• Closed • The Phantom of the Oberan

[Natalia Gregorios]

Zida 60, Arc 721

"How can you make excuses for him? He's a menace – don't you see that? He's going to lead you into all sorts of trouble if you let him."

Sighing softly, Natalia leaned back against the back of the theatre seat, legs crossed, watching Ladrian pace back and forth in front of her, possibly wearing a hole in the carpet. Her expression was placid and contemplative, almost calculating. Oddly enough, they were back to discussing the same subject – Oberan.

Within The Lamont, it was always Oberan.

"Of course, he is. You’ve given him no reason not to be.” Her tone was conversational, but it was evident that she was trying to employ whatever persuasion skills she had to get through to the man, but trying to persuade or negotiate with someone who didn't like the subject matter was tricky business. Ladrian was trying to look out for her - she understood that. She just needed one opportunity to show him that her way might work better than what had already failed.

Nothing had changed at The Lamont, although Ladrian had pulled strings and gotten Natalia and Oberan assigned different work times, trying to keep her from being influenced by someone he considered dangerous. Once she figured that out, the mortalborn decided it was time to do something about the situation.

Ladrian, playing the part of an exasperated father figure, had tried every approach he could think of to persuade the young woman that her perceived kindness was lost on someone the likes of Oberan. A vein in his forehead pulsed visibly, to the point Natalia wondered if she needed to take cover. "So we should give him anything he wants? While he's working off a debt? That's like rewarding him for bad behavior! Have you seen what he did with the costume loft?"

First, yes, she had. Resisting the smile that dared to peek through, she recalled coming in and finding that, after being given directions to 'get the costumes off the floor,' Oberan had taken every single one of them and hung them from the nooks and crannies around the loft ceiling that couldn't easily be gotten to. In her opinion, it was genius - they couldn't berate him for doing exactly what they had asked.

Admittedly, she had to concede the point to the older man, but only as far as apparent behavior went. Much more profound things governed all conduct. Case in point – Ladrian. He was irrational because he felt protective of her, although he had yet to verbalize said feeling. Natalia was confident similar deeper things were going on with Oberan, but there hadn't been an opportunity for her to investigate what those might be.

That was going to change. Being proactive about said change was step number one.

"I admit he's been a handful, but I think letting him do something he likes might help. The more you and the others pile on awful jobs, the more he will torment you and the patrons, and he's already got you all worn down. I'm just trying to help."

Rising from her chair, she faced the man and offered a compromise. "There's an unexpected dark theater tonight due to the illness running rampant through the company. There will only be a handful of people around. You've scheduled him to come in…."

Immediately, Ladrian interrupted. "How did you know…." Raising her hand to stop him, Natalia calmly explained. “Bostwick is horrible at keeping secrets. Three freshly-baked cookies and he would have told me anything. May I continue?"

One quick nod from Ladrian, and she was back on her way. "Anyway, you've scheduled Oberan to come in. Let me work in the loft with him. No one else wants to work with him - let me."

The expected response was immediate. "Why would I do that? He'll just do to you what he's done to everyone else." Ladrian was a kind man, but the protective streak he had was getting a bit old. He'd see that any opportunities Natalia had to talk to Oberan were snuffed out. To be honest, she was surprised the older man hadn't already dismissed her from further work at the theatre to keep them separated.

"Because you've run out of other options," she explained with a soft voice. "Oddly enough, I'm the only one that hasn't worked with him, so logic dictates that the next course of action is trying that and seeing what happens." Natalia knew she was risking a lot, but she had her reasons.

"If we don't get the loft in order, I will owe The Lamont two more cycles of volunteer work."

Surprised, the man shook his head but considered what she was saying. "Why?"

Shrugging, Natalia smiled. "I want to help. If I can convince him to help me put the loft to rights, that's one less thing that the company needs to do."

Of course, Natalia had an agenda beyond what she told Ladrian. Helping them helped her. She and Oberan needed to be in the same place, without anyone around. It was the only way she would get anywhere with him. Besides, her business with Oberan was not for public consumption. Ladrian believed one thing, and she allowed that misconception to linger because it suited her purposes.

Exasperated, Ladrain sunk into one of the theatre seats. " You might be as crazy as he is, you know that?"

Smiling, the young mortalborn gave a simple reply. "Maybe, but you are dying to prove me wrong. I'd like to find out whose theory proves to be true."

***

The stage was empty, except for Natalia, who sat waiting on the edge of the lit apron. Sensing she would only get one shot, she quietly contemplated her game plan, curiously considering how Oberan would try to screw it all up.

At her side, a small bag of freshly baked sand cookies.

A chess game was waiting to be played, and her opponent was the best she had ever seen. It was time to get unconventional.

Template credit: Oberan

[Oberan]

A frown creased Oberan’s forehead, brows drawn together and crinkling at the nose. Cupping one elbow with the opposite hand, he stroked his beard.

He stood in the shadows, and had for a few minutes now, watching with pursed lips. Eyes scanning, absorbing all they could see. Going glassy every so often when his conscious slipped a little too far into thought. Remaining alert regardless, he always snapped out of it quick when something caught his attention. Quick motions, bright colors. A sudden noise.

Mostly just people passing by. A cart rattling over the cobbles a few streets away. A child having slipped and fallen, screaming their lungs out while a parent attempted to shush them, wiping tears and snot away. Small groups of urchins running about, up to no good.

More of them these days, but less at the same time. The latter in quantity, the former in proportion. Lisirra’s plague had killed many, especially in the Perimeter. Many children had lost parents, older siblings or other family. Whole orphanages had succumbed to disease. Not many still had caretakers left.

And then Sintra appeared. She and her dastardly experiments to restore lingering ghosts to life…

Somewhere, a bell chimed. Bronze echoes rippling across the city.

Oberan’s eyes refocused. Flitted back and forth. Back to the matter at hand. The cause for his pause and ponder.

The ivy-covered front of the grand building before him. Large windows, large double doors. Usually those’d be shining with the light of numerous lanterns at this time in the evening. The doors would be wide open, a porter posted there with straight face and hands behind their back. A steady stream of patrons with garish outfits and heavy purses meandering through. Chatting about so many things and nothing at all. Jabbering about the tonight’s performance of some Venoran duke’s most respected play.

Tonight there was none of that.

Not just to his own surprise, many of the passersby expressed their bewilderment too. Casting curious glances. Some even stopping in their tracks for a moment. It was that unusual. Even when no performances were scheduled, the building still saw its share of traffic.

Except for tonight.

The –alleged—beating heart of Etzos’ cultural scene lied still and silent, pumping no lifeblood round and round. Its neighborhood all the poorer for it –or so its usual visitors would claim.

The Lamont, crown jewel of the Etzori theatre and other performing arts, was dead tonight. In its place was a desaturated, lifeless pile of brickwork, glass, and semi-successful architectural grandeur. In other words, a mutilated corpse.

Cause of death couldn’t be determined just yet. Strangled by the ivy creeping up to the front balcony, perhaps? Had it choked in a bit too much pomp and snobbery? Maybe the Venoran duke had had the theatre group assassinated for their modernist interpretations of his finest masterpieces.

Who could say?

What Oberan knew for certain is that the whole thing was beyond suspicious. It reeked of a trap, an ambush. He wouldn’t put it past the Lamont, he’d antagonized them quite a bit this past season. Maybe not to the point that they would try to have him assassinated, but he couldn’t be certain.

Cautious and unseen, he climbed the steps to the double doors, and tested them. It budged, giving in to the slight pressure. Oberan eased up, letting the door fall back shut, frowning. Not locked, but dark and empty nonetheless.

