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Who: Kriv (and possibly his familiar) and OPEN

What: Assorted meetings and misadventures.

Where: The Valhalla Inn, bookstores, the bazaar, the streets, w/e.

When: Varies. :3

Notes: ed is a slowtagger. (_ )_

Warnings: Kriv can be a jerk and Erthesvent isn't much better, but at least she can't talk.

It isn't that he cannot restrain his poor temper; he would not have survived to adulthood if he couldn't, let alone the various adventures and misadventures that came along after. It is, simply put, that he does not like to do so, and often chooses not to do so, and that is something else entirely. It is this grudging self-control that keeps Kriv mostly on the side of behaving himself here, though he sees no reason why he should also smile and be cheerful or polite while he's at it. So when you find him, wherever you find him, there is no mistaking the red-scaled man for a happy citizen. He glares, he grumbles, he growls. He speaks sharply, though not crudely, and walks like one who has never really relaxed a day in his life and knows exactly where he is going thank you. He roars, once, at a would-be pickpocket who quickly reconsiders that particular course of action. Kriv does not slay the offender on the spot, and somewhere out there his companions had damn well better appreciate that one.

He doesn't have money to spare, currently, but that does not allow him to resist the siren song of bookstores when he passes those of the 'dusty and full to overflowing with history and dull old literature' persuasion. The usefulness of knowledge aside, one never knows when a lucky moment might reveal some text of a more arcane sort, unidentified and forgotten. Likewise the library at the inn, though those books are in his opinion far too easily available to be promising. Other errands are more immediately practical: he buys what few supplies he most needs and can currently afford, and makes extensive mental notes on those items he'll have to come back for later.

Erthesvent is with him always, of course, though at times she waits unseen within him, a little scrap of spirit and thought. Other times she perches upon his shoulder, rustles her wings and glares, or else takes to the air to bring him news of what she sees below. It is her keen eyes that spot that unfortunate pickpocket, and her wordless animal cry that her master understands perfectly.

They work well together and they will sort this mess out together. One way or another.

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Eddie is still staying at the Inn. It's nearing the end of his time, here, and but he's not terribly concerned. He's working out employment details with the nice fellow in the office, scoping out the neighborhoods and more permanent places to stay... it's all falling into place, and so is his beginning attempts at finding information about how this place works.

Magic is the big thing on his mind. He isn't sure how he feels about it being a factor. Sure, it has that golly gee wow factor going for it, but it also presents a huge and unpredictable element into any situation in which he might find himself operating. As an individual with no knowledge of magic, from a world in which there is no magic, he needs to know how much of a disadvantage he is at, and how to best address the extent of that disadvantage.

So, he's spending a lot of time reading, poking around the city, and satisfying any whim of curiosity as concerns whatever magical things and people he runs into. There's this dragon guy staying at the inn, huh? That's the most awesome thing!

The dragon guy is snarly, though. That's not so awesome. It means observation is probably a better policy than confrontation. Eddie has an excuse to be in inn, and a book to look through, anyway, so maybe it won't look so much like he's watching Kriv.

It is one of those situations in which Kriv's intense focus works to someone else's advantage, though of course he would never himself admit such a thing to be possible. But it certainly is: so caught up is he in burning metaphorical holes through the pages of his current historical text with the force of his gaze alone that the spying human goes unnoticed for a time.

The book is as frustrating as all the rest. Like the pamphlet left to new arrivals, far too much of everything positively reeks of forced smiles and someone else's agenda. In better circumstances the scent of hidden knowledge would draw him like a true dragon scenting gold - what warlock could ever resist some great secret he's forbidden to have? But here, now, after the indignity of being spirited away so easily, filled with the seething resentment of one who half views his companions as possessions that someone has dared to take from him...for now at least, the obfuscation only angers him.

It isn't really a surprise. After all, he'd expected from the start that any book shelved in the house of new arrivals would never be allowed to contain anything too useful. But his temper has little to do with sense.

"PURE DRIVEL!" Kriv snarls, quite suddenly, not caring who hears, and slams the book down on the table with just short of enough force to damage something. He's cranky, not stupid.

Eddie wasn't prepared for that, even if he was watching the guy. He jolts in his seat, but doesn't drop his book or lose his glasses, or anything comical like that. For the most part, he keeps his composure, and also keeps his expression neutral, instead of smirking.

He glances at the page number, then shuts his book and puts it aside. "Well... yes," he says. His tone is also neutral. He's been around enough loud, temperamental and potentially dangerous types to have a routine for it. He drums his fingers lightly on his book's cover, though, the only fidgeting he allows himself. "I'm really looking forward to a wider selection."

