EXT to INT Roesler’s Airship (receiving room)
Dorian carried his two little hinged, latched boxes, narrow, and nearly arm's length out to a spot he thought deserted and took off, obscuring himself with shadow as he rocketed upward to a distance where people looked small and he'd spied a certain airship before. Once keen eyes caught the rose motif adorning the grandiose design, he launched himself that direction like an arrow and on approach, warned those who were about on deck that he was inbound by emitting a shrill whistle. A few seconds later, he'd have his boots on the boards and his free hand trying to unmake a mess of his hair, with a loose hold on the parcels at his side. Setting eyes on whoever was nearest, with a polite smile emplaced on his face, he'd announce, "Dorian Windgrace, here for Roesler."
For his part, he'd not received word from the doctor, he'd just screwed up the intention and will at the same time while sober to go clear a few slates. Perhaps the messenger that had been dispatched was just a few moments behind him.
Niles Roesler was not nearly as psychically adept as the changeling that had temporarily taken his place on Callisto. He did not have the range to receive messages from his staff from land to sea or he might have heard that Dorian was not at the manor. He was surprised when someone came to his office to warn him of the approaching Windgrace but when he came to the deck door he did so with a smile. "Dorian, what an unexpected pleasure," he demurred and stepped forward to offer a hand to the man. Roesler dressed casually when not waiting for company, a black silk shirt and soft pants, no vest or tie to speak of. His hair was a little damp as if recently washed.
Little nods to the crew let them go back about their business. If Niles was concerned or expecting trouble, he didn't show it. Instead the doctor's eyes skimmed down to boxes Dorian held and he raised an inquisitive brow. "Let's step inside shall we? It's a bit windy out here today." Pivoting, he gestured to the receiving room door behind him and moved to hold it open for his guest.
Dorian paced about a little bit looking at the construction of the place during his short wait, and upon being greeted he turned to his host with what once would have been an unlikely smile on his face. He donned his usual fare, vest, button up shirt, and slacks, including riding boots he was trying to break in, which hadn't been on the island very long. Neither had the things under his arm. He'd hold out a hand as he approached the taller darker man, to greet him with a handshake on his way past. His hands were ring-bedecked as usual. While they shook came the first moment of Dorian staring into the wily man's eyes, questioningly, though the unasked question there didn't displace his smile.
He'd stroll through into the receiving room, explaining, "Thank you for inviting me in, I ah.... I wanted to give these to you. Hell of a ship you have here."
Niles Roesler had cold hands. He didn't take the typical effort to warm himself by manipulating his blood when it came to most people and Dorian, he expected, would not mind the chill or expect creature comforts from the contact. The handshake was firm and the doctor met the stare with brows still raised curiously. "Of course. So long as you've not come with the intention of taking it out of the sky you're very welcome. And unless these are explosives of some kind I doubt that's the case."
Shutting the door behind them, Niles moved immediately to the liquor cabinet. "This ship has seen quite a bit by now. In a lot of ways I prefer it to my previous setup but there is something to be said for convenience. Resupplying can be a hassle... though not as much now that the fog is clear." He tapped a finger at the front label of several bottles. "Whiskey? Scotch? Brandy? I don't recall you being a wine man and I certainly think your first willing visit is a special enough occasion for a drink."
Dorian felt strange not being in this place with an ax to grind, and his reflexes toward hackling up set him more on edge than he'd've liked to admit. He didn't think too much of the cold hand, apart from noting it as a sensation, because he was telling himself to stay relaxed and not to cause any problems. The only time he'd been to this place was to call the previous iteration of the man out for a skyborne battle. Taking in the room, he'd turn 360 degrees where he stood. Coming back to a spot where he could look at Niles and the drinks, he'd answer, "I'm a bit of a snob about brandy, so you'd better pour me a whiskey. I wouldn't ever come after your crew unless they-- wait, no. Hahahaha" He shook his head as he trailed off laughing.
A moment later, he was explaining, resetting himself, "I rather think that I am going to stick to my plan not to fight today. Let's keep Dinah happy, shall we?" He'd settle the two little boxes on a nearby table in anticipation of needing a free hand for a drink. Thus Niles could inspect them at his leisure.
Niles Roesler had enough of a sense about him with Dorian this close to feel that tension. He squeezed his hand once before releasing it to select a bottle of whiskey. "I should take offense that you don't have faith in my selection of brandy but as you said - we shall keep Dinah happy." He offered Dorian the bottle so he could see the distillery and label for himself - old, barrel aged, smoky, honey-laced. The room had a few deliberate selections of art and a bookshelf, some comfortable seating and racks for boots and outerwear. In one corner sat a golden cage with puffed leather stools arranged around it as if for an audience.