He stroked his beard, and put some pressure on the doors again. Not a lot, just a bit. Holding his breath as he did, focusing, searching. Feeling for resistance that might betray the presence of tripwires or other traps meant to be sprung by carelessly swinging the doors open.

None.

And yet, he didn’t trust it one bit.

It was unlikely that the Lamont would go to such lengths for… for what, actually? Get back at him? Didn’t seem their style. Although, perhaps someone had decided to try and give Oberan a taste of his own medicine.

Either way, if not a trap, something else might be waiting for him inside. Something he’d prefer to circumvent. Or, more likely, he was imagining things and getting himself worked up. He didn’t mind the latter at all.

Oberan stepped away from the front, gaze on the first floor windows, following the snaking ivy up the balcony. Easy access, but also an ingress he’d used before. They might be expecting that. He circled around to the back instead. The little alleys didn’t see as much foot traffic, and even in the Circle there weren’t many street lanterns here to light up the area. Compared to the main thoroughfares, the alleys were black as pitch.

He was on the wall in no time flat, fingertips and feet finding cracks and ridges to hold on to, clambering up with little effort. Soon enough he hauled himself up on a windowsill near the rooftop, balancing precariously on the tiny ledge.

Producing an L-shaped pick from thin air, he inserted the instrument through a gap between window and wall, then turned it sideways. For a moment he fidgeted, manipulating the tool with the smallest motions until it tripped the latch.

The pick vanished back out of existence as Oberan pushed the window open, and slipped into the costume loft.

It was spotless, apart from a large red stain on the floorboards in one spot, and snapped or dented boards a few meters away —they still needed to schedule a carpenter to come in and replace them. On the floor there stood no racks, lied no costumes or props, no mess whatsoever. There seemed to be nothing at all stored here, until you looked up. With the exception of a long ladder leaning against one of the corners of the room, and some pieces of furniture the member of the Lamont had managed to extract from the rafters, everything else dangled from the ceiling or the high beams supporting the roof.

Despite it having been two days, Oberan still was proud of it. They shouldn’t have insisted on him cleaning up their mess. Especially since they were the ones who'd let the situation get so out of hand in the first place. How had they ever managed to find the right costumes within those mountains of discarded outfits?

The door to the upper floor hallways wasn’t locked, and Oberan quietly snuck through. There seemed to be no need for stealth, as he encountered not a single soul traversing the otherwise bustling floors. No technical crews, no actors, no stage hands. Not even meddlesome Ladrian micromanaging ever single little thing he could.

Down the stairs to the stage then, where he could see light. At least one place within this whole damn building that was lit. From what Oberan could tell at a glance, everything in front of the stage was steeped in darkness.

The backstage was a different matter. While only a few lanterns were currently in use within the tunnel-like hallways, several of the backrooms were actually lit and occupied. In each, one or two members of the theatre staff toiled. One clerk scratching away furiously at a series of documents, frown permanently etched into their forehead. Seamstresses fixing up some costumes that'd gotten torn during a performance, chatting. A few stagehands building set pieces from large wooden panels, with another in charge of painting them.

None of it very interesting. Oberan withdrew, returning to the stage and the auditorium adjacent to it, the heart of the Lamont, in more ways than one.

A set of steps brought him into the wings --abandoned and just about as messy as the costume loft had been-- then onto the quiet, empty stage. The curtain had been pulled up, removing the separation between stage and seats. As noted before, while the stage was bathed in light, neither the auditorium before it, nor the entrance halls or those leading up to the various balconies were illuminated.

The lack of people combined with the few spots of light looking out over a sea of darkness beyond created a thick sort of silence. One that one could lose himself in. One that gave rise to time passing in an instant as profound thoughts wove themselves into a barely coherent tapestry. Almost the same as watching a cloudless night sky. Almost.

He examined the room for a few moments then, pondering what was going on, and spotted her. The girl, sitting on the edge of the stage, watching the dark auditorium.

I wonder…

Oberan slid across the stage like a phantom, his feet feeling for and avoiding squeaky boards. Quieter than silence. Clothing, nor body, nor breath or motion produced a sound. Left the ambience of the room completely intact. Moving while minding the source of the light too, lest his shadow give him away.

Closer.

Closer.

Gaze finding a rather pink pouch sitting next to the girl, previously hidden by the angle of his approach. On closer inspection it was a mere pink cloth tied with a sky-blue ribbon. Eye-catching. Interesting. Fascinating. Out in the open. A trap for sure.

A snare for a too-curious cat.

Curious for sure, but an ordinary cat Oberan was not. He was clever and skilled enough to steal the bait right out of a snare and without getting caught.

Though there was something to be said for springing a trap on purpose—no, not today. He’d not grant her that satisfaction.

Closer.

Closer still…

Standing over her, the girl none the wiser. He could steal every single hair on her head and she’d only find out once she glanced in the mirror. Fortunately for her, he had no interest in her locks, his attention still on the tempting pouch.

He waited, just a moment, loosening up his fingers, ready for action.

And then, a deep and silent breath in through the nose—

Oh? What’s that delicious smell?

Template credit: Natalia Gregorios

[Natalia Gregorios]

Zida 60, Arc 721

The Lamont was still – lovely and quiet. Natalia knew Oberan would come. She just knew. He was getting something out of being at The Lamont, or else she was quite sure he would have blown the whole thing off. What gain? She didn't know, but it was clear that patience was the name of the game with that one.

Sitting on the stage and staring out into the darkness of the theatron, the young mortalborn waited, mulling over every piece of the plan, looking for improvements or flaws. Every piece of information Natalia knew about her mysterious acquaintance was locked inside her mind, waiting to become beneficial to her.

Carefully, Natalia had constructed a scenario that would be hard to resist and created him a game – a game only the two of them would play. By the end of the evening, hopefully, she'd know how things would go by one outcome or another.

As Oberan advanced to the stage and began his approach, 'Sophia' stayed still, oblivious to his presence. Movement began near her lap – a small bag. Crawling out, Oberan would recognize the tiny creature that had been with her the night of the attack in the costume loft. Its six heads undulated gracefully until it fully detached from the leather and escaped the accessory.

Natalia looked down, giving the dragonet a gentle smile. "Well, hello there, little one. Awake finally, I see. And probably hungry. Let's take care of that, shall we?"

Reaching into the larger bag next to her, the young mortalborn pulled out a few pieces of apple and pear and offered them to the creature, one at a time. It was an entertaining little show, really. The docile creature's different heads had conflicting ideas about what they wanted to do. A few struck out at the fruit pieces, while another pair were dazzled in the stage's lights. One of the heads simply hung there, appearing to wish for sleep again.

Carefully, she tended to each of them in turn, even managing to rouse the sleepy one from slumber. "All better now, aren't we? You must be on your best behavior tonight. Our friend will be here soon." Or already – how was she to know?

Oberan had abilities that she struggled to explain, which was part of the reason they needed to be alone. Natalia had her secrets too, and if his secrets were anything like hers, the only way they stood a chance of figuring each other out was without a mess of people around. Every moment of their shared existence had been amid other people, save one – when the Blackjacks had questioned them. The pair had been alone for a time, and he had told her his name.

She needed the world to disappear for just one moment and let them be.

The moment Oberan stood above her, cloaked by his talents, was when the young woman decided to move.

Snatching the sack of cookies from their place beside her, the mortalborn set Apollo gently on her shoulder and rose from the stage deck, slinging her shoulder bag gently over her torso - it was time to place herself on the chessboard. He hadn't shown up yet, but that didn't mean he wouldn't, and she needed to get started on the loft.

