that shone from the windows, the bat could hear the sounds of people having fun. He looked up at the night sky, dominated by the very presence of the moon God Leth himself. The thief decided he could go see if there was a still unoccupied seat for him. He needed a change of environment anyway. The company of loneliness he didn’t usually mind, but the frustration of not being able to find any clues on the killer of the old man was annoying and not great for his mood. It would do him good, spending an evening around other people instead of in isolation. He took a hesitant step forward. Mustering up his courage, the bat mentally prepared himself for the shockwave of loudness attacking his ears. Opening the door with one hand, he stepped inside and was – as he had expected – hit by a wall of racket. The thief’s face twisted in horror as his hearing was being ravaged by the other patrons in the tavern. Next time I’ll go to a bar, I’ll take some earplugs with me. Brandon thought grimly. After a few ticks he got used to it though and walked trough the small corridor, into a spacious chamber. Pleasantly surprised by the twilight that veiled the room, the bat felt completely at ease. Tables and chairs were scattered across the chamber, numerous customers seated at them. As to be expected from Lhavit’s number one bar, it was filled with patrons. Some loud and jolly, others silent and grim. But every last one of them held a mug in their hands. Scanning the place for a seat, the thief let his dark orbs take in as much details as possible. The counter, the astonishing beauty managing it,… Then he found a place in a corner of the room he could sit at. Striding towards it, he dodged other tables and wildly swinging mugs filled with some sort of liquid. Finally he’d reached the table. Letting him plop in his seat, he sighed contently. Now, how did this work? Curiously eyeing a patron at the table next to his, he saw the man wave at the waitress. She gave him a quick nod and set off right away, heading towards him. The man gestured at his glass – Brandon could see it was empty – and spoke : “Gimme some more o’ that!” The waitress blinked in confusion. Clearly she had no idea what he meant with “o’ that”. “I’m sorry, but what did you have before? The man frowned, obviously trying to remember it himself. “Er…wha’ did I ‘ave befo’?” The woman gazed around the room, annoyed with the man’s crappy memory and looking for other patrons needing attention. “Full Moon!” he said confidently. “Of course, right away!” She grabbed his glass and swiftly darted towards another patron. Brandon was confused. The man wanted a full moon? There was no way the waitress could give him a full moon. Only Leth could. And Brandon doubted the Moon God was willing to give in to one or other guy’s requests. It dawned him when the waitress returned and placed a filled glass in front of the man. Ah…! It’s some sort of drink. Makes sense. He wondered what other drinks were served here, but didn’t want to ask anyone, afraid to make a fool out of himself. He gestured at the waitress, and she gave him a nod while attending another patron. Zigzagging through the field of tables, she strode his way. “Yes sir?”she voiced. She was most definitely the most beautiful and elegant woman he’d ever seen. It took him a few ticks to rearrange his thoughts. “Er…, yeah,…a Full Moon please.” “Sure. That will be one Kina.” The bat nodded and handed the woman the coin. Her fingers closed around it and she quickly paced on to another customer. “Here you go!” The voice made Brandon almost jump out of his seat. He glanced up to the woman in front of him and thanked her. She gave him a friendly smile. Then she left. The bat chuckled. I’m glad I came here. He took a sip of his drink. Not bad. Not bad at all. He nipped again. A smile formed on his lips as the liquor warmed his insides. This evening held the potential to become great.

[Arcturus]

Five days ago. Two bells after the Dawnrest ended. That was when he had stumbled on several Shinya gathered around a house. An investigation into the inhabitants of the house appeared to be in process, but otherwise everything else appeared to be normal. It was slightly worrying, but he was confident that his friend, one of the friends he had made in Lhavit over half a century ago, was fine.

He inquired after his friend, Arthur, but was rebuffed by the unsympathetic Shinya. Attempting to see what was happening inside, Arcturus made a sudden movement to the left, looking through the door. He was rewarded with a sight of spilled blood. And a nauseous feeling.

