Skarnir cocked an eyebrow curiously as he watch Eryl's range of expressed and subdued emotions. The initial statement was easy enough to read, and helped frame the rest of what she went on to say. It was interesting, and he filed it away mentally as potentially important. Quietly, he wondered exactly what to say and how to phrase it, but then again he had never been one for subterfuge and subtlety.
"To guard the school and its students," Skarnir said simply enough, "And to slaughter anyone who would do harm to either. Specific note had been made for a man he has had dealings with in the past. A vicious mage, by the sounds of him. So who better to keep close than an accomplished mage slayer. Personally I would have preferred to have been hired to hunt the man; maybe form an adventuring party, and the like. I'm more fond of being proactive, rather than being used as deterrence. Make no mistake though, Flynn didn't ask me as a friend. It is purely business."
[Nishinoya's] Skål
Re: [Nishinoya's] Skål
"Ah hah, I think I know of this man you speak of, in fact, I have--" Eryl blinked, taken by a drunken fever and frustration. "I've fought against his presence, too, and he's never thought to ask me? I-... he-... I even repelled him on the grounds.
Had they not been burdened by a fine drink, Eryl would have shaken her hands disastrously. Instead she just stared balefully at her ice cube, trying to think of where she went wrong for the druid, besides the attempted murder. It had been so long ago! There had to be a point where Ruarc would have to acknowledge her ability.
At any rate, she found she was being a poor drinking companion, again.
"I am curious, actually," asked Eryl, calming down again with another sip of her drink, "What brought you to Safeholme, a resume? Do you have a website? Is it this WinkedIn hearing about? Rather, how did Ruarc Fynn manage to afford a mage-hunter with your lineage and reputation?"
Had they not been burdened by a fine drink, Eryl would have shaken her hands disastrously. Instead she just stared balefully at her ice cube, trying to think of where she went wrong for the druid, besides the attempted murder. It had been so long ago! There had to be a point where Ruarc would have to acknowledge her ability.
At any rate, she found she was being a poor drinking companion, again.
"I am curious, actually," asked Eryl, calming down again with another sip of her drink, "What brought you to Safeholme, a resume? Do you have a website? Is it this WinkedIn hearing about? Rather, how did Ruarc Fynn manage to afford a mage-hunter with your lineage and reputation?"
Re: [Nishinoya's] Skål
"Flynn and I... had a run in a few years back," Skarnir was clearly being careful about what words he used. "As for the how, I don't possess a resume, and believe it or not I don't actually cost all that much. Given circumstance, and that the job involved helping children, I was willing to negotiate the price down."
Re: [Nishinoya's] Skål
It was evident that Skarnir's new drinking buddy was enjoying her own beverage, and thus, becoming a bit more comfortable. Her curious stare morphed into a knowing smile and she took another sip of her drink. There was an evident moment of caution as she considered her words, and if they were appropriate considering the circumstances. Yet, Skarnir was proving not to be so alien, and that sense of familiarity brought a bit of trust, at least knowing that the man was of Safeholme.
"Run in, eh?" Eryl's narrow, pursed smile gave a coy energy, before she leaned over and gave one of his larger hands a reassuring and dainty tap with her fingers, "Did you try to kill him? Don't worry, we've all been there. I have a strong theory that it's how he's made most of his adult friends. Judging from the times I've met him recently, everyone in his life is either a childhood friend, or a fellow former threat."
"Run in, eh?" Eryl's narrow, pursed smile gave a coy energy, before she leaned over and gave one of his larger hands a reassuring and dainty tap with her fingers, "Did you try to kill him? Don't worry, we've all been there. I have a strong theory that it's how he's made most of his adult friends. Judging from the times I've met him recently, everyone in his life is either a childhood friend, or a fellow former threat."
Re: [Nishinoya's] Skål
"As a matter of fact, yeah," Skarnir almost chuckled at the observation. "Came damn close too. Although in this instance he was the aggressor, and I only lost on a technicality."
Almost immediately thereafter, Skarnir was distracted by something. Before long it became apparent that the food was on its way, and the large man could smell it. Looking hungrily upon the table of food, Skarnir dug in; tearing apart some of the fried skewers in quick bites, and practically inhaling slices of the pork belly. In a show of companionship however, he gestured that the potatos and pickled mushrooms were for sharing. Food was one of Skarnir's favorite things. It brought people together, taught skills, told stories, and most importantly tasted good. Plus, given the observation that Miss Eryl may be of a lighter weight class than he was, he also offered on of the skewers of fried meat.