But before that, though, there was one thing she needed to make sure she had. Fifteen trills and two pokes of sharp objects into flesh later, one unopened bottle of Darrington's was produced, quickly shifted, and cradled carefully in the crook of her arm.

Moving upstage, Natalia left the performance area, swept into the wings, and began climbing the steps to the costume loft. There was a lot of work to be done, and while she had several breaks to do it, it would take every second of that time to make sure she fulfilled her promises to Ladrian so the game could continue.

Yes, the game had a purpose, but that didn't mean she couldn't have fun simultaneously. Her life was seriously lacking in fun.

***

The loft looked like it had a few days prior – empty. Or at least until one looked up and saw the entirety of The Lamont's costume inventory hanging elegantly from specific points on the ceiling. Gently placing the bag of cookies on a small table near the side of the room, Natalia allowed a smile to break free – it really was genius. There was something so beautiful about the way that man's mind worked. A treasure trove of wit and creativity that she, in an odd way, found appealing.

Sliding her bag off, Natalia opened it and reached in, carefully pulling out a wad of material. Setting it on the table, her hands gently worked into the fabric and retrieved, one by one, small drinking glasses.

Each glass, Natalia inspected thoroughly, with any traces of dust removed and deemed fit. Following the inspection came an unopened bottle of Darringtons, set within the ring of glasses. The final touch? The sinfully delicious-smelling cookies still wrapped within their colorful confines and a small assortment of bread, meats, and cheeses - it wouldn't do to work on an empty stomach.

With that taken care of, it was time to tackle the loft. She knew how the rack system worked, and Natalia could fix it even though the Lamont people currently had it in pieces. All they needed to do was put the dowels back in place. No one had cared to take the time to do that, so she was going to show the theatre people a thing or two about work ethic and taking pride in what one did. Had everyone lost their passion? It certainly seemed so, but perhaps that was a symptom of a more significant issue in the city itself - something to consider, at least.

Walking around the loft, she considered her game plan carefully. The ladder would help, but barely – Oberan had really done an excellent job making sure people would have difficulty getting the costumes down.

Natalia got to work by stowing Apollo on a chair with a few more apple pieces, turning her attention to the mess above her.

Grabbing the ladder, she pulled it over to the side of the room where she would begin, letting it sit there for a moment before moving to get the first thick wooden dowel needed to put the maze of racks back together again.

As she worked, her voice finally reached into the room, talking to thin air - an old friend of hers. Cozy and familiar. It was a relationship born out of many breaks of speaking and trusting no one in particular.

"It's just you and me, again. How have you been?"

The mortalborn's voice was soft, unlike what many had heard before. As her hands quickly reattached the dowel to the two sides of the hanging rack, Natalia carefully considered her next thought, knowing that if she were to have any chance of breaking through to him, she might have to take a few risks to get his attention.

"I'm unsure if I should tell him my name. Trouble tends to follow me, as you've seen. Obviously. I don't want him to get hurt because of me."

Moving to the pile of dowels, she picked up a few more, using the ladder to access places she couldn't quite reach. That part of the job was easy, but that would come next wasn't nearly so.

Slowly, she shifted off her long overcoat, placing it neatly next to Apollo on his chair. There was consideration given to tossing off her shoes, but no, they were fine. The fashionable corset had to go - there would be no climbing in that, thank you very much.

By the time she was done, Natalia had stripped down to the basics - leather leggings, shirt, shoes. A quick flip of the hair, and it too was managed, long dark curls stowed at the crown and out of the way.

Putting the ladder against the wall again, she swiftly climbed to the top, eyes on where she needed to go next. It would like climbing the tree back in Almund, minus Grayson's snarky commentary.

A high windowsill was situated next to a rack, just below where he had hung a dress. If she could just get there…wait! The dowels! If she brought one up the ladder, it would give her the extra height she needed. Well, if she could hook the hanger on the dress with it, that was.

Scrambling back down the steps, Natalia grabbed one of the shorter, lightweight dowels and ascended the ladder again, strategy planned.

Once at the top of the steps, she gently shifted her weight to put one foot on the windowsill. Helping her was the fact that there was a clothing rack hanging in front of the window, giving her something to hold on to as she leaned out gently.

Slowly piercing the air in front of her with the smaller dowel, Natalia tried to knock the hanger of the dress off the little ledge Oberan had perched it on, hoping to send the whole thing to the ground. Most of the costumes had heft to them, so trying to balance one while moving herself back to the ground wasn't going to work. Knowing one's weaknesses was essential; she simply didn't have the strength for that.

It took a moment of precarious athleticism and a great deal of luck, but soon enough, the heavy dress and hanger plummeted to the ground.

One down, and a whole bunch more to go.

Template credit: Oberan

[Oberan]

The pink bag of delicious smells was nearly within his grasp.

Lowering himself into a crouch, Oberan began reaching for it from behind the girl’s back, neither rushing or dallying. Theft was art. While it could be rushed, the result would suffer. You had to take your time, but take care not to wait too long for the perfect moment to arrive, or the chance would pass you by. Any opportunity would do if you were skilled enough. You just had to seize it.

The girl rose, her head barreling towards his chin at an alarming pace. Oberan leaned backwards and took a small step in retreat, narrowly avoiding a painful collision. Oblivious, she grabbed her bag and turned around—

To face an empty stage. Oberan’d followed her motion, had slipped behind her once again. Out of sight, remaining outside of her peripherals. His heart skipped, the tingles spread from his stomach through his limbs. A close call, no doubt about it.

He’d missed his opportunity. If he’d not been playing around during his approach, the window would have been quite a lot bigger. On the other hand, he couldn’t see the future. He couldn’t possibly have known she’d get up right that instant. Sometimes the unexpected happened, providing chances and setbacks in equal measure. Sometimes large, sometimes small. That was the way of picking pockets.

Oberan didn’t need the additional incentive presented by the bottle of Daringtons to follow Sophia as she left the stage and made her way to the upper floors. His sights were set on that pink bag. He would find out what was in there, and he’d eat it. Now he could sip Etzos’s –no, Idalos’s best whiskey alongside it. A proper compensation for coming in tonight, whereas he could have easily refused to show up at all.

Up the stairs, they reached the costume loft, which Sophia promptly entered. She laid claim to a small table and packed its top with a whole picknick basket’s worth of food items. Bread, sausages, various cheese wedges, as well as the aforementioned bottle of Daringtons, as well as the pink bag.

But having a picknick was not Sophia’s priority. Instead she got to work, climbing up and balancing precariously atop the tall ladder, swatting at one of the costumes Oberan’d hung from the ceiling. Changing her approach and footing, and cleverly extending her reach with a wooden rod, she succeeded at knocking it off its hanger. The dress and hanger both fell to the floor, one significantly faster than the other.

But there were still many, many costumes left to take down, and not all of them hung in places that could be –somewhat—easily reached. Discerning which she could feasibly get to and which not would be Sophia’s first hurdle.

The Lamont possessed a treasure trove of costumes and outfits, they had more than there were fancy robes in the wardrobe of a king, they all dangled at varying heights, creating a veritable jungle-canopy of fabric and cloth. Sleeves and mufflers, and even belts slithered down like vines. Skirts, vests, dresses and the like were attached to the beams, rafters and ceiling itself as if they were oddly-shaped and colored leaves. Wigs and other props dotted intersections between wooden beams in clusters like exotic fruits.

Still, amidst the many outfits unreachable by virtue of hanging deceptively high, or their location within the room making it difficult to access.

However, there were several Sophia might get to with a measure of acrobatics and elbow grease. Perhaps the easiest to start with was a colorful dress with layers of ruffles below the waist, suspended from a high beam near one of the walls. Why not begin with something simple, then gradually work her way to the more annoyingly placed items?