The Shinya had sighed then, and told him what they had found, before he requested Arcturus to leave the premises. The Ethaefal did so.

That was five days ago. He had spent most of his time buried in his work, before finally deciding that his actions were self-destructive and, had Spica still been there, would have given him a rather severe slap in the face. Instead, he would drink. But only once, for he would be dishonoring the memory of his friend. And Spica.

The Scholar's Demise was extremely loud and crowded, inappropriate for a sombre celebration of a friend's life, but at least it afforded Arcturus the anonymity he desired; he didn't want to meet any of his other friends - old friends, some of whom might not even be alive - that night.

Squeezing through the crowd, Arcturus located a conveniently-placed table - one at the corner of the room and far from the epicenter of the acoustic earthquake.

He pulled a chair from a nearby table, sitting down and nodding to the man with a goatee.

"My apologies for sitting here without asking you, but I could not find a better seat than this."

What was I here for? Oh, yes. Arthur. Arthur's dead. A libation then.

But not a libation dedicated to any God. He would dedicate it to Arthur, and what he could remember of the young lad.

"Miss? I'd like half a pitcher of stout. And pass me two mugs."

"Hold on a second, I'll get it right away. That'll be four Kina."

Once she had passed him the requested items, he handed her the coins, turning his attention to the pitcher. Raising it up, he poured a generous measure of beer into each mug before placing it down. He raised a mug with his left hand, leaving the other on the table, as he spoke in a mellifluous voice.

"To you, Arthur. Hopefully, they find who killed you soon. I do hope you're enjoying yourself, wherever you are. Maybe you've already come back as a babe, rosy-cheeked and wailing at the top of your voice. Quite a contrast. Back then, you were rather young. Black hair and all that. Now? Your body's turning cold. Your hair's turned white, and you don't own anything now. The Shinya told me you were robbed. Well, the stout won't be here forever if I don't drink. So here's to you, friend."

He drained his mug, slamming it down on the table, allowing him a few moments to enjoy the thick liquor and its full-bodied nature before beginning to pour himself another measure.

[Brandon Blackwing]