"Neat? On the rocks? With a twist? How do you take your whiskey?" he asked and clinked the tongs of an ice bucket to punctuate the inquiry. As he did one of the boxes lifted from where Dorian had set them, more practiced telekinesis opening it up gingerly before bringing it over for Niles to peer into. He had been working on being more precise, more controlled with his movements.
Dorian smirked a little bit about the brandy thing, but he didn't explain himself further, just looked over the proffered whiskey bottle and nodded his appreciation of what he saw. The smirk shifted to a grin and he'd roll his shoulders as if to help cast off the tension, while he answered, "Neat, actually. I usually leave off the ice until it's a bit warmer." As he watched the topmost box begin to float over, he'd explain, "I wanted to thank you again, not just for the ah... trinkets you've sent me. But more importantly because you helped her. I am starting to think you might actually care for her. And who could blame you, she is an exceptional woman. So I thought you could probably use a couple of those for your collection. They're from an over 500 year old smithy that specializes in working blue steel. Aogami, they call it. They used to make swords before focusing on more mundane blades. Should keep its edge for a nice long time." In the middle there he'd narrowed his eyes a bit before shifting topics to what was in the boxes. Like he was still trying to find an answer to that unasked question.
Inside the boxes were two excellent cooking knives, straight from Japan. They were of similar lengths, though one was squarer on the blade than the other. The blades were dark and burnished on their dull sides, honed keen and shining silver tinged with a hint of blue on the other. Both boasted handles made of pale poplar.
Niles Roesler popped the bottle open and poured a couple fingers' worth for Dorian before returning it to its place. He took a taller bottle for himself, round and filled with a rich red liquid that he poured into a wine glass for his own enjoyment. Both glasses filled he handed the whiskey over to his erstwhile companion, listening to his explanation of the presents. "I rarely invest time and energy into things I don't care for. Despite being, but for any efforts to the contrary, immortal I am vitally aware that time is a valuable resource. It's not to be squandered on anything or anyone less-than." Niles raised his glass in a toast. "Prost, Dorian. To our yet-intact congeniality," he said, waiting until the other man took a sip (if he did at all) before taking his own.
A lick of his lips and Niles let his glass drift in the air next to him so both hands could take and examine the blade. There was clear appreciation in his eyes, surprise in his features at the quality of the craft and the knowledge exhibited by its gifter. "These will be the treasures of my kitchen to be sure," he said with a little bow of his head. "Thank you. I'll put them to phenomenal use. I'll have to insist on making you a meal sometime - to your tastes, of course. I imagine they differ slightly from your sister's... and much more from your elder brother's." He looked over both knives before returning them respectfully to their cases and setting them atop the liquor cabinet for later transport to the kitchen - personally, rather than calling staff.
Dorian: || As Dorian took the offered glass, without thinking about it, really, he'd lift it to his nose for a deep sniff of what he was about to imbibe. It was just a little ritual of how to enjoy drink. He seemingly found it satisfactory because he made a sound somewhere behind his nose of delight at the aroma. Then he'd lift the glass and fixing his eyes on Niles' face again, he add his agreement to the toast, "Cheers." He drank a good half of the stuff down and after exhaling the fiery whiskey breath that came after, another part of the ritual's enjoyment, he'd explain, "I heard about the smith when I was working in the shop," without going on about his penchant for a good blade. That much was heavily implied, he was sure. He went on, "You are right about that, compared to my siblings, my palate is... somewhat simpler, so you needn't worry yourself on my behalf. By the way did you say immortal?" Though tacked on like an afterthought, the question being asked aligned closely enough with the one he'd not been speaking aloud, that it put an extra glimmer into his eyes, which peered over the rim of the glass. Prying about such things was unseemly by his own standards, when he'd spent his long life not being forthcoming about his own longevity, so he stopped himself with leaving the quandary just that open ended one.
Niles Roesler seemed pleased as Dorian accepted and even seemed to enjoy his beverage. The doctor let out a hum at his own drink. It left a little metallic tang in the air for those familiar or more sensitive to scent. "I should look to Seiiki for more metalworking," he mused as Dorian explained his source. There was a pause in the air as if he had more to say but chose not to. Niles nodded at the affirmation of Dorian's lack of fancy for the more elaborate meals Niles typically served. He chuckled and nodded. "As was my Fair-Folk counterpart, I imagine.... in the sense that aging and degradation simply don't occur. I died once, long ago and have seen been - " he paused again, chewing on a lip as he considered his words. "- as I am, he said eventually. "Though anyone with as close a connection to the shard as I enjoy would likely reap the same benefits. And be at the mercy of the same struggles." He took another drink and nodded at Dorian. "Your family has its own brand of immortality, if I recall. It goes beyond the regenerative prowess and it differs from my own, even if the power behind it flows from a similar source."