The closer Sophia’d get to the dress though –climbing her trusty ladder rung by rung—the more its particulars would seem familiar to her. Its cut, color and fabric, the way its ruffles fell,… Hadn’t she just sent that one to the floor? Or was it a twin dress, perhaps?

A glance down would reveal that the first one –and its hanger alongside it—had mysteriously vanished.

Upon reaching for it, whether barehanded or with a wooden dowel to knock it back down, the dress moved. Lifting itself up, just barely out of reach, and hooked itself back on the wooden beam, but a little further to the left.

Or so it seemed from Sophia’s angle at first. It soon became clear that there was, in fact, a hand puppeteering this movement. A hand attached to an arm, connected to the body of a man she needn’t see the face of to identify. Oberan, of course.

He sat relaxed on the beam, kicking his legs a little, and rained down cookie crumbs on Sophia’s head. “And what do you think you are doing? Undoing my hard work, are you? Did the boneheads put you up to this? Couldn’t be bothered to clean up their own messes themselves, so they called you in?” He shook his head and sighed. “They’re really getting their money’s worth with you, aren't they?”

Oberan took another bite from his cookie, slow to minimize its crumbling. Still, some parts did break loose. He picked them out of the folds of his shirt and pants, and stuffed them in his mouth. “These are really good, by the by. They’ve got good crunch. Where’d you get them?”

Template credit: Natalia Gregorios

[Natalia Gregorios]

Zida 60, Arc 721

Success! The dress floated gently dropped like a rock to the ground, and for a brief moment, Natalia felt a tingle of jubilation at the accomplishment.

Then, unexpectedly and without warning, it passed and a drop of sadness crept through. That was the rub of it, wasn't it? The creativity and uniqueness of what Oberan had done to the costume loft was a thing of beauty to her. Never could or would she have dreamt of doing such, and having to ruin what he created frustrated her.

It was, that very moment, that she realized something rather stunning.

It was odd how life turned out sometimes. The twists and turns revealed around every corner. Just when you thought you had things figured out, analyzing and considering variables from every conceivable direction – Boom! Something landed in your path, changing everything.

Sitting there on the ladder rung, it hit her like a thunderstorm.

The costume hitting the ground was her 'boom.' She felt two things simultaneously, in equal measure, and immediately knew why. To say it was surprising was something of an understatement.

Slowly, Natalia moved down off the ladder for a moment, needing to get her feet on the ground as she considered the ramifications of her flash of insight. She had always considered herself a complicated girl, but what if that was just what she wanted the universe to think? Was it really as simple as her mind wished her to believe?

It was all very intriguing. Never one to shy away from self-analysis, the moments spent doing such illuminated one very critical thing about how Natalia felt about the mysterious Oberan, which was….

…wait - where was Apollo?

The chair was noticeably empty when she glanced down at where she had left the dragonet. His bag was nearby, open just a bit. Ah, crawled back inside for another nap, she assumed, thinking nothing more of it. Even if he were exploring nearby, the small Kletier wouldn't be timid about calling out to her if he got into trouble, so Natalia got on with things, grabbing a piece of cheese before considering another ascension of the ladder, nibbling on it.

How had she overlooked all the signs? That all her observations and thoughts about the jester costume-wearing, enigmatic acrobat with intelligent wit and creative mind were leading someplace? Even she was oblivious sometimes - apparently. But did it really mean that she felt...

Oh wow! That little piece of cheese was fantastic! Great flavor, texture, and spice - she'd have to remember to find it again another time.

Right then, her mind was still wandering, and thus Natalia completely missed that the pretty pink cookie bag had vanished from the table.

Repositioning the ladder a few inches over, Natalia grabbed the first rung and began climbing it again. Wooden rod in hand, she spied a dress hanging relatively close to the top of the ladder. Rung after rung, she climbed higher, finally reaching the height where she could hold on and comfortably extend the dowel towards the hanger, and did just that.

In that split second, as she was reaching out, the briefest flash of recognition registered. The color, material - wasn't that the same dress she already found? Were there two of them? Natalia's eyes flickered down to the ground, grip on the ladder tightening to adjust to the slight movement, and realized that the previous dress was mysteriously not there.

Before she could conclude what that meant, the end of the dowel found its way to the destination, and right before making contact, the entire ensemble teasingly danced away, out of her reach.

She wasn't alone and who exactly had arrived was no mystery.

Natalia had known he would come, but his entrance was rather dramatic, a fitting tribute to the man himself.

Glancing up, she was immediately greeted by cookie crumbs, swatting them out of her face as they rained down. Wait, cookie crumbs?

Looking down at the table, sure enough, the pink bag was gone. How had she missed that?

Oberan and Natalia were beyond standard greetings. Chasing people through cities and playing clever word games tended to break down those pesky formalities and social conventions. She might have been the one to open the door to their unusual association, but Oberan hadn't slammed it shut as she had watched him do to others. However, the few words they had managed to exchange throughout their association did not a conversation make, so now, door open, Natalia was going to put a wedge in it.

Sitting on the nearest rung of the ladder, her golden eyes cast up to regard him. The man was babbling about his hard work…and cookies. Well, she had a few things to say about both. Did she want to destroy his creation? That was an interesting question, and the very same one that had brought Natalia to the bombshell realization earlier.

Sincerely, the brunette shook her head, speaking slowly. "No, Oberan, I don't. I think what you did, all of this…" gesturing towards the ceiling, "…is so incredibly clever. I already knew you were, though. Since the night we met."

Anyone with a hint of knowledge regarding language could see the 'but' coming, although when it arrived, it was perhaps not what he was expecting to hear.

"But we must. Perhaps more than anyone here, I see you. Not the you that you pretend to be for everyone's benefit or confusion, whichever serves your purpose at the time, but as much of the real you as you allow to be known. I want to help you bring the circus night idea to life, but they will only listen if we make them. You got their attention with this, and if we put it back to rights, perhaps we have a shot."

The grand realization for Natalia? She actually did care about other people. Life had not taken that from her.

For so, so long, it had been her against the world. To keep her own council, stay true to who she was, and not let anyone sway her from her goals. Growing up, it had been about surviving long enough to escape a future she didn't want, protecting her mind against ideals she could never believe in. Perhaps it had been incredibly selfish, but who wished for a meaningless life?

However, she had found something different in Etzos. Discovering someone with so much life in them that it couldn't be contained, Natalia was drawn to a man who rarely smiled during that time. She got the impression he had before, though, and she wanted him to do so again. Maybe they both needed a little fun in their life right then. He liked the circus night idea, so that was her plan. If she could help him find his smile again, maybe there was hope for her too? Perhaps she could recapture the part of her soul thought long lost to the ravages of her unconventional childhood, knowing she was merely a pawn for other people to use.

There was one issue – she couldn't tell him any of that. Putting light on what she saw in him would just make him retreat farther away from her. There was a side of Oberan he did not want people seeing, and if she made the barest mention that her observant eyes had noted even a hint of it, he'd scurry away. At least for the time being, it had to be her secret.

How to get him on her side, though? That was the question; there was only one way she could think of.

"I want to show the troupe that we can do better than them at bringing business to the Lamont. Their ideas are old and tired, but if our venture is successful?" She wanted to prove a point in the Lamont, under the lights, having the audience bear witness.

As for the cookies? Wait…he took the cookies and not the alcohol? A quick glance at the table confirmed that. Strange. Natalia would have bet that the alcohol vanished before the cookies. Oberan had a sweet tooth - good to know. Anyway, the cookies - she was prepared on that front.