A man came his way, squeezing himself through the rowdy masses present in the bar. He couldn’t get a good view on him at first, but as he pulled a chair to his table, the bat was in for a surprise. He looked stunningly handsome. Although he couldn’t really make out the true color of the stranger’s hair, he guessed it was gold. Not like golden blonde or brown or whatever, but gold, like the metal. Horns poked out his temples. Silvery eyes scanned his face hastily and his lips apologised for sitting here with him. The bat gestured that he didn’t mind. He’d a need of company anyway, though he’d liked it to be human company. Not Ethaefal. These creatures made him quite uncomfortable with their beautiful appearance. He’d always considered himself quite handsome, but not too handsome. But they made him look like an ugly creature. He didn’t like that. Nevertheless, he’d always wanted to talk with them. The thief didn’t know anything about this breathtaking race. Except their name. And that they had some sort of divine fairness. But that was it. Curiously, he eyed the man order half a pitcher of stout. He raised an eyebrow. Did the man have something he’d rather forget? Or something to celebrate? If it was the latter, the bat was sure he’d brought company with him. So he had something to drown in stout. The thief shook his head. It never worked. He’d had to deal with drunk people before. Most of them had tried to forget by drinking. It didn’t usually work. The only thing they couldn’t remember anymore was the time when they had started drinking. It was a piece of cake to rob them. They didn’t even remember. They always thought they’d spent their whole pouch on drinks. He grinned. Those were times! Unfortunately, those careless days were over. He had to take revenge. But in order to do so, he had to track someone down. The problem was that he’d no idea who he was trying to locate and he didn’t know where to start either. He’d searched for leads around the old man’s home, but had been unsuccessful. He sighed. Suddenly, his mood had become a bit more grim than he’d liked. He had to cheer up. He was here to improve his mood, not to make it worse! Maybe if he could start a conversation with the stranger here he would become as jolly as the customers around him. A few more glasses of alcohol might help as well. He nodded internally. He could start with the stranger. He seemed interesting enough. The bat nipped from his Full Moon. Suddenly, the man started to give a speech and raised his mug. A toast? I’ll participate. He raised his glass as well, making the lime wedge fall off the edge of his glass and on the table with a small plop. As soon as he realised what the man was ranting about, he wished he hadn’t raised his glass and had feigned ignorance. Maybe he wouldn’t have heard this man's words then. It made him sad when the man spoke of an old friend of his. Apparently he’d been killed and the suspect hadn’t been found yet. Also the friend he was talking about seemed to be rather old and was robbed as well. Why did that sound so familiar? Images popped up in his head. A puddle of crimson liquid. An old, wrinkly face turned sideways. The left cheek painted red with his own blood. Gray hair, a bold spot on the back of his head. Eyes fixed on the bed, unable to see. The spark of life had disappeared. Nothing but a lifeless shell remained. His soul had left this world. The bat hoped Dira had guided him well. He also hoped the man would have a better ending in his next life. “To you!” he agreed. Taking a sip of his tasty drink, the thief saw the Etheafal draining his mug in the corner of his eye. Carefully placing his glass down, he watched as the man slammed it onto the table, and started pouring down another measure. He coughed to catch the man’s attention and gestured at the streaming liquid. “Take it easy friend, the night is still young. You have all night to drink as much as you want, but that doesn’t mean you’re allowed to pour half a pitcher of stout down your throat at once.” Staring through the liquid at the bottom of his glass, he continued: “If your planning to drown your sorrow in liquor, I can tell you it won’t work. You won’t forget anything. Except this evening maybe.” He grinned. “But it may help if you told your story to someone willing to listen.” Obviously, he was willing to listen. The Ethaefal had made him curious. Not only had an old friend of the man sitting at his table died, he was also murdered and robbed. He’d experienced a similar incident, except for the fact that the old man wasn’t a friend of his. “Besides, if you tell me your story, you might feel a little better.” Maybe he should give the man another push. Something to make him tell what was on his liver. A deal of sorts. A trade. There was no guarantee it would work, but he could give it a try. After all, it might help him with his quest for revenge. “So, if you’d decide to tell me your story then I’ll tell you mine.” He gave the man a weak smile. “According to your toast just now, I’ve been able to make a few connections to your story and mine. Peculiar, don’t you agree?”

[Arcturus]

Arcturus paused to make a reply to Brandon's statement about drinking too much.

"I can hold my liquor better than what you think I can handle. I think. Still, my friend could down a pitcher and still remain perfectly sober back when he was a young lad of... say, thirty? Twenty five? I can't do that, so I'll settle for half."

He continued pouring the stout into the mug until the froth started to overflow and slide down the sides of the mug onto the table.

"No, I'm not one for doing something as insipid as that. If I wanted to forget something, I wouldn't do something as uncouth as that."

Midway through his second mug of fine stout, Arcturus paused as Brandon offered to listen to him speak. He slowly lowered the half-empty mug down, contemplating the Kelvic's offer.

"May as well do that. Best to let the stout settle in my belly afore it makes me regurgitate all of it out. Yes, quite peculiar."

The Ethaefal leaned back on his chair, eyes directed slightly upwards as he recalled the events that had led to him here. He wasn't suspicious at all - the connections were too tenuous, and he wasn't quite thinking as clearly as he was normally.

"Let me tell you a little bit about Arthur. I met him sometime in... Let's see... around 440 AV? He was about twelve years old then. Son of one of my other friends. Spica had a soft spot for him - always had a snack in hand for him whenever he came by with his parents. He wasn't the most well-behaved brat back then, but he was alright. Time passed. The last I saw of him, he was ten or twenty years older. Certainly more well-behaved - he was working at the Catholicon then.

