[ CLOSED ]

[blackscales]

WHO: Wrathion & Emilia, Wrathion & Daenerys, Wrathion & Sansa/Alayne, probably some other combos as I write up starters.
WHEN: End of the Huntress event and during the recovery.
WHERE: Palace of the Doxe, Merchant Square
WHAT: Wrathion is settling into his role of 'legal pioneer, diplomat and master orator'
WARNINGS: None at the offset.





[ Grab me on the CR meme for a custom prompt. ]

Comments

please doth forgive the lateness!

[notsansa]

She ought to curse herself for unwittingly drawing too much of his attention, and now she's been placed into a rather precarious position. She may no longer be in danger of cutthroats sneaking up behind her admidst the crowd, but now she's in the danger of the public eye looking at her and understanding her supposed allegiance. In truth she has no fondness for Macaluso, but she's played herself into a corner, and the role given to her by Bessis is more difficult to avoid when in public. It's really a choice of: get assassinated now, or later in your sleep?

Later it is.

Her small hand with it's red-stained palm moves to rest delicately overtop his, barely touching save for the sake of decorum, as she takes her skirts in the other hand and nods to follow his lead with a most polite smile.

"Not at all. You are constant with both time and speech. Shall we away, then?"

The pinprick of fear continues to painfully tickle the hairs on her neck until they are well away from the gathered crowd. It's only when she feels they are no longer being watched by everyone in the square that she dares to speak further, though she rarely raises her voice above a whisper.

"I had not yet been inclined to make a public stand in these local politics, but it seems the decision has been made for me." Is she scolding him for singling her out? She ought to be more careful... Those eyes suggest he is likely some kind of mage, and so with a wince she reins in the irritation always bubbling beneath her fear. "Though I suppose the Witches of Bessis already did so upon my arrival. I do not mean to lay the blame at your feet, for I am the one to have approached you. Your words were...moving. So moving that I feared they may draw the Brotherhood's attention."

No trouble!

[blackscales]

Wrathion glances sideways at her curiously, lofting an eyebrow as he leads her away then flitting his eyes out over the narrow streets.

"You were welcome to make your own escape," he offers, "but if you aimed not to make a public stand I think you have long failed when people already know who you are and your association."

He isn't recognised in the street himself, and she is. That seems to him like she's far more dug into her role, like it or not.

"Still," he offers mildly, "if you'd like to go back and tell them you've changed your mind..."

He slows down, as if preparing to turn right around and take her back into that crowd that she just escaped. Wrathion is quite sure she doesn't want that, but he's amused to see how much she might startle at the idea.

[notsansa]

He isn't wrong. It seems no matter where she ends up, Alayne must accept that her role in politics will always be decided for her. Even if Petyr was doing his utmost to teach her how to one day seize power, there was little she could do without his guidance. Here it's rather worse, given that her position has been decided, and then she has been left to fend for herself amongst the bloodthirsty court. Perhaps if her eyes were red instead of her palms, then she could be as bold as he.

"No." Her fingers curl a bit to actually clasp his hand as if he might just shove her off, the slight tremble betraying her terror at the idea of returning to that pit of fools and snakes. One could hardly tell them apart, and there was the danger. "You are right."

He is, after all, though she would say as much even if he wasn't. Face to face, she's much more unlikely to speak her mind, of which there are too many conflicting thoughts to make sense of, anyhow. What are his real thoughts, she wonders. Is he just playing his part to the extreme, no matter his heart's desire? She could relate to that, though she could never be so brazen as to take a podium.

He own blue eyes continue to flitter to the side and upward, alternating between looking beside them and up to his rather handsome face. If not for those eyes... No doubt it's obvious they catch her attention. It would be rude to ask about them directly, but there are other ways, and shifting the subject matter may ease tensions.

"You carry yourself rather finely. Are you of noble blood, or perhaps a sorcerer?"

[blackscales]

He holds her gaze curiously as she looks up at him, sensing the slight adjustment of her grip. She's definitely afraid, and now she's definitely flattering him. Perhaps by hiding her allegiance she aims to play both sides, him included. He couldn't really fault that, he's briefly played both sides before, but the sensation someone might try to play him is unusual.

Most of the time, people have already long made their judgements of him and have interest only in what bribes he can offer or in taking his head.

With one notable exception, of course, but he ruined that friendship with his own hands.

Still, he adjusts his weight and turns to walk again.

"My apologies," he offers lightly, "we were not introduced. My name is Wrathion. I sit in Macaluso's household to lend him my expertise as a legal pioneer, diplomat and master orator."

Which is not at all the answer she wanted, but is the role he has been assigned. She hasn't told him anything at all about herself, and he doesn't feel particularly inclined to open with his own secrets.

[notsansa]

Wrathion... That seems a most unusual name, and not one she is like to forget. Is there not also someone named Wrath amongst their band of misfits? He too is one to draw attention to his wits, though he seems to more favor the shadows along with her. Neither of them seem to particularly embody the names they were given, for which she is most grateful. Perhaps their parents were simply cruel, or their wrath is something they hide well. Isn't hers hidden deep, always lurking beneath the fear that never leaves her soul?

He may not even be an outsider like she is, so she must take extra care. When arriving she had been told of those that were from other realms, but some may have arrived since then, so she is left to guess for herself. His name doesn't sound local, but that isn't enough to know anything for sure. It's an uncomfortable feeling, but that too is something she is accustomed to, and so she plays along with a little duck of her head in acknowledgment to his grand role amongst one of Macaluso's advisors.

"He would like be proud of the work you do in his name, no doubt. I am honored to meet you, Lord Wrathion. You may call me Alayne. My father was don Urbano, may his soul be at peace." Alayne is certain to add a more sullen note to her tone when mentioning this. After all, should she not be grieving her father's death, even if she is a bastard? "My mother is nobody in name and so I was not raised here amongst all this finery, but after my father's unfortunate passing, I was summoned to further the cause of the Witches of Bessis. My position holds no power until I turn the age of twenty summers, and so I am left to wait and to learn."

Better not to share how she's supposed to be burned alive. Alayne has no intention of sticking around long enough for that to happen.

"As a diplomat, you must be well traveled. Do you favor the beauty of Taravast over other cities?"

[blackscales]

Wrathion hums at that, turning it over. He is, after all, well travelled -- just not in this... particular area. Still, he can talk around the truth.

"Taravast was once beautiful," he allows, "it is a great shame the damage that has been done to it. At its height, perhaps it might be among the finest of the cities I have seen."

A non-committal reply, one that suggests without confirming anything. Dalaran is quite beautiful too, after all, but smaller in scale than Taravast. The villages in Pandaria, while all beautiful, were also nothing near the scale of Taravast. Stormwind is an older city, and one he's sentimentally fond of, but the aesthetic is not quite as... elaborate.

He's satisfied with his answer.

"How are you finding your time here?" he prompts, "I hope you find Taravast to your tastes. Do the witches of Bessis treat you well?"

He's curious, after all. He knows of the witches, but has had little interaction with them himself. Perhaps she will be a good source of information.