Climbing back down the ladder, the young mortalborn sauntered over to her bag and pulled out two more pink bags of cookies. Grinning up at Oberan, she waved them enticingly. "Help me with the loft; these are yours, plus I'll reveal where I bought them all."

Suddenly, a shutter snapped open from above, pushed by a gust of wind. The other rattled a bit but stayed in place. That window had been a problem as long as they had been at the Lamont. No one could seem to fix it, but the noise did give her an opening she had been looking for.

Glancing up again, Natalia focused on Oberan Please see ooc note below. She did not desire to invade his privacy, but the mortalborn needed insurance that she had his attention, and hopefully, his mind would provide something for that purpose. Before, she had been able to briefly pry things out of another's mind - just a snippet. It would invite questions, certainly, but then again, he had secrets of his own.

Golden eyes focused on his form, sitting in the rafters. There were no other people around to distract her mind, so it was simply a matter of finding what she was looking for, gently breathing in and out.

There! It was there...she just needed one moment, brow furrowing a bit in concentration. Natalia heard the words, but they didn't make much sense.

Swiftly, she spoke what she heard. "Odd. What language is 'Kol va be-shu'ul Vortem!' Whose' Vortem,' and why are you thinking about him?"

Standing there, arching a delicate eyebrow, she shrugged her shoulders and gave him a genuine smile. Why was he the only one that could invoke such a thing from her?

"You took the cookies; oh dear, oh my!
From the shadows that surround, by and by.
From you I stole one tiny thought,
Now we are even - is your attention caught?"

Natalia's voice was clear as a bell, hoping to invoke the ambiance of the first night they met, reminding him of the moments that had produced fractional smiles.

"I am, however, shocked you didn't grab the Darringtons."

Whatever conclusion he would come to, and there were several to choose from, Natalia was confident that he wouldn't run to 'mortalborn.' The trust had to start somewhere, and perhaps simply realizing that neither of them was what they appeared to the rest of the world to be was an excellent first step.

Carefully, Natalia let the connection go, tucking the ability away again and waiting to see what her carefully laid out plan would net.

Template credit: Oberan

OOC

Natalia is using her MB ability "Crystal Clear" from her "Clarity" domain. "Crystal Clear
Natalia can hear the stream of conscious thoughts of those within her line of sight. The greater the number of individuals around her, the harder it is to make sense of the jumble of thoughts or to focus on one individual.

Once Natalia discovers the ability and begins to explore it, it will be overwhelming. The ability to focus on a single target will only come with time/training (unless there is only one person in her line of sight). She will need to train/experiment to understand the ability and how to use it. As the ability progresses, she will begin to be able to sort people out and understand which voices belong to whom. This will be largely contextual and depend on the situation / environment Natalia is in but her ability to discern one voice from a crowd of five or more, for example, will be based on her Detection skill in that moment. The greater the size of the group around her, the more difficult it is.

The length of time she is able to keep the connection open will be dependent on her experience with the ability and her own discipline level.

At Novice and Competent - Up to two bits.
Expert Discipline - Up to five bits
Master - Up to seven bits
GrandMaster - Up to ten bits

Discipline and Meditation experience will help her progress more quickly in this ability. Over-use can result in headaches, disorientation, dizziness (light), lingering migraines & temporary hearing/eyesight loss (mild), mania, and crushing inability to keep others thoughts out of her mind (heavy).

In order to resist this ability, the individual whose thoughts Natalia is reading must have a reason to suspect / believe / know that she is doing so. This might be her facial reaction to their thoughts, an ability which allows them to know if they are being observed in this way, etc. If they know that it is happening, then it can be resisted by anyone with a Discipline skill at the same level as her or higher or with appropriate magic / marks. This will be discussed and agreed between players on a case by case basis."

[Oberan]

Oberan narrowed his eyes at her slightly, assessing both tone and intent. It was some of the most obvious flattery he’d ever heard, and yet the girl seemed to genuinely mean what she said. He kept quiet, letting her finish as she laid out her grand plan, until she began to descend the ladder again.

“What makes you think I even want to perform for their stuck-up audience in the first place?” He snorted, shook his head. Something pinched the skin of his neck as he did. “I can put on a show anywhere I want, whenever I want.”

Though he’d never draw equally large crowds as the theatre could, nor an audience that’d sit through the whole performance with busking. People might stop for a few minutes to watch and sate their curiosity as they passed him by, but that was about the full extent of it. He couldn’t deny there was something fundamentally different about a scheduled show atop a professional stage. It shifted audience expectations, got rid of prejudice, and gave a more positive impression.

He wavered.

How long had it been since he’d been part of an actual show? Part of a series of performers of all stripes, his own act nested between several others. Alternating to keep the audience from growing bored, teaming up to enhance each other’s skills and awe the crowds…

Years, if he counted the birthday event for that Qi’ora.

Decades, if he did not.

Far too long. Yet he still remembered. Everyone’s faces, their specialties. Their casual nonchalance before an early evening show, hiding a nervousness that couldn’t be truly defeated. The grins after, reveling in the reactions they’d gotten from the crowd, laughing about mishaps on stage, the cheering and whistling when one act concluded and another member of the troupe took over. Expressions highlighted by the flickering orange glow of a snapping campfire, shoveling heaping spoonfuls of simple but delicious food into hungry mouths…

“Fine.” He chomped on another cookie, not nearly as careful as before. It sent crumbs of various sizes flying in all directions. “But there’s conditions attached. If I’m doing this, I’m not letting the Lamont inter—”

Just then, the latch of one of the windows failed, and the wind immediately began slamming it repeatedly against its frame, interrupting Oberan. He clicked his lips in irritation. That very same window had not been cooperative while putting the entire costume loft’s interior up on the rafters either. Clattering aside, the gusts coming in had blown some of the lighter, more precariously placed outfits and props back to the floor.

Even now, it dislodged a couple wigs and a sheer blouse, sending them down. Several of the other outfits flapped in the breeze, swaying dangerously back and forth. With the hooks of the hangers resting on the edge of ceiling beams, or jammed in surface cracks in the wood, the structural integrity of Oberan’s masterpiece was severely flawed. It wouldn’t take much to compromise the precarious balance and make most of it collapse.

In a way, it’d save a lot of time. However, if anyone was going to undo the fruits of his labor, it was Oberan himself.

Head snapping in the window’s direction, Oberan reached for the well of power within. For a tiny piece of soul that’d latched onto his in recent years. A piece he’d stolen, or that had let itself be stolen. With but a thought, he channeled it, directing its power outward.

Static crackled within his mind; heavy rain on metal sheets. The breaking of ice underneath overconfident feet, layered over top of itself thousands of times. Hands rifling through mountains of broken glass. And underneath it all, muffled but still booming. A familiar voice, the echo of a short-lived companion. Once terrifying, now comforting.

The window slammed back shut, the latch fell back in place, and for the briefest moment an iridescent shimmer rippled across it.

Oberan gave a small grunt in satisfaction, and ate another cookie.

Then almost choked as Sophia asked a rather specific question. He played it off as a coughing fit induced by the crumbly nature of his snack as he regained his composure. Regardless of whether or not it fooled the girl, however, Oberan didn’t believe he looked anywhere as suave as he might have before. Managing that red-faced and teary-eyed happened to be rather difficult, especially with some more bouts of actual coughing interrupting his attempts.

“I do believe that’s none of your business,” he rasped, hoping to get the last stubborn crumbs out of his windpipe. “And usually such aces should be kept up your sleeves.”

Especially something as potent as mind-reading. The same sort of magic Joderall and that blind Webspinner wielded. His encounter with the latter had shown exactly how dangerous it could be, though not necessarily because it allowed the user to see his thoughts.