So I left Lhavit after an... incident. I came back more than half a century later, wiser and perhaps a tad more experienced in the ways of the world. I visited his house after spending slightly more than a dozen days in Lhavit attempting to get my bearings. It was just as I remembered it: a nice dome, though weather-stained. A few statues here and there of Okomo. There was even a nice nameplate on the door. It was there I met a Shinya, who told me what happened to my friend after I managed to see some bloodstains. He was dead, and there were signs that he was murdered. Oh yes, he was robbed too.

I spent some time in my work. And I decided to come here tonight to honour his memory."

[Brandon Blackwing]

The bat grinned in triumph when the man agreed on sharing his tale with him. Of course it was not thanks to his manipulation abilities but because of the man’s sadness and comfort he offered him that he was willing to tell him the story of his life. Although that was not quite what the bat wanted to hear. He cared not however, as long as he’d tell how he knew of the murder and if the thief could determine whether this Arthur was the same person as the old man who was murdered, then he was content. Fortunately for him the man didn’t seem to notice his eagerness and unusual interest for a random stranger’s story. As the man started to speak, the bat took another nip of his drink. He looked down in his glass when he put it down. There was still enough left for one or maybe two sips. That would have to do for tonight. He didn’t want to pay for more. He didn’t have money to waste. Every kina counted. No more drinks tonight. Unless someone else was buying of course. The Etheafal told about this guy – Arthur – who he’d known all his life. First as a human child of twelve years old. And about a certain Spica. He‘d never heard of anyone named Spica. Not that it was relevant. This whole first half of the story wasn’t. The thief waited patiently. The man needed some time to get to the point. The bat didn’t mind. He liked stories. When the man did came to the point though, the bat leaned slightly forward, elbows resting on the table, his left hand supporting his chin, his other placed on his left biceps. His brow was furrowed and his eyes focused, as were his ears. He was not planning on letting any useful information slip through. “It was there I met a Shinya, who told me what happened to my friend after I managed to see some bloodstains. He was dead, and there were signs that he was murdered. Oh yes, he was robbed too.” As expected this was indeed the old man he was talking about. The one Bran had discovered. Well, not that there were much other old murdered men laying around in Lhavit. Hopefully. Wait did he say that he’d seen bloodstains from outside the doorway? Well he supposed it was possible. There was a lot of blood on his soles, so it wouldn’t surprise the thief if he was responsible for creating extra of blood around the house. “Ah, I see.” Wait, wasn’t there something he should say? Something humans usually said if they heard an acquaintance of some person died. What was it again? Oh yeah, he remembered. “I’m sorry for your loss.” Okay that had been taken care off. Now for his story, the thief wondered what he could tell without making himself look too suspicious. It goes without saying he’d leave out his occupation. Which was the actual reason he came there in the first place. He had to make something up. But what? Maybe he could pretend the old man – Arthur - asked him to come over? That would mean he knew the man…which he didn’t. Wait! Didn’t this Etheafal say that the man worked at the Catholicon? He could say he met the man there recently. What for? Ah, his headaches. Yes, great, this might just work. So he’d met Arthur in the Catholicon, then what? He’d been reading there…and had a conversation with the man about books. Then the man had asked him if he’d like to borrow some of his. He could come over the sixteenth during dawnrest. The door would be unlocked and he could take the books Arthur teed for him. Alright. That’s it. But that he would only mention if the stranger asked. “Well, my story goes like this: The sixteenth of Fall I visited an old man, during dawnrest. I came to pick up some books he’d laid ready for me. The door was unlocked, so I entered. The books were on the table. I grabbed them and proceeded to go outside, but I wanted to check on him. I had a bad feeling in my gut. I went upstairs and found him laying there, lifelessly in a puddle of blood, murdered. I panicked and ran. When I calmed down, I reported it to the Shinya.” The bat hoped the Etheafal would buy his story. And not start asking hard questions. he took a last nip of his Full Moon. He smiled as the alcoholic liquid warmed his insides. It was a pleasant feeling. “Well, that’s my story.” he said and stroked his goatee. He leaned back in his seat, seemingly lost in thought. However, he was carefully registering every action the man made. His facial expression. He had no idea if the man believed his story or not. If not, then it was better to pay attention and not letting the man get him by surprise. Although he doubted that the Etheafal would start a fight here, it couldn’t hurt to be on guard.