Kriv's head snaps up instantly - when did that human get there? The momentary surprise is covered up quickly, if perhaps not quickly enough, and his ears flatten back against his head as if to wordlessly accuse the strange man of sneaking around on purpose. Which is totally what just happened, shut up.

"Hrrmph," he says, and with his longer snout the sound comes out half a growling animal snort. "I begin to wonder if they have not simply burned any text that doesn't endlessly regurgitate this...this victor's history."

Eddie holds up a hand, palm out, and he lifts both eyebrows. No sneaking! See? He wasn't spying! Uh...

After the dragon-man growls, Eddie's fingers curl and he lowers his hand, affecting a sheepish sort of look. He eyes the table. "They haven't burned down the Spatters, at any rate," he says. "Whether that would be more or less difficult than taking out all the text they dislike, I couldn't say."

The dragonborn does not look so much convinced as appeased by the gesture, which is really the more useful result of the two. It is less important whether or not the man really was sneaking about than whether he backs down properly when confronted, after all, and that sheepish look will suffice. (Kriv's priorities have come back to bite him before and no doubt will again, but he is what he is.)

"The Spatt...ah, yes. That wreck of a place, isn't it. Let them burn that and leave us the texts!" and, teeth bared, his fist thumps the table again for emphasis. "Such disarray speaks poorly of the civilization that spawned it."

Appeased is a perfectly acceptable result of playing a little game of social theater. If the dragon-man continues to be receptive to Eddie acting that way, then he'll keep up the act. Great!

He shrugs, still avoiding eye contact, but not to an exaggerated degree. He's had practice. "Every city has its slums... however, it stands to reason that a city that has so much invested in keeping the pretty bow on top of a prison colony would have a doozy of a slum. I wonder what ill-favored texts they have there."

His ears are too expressive for his own good, immediately twitching forward in a wide tattooed frill. There is no biting back the sudden rush of hungry greed in him at the suggestion, no keeping it out of his eyes - for he is what he is, oh yes - though he makes a respectable attempt to keep his features unimpressed.

"A useful text in such a place? Surely you jest, man. Dwellers-in-refuse are as likely to use the pages for wiping their filth as read them."

And Eddie, for his part, can only do so much to mask his own disgust at the description. He does not care for such things, either. He wrinkles his nose, but then he smirks.

"Ahhh, likely. However, out of those who reject society, there are always the few who have at least some reason behind it." He waves a hand, dismissing the whole thought. Ugh, people are gross and stupid, yes.

"Of course, I'm suggesting this while going the opposite route, but if I find anything good, I could let you know." He is hopeful. If this guy is this passionate about digging up information, he would be an excellent person to be on good terms with. Eddie can certainly relate to that.

A reason to reject society...that, at least, is a notion he can readily understand. To a point. A prideful, arbitrarily-chosen point.

Kriv eyes the red-haired human thoughtfully, though the expression on his own face would perhaps look more at home on one of two dogs in the street sizing each other up for a fight. That pretty much is his thoughtful face, what can you do. "That you could."

A beat.

"And what would be in it for you?"

Eddie quirks a brow. It is a bit unsettling, trying to gauge the expressions of an intelligent being who is this inhuman. He lets his sheepish act down, to make eye contact, which is accompanied by a smirk. It's really not a good plan to continue acting meek when one is being judged.

"Well, shucks," he says. "There's always a chance you'd return the favor."

With the winnings from surviving the fog - she finds that a little funny and a little odd, but she's not turning down money and perhaps Sonja will take the job they've all been offered - Ilde does have a little self-indulgence money to spare, and she's made herself a list of things she wants more than needs to consider which of them she should start spending on. Books are near the top of that list, and on one of her more-or-less daily outings she finds her way into the same bookstore as Kriv.

Poetry is what first appeals to her, then sheet music, but she sifts through with delicate hands for whatever else she might find; she'll walk out of here with one thing, she decides, so she should decide carefully what she wants-

Hm. It's not Kriv's appearance that attracts her attention (although she finds it oddly soothing to see someone blatantly xenian, and she has the passing thought that like Hellboy, he's a very pretty colour), but his voice (a quality of it that she can discern with some attention, even without the option of turning the volume up on the CiD), and after a moment she says apropos of not much at all- "I remember you."

Edited 2011-05-24 04:24 (UTC)

An irritating number of shopowners in this city seem to take issue with bringing animals onto the premises, even those of the small and quiet (when commanded) and non-destructive (also when commanded) variety. Kriv does not permit that to curb his explorations too much, yet, but it never does wonders for his nerves to limit himself to only one set of eyes.