Which begged the question: why reveal her ability to do so? Sophia’s smile accompanying it hadn’t been anything remotely sly or threatening. Or mischievous, for that matter. Excited, yes. Oberan didn’t understand the intent, and he decided he wouldn’t bother fretting over. Sometimes things should just be take at face value, no matter how it boggled the mind.

From a fold in his cloak he materialized a shiny copper pan which he put on his head. If the metal could repel ghosts, it might also shield his thoughts from whatever magic was used to unabashedly peep on them. Maybe.

And in case it didn’t, Oberan forced himself to focus on the image of a budding flower, blooming into a colorful hand that made equally colorful –and rude—gestures. Hopefully that'd keep her out. It wasn't a nice place to be in, hadn't been for a while now.

“Sure, whatever.” He rolled his eyes. For a moment or two he rummaged around inside his cloak, pulling out a half-empty bottle of Daringtons. “I brought my own, you see,” he said, taking a swig, then put the bottle back where it’d come from.

“Why are you trying this hard? Cookies, a whole damn picnic, Daringtons… Breaking into rhyme out of the blue. Why? You did that before too, when you joined us for chaos kings. Going above and beyond.” He squinted at her. “I think you avoided the question then too. So again, why? What’s your goal? What do you want?”

Oberan leaned back on the beam, and cocked his head. Again there was a sharp pinching at the base of his neck, and he quickly returned to his previous position to make it stop. “Is it because you want a slot in my Fantastic Entertainment Extravaganza? Not many amateur poets around, true, I don’t think they're very popular here. Also wouldn’t recommend improvising one on the spot for your act. Last one was pretty good, but this one honestly wasn’t great.

“If it were me, I’d set up a magic show where you let someone from the audience choose a card from a deck of cards, and you guess it. Or something like that… I can see that have an impact…” He tapped a thumb to his chin, taking some seconds to ponder it. A scowl began to form. “Anyway. That’s if the Lamont even lets this happen in the first place. Which is no guarantee. Maybe you could convince whatshisface to consider it, and speak on your behalf with his boss, but that doesn’t mean it’s a foregone conclusion this Fantastic Entertainment Extravaganza will be permitted to use the venue.

“So tell me, why should I undo my incredibly clever work if there’s no benefit in it for me? Sure, maybe it’ll smooth things over a little with the crews, but it won’t sway their opinions of me.” Admittedly, that was his own fault. Not that he regretted it, mind. “Something vague like 'perhaps they will listen to this proposal'... Even if Laddy said he'd consider it, he’s not the one calling the shots. Bert Lamont does. And if I go directly to him with a lucrative business proposal, then it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks of me.

"So I might as well just leave everything as is, and watch them struggle to get all this—” he gestured wide to encompass the entire room ‘’—back to normal. Let them yell and nag until they go hoarse. Oh, they'd love for me to finally comply. 'Do this, do that'. Blah blah, orders and commands. I'll not be bossed around. They want me to do something? You can bet I'm not doing it. I'm delighted at the opportunity to make them all look like fools." Oberan shrugged. "As it stands, there’s no incentive for me to lend a hand whatsoever, no matter the amount of cookies you’ve brought to bribe me with. Terribly sorry.”

Thus spoke his mouth, but Oberan’s stomach had other ideas. Especially when the pink bag proved empty when he reached for another cookie. The build-up of saliva didn’t stop, in fact, it grew worse with his gaze fixated on the two other pouches Sophia had produces, now resting on the table. Some fresh, crispy bread with meat and cheese would be nice too, then some Daringtons to wash it down…

Fuck, did I even eat tonight?

No, growled his stomach, you forgot.

That picnic assortment suddenly became ten times more appealing, but he’d already declined. He couldn’t backpedal now, it was a matter of pride.

Fortunately, Oberan often carried a snack of some sort with him. He produced an apple from within his cloak. It sported several brown spots, and was getting soft in places, but it would still be perfectly edible. In fact, it released a rather pungent sweet scent as if to entice a bite.

Oberan didn’t require further encouragement. When he brought it to his mouth however, there sounded an excited chirp, and a tiny creature scurried up his shoulder from behind, its little claws digging through the fabric of his clothes and into his skin. All of it’s too-many heads latched onto the fruit without hesitation, hauling it away from Oberan’s lips with all its might.

It already began to take bites out of the apple then, alternating between heads to not let it slip from its grasp. Oberan himself had little choice but to let it happen, as when he tried to push the creature away or pulled a little harder on the apple, the heads hissed and snapped at his fingers. Only a warning gnaw that didn’t break the skin, but Oberan could tell its sharp little teeth would have no problem drawing blood.

Sighing, he gave the creature a dirty look which it didn’t seem to notice or mind, before aiming an exasperated expression at Sophia instead. “It commandeered my fucking apple! I was going to eat that. I require reimbursement!”

Template credit: Natalia Gregorios

[Natalia Gregorios]

Zida 60, Arc 721

It had never been like this between them, which in her eyes was a good thing. Natalia needed the distractions of Etzos to fade away for a moment so she and Oberan could see each other as clearly as circumstance would allow. Despite appearances and the fact that they were often in the same vicinity, she truly felt that one shot was all she had to make an impression on him – good or bad. Currently, she was swimming in a sea of neutral.

Oberan allowed her to explain whatever she felt the need to, but quickly responded with his own thoughts, not hiding his contempt for those of The Lamont. Truthfully, with a few exceptions, Natalia felt similarly. However, the pair diverged wildly in how they handled the situation. It was a game, certainly, but both players had different strategies.

His opening volley towards her idea wasn't ideal but somewhat expected. Glancing up at him from the floor, Natalia shrugged her shoulders lightly, calling up. "Nothing. I don't know that at all." Admitting such a thing was difficult, but then again, taking an enormous leap of faith often was, and here she stood doing just that on the flimsiest of evidence. Nothing but Oberan himself could shake the belief in her that much of how he projected himself was an elaborate act to push others away.

The daughter of Chamadarst didn't scare easily, and she'd bet everything she had that he knew that.

Oberan seemed to take a moment and then agreed to her plan. Well, tentatively, with a few conditionals that never found their way to his tongue, derailed by an errant window that blew open. Natalia dodged a few items that were knocked off their hooks and hangers by the gust and watched as the shutters snapped shut, narrowing her eyes curiously as she glanced from the window to Oberan. The action seemed too deliberate to be natural, happening precisely at the right moment. Huh. Believing in coincidence wasn't her strong suit - everything meant something.

His distraction with the window allowed her a moment to peek inside the man's mind, absconding with a phrase that, once uttered by her by way of curiously questioning him regarding it, caused him to choke on a cookie. Excellent. Well - not the choking part, but it had prompted a strong response. She refused to believe that the cookie, on its own, had done that; thus, Natalia had hit a nerve.

Oberan assumed she had made a mistake, revealing one of her gifts, but she decided not to let him further wallow in that notion, responding with a smile. "Had I wished to keep it up my sleeve, I would have." He could sit and chew on that all he wanted.

There was a small glimmer of consideration to reveal her true nature, but no. Far too soon for that, situated in the middle of a city that despised that which she was. A girl had to take some precautions, and it seemed a good place to draw a line until she was more sure of the enigmatic 'magician'.

A slight frown appeared when he refused to disclose the meaning of the words she had lifted from his mind, but no matter. Trust wasn't something that could be forced upon another. It had to come in its own time and way.