"Put him through a couple walls, broke a lot of chairs, broke a lot of his ribs, almost beheaded his bird, and destroyed his rental car; not to mention that night club was ordered Unsafe, and subsequently demolished. Good times."
Almost immediately thereafter, Skarnir was distracted by something. Before long it became apparent that the food was on its way, and the large man could smell it. Looking hungrily upon the table of food, Skarnir dug in; tearing apart some of the fried skewers in quick bites, and practically inhaling slices of the pork belly. In a show of companionship however, he gestured that the potatos and pickled mushrooms were for sharing. Food was one of Skarnir's favorite things. It brought people together, taught skills, told stories, and most importantly tasted good. Plus, given the observation that Miss Eryl may be of a lighter weight class than he was, he also offered on of the skewers of fried meat.
"Put him through a couple walls, broke a lot of chairs, broke a lot of his ribs, almost beheaded his bird, and destroyed his rental car; not to mention that night club was ordered Unsafe, and subsequently demolished. Good times."
Re: [Nishinoya's] Skål
For most, admissions like Skarnir’s would be a sobering moment to reconsider association. For Eryl, it was actually a bit comforting. Their situations were roughly similar, coming from a position of former hostility, into a begrudging sense of trust. However, it didn’t sound like Skarnir had ever actually wronged Flynn, something Eryl couldn’t claim, herself.
She had been thinking about what to say before the food was laid out in front of her. With a wordless thank you, she nodded to the waitress, before feeling greater thanks for something to soak up all the alcohol. As she fished a fork out of a utensil wrap, she watched the viking across from her to take in his own ample portion of food. Her two small plates, joined with the rest, had turned their table into a small feast.
One plate might have been enough… she thought, realizing how small her own hunger compared to Skarnir's.
With a fork, she got into the tuna, and then the potatoes, before having to slow down. Her impressionable attitude had gotten swept up in the feasting and was quickly reminded she wasn’t a near three-hundred something pounds of muscle.
“I see,” Eryl cleared her throat with some of her drink; it was a misuse of a cocktail, so she’d need to remember to request some water, “So. The two of you fight near to the death, your set of skills show as an evident counter to a trained druid battlemage, and thus you are called in to watch the school for an undesired druid battlemage.”
The triclops looked down at her drink as she considered its fullness, “Either Mr. Flynn has an incredible risk-appetite, or you must have left an impression on him when you were leaving impressions of him on the wall.”
She giggled into her cup.
She had been thinking about what to say before the food was laid out in front of her. With a wordless thank you, she nodded to the waitress, before feeling greater thanks for something to soak up all the alcohol. As she fished a fork out of a utensil wrap, she watched the viking across from her to take in his own ample portion of food. Her two small plates, joined with the rest, had turned their table into a small feast.
One plate might have been enough… she thought, realizing how small her own hunger compared to Skarnir's.
With a fork, she got into the tuna, and then the potatoes, before having to slow down. Her impressionable attitude had gotten swept up in the feasting and was quickly reminded she wasn’t a near three-hundred something pounds of muscle.
“I see,” Eryl cleared her throat with some of her drink; it was a misuse of a cocktail, so she’d need to remember to request some water, “So. The two of you fight near to the death, your set of skills show as an evident counter to a trained druid battlemage, and thus you are called in to watch the school for an undesired druid battlemage.”
The triclops looked down at her drink as she considered its fullness, “Either Mr. Flynn has an incredible risk-appetite, or you must have left an impression on him when you were leaving impressions of him on the wall.”
She giggled into her cup.
Re: [Nishinoya's] Skål
Skarnir looked off towards nothing as he took a hearty swig of ale to wash down a mighty bite of a fried skewer. Stories and tales of past battles crossed his mind before settling on one. He stood in the middle of a moderately busy nightclub. He was on duty and adorned in a tailored black suit, and his blonde hair was combed and tied back with a bronze metal band. A man in the section behind him spoke energetically to a couple of men across from him. Skarnir felt parched but couldn’t make time for one, so he stood at an uncomfortable attention. Across the club a young couple entered. A young man likely hailing from somewhere in the UK, and a woman with white hair whose nationality he couldn’t place. Not out of the ordinary in this club; older than the teenagers that clustered around the dance, but younger than individuals that caroused in the booths and private sections. A bottle of champagne popped off to the side. Looking back, the new arrivals were clearly searching for someone. The man saw his employer’s booth and quickly tried to act naturally. Amateur. The two made their way through the crowd, and Skarnir moved to intercept. Once the man pushed his way through the crowd, he was met with Skarnir’s hand on his chest. Words exchange. Skarnir’s employer saw the man and began to panic. The man lifted his hand and began to chant. Amateur.
