multiversallogs | (no subject)

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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)