EXT - Near the old mill in the Japanese district of Callisto; the evening of Roesler’s dinner party
Dorian Windgrace: there stood in shadow. He had a fervent message to deliver to a woman whom he'd written to, taken time apart from a hectic family schedule, to write back within the narrow parameters of a certain evening. His cognitive dissonance with the feast they'd partaken of yet lingered on his brow, was perhaps why he had a hip flask of his favoured scotch on hand. One he'd not drunk from, though he'd lit a coffin nail to huff on.
Arix Thunderhawk managed to find the mill. She hadn't really spent much time on this side of the city yet as work kept her mostly to the English town. The Japanese inhabitants were so crafty that she had little repair work if any. Her heels clacked over the boards of the small, foot bridge and she winced. Even in the darkness of night, she could be heard and possibly seen. She didn't like that much. Still, she had a promise to keep to the Windgrace and she would provide. Rounding the pillar, she spied the youth and frowned softly. "Dorian what is going on?" Her voice was low, husky and quiet as it was seemingly a secret meeting. "Are you unwell?" Her concern was etched between her brows as they knit together and her ruby lips were curled into a soft frown.
Dorian Windgrace was not crafty. But he had a wish for the gate's shadow to move with him, so it did. Bound by untrained use's will to move with him. So it was that he huffed out the last of one butt as she approached, dropped it, then stamped it out. He yet tasted his sister's heart on his tongue so explained, offering out an uncorked flask he drank from first, as well as an opened container of ornate unto perfectly rolled tobacco, while offering these, he'd respond, with his quiet, urbane, very British lordly voice obscured only by shadow, "I am not unwell. It is only I had a feeling, a suspicion that you were not as informed as I was before going into that glad party about it's contents."
He did not speak further, but waited for some confirmation before going on. Afterall, among the wealthy, information was as precious as coin. And he was already trading above his comfort zone, but what humanity remained in him yet held sway, above even what he'd dined on after long refraining.
Arix Thunderhawk rested in her suspicions. This was all starting to make more sense to her even if nothing had yet been revealed. Her arms folded and she stepped closer, careful not to find too-soft soil should her shoes give way and she tumble to the ground in an artful, emerald and taffeta mess. Dressing up was for birds, she ironically surmised. She had heard him call out to her earlier and was sure it was mental communication as her eyes were on him at the time and his lips did not move. "I see," she said quietly and lowered her gaze, eyes searching thoughtfully for context. "I did feel something was not... proper there. I don't know the English for it. Tell me, Dorian. What foul things beget you?" shook her head, refusing the offerings as well, but thanking him quietly for the gesture.
Dorian Windgrace took a deep swig from the flask then bent to rest it between their feet, yet trying to find words for what bothered him about it. He'd spent some time being treated like his response was the unreasonable one. Before standing to his full height again, a near match for hers, he'd lit his next cigarette, and explained with the full exhale of it, "Nothing begets me, nor has befallen me, Mistress Arix, but that meal contained uncommon cattle. Flesh from those who walk on two feet. I may be a stranger to this land, but I am not strange as all of that. Not yet."
Having said as much he'd offer over the pre-rolls again, explaining, "The two on the end contain both opium and the strong grass from the new world. The others just the sacred fragrant herb." It was the few minutes he could spare in a very busy evening to let loose the truth, so he didn't mince words.
Arix Thunderhawk paused and quietly contemplated the situation as it was revealed to her. She did not seem shocked but disappointed in the revelation. As she was offered the cigarettes again she put her palm out. But it was not to stop him, it was to rest on his hand. "Calm yourself," she said with as much soothing and nurturing as a demi-god could allow. Turns out, that was quite a lot. Dorian might feel a flush of warmth, like a blanket covering him that had been in the sun. "I had my suspicions, as well. That is quite disconcerting, to be sure. No wonder you were not your usual, chipper self," her lips pursed as she sought out his eyes in the darkness. Hers seemed to give off even a very slight glow to them and, if he stared too long, he might be lost within their depths. She tried for a smirk and removed her hand from his. "While I understand there are tribes in other parts of the world that do such things, it boggles me to know that it's being served, knowingly, to others. Is it some sort of sick joke or ...?" Her words trailed off as she sought for answers, trying to solve the riddle. "The priest did warn me about Roesler but I have not had a chance to speak with him on the matter yet." Her eyes lifted to him again. "Did you bring me here to warn me, Dorian?"
Dorian Windgrace was not so willing to be wrangled not like cattle. Not like someone under a yoke that was not the one he'd fitted for himself out of twinmeat enough that it took a moment's getting used to admitting. He huffed in and out another long breath of smoke, then finally explained, "I do not know what is in Roesler's mind. I only know that... there are lines, beyond which I know not what I am." His ability to withhold alone might show her that he was no mere mortal. That he was a fixed place on the world, with gravity dug in that even divinity took a great deal of effort to shift. A person who had seen enough to take some doing to surprise.