[Arcturus]

"That sounds awfully similar to my story. Could the old man in your story be Arthur?"

Arcturus continued to drink the stout, albeit in a slower manner suited for enjoying its taste. He licked his lips to clear them of the foam, placing the mug down and pouring a smaller amount of beer into it. He was beginning to have some suspicions, even in his slightly inebriated state.

Sounds quite believable. Quite a simple story, to be honest. Could be true. Or could it be that this man murdered Arthur? After all, how many dead old men could there be in Lhavit under the same conditions? Ask more questions.

Arcturus smiled disarmingly - it wasn't hard to do it, especially considering the excellent quality of the stout he had been drinking.

"Maybe we should compare notes? I admit I'm a bit curious about your story."

[Brandon Blackwing]

The man remarked that his story sounded indeed similar to the one the bat had just told. The thief gave the Etheafal a grim grin. “Told you so, didn’t I?” He shrugged at the question if the man in his story was the same as this Arthur the stranger was talking about. He was indeed the same man, but the bat pretended like he didn’t know. It was safer this way. Less dangerous. He didn’t know the man’s name, so he couldn’t be certain, could he? “It is possible. I don’t know his name, he never told me, or maybe he did, but I forgot. I don’t know. Maybe.” A vague answer. He liked it. It held some mystery. He should remember to answer with that kind of answers next time someone had a job interview with him. The Etheafal in front of him had started pouring some stout into his mug again. The bat lifted an eyebrow, wondering if he’d drain the mug form it’s liquid in a few ticks like he did earlier. No, he didn’t. The bat was pleased to see that someone had actually taken his advice. Or maybe he hadn’t, but the thief didn’t care. As long as the man would stay sober enough to answer his questions and give his some valuable information, he was content. He played with his empty glass for a bit, shoving it from one hand to the other, letting it slide short distances on the wooden surface of the table. The Etheafal seemed to be enjoying his drink. He was licking his lips and started pouring down some more stout. Brandon now started making the glass spin on the edges of the bottom. It tolled slowly at first, but gained more speed as the ticks passed, to stop with a fast paced rhythm of whirl sounds. The placed the glass between his glass to do it again. He somehow liked the sound and the view of the spinning object. While watching his newfound plaything, he noticed the man was smiling at him. The bat frowned slightly. What kind of smile was it? A genuine one? A fake but polite one? An ‘I see right through you’ smile? He didn’t know. He couldn’t read peoples thoughts. Their expressions gave away a lot of information itself, so he didn’t need to. But expressions could be deceiving. They could be faked. The thief wasn’t able to tell a fake or a real one apart. Especially smiles. Whenever someone smiled at him, he was on his guard. You never knew what was hidden underneath a smile. "Maybe we should compare notes? I admit I'm a bit curious about your story." The bat decided the smile had been a fake one. The man was starting to ask nasty questions. Although he hadn’t really understood what the man had asked, the way it followed up on the smile made the thief wary. His expression became more serious. He looked down at the spinning glass. The curbs it made were becoming more and more wobbly. Seeing it could tilt and fall any moment he placed a hand near the object. “How do you mean, ‘comparing notes’? I didn’t take notes. And I didn’t bring them either.” He said neutrally. His hand shot out and his fingers curled around the glass, catching it in mid-fall. “Could you be a little more precise, sir? I truly don’t have a clue what you are talking about.” There was truth in his words. He shot the man a questioning gaze. One eyebrow was lifted, accentuating his curiosity. He scratched the back of his neck and rubbed his head with his left hand. The hairs on the back of his scalp swayed a bit to and fro even after his hand had left them alone. He arched his back and yawned. He was getting tired already? Slightly shaking his head in denial he shifted in his seat. His mouth gaped in a yawn again. Darn, he was tired. Staring at his divine looking companion, he decided to go to sleep as soon as he’d been given the information he wanted to have. Depending on his companion’s inquiries it could take long or not. The bat pondered on the idea of having been found out. He wondered how the Etheafal would react if he came to the conclusion his story was made up. Would he be angry? Probably. He’d also be wanting to know the truth. Would he tell the man? What really happened? Maybe. It depended on the reaction of his companion.