“Ruarc saw a need, and approached me on business since I had left an impression,” Skarnir gestured with his skewer. Setting his mug down he flexed his left hand, causing the leather glove on it to creak. “Grudges are inconsequential and unprofessional in this line of work. He knows my terms, I know his, to that end we have a good working relationship.”
“Ruarc saw a need, and approached me on business since I had left an impression,” Skarnir gestured with his skewer. Setting his mug down he flexed his left hand, causing the leather glove on it to creak. “Grudges are inconsequential and unprofessional in this line of work. He knows my terms, I know his, to that end we have a good working relationship.”
Re: [Nishinoya's] Skål
"You don't strike me the type for dry agreements, Mr. Far-field."
A thin finger wiggled at him, as if to admonish the man for bringing a professional air to the table. She had barely made it through some of her own food, but was managing with a fork and some modesty.
"But that may be a shallow assessment of your character," Eryl back-pedalled, eying her plate sheepishly now, "Or maybe I'm just impressing myself on your situation. I am, oh-so-terribly, selfish. You see, I was very much the aggressor in my story, and ever since I have been seeking absolution and forgiveness."
A chilling light reflected off the meek, little mage's eyes. "If you listened to me, you would think I was a victim, a damsel in distress. How I wish it were true. If anything, I was the Menagerie's first true enemy. I nearly killed them all. Near erased poor Mr. Caxton from the pages of history, took his arm from him. But he has since forgiven me. Treats me a like a little sister, the dear."
She sipped away more of her drink, with more zeal than before, "But Ruarc Flynn. Never forgave me. Never will. Probably for deflecting…"
Lucidity pierced through the inebriation, for one safe moment, "... breaking off a portion of his soul with a God. Those sort of wounds are hard to forget. Hard to forgive."
Her eyes started to overfill with tears, "I don't know why I care so much, but I want him to hear my apology. To be merely tolerated… means he still sees me as the monster I was."
TOK!
She smacked the heavy-bottomed glass on the table and cried, "ANOTHER!"
A thin finger wiggled at him, as if to admonish the man for bringing a professional air to the table. She had barely made it through some of her own food, but was managing with a fork and some modesty.
"But that may be a shallow assessment of your character," Eryl back-pedalled, eying her plate sheepishly now, "Or maybe I'm just impressing myself on your situation. I am, oh-so-terribly, selfish. You see, I was very much the aggressor in my story, and ever since I have been seeking absolution and forgiveness."
A chilling light reflected off the meek, little mage's eyes. "If you listened to me, you would think I was a victim, a damsel in distress. How I wish it were true. If anything, I was the Menagerie's first true enemy. I nearly killed them all. Near erased poor Mr. Caxton from the pages of history, took his arm from him. But he has since forgiven me. Treats me a like a little sister, the dear."
She sipped away more of her drink, with more zeal than before, "But Ruarc Flynn. Never forgave me. Never will. Probably for deflecting…"
Lucidity pierced through the inebriation, for one safe moment, "... breaking off a portion of his soul with a God. Those sort of wounds are hard to forget. Hard to forgive."
Her eyes started to overfill with tears, "I don't know why I care so much, but I want him to hear my apology. To be merely tolerated… means he still sees me as the monster I was."
TOK!
She smacked the heavy-bottomed glass on the table and cried, "ANOTHER!"
Re: [Nishinoya's] Skål
“So just apologize,” Skarnir said simply as he lifted his own mug and waggled it for a refill. His tone hadn’t been dismissive, but rather matter of fact. Settling back to take another bite of food and wait for his refill, the large Norseman planted an arm on the table as he leaned forward. “I can’t speak for what you’ve experienced with him in the past, nor for how he feels on the matter personally. What I can speak on is wounds and scars. They are lessons and reminders. If you scarred Flynn, then he will hold on to the scar as a reminder of the threat you can be; Unless you give him a reason to change that line of thinking.”