Against his judgment, and his conscious consideration she might glimpse his broadcasts of naval service in a uniform past the years he showed. He felt official in that gold-trimmed navy blue wool. And like order was reachable, a worthy goal for warriors to attain. Of him in Paris in the riot of 1919. The others in the centuries previous. The same duty that called him to reach past himself reached to him now. To say, "I saw your reluctance and imagined, hoped, for a moment that you perhaps were not such a person as to think this sort of thing common. There are those who I expect this from. Those I love, not least among them.... Those who are mine own neighbours." He meant to follow up with something else, but there was a smoky exhale instead of words at his long revelation. Long enough to move past the peace he knew needed to be struck to live with a heart in his bedchamber. And the revenant in mortal form had to turn his head to stare at the passing waters.
Arix Thunderhawk stilled as he spoke, seeing flickers of images that he showed her. Ah. Yes of course, this was no boy she was talking to despite what he looked like. Father sent her there for a reason and this might just be it. She did not cater kindly to being forced to visualize someone else's thoughts, it felt like an intrusion. Arix shut her eyes tightly, long, dark lashes would fan out over her rosy cheeks for a long moment as the imagery was forced from her mind. With a soft shake of her ebony head, she re-centered herself and opened her eyes. "I never think a practice is commonplace until I've seen it happen more than once," she said with some amount of wisdom. "If you think I will judge you unfairly, I assure you I won't. I'm not here to judge people unless called upon to do so," she would let that comment lie where it was. "I can see this troubles you quite a lot. I expect, also, that there are a lot of things on your shoulders as of now, things you may not have much control over," she said, keeping her voice quiet. Yet her brows still knit with that same crease between them though her porcelain skin did not harbor any wrinkles to signify this happened often. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth as she considered for a long moment. Was he asking her for guidance? Warning her? A soft smile again crested those lips as she lifted her gaze back to him. "I think it's awfully sweet of you to think of me, to warn me. But now I wonder what we shall do about this. It sounds like it is more than just Roesler, is it?"
Dorian Windgrace hadn't intended to impinge, but his feelings were loud when they ranged freely as they did. And it was enough that he'd tried to obscure his profound center, that supermassive celestial body of his twin. Arix could be forgiven for thinking there was another center, but not one he'd give away, as such. Instead, he'd divert, shaking his head and ashing the dark paper and then bending to pick up the flask again. As he rose, again he'd explain, not unaccustomed to the idea that the feminine was divine, "Roesler runs a cabaret, has dealings with an asylum, and lives in a place of prestige in the city. If the constabulary is not easily pocketable for him, then.... I have made a gross miscalculation. But the fact remains he is my neighbor. Mistress Arix, my family's ships dock at the harbor thrice weekly on off weeks and four times per week in the even ones. We were here, seeing to the construction of this isle as part of our Majesty's navy. One does not simply rise to that position without support. Without impunity."
He'd shrug it off, clearly unwilling to make a move against the prominent member of Callistani society which Roesler was. That was not how a family did things, and survived.
Arix Thunderhawk put a gloved hand to her chin as she listened and watched, always assessing his movements, the tone of his voice, the way he drank and smoked. Things, though still somewhat in the darkness, were falling into place for her as he explained. "I see," she nodded, dark hair bobbing about her features in artful, lustrous waves. Interesting that he chose her to admit this to, a simple handiwoman, but fate was a funny thing. It tended to pull the two golden strings of people's lives together and apart in an instant. How fickle. Her weight shifted under the dress and with it imparted the hush of silk across the quiet stretch of grass only to be slightly muffled by the nearby falls and water wheel. "That does pose quite a question. Have you been able to determine his history at all? If he came from wealth or if he simply showed up here as a nobody and found a niche to fill?" Her head shook as she thought on this again and seemingly dismissed a theory she had. "It's easy to be the king on a mountain when no one else is on the mountain," she said quietly. "How did Roesler come to be on Callisto? Since your family has been here since the beginning, I imagine they would want to track anyone of any affluence so there must be a record or something somewhere telling of his doings," she thought on this for a long moment, lips twisting this way and that.
Dorian Windgrace took a deep swig, used kimono sleeve to wipe the lip then offered to her, mingling his touch as much and the clarity of what he meant, unwittingly, just as one foot stomped out another butt beneath sandaled foot, "I am sure the man is not what he seems. Is nothing so simple as a kindly local gentleman, whatever he says. I had no chance to get to know him before he decided his piece de resistance would be my sister's heart." That remark saw his heel extinguishing another cherry, and him clarifying, "One she was able to restore, but still."