[Arcturus]

Hmm. Now that was telling. Arcturus' smile faded. He decided that the use of Auristics was justified. Not that the man opposite him would know - unless he himself used magic.

The aura of Brandon spoke to him slowly, as always. It would take time for him to register any information about the man opposite him, but hopefully this duration would improve.

The first few bits of information were about his physical state. The man had experience in fighting, judging by the developed muscles. He was frowning, indicative of something disturbing him. Perhaps it was his smile. His facial expressions were more tensed or humorless. Then again, if it really was his smile, he had succeeded.

He deactivated his Auristics. He knew that he wouldn't be any match for this person in a fight - if it came to it, even though he detested physical activity. Perhaps more diplomatic methods could be used.

"Arthur was always a cautious one. Protective of everything he owned. I could hardly get him to lend me something of his. Maybe he's gotten senile in his old age. But I doubt it. And you... You can't even remember his name."

All pretense of civility or politeness was now lost. The rage that had fueled Arcturus' actions in the distant past was slowly building up again, though on the outside he showed none of that. He continued to stare at the man, forgetting about his drink. Next to him was a man possibly responsible for the murder of a friend of his. If the man didn't account for his actions, or provide a sufficient reason why the two individuals they were talking about were not one and the same, Arcturus would not like it.

[Brandon Blackwing]

The Etheafal kept his mouth shut for a while. Seeming to concentrate on something. It occurred to the thief that the man might be focussing on him. That was not good. The frowns in his forehead grew deeper, making it look like a carving with relievo. The blue flame dancing on top of the candle in the middle of their table added creepy shadows at the image. Was this guy reading him? He’d heard of people who were extremely good at gauging another person’s emotions, but this didn’t seemed to be the case. His focus didn’t lay on his face, but elsewhere. Where, he didn’t know, but he did know that things weren’t going as planned. He fought the urge to uncover his teeth. Then, the Ethaefal started asking strange questions. Going on about how this Arthur guy was very cautious, Brandon could feel cold sweat forming on his chest. Itching spikes stabbed him under his armholes, in his ribs, his belly and neck. This was not good. Fear bubbled up in his mind, heating up his body temperature. He could feel the sweat rolling out of their pores. He shivered unnoticeably. The icy intonation the statements were spoken with told the thief everything he had to know. The cold stare the Eth gave him did too. Brandon could see icicles forming at the trajectory of the man’s gaze. In his mind of course. He swallowed. Not good. He broke the eye-contact, looking down at his empty glass. He wished the was still some Full Moon in it. He could’ve taken another sip to calm down. He sighed. “I don’t remember his name because I’ve never been good at names. I know his face, not his name.” Good, that was something. Hopefully it was believable. And if it wasn’t then, well, he’d have to improvise. He snorted internally. I’ve been improvising since that petching bastard came here! Yshul help me. Now, for the next part. The Eth claimed old man Arthur didn’t want to lend him his stuff because he was protective of his own goods. Wasn’t everyone? “Have you ever considered the thought he didn’t like you? Or trusted you? Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to lend you anything.” He shrugged. Although a snide remark, it was possible. And would explain why this Arthur would allow the thief to borrow books from him–in his story anyway, but not the Ethaefal. Proud with his wit, the bat let a smirk form on his lips. Do you have a reply on that? Huh? His grin had reappeared on his features. He’d win. He knew it. There was no other possible outcome. But he wanted to add another devastating comment, crushing his opponent’s retorts and safeguard his victory. His smile still wide, his eyes narrowed, and his mouth opened. “Besides, how long did you say you’ve been away? Fifty years? How old was Arthur when you left? Thirty? People change with age you know. It’s not as if their character is set in stone. They can change. Gradually, but they will. And since you haven’t seen him in half a century, you wouldn’t know if he had, would you?” Noticing he was leaning on the table, arms stretched and supporting his weight, he let himself lower onto his seat again. He wondered if his speech had made the other person upset. Or had infuriated him. He was quite curious actually. Gazing at the Eth’s face, he tried to gauge his emotions. He failed however, simply because the waitress was serving the patrons at the table in front of them. When she’d darted off again, he crossed his arms over his chest. His face was smug, one eyebrow held higher then the other.

