by Velindor Calendula on August 3rd, 2017, 9:12 pm
“I’ll toast to anything but a quiet night. Quiet’s bad for business,” the bartender spoke as she slid the glass of deep red wine towards Velindor. His golden eyes transfixed by the movement, an amazed grin parted his lips as he witnessed the crimson wine darken to a deep black, speckled with tiny specks of light, as though the night sky had poured itself into his glass. This city is truly marvellous, he thought to himself as he held the glass aloft. His semi-trance was broken when the bartender gave her name. “Ambrosia,” Velindor spoke it aloud, as if savoring each syllable, “a wonderful name, it suits you.” He gave a slight inclination of his head coupled with a coy smile, only partially masked by taking a sip of his wine. He normally shunned alcohol, but he’d had a trying week thus far, and the summer’s heat was not doing his herbalism trade any favors. And that was not even mentioning the ordeal he’d been through the night prior! So tonight, Velindor would drink, and if he could enjoy the company of others as he drank, then that was all the better in his eyes. “Pleasant company,” he smiled, “indeed.”
As Ambrosia addressed the blonde woman, she inadvertently provided Velindor with the other patron’s name. Madeira, Velindor played the name through his head. It seemed familiar, though he couldn’t quite place why. He’d only been in Alvadas since the previous season, and while he had heard rumors of hauntings and a family of spiritists, Velindor had never witnessed such an event firsthand. As Ambrosia indicated a confused looking young man at the back of the bar, she mentioned that the spiritist had ‘brought her work with her.’ Confused, Velindor took a closer look. The man did seem fainter, less there than Velindor supposed, but he was hardly an expert in ghosts. Ambrosia, it seemed, was far more comfortable, as she welcomed Velindor to the Rear before heading off to address the ghostly patron, leaving him alone at the bar with Madeira.
Madeira, for her part, apparently had a closer relationship with this particular ghost, as she offered his name and a warning to Ambrosia as the bartender tended to her duty. Velindor crinkled his brow in confusion. “If you don’t mind my asking,” he began, “how exactly does a ghost bite? Or do much of anything beyond float around?” The very idea was perplexing to him, though he tried not to let it bother him too much. Still, the thought that spirits of the dead could harm the living? Well, it’s no less disturbing, I suppose, than a person that can use magic to influence thoughts and feelings, he thought to himself with a silent chuckle. Once Madeira had offered her advice, she turned to face Velindor fully.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” She asked, and Velindor couldn’t help but chuckle aloud this time. While Velindor actually had a human mother, he bore very little resemblance to his maternal race, like most “pure” Symenestra. After his travels with his cousin to several of the major cities of the world, he’d nearly grown accustomed to the distrusting stares and anxious mutterings. But a candid question such as Madeira’s, that was something novel to Velindor. “No, I am not,” he said in his practiced, polite tone of Common. “My accent, you say?” his grin widened just enough to show his fangs, “I shall have to work on that, then.” Of course, there was clearly much to set him apart than just the way his mouth formed Common, but Velindor found the omission of these obvious differences in favor of his accent as humorous, so he would play along.
As Madeira continued to speak, it became clear that she was incredulous about his story of being herded to the Stallion’s Rear. And Velindor had to admit, as she indicated the now essentially-empty tavern, that perhaps she was right. Before he could respond, the spiritist had stood, announcing her intention to get a breath of fresh air. Velindor gave a tight smile to mask a long, but controlled exhale through his nose. Human women tended to have one of two reactions to his kind, and this was hardly the first time he’d been left sitting at a bar by himself. As Madeira exited the tavern, however, something very peculiar occurred. If walking right back in, through the back door near where the ghostly patron and Ambrosia now stood. When she tried the same process again in reverse, Velindor simply chuckled and took another long sip from his star speckled wine as she took the moment to curse the god of Illusion.
“Well, Madeira,” he called from the bar, “it would appear that there are more people here in my situation. Or, perhaps, our situation.” A look of friendly compassion overtook his delicate facial features as Velindor set the wine glass on the bar and gathered his lanky frame up to stand. Walking casually over to Madeira, he moved to touch her upper arm and guide her back to the bar. “Come,” he said, “let’s have a drink, you can regale us of your adventures with ghosts while we wait for the city’s mood to change. Hm?”
Retrieving his wine, Velindor took another sip. “At any rate,” he continued, “I doubt cursing Ionu will very much incline him to let us leave, wouldn’t you agree?” While he remained calm on the exterior, inwardly Velindor was trying not to let the gnawing anxiety in the back of his brain get the better of him. There were worse places than the Stallion’s Rear, to be sure, but to be trapped anywhere in a city like Alvadas? It was an unsettling prospect.
Threads: 0/3
Solos: 1/2