Glancing up at Oberan, sitting in the rafters, the brunette took a moment to observe him with intention. In many ways, the man reminded her of a skittish horse, making sure there was room between them so he could bolt at a moment's notice if someone or something weren't to his liking. She understood the concept as she viewed people in a similar fashion. Still, to Natalia, it was more a matter of protecting herself from being used - a situation she's never allow again.

Natalia then watched him produce a copper pot. Curiously, he placed it on his head, leaving the young woman to wonder why her companion was doing such a thing, but the conversation continued, leaving her little time to consider the oddness of it all or his motives.

Ignoring the dismissive attitude, Natalia watched and listened as he finally got to some of the questions he really wanted to ask, or at least that was how it seemed to her. What he said and how he said it was important, and Oberan asked the right questions. Finally.

His queries led Natalia to a specific line of thinking, harking back to her thoughts about the skittish horse. If she told him too much or were too aggressive, he'd bolt for sure. There was a balance to be had, and they were at a tipping point.

Climbing partway up the ladder, she gracefully lowered to one of the rungs, giving him the space he desired while considering how she would answer the question. The man of mystery had boxed her in by confronting directly, which Natalia hadn't seen coming. Because of that, an answer temporarily eluded her.

Oberan continued, theorizing about her possible desire to be part of the theoretical performance Natalia had pitched to him. In fact, he seemed to latch on to that before she even had a chance to answer him, jumping down the rabbit hole of what he thought she could do, or couldn't.

It was amusing to her that she had wanted him to talk to her, and now that he was, he seemed to relish the idea of doing so, moving down a train of thought as only he could. From start to finish, Oberan told her how he felt about her proposal and Natalia listened carefully, absorbing what he was saying and formulating how she would respond.

And that's when it hit her - she was thinking a little too hard about her strategy. In her world, being clever was an advantage. Oberan seemed to value such an attribute, but she might have pushed that line too hard. Natalia wanted to get to know him, but what had she shown him of her? Despite their encounters, 'Sophia' had projected a very curated image of who she was, trying to meet him step for step.

But Natalia couldn't, and it was time to stop trying to pretend she could.

Sighing, she leaned back against the ladder and, for once, didn't think about the words before letting them fly. "The night we met, there was something wrong. I couldn't figure out what, but I thought if I could make you smile, maybe it would be alright for a few moments. When I'm in a bad mood, I'm always looking for something to distract me. Make me forget for a little while. I was trying to do the same for you."

Then, the chase happened, which proved to be the ultimate distraction. Since that time, Natalia had stayed in the shadows, collecting information, but her ultimate goal never changed.

"I don't like people that make presumptions about others. I've been used, scrutinized, and judged my whole life, and when I left my family, I promised I'd never allow that to happen again. My life. My rules."

Shrugging, Natalia let her gaze rise. "I see them doing it to you here, and I want to help you give them a lesson on manners."

Of course, that was only part of the story. The 'why' was easy, but how did the rest come into play?

"Everything else was simply a means of getting your attention. I won't do the mind thing again - I promise."

The food? Cookies? He had the wrong idea. "No bribes. You can have whatever you want even if you disagree with the plan, but now that I think about it..."

There went her mind, whirling with the threads of an idea trying to manifest. Natalia didn't have time to stop and pull together a cohesive proposal, so she'd have to do it on the fly and hope it made sense.

"There's another option. As you said - you don't need The Lamont! We don't need The Lamont. What if, instead, we created our own show? It would take time, of course. There would be a talent search. Costumes and a venue are a must. I'm sure we could find a place suitable. Money might be an issue, but I have some, so it's at least a start."

Then there was the tricky little matter of the bet she made Ladrian, but that was fine. Natalia could split her time between paying off her debt to The Lamont, helping Oberan with his show, and a job without too much worry.

"We can propose first to The Lamont or immediately strike out on our own. Either way, assuming success, we've made fools out of them in a multitude of ways." It was essential to her that he knew he had choices - why hadn't she thought of suggesting his own show before?

"You said you would delight in the opportunity to make them look like fools, so what's more foolish than being outdone at their own game?" Wrap it up, Natalia. Her inner voice knew time was of the essence. A good proposal was thorough, but concise.

"I don't want to be in the show - I have no skills that would be useful to it. But I do want to help you organize and bring it to life, if that's what you want to do."

And there was the whole point. "I'll help you with any of this, none of this, or something else. I'll walk away from here tonight and never return - just say the word."

Natalia expected him to answer, but instead, Oberan produced an apple from his pocket...which was immediately stolen by the adorable Apollo, who apparently wasn't sleeping in his bag.

"Apollo! How on Idalos....sorry!" The jumbled collection of words flew out as Natalia rose from her perch on the ladder, momentarily stuck as her mind tried to figure out which direction to go. She had an apple in her bag, but Apollo was in the rafters.

Finally, her lithe body moved up the ladder, finding herself on the top rung, just below Oberan and Apollo, trying to reach up and grab the creature. "Apollo, come here! Sorry. I have another apple in my bag. You can have it, or just come down and get something to eat? There's plenty."

As she dealt with the wily and way-too-adorable fruit snatcher, her patience broke for one shining moment, giving Oberan an exasperated look. "Has no one ever just wanted to spend time with you without wanting something? I don't want anything."

Template credit: Oberan

[Oberan]

Sophia responded to his prompting, sitting on a rung in the middle of the ladder as she formulated her answers.

Whether or not they were satisfying was another matter entirely. Sophia’s reason for her approach seemed to be altruism. Not quite along the lines of what Oberan expected –though he couldn’t exactly tell what he had either.

It took a couple moments for the flare of suspicion to die out once more, for his mind to stop seeking hidden meanings between the lines, or pick up on ulterior motives and deception.

Since when had he become this paranoid? Was it a result of his mood in recent times? Or had Sintra’s occupation of Etzos and her schemes done a number on his ability to trust, to take things at face value? Or perhaps it showed he’d become more Etzori than he’d realized, picking up habits and sentiments that he didn’t possess or agree with before.

Maybe it was a combination of all three.

Sophia did admit to attempting to get his attention. That, at least, did suggest a motivation of some sort, though he could only guess at what it might be. Something to do with their first meeting at the Inn, most likely. Perhaps something in line with her earlier claims of wanting to cheer him up. Or because he’d been the only one at the table basically ignoring her while everyone else had showered her with welcoming friendliness, flattery and attention. Maybe something as simple, yet powerful as curiosity. That, he did understand.

“That’s not a promise you should make. I wouldn’t have, if I were you. Just as I wouldn’t have revealed your ability to read minds in the first place. Don’t go around telling everyone, it’ll cause you nothing but grief. People don’t enjoy knowing the privacy of their thoughts has been invaded, much less the idea that it can happen again. It makes people uncomfortable, causes them to try and police their thoughts, just in case. It’ll make them aware of all their secrets, all the things they want no-one to know. Makes them anxious, stressed, frustrated, afraid. Always on edge around you. That’s a recipe for loneliness if I’ve ever seen one.

“However well-intentioned your reasons for divulging your ability to do so, keep it under wraps. Even around friends. Family. Partners. You may see it as an act of honesty and sign of your trust, but they will feel violated regardless of whether or not you’ve peeked inside their head. They can’t be certain if you’re listening in or not. Even if they trust you wouldn’t, the seed of doubt has been planted, and all it needs is time. Relationships are formed on the basis of being comfortable around each other. For most people, knowing someone can invade such an intimate space is going to have the opposite effect.”

While monologuing, Oberan battled with the lizard-like creature, trying to wrest his apple away from it, without much success. All he gained were flashes of sharp and stinging pain as some heads decided to nip his fingers, while the others continued their satisfied munching.