Dorian's eyes narrowed and went steely as he not only listened to what Niles had to say, but also ran it through the gamut of his thought processes trying to extract all he could from it. He wasn't the cleverest of his siblings, but what he lacked in that sort of brainpower, he made up for with having had a long life to gather information. Sometimes. He hadn't even taken a sip from his cup, he was so intently studying the other man. It took him a pair of heartbeats to rouse his voice, and then another to divert it from what his brain was saying to something mannerly, "You-- have the right of it. Though unlike you, we did not have to die for it. It sounds like you have always been just rotten at staying dead, hm? Don't answer that, I think there's nothing you can say that wouldn't sound tempting to challenge." After laughing, he took a long drink from his glass, emptying it in a few throaty glugs. Since he sought to put to rest talk about their relative paths to immortality he'd stumbled straight into the old game, though he did at least retain his good cheer, getting less, rather than more tense. As he pulled the glass from his lips, he'd open his mouth to speak again, but stopped himself and ate his questions, so this wouldn't turn into an interrogation.
Niles Roesler | The ship was still around them. Perhaps the crew had enough sense to know that if these two had entered a room and not left it for a while that they ought to be on guard regardless of the friendly-nature of Dorian's arrival. The ship had stopped moving, hovering where it stayed and footsteps, commotion on the deck outside were sparse. Typically the doctor had music playing in the receiving room for a more welcoming atmosphere but the unplanned nature of his guest left little room for preparation.
Niles licked red liquid from his lips after another sip and put his glass aside. One of the boxes of knives drifted over to him, opening to offer its contents to the doctor before settling back down on the liquor cabinet. Niles ran a thumb along the blade as he crossed the room then flipped it handle-outward to offer it to Dorian. "I am, in fact, rotten at staying dead," he answered, both that response and the offering of the knife enough of a dare even if Dorian didn't see the challenge in his eyes.
Dorian bent to put his glass down on a nearby table with his grin turning wry when the knife was offered to him. Standing to his full, if less impressive height again, he'd reach for it, with the word quizzical writ in how both his brows were arched upon his forehead. "Now, now, what are you playing at, Roesler? I was sure we agreed that we would keep Dinah happy. I have seen firsthand what happens when she thinks a single hair on your lanky head has been harmed, and I am sure I would like to avoid it. We are under your roof and all." The way his smirk ticked up spoke to taking him up on any challenge, though as he aimed to hold the handle loosely once taken, and in show of nonaggression, let the thing hang at his side, however the reptile brain might have been considering the easiest way to dismantle the man.
Niles Roesler chuckled quietly. His lips spread from smile to grin as Dorian took the knife, his hand returning to copy its other in sliding into a pocket of his pants. "We certainly did. If you haven't yet tried those trinkets that I gifted you it may surprise you to know that a little bloodshed won't bother dear Dinah. I'm a bit hardier than the Fae was. And I find myself curious how well I might withstand this sort of butting of heads, should we come to the point of breaking our congenial relationship. Aren't you?" Niles' sleeves were already rolled, his collar already open and he made no other preparations for what could potentially be a combative experience except to lean in and lower his voice. He let the tension hang before something in his expression changed that had him straightening up and waving a hand. "...sometime, maybe. I think it would be worthwhile - and educational. For now, duty calls." He extended a hand, palm upward, clearly expecting the knife back if Dorian felt inclined to return it.
Dorian's smirk fell away at once upon Roesler mentioning what Dinah might enjoy. The nostrils flared. The eyes went alight with temper. With absolute vexation following close on it's heated heels. He took a breath, and then another, fuming, and in aid of seeing past red. This while his hand clenched around the lovingly crafted handle of a gift. He didn't say anything, but his face did: that he wasn't amused, and the veneer of civility was rather thinly iced over. First he'd flip the knife without looking at it to grab it by the blade and then he'd slap the handle into the open palm.
That done, he'd stalk to the door to let himself out, and only once he had a hand on the handle, did he raise his voice, casting over his shoulder on the way out, his only possible answer to a chance to fight, "Well if it's educational, how could I say no? Choke on your wine, Roesler. We both know that won't kill you."
He had to keep moving or else he might turn around and start swinging fists at the man who'd dared to speak about what DINAH LIKES, so he'd march straight to the deck and then leap, to swoop himself off to a good landing location, and thence to fume at home.