This particular shop's owner has not complained yet, whether from genuinely not caring or the simple decision that it probably isn't worth it. So Erthesvent is 'out' now, clutching at her master's shoulder and occasionally tugging at his ear to speak in quiet bird sounds. I like that one, take that one down or Behind you, third row, with the faded cover. Kriv speaks to her now and again, and it is this that Ilde hears.

The little falcon turns her head sharply at the stranger's approach, though it is not until the woman speaks that Kriv himself looks up from flipping restlessly through another set of pages. He glares out of habit alone, approaching every social interaction as he does with the assumption that it will prove to be some sort of challenge. "Do you, now?

It will take him a half-moment or so to recall her from voice alone, if she does not jar his memory first.

"Your voice," she says, tilting her head a little as she studies his mouth - she's used to lip-reading human faces, and so this is a little imperfect. She draws nearer, both to better study him and in the hopes that proximity will help her pick out the sounds, displaying an evident unconcern as she traipses just shy of actually invading his personal space. She isn't quite, that's good enough.

(Sometimes, Ilde focuses too sharply on one thing and not another. Her pragmatism is selective, at best.)

After a beat, she adds, "I didn't kidnap you," by way of context.

He does not step back when she approaches closer still, though his head draws back slightly and his ears flatten like a housecat unable to decide whether it has been startled or offended. Had she stayed in place or retreated he'd have known how to react; had she approached like the challenger he assumed most to be he'd have known the same. But this - as though the question of who ought to stare down the other simply does not occur to her at all - throws him.

Woman, are you addled? he does not say. There is something of magic flickering at his senses now, like a pale-winged moth seen out of the corner of one's eye in the evening. It would take too long a moment to study it properly.

"You were on that device," he does say. "I recall it now. You chose not to waste my time arguing your innocence. That was wise."

'Addled' may not be the kindest description, but likely it's an accurate one. (Besides that, Ilde is a predator, yes, but not much of a warrior; she can fight because she must.)

In the quiet of the bookstore, with less ambient noise to confuse the issue, she's just about managing with this now- she considers him as if she's taking her time to be sure she's understood, then, "I have my moments. May I ask you a question?"

He holds his ground in the face of her deliberation, proud and suspicious. One ear flicks slightly at the question when it comes; though she be strange, one does not claim an offense to honor from strangeness alone, and that settles the issue for the moment as much as anything might. "Do so, then."

After a moment, more quickly as though she's hastily getting her query out (uncertain as to whether or not it's rude, precisely, and wanting to know, fascinated and not disdainful), "What are you?"

It is a question he has never before heard in all his life. In the world he left behind his kind are not now as numerous as they were - only the tieflings have fared worse - but even the most sheltered human peasant had a grandmother who told stories, or a cousin who claims he'd seen a passing warrior as a boy.

There is a brief pang of something in his heart that he dislikes (the little falcon tightens her grip but says nothing); he crushes the feeling at once with pride so that he will not have to consider it further. "I am a dragonborn, son of the blood of Io."

"I'm a naiad." She doesn't tell him this because he seems interested - Kriv doesn't seem like he's interested in much of anything about anyone else, at first impression - but because in her mind it's only fair. He told her what she wanted to know, when she asked him a little awkwardly (she knows- there's not really any getting around that, sometimes), and it's fair to tell him that she isn't what she looks like right now.

Then, "Thank you."

He didn't have to answer, he could've just dismissed her in her ignorance.

He is not without curiosity, but when it comes to people that same curiosity must contend with defensiveness and of the two his defensiveness is greater. Still, it does suit his sensibilities that she has named herself in return - a small strange echo of proper ritualized introductions.

That she is fey would, too, explain a few things. Being able to frame a piece of this city's strangeness in familiar terms is almost a steadying thought, though he has no particular love or dislike for the so-called fair folk themselves. They have little to do with his kind.

"You owe me no thanks, fey one." Kriv does not relax (ever) but just the same he reluctantly finds himself a little less inclined to bare his teeth. There is little point, anyway. She seems oblivious. "Besides, I loathe 'xenian.'"

"It's only necessary if you consider humans the standard," Ilde murmurs, and even her oddly still manner doesn't quite cover the hint of irritation that acompanies that observation. Her feelings on that subject are complicated, but every now and again she can't quite help but indulge in the sentiment of well, fuck them, then. Under the circumstances (her circumstances), maybe she can't really be blamed for that.

She likes the word, but she's less fond of the idea behind it when she stops to give it thought.

Edited 2011-06-12 20:18 (UTC)

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