[Arcturus]

OOC Note :

Sorry for not posting! Oh, and I do suppose you've obtained Elysium's permission for this plot?

Excellent. It's working. Although there are flaws to my argument, they are rather obvious to any half-witted mind. I really do hate making such assumptions though. It may very become a habit, and it'll be annoying.

As he finished his questions, he activated his Auristics again, focusing on how the Kelvic reacted to his accusations. He noted with his own eyes the body language Brandon was displaying - small signs of nervousness. That alone proved that Brandon was somehow involved, no matter how he replied, no matter how perfect his counter argument was. There was the possibility of him being totally innocent, but what person innocent of a crime would act like such in response to accusations?

Brandon's aura flickered intermittently as he continued questioning. It was a tasteful-looking aura to Arcturus' eyes - a bright shade of grey (or as bright and cheerful as grey could be) in the shape of a distorted ellipsoid. There was a slight tremble that passed through the entire aura, although Arcturus didn't know how to interpret that. There was, however, information on how Brandon's midsection was starting to feel wet. He assumed it was sweat, since it tasted salty. No emotions were present as far as Arcturus could tell, but that was probably because he wasn't focusing long enough. As the Kelvic continued to counter all of his arguments, one emotion made itself present in spikes of citrine. It was strong enough that Arcturus could see it without his Auristics - the smug smile on his face, the tone with which he made his last point.

It isn't as if Arthur was a rather close friend of mine. I am obliged to follow any leads to the cause of his death when I come across them. Moreover, this appears to be a puzzle of some sort. And I shall try to complete it as best as I can.

Arcturus' smile grew as Brandon demolished his argument, and he deactivated his Auristics again, deciding not to use it as there was already a headache forming. Taking a moment to arrange his thoughts, he spoke in a neutral tone.

"Points conceded. Yes, he might not have trusted me fully. Yes, people do change. Arthur is not excluded from that. Excellent argument. The fact that you managed to think of all that after drinking that cocktail and hence being slightly - a little - influenced by alcohol is impressive. At least you're thinking clearly. Have some of the ale, if you like. A victory drink."

"Now."

He raised a finger.

"You were acting nervous when I questioned you. Normally, someone innocent wouldn't do such a thing. Guilty people are far more likely to do something like that, unless you are a follower of Gnora, or that you have excellent control over your body. But what if an innocent were to act as such when being accused of a crime? Your reactions are too severe. Your sweat is starting to stain your clothes. You aren't looking too well. Your cheeks are a tad red... Although that could be just because of the liquor.

And the conclusion? You are involved in this incident in some way. But I can't very tell the Shinya about all this, since I do not have sufficient and concrete evidence. My testimony may be suspect. So tell me. What do you plan to do about this matter?"