The smell of ozone. It was a quick chant that channeled an electrical spell. No time. One of Skarnir’s hands locked on the man’s outstretched and directed it toward the ceiling, his other hand thrust forward and wrapped around the man’s throat. The interrupted fizzled and dispersed in the air. The first few bystanders had begun to notice the disturbance. The woman that accompanied the man moved in. Thankfully she chose to try and assist her partner rather than pursuing their presumed target. Amateurs, the lot of them. She charged at him with a bottle of champagne. Letting go of the man’s wrist, but not his throat, Skarnir pivoted and used his superior reach to get inside the woman’s sidelong swing. The bottle collided with his tricep. Barely a bruise. He wrapped a hand around her collar, and kicked his leg around into the back of her knee. She buckled and Skarnir tossed her to the ground. The crowd had become aware of the confrontation. Mild panic in the air. A punch connected with the side of his nose and his cheek just below the eye. That one actually hurt.
“So, once you’re sober, just apologize. The worst that can happen is you are right back to where you already are, but there is also the chance you lay the groundwork for change.”
The smell of ozone. It was a quick chant that channeled an electrical spell. No time. One of Skarnir’s hands locked on the man’s outstretched and directed it toward the ceiling, his other hand thrust forward and wrapped around the man’s throat. The interrupted fizzled and dispersed in the air. The first few bystanders had begun to notice the disturbance. The woman that accompanied the man moved in. Thankfully she chose to try and assist her partner rather than pursuing their presumed target. Amateurs, the lot of them. She charged at him with a bottle of champagne. Letting go of the man’s wrist, but not his throat, Skarnir pivoted and used his superior reach to get inside the woman’s sidelong swing. The bottle collided with his tricep. Barely a bruise. He wrapped a hand around her collar, and kicked his leg around into the back of her knee. She buckled and Skarnir tossed her to the ground. The crowd had become aware of the confrontation. Mild panic in the air. A punch connected with the side of his nose and his cheek just below the eye. That one actually hurt.
“So, once you’re sober, just apologize. The worst that can happen is you are right back to where you already are, but there is also the chance you lay the groundwork for change.”
Re: [Nishinoya's] Skål
“If it were only that easy,” groaned Eryl, patiently pressing her empty drink to the edge of the table as a chilled, carbon-copy of the previous drink she just had was set in front of her. The ice lacked a distinct frost, which made for a pleasant appeal, but the glass was gently sweaty with condensation. Too far gone now to notice, Eryl took a reticent sip before shoving an unladylike amount of eggplant in her mouth.
She chewed in silence for a bit, winking tears away, before blinking with a newfound energy.
“You could help me.”
The triclops set her drink down, and nearly tumbled out of the booth. Then, recovering herself, she sat back down, grasping the edge of the table as she became soberly aware of her insobriety. Three, wet eyes bored into him expectantly.
“You could. If I had someone with me up to the door, I could at least knock. That’s how I overcame it last time,” her words were too even for the amount of drink she had had, but the idea was appropriate for the level of consumption. “You could credit me past the gate-guard, get me on the grounds, all the way to the cottage. The little guard-mongrel just throws stones at me whenever I come to call. But– but you don’t have to deal with that sort of treatment.”
As genuine as Eryl could put it, the unfortunate fate of this Maelgwyn was that her natural dispositions gave way to malicious intent. She had a hungry look on her face, as if the final piece of a diabolical puzzle had come into place. The tense grip in her hand around her fork, which she nearly absconded with seconds ago, gave the impression of a spider poised to bite. Worse yet, the eerie frame of her shadow in the low light had begun to sprout tendrils, an odd side-effect of her biomancy adjusted body brought on by the phases of the moon.”
She chewed in silence for a bit, winking tears away, before blinking with a newfound energy.
“You could help me.”
The triclops set her drink down, and nearly tumbled out of the booth. Then, recovering herself, she sat back down, grasping the edge of the table as she became soberly aware of her insobriety. Three, wet eyes bored into him expectantly.
“You could. If I had someone with me up to the door, I could at least knock. That’s how I overcame it last time,” her words were too even for the amount of drink she had had, but the idea was appropriate for the level of consumption. “You could credit me past the gate-guard, get me on the grounds, all the way to the cottage. The little guard-mongrel just throws stones at me whenever I come to call. But– but you don’t have to deal with that sort of treatment.”
As genuine as Eryl could put it, the unfortunate fate of this Maelgwyn was that her natural dispositions gave way to malicious intent. She had a hungry look on her face, as if the final piece of a diabolical puzzle had come into place. The tense grip in her hand around her fork, which she nearly absconded with seconds ago, gave the impression of a spider poised to bite. Worse yet, the eerie frame of her shadow in the low light had begun to sprout tendrils, an odd side-effect of her biomancy adjusted body brought on by the phases of the moon.”