Who rose with impunity, the Windgraces, or Roesler? He knew what he meant, and he thought he'd been plain. Perhaps the only thing he showed was a willingness to talk under the dark of night. And also, as he appended, "We have long been here, even if it was not my siblings and myself. As such, so as not to be outdone by the man, perhaps, my kin have decided it is a service to cater to the thirst of the after dinner crowd. Join us. Bring your own bottle if you will. Take a look around, with an eye for who in this town is who. Maybe we can come together with some solution to a vision with mutual understanding soon." Dorian was one to talk about who wasn't as they seemed, given she'd seen what she had of him, but that was all he could let go, particularly since he was skittish enough to look over his shoulder again. There were more personal scores for him to worry about than the grand scheme he was chasing.
Arix Thunderhawk looked about, also. She determined no one was near with her other-worldly sight and turned back to him. "I don't want to keep you," she said quietly. On the surface, it looked like two people simply meeting for perhaps a late-night tryst. A comely woman in silk and a young, charming man? Sure. But neither had embraced or made a single move. Yes, on the surface the meeting hadn't gone well for one or both of them. Arix was glad for people's assumptions sometimes. "Yes of course, that last course before dessert makes more sense now," she said quietly as he admitted it was his sister's heart. "I thought it looked small for a sheep's," she muttered, recalling her thoughts on it when it was offered to her. Her arms unfolded and she put her hands up. "But you're right, of course. If we dally here any longer we're sure to be sighted. I have some things to attend as well and I believe I will see you at that party later on this evening," she reassured. "I promise, Dorian, I want to help you and do what I can. Don't hesitate to reach out to me again. We will find a way, of that I can assure you," she offered him a warming smile. The woman's skin nearly glittered in the low, blue light of the moon. If he wasn't human then he might be old enough to recognize she was not either, if the talk hadn't given it away. One didn't live that long and not know how to spot something that wasn't human at a fair pace, Arix was especially skilled at it. Her eyes laid onto the flask and her shoulders sank a little. He was plying her with alcohol again. With a soft laugh, she took the flask and sniffed it before shrugging and taking a sip. "Finally you get me to drink your weird, smoky alcohol," she teased with a friendly glance while handing the object back to him.
Dorian Windgrace took the aged flask back, shaking his head, and without reservation admitting, "One takes courage where they can. We are not all some singular pillar rising up from her own obscurity, to show loveliness in curve of shoulder and glimpse of eye." He was bound to his twin above all others, but it did not mean he couldn't see formidable when it stood before him. When he'd seen it mean his own gladhanding shut down in the past by his kin in her favour.
His judgment could not be so hard to follow given those terms, but he'd step back apace, reaching out a hand for her like a forlorn lover who'd lost his chance. He'd bowed and scraped enough with the flask between them, with the small distance he'd kept when divulging the deepest parts of it. She'd met enough of his kin to see he'd carried at least some deference to the divine feminine. What he couldn't control was whether she'd seen past it to his own trepidations past that baseline.
The self-assured woman walked freely in his world, and he saw himself as a harbinger of that. Thus he'd offer, as he backed away, "I plan to keep the cognac coming and to send around the last of the cheese biscuits our cook made this morning. Those you can be sure of not having been carted over. I hope we can remain acquaintances, Mistress. Fond or...otherwise?" He'd drink to that not quite possibility and tuck the flask away again.
Arix Thunderhawk felt her back straighten a bit. Dorian was proving more curious and interesting than she'd originally pinned him for. Still, her smile would widen at his mention of cheese biscuits. "I am actually very hungry," she said with a laugh. "I think I ate nothing at dinner and feel somewhat terrible about lying," her head shook and she looked down at his hand. Blinking several times her head canted at it. Ah yes, he caught onto the imagery of their current situation. Her hand shook his firmly, though not so powerfully it might break it. She did have to keep up the guise of being a handiwoman, after all. "I suppose that will remain to be seen, Dorian," she said, smiling at him for his comment on 'acquaintances'. "As for the drink," she nodded at his stowed flask. "It's not terrible. For now, I will depart and see you in roughly an hour's time."
-- With that, her hand would drop from his yet her eyes remained on him, again creating the imagery of lost love for any onlookers. She knew how to fake it enough, she'd watched it plenty of times through the years and never had it changed since man walked the earth, only the customs and morals had changed. Her shoes again clacked over the bridge and she seemed to walk more slowly, casually, as if absorbing information handed to her with gravitas.
Dorian Windgrace bowed against her departure as any good troubadour would. Looking after her dark sweep of hair and emerald gown like a forlorn lover might. Only then, he turned to make his way quickly home. There was just so much which could be covered by servant scuttling and slipping out for a smoke.
He was not over the other bridge before a light flared up and lit another stick from his holder. He'd walk and smoke and consider what he'd done all at once. He was buoyed by not being the only one still hungry after that dinner, and further by sharing his compunctions about it aloud. Once and for all. To someone who didn't treat him like he was a child for it. Trying to distance himself from those chains he'd very much felt around him despite them being some days gone, he'd let the narcotics and alcohol take purchase for the short reign they'd have over his magic-bolstered regeneration.