the soul secured in her existence, smiles.

[amourpropre]

Who: Lucius Malfoy (Sr) and "Vanessza Bernat"
What: It starts with a dragon.
Where: Badside.
When: Misdi sundown.
Warnings: Character death... sort of.

If a woman falls to her death in Badside, when no one is around to see it, does she make a sound?

Probably, but Lucius Malfoy is not street-level when it occurs and wouldn't be able to tell you. He is in some sort of partially incorporeal state of flight, hearing more the pained screeches of the dragon bellowing across the sky in the wake of-- something. Indefinable injury that involves pieces of the beast falling in slower spirals than the rock-drop of the brunette, sword-wielding woman plummeting for the ground. Recognition is quicker, unfortunately, than the ability to act, and by the time he is disapparating completely out of the sky to short cut his own flight path, Vanessza Bernát has dashed herself upon the pavement.

He lets the dragon go. It may well die of its own injury, although dragons are made of sterner stuff than most. The street is not entirely devoid of life, although most are ducking and hiding in their own apartments, brickwalls and high windows and disrepair defining this corner of Baedal. Lucius isn't really observing his surroundings, anyway, when he lands on the street and steps out of the unfurling mass of transformative smoke that seems to meld back into his silhouette, the turn of his coat. The wand is out, silver handle gripped tighter than dueling instructors typically recommend.

Expression openly shocked as if he is not really believing what he just saw, for all the the death of some random Muggle woman would hardly have blinked on his radar some precious few years ago, he approaches, the clip of his pace even but not entirely unhurried.

Comments

[asklepios]

By many standards in Baedal, Benevenuta would be considered xenian. It's not something that she's come to think of herself as; she thinks of herself as something both separate from humanity and deeply, meaningfully connected to it. She has always known the divide between mortal and immortal and rarely thought of it in terms of species. She thinks of it in terms of purpose, of responsibility, of guardianship even--

She loves humanity, she rises to her obligation to it, but she is not beholden to the individual. The individual, in fact, is where she's always had trouble. Relating to them on their own terms is something she's tried to do and something that has eluded her for centuries; their experience and expectations are too unlike her own. She's never known the urgency of a life with an endgame in sight.

That's what it means. Her proud distance, here, the glimpses of just how arrogantly willful she truly is down at bone - this is what it means.

But she says: “It means that I am older than I appear,” in the tone of someone who thinks he should be grateful for conceding even that much. “And that I know what I'm doing. And that I would be very grateful if you would get the crystal power-source down from the cupboard above me here for my blender.”

Well, since he's standing right there, being taller than she is.

[amourpropre]

The sharper glance past his shoulder that she gets is probably indicative of Lucius catching concession, focused first on the act of information giving in a small, petty moment of satisfaction, before processing the content itself, which-- oh. He had meant it, when he'd sneered about how easy it seemed to be for her, to lie on automatic. 'Old hat'.

He blinks at this last thing, jaw setting. Gratitude, however much she thinks he should have, is not written into his expression, and he is making sure it doesn't. But he does shut up, which might be better, and he does move to the cupboard, which is just a bonus.

Taking the crystal off the shelf, it's held out for her to take.

[asklepios]

Benevenuta attaches the blender's charged crystals to settle in - it's always best to plug them and give it a bit of a warm up, she finds, or it chokes like an unprepared public speaker - and lets that silence settle in between them, slink into each space and crevice as she sets her attention on...dinner, probably, she's not clear on what time it is right now. Eventually the only sound is the broth boiling, and she lowers the temperature, lets it simmer, not unlike what Lucius is doing right now.

She rests a hand against the counter and permits herself to look tired.

[amourpropre]

Maybe that's an act too. Maybe she doesn't get tired. Lucius allows himself this small, petty, suspicious observation before he dismisses it. In a past life, he used to be rather good at negotiation, knowing when to apply pressure and when to leave it for another day, assuming that that's a luxury either of them will afford the other. Presumably, Vanessza has quite a few to spare, at least.

"Perhaps I ought leave you to your thoughts," he says, partially over a shoulder as he wanders away a little to concede some space. His tone, for once, is not overly transparent, and doesn't signify code for his own desire to leave... but assuming that this meeting is fit to continue much longer seems assumptive.