“Is that cynical of me?” He shrugged. “Might be so. However, according to the stories, you’re not supposed to ignore the warnings and advice given to you by madmen, magicians, wizened old beggars, sages, or tricksters. My two coppers? Pretend it is a magic trick, then people think there’s cheating of some sort involved and will be awed. They’ll try to figure out how you did it rather than fear for their privacy—Ow!”

Given up on reclaiming the apple, Oberan had tried letting go of it instead, but that too was met with some angry and admonishing gnaws to the tips of his fingers. A clear message. Oberan sighed, uncertain whether or not this nuisance required dealing with, or if he should just leave it be. Knocking out an animal of its size would be no problem at all, but was it worth it?

Sophia interrupted, recognizing the beastie with a start, and rushing up the ladder to retrieve it.

“Ah, your… eh… Apollo hitched a ride when grabbed the cookies, and didn’t want to let go. It –they?—bit my hand when I tried to put it back on the table.” By way of demonstration, Oberan moved his free hand over to pick the creature up and hand it over to its owner. Without hesitation, two of Apollo’s heads lashed out, teeth piercing the skin of his hand, and leaving shallow wounds. Naturally, it still held on to the apple, most of the heads chewing contentedly despite the two aggressive heads’ actions. “It’s like dealing with a whole nest of snakes rather than just one. It’s foul play to have six heads that can act independently while I only have one hand to counter it.”

Perhaps a pair of thick gardener’s gloves would help. If it could block the thorns and stingers of prickly plants, it might prove useful for a bite-happy multi-headed lizard too.

Fortunately, the beastie did respond to the sound of Sophia’s voice. It clambered down to her outstretched hand, and gave Oberan a withering glare with all available heads when his hand holding the apple did not follow. Defeated, the Mortalborn relinquished it, but not without meeting the creature’s gaze in a very ‘this isn’t over yet, I’ll get you next time!’ way. He wasn’t sure if Apollo got the message, but it did spew a brief gout of colorful smoke at him, and hopped in Sophia’s hands.

“Has no one ever just wanted to spend time with you without wanting something?” she asked.

He blinked.

“Of course not!” That would simply be ridiculous. “There’s plenty people who want to spend time with me for the sake of it. But they’re not usually strangers.” He paused for a bit, watching for her reaction as she descended the ladder. “And I do disagree. People are always looking for something, even if they don’t know it. It may not be more than just wanting to spend time with someone. Sometimes they want attention, as you’ve admitted to.”

He frowned at that, just for a moment. “Not that I blame you. I am aware I am equal parts handsome and mysterious, and likely the most interesting person at the table that night. Not only do I have great taste in whiskey, I also am extraordinarily humble.”

Checking below if there wasn’t anyone or anything in the way, Oberan slid off the beam, holding on to the pot so it’d stay secure on his head. He landed with a flip and a roll, and was on his feet again in no time flat. Bowing, he tipped the copper pot briefly, then strode to the picnic basket. With his apple stolen and recompense offered, his pride had no qualms with accepting the food, much to the delight of his grumbling stomach.

“To return briefly to more important things,” Oberan began, slathering a thick slice of soft and fluffy brown bread with butter, “you are absolutely correct. I don’t need the Lamont. I need a venue of some sort, not a specific one. There’s lots of places more than happy to lend some space for an event that’ll draw in a crowd. Etzori folk have a nose for business.

“Take the Inn for example, they’re masterful at generating excitement. No matter what sort of entertainment is scheduled for any given evening, almost all their seats will be filled. Of course they have their reputation that does a lot of the heavy lifting, but still. Speaking of which… if there’s nothing scheduled at all… the chance exists Velvessa will step up the stage. I’d argue that that is their real hook.”

He loaded his bread with some thinly sliced meat, and struggled to bite all the way through the whole without pulling the top layers off. “Now, the Inn would be a great venue. Maybe Velvessa could be persuaded to perform as well… and then we’re golden. People will flock to the Inn en masse.”

Oberan took another bite. “Given Mal’hudre’s gratitude last time, I do believe he might be open to the idea of lending the stage for an evening of entertainment.” He shot Sophia a glance, tapping the side of his nose. “Connections. Important stuff. I’m not great at those, but even I can cash in a favor.”

Swallowing the final piece of bread, he grabbed another slice, and got started on buttering it up too. He pointed the knife at Sophia briefly in between spreading motions. “Or you can. You’re staying there, no? No doubt being an excellent guest. Making no trouble, being polite, helping out where you can… People like you. It’s that obedient good girl aura you radiate. They’ll have a harder time refusing if it’s you who’s asking. Or asking alongside me. Whatever.”

From the basket he retrieved a wedge of cheese, cut off a chunk, and alternated bites between it and the buttered bread. Oberan raised his brows, nodded appreciatively. “This is good cheese,” he said, mouth still stuffed. It was sharp, but not overly so, creamy, and some sort of spice had been mixed in. Seemed like some high-end stuff.

“Anyway, you wanted my attention? Well, you have it, as well as a slot in the show –no, I’m afraid that’s non-negotiable. You can do whatever with it. Read poetry, do your mind reading thing to hold a séance or build a fantastic magic routine, or do a silly dance, I don’t know. Or you can be the lovely assistant to people who need one, doesn’t matter, we can hash that out later.

“First, we need to take care of the boring stuff.” He made a face that made his feelings on the prospect quite clear, and ate more cheese. “So I hope you were serious about helping out, Girl-with-no-name, because I do intend to make full use of your offer.”

Template credit: Natalia Gregorios

[Natalia Gregorios]

Zida 60, Arc 721

Natalia wasn't quite sure what she had expected when formulating the plan to try and ensnare the curiously enigmatic man in conversation, but what began happening was far more than she believed she would receive in return. Oberan was always full of surprises, and the moment the young woman thought she had him figured out, he went and stupefied her all over again.

The old saying 'Be careful what you wish for" seemed to apply. Heavily.

Once he chose to engage in the game they were playing, she simply sat and listened. It was essential to her that he knew she was fully present with him at that moment, absorbing what he said. Natalia didn't plan on being a silent participant but she needed to understand his frame of mind first.

The initial surprise came from how long he spent warning about the dangers of revealing her ability to read someone's mind. Well, the length of his opinion and the very fact that he didn't, not once, ask her details regarding it. He either possessed far greater discipline than she, or it just wasn't of concern to him. To her, it felt like Oberan just accepted it and moved on. Even Grayson knew a bit of her secrets but couldn't resist prodding her about them every now and then when it suited his mood.

Natalia listened to the information, considered it, and then ran headfirst into surprise number two, words racing out of her mouth before she could stop them. "You are one of two people who know I can do that. I'm offering that secret to you as a down payment on something else." Shit, why had she done that? Instinct wasn't something the young woman blindly relied on, but something about the Eztori made her take chances and risk more. It wasn't the sort of behavior she encouraged in herself, but couldn't seem to help when he was around.

Oberan was talking to her – exactly what she had hoped for and Natalia wasn't going to waste the opportunity, countering him with bits of truth. "My reason may not have been good or ethical, but I was desperate. I didn't say that I wouldn't do it ever again. I said I wouldn't use the ability on you. We are far more alike than you thought, and I needed to show you that."

But that had been then, and the mortalborn understood that their chessboard required new elements. "Now, it's about something different, and not using the ability on you is core to that concept – trust."

While they were talking, he seemed to be playing with something, although his body blocked most of, well, whatever was going on. Natalia's form was only halfway up the ladder, so she lacked a direct line of sight to the action. Perhaps he was just being fidgety?

Cynicism. That was a concept she could relate to on a thousand levels. It was evident Oberan was much further down the river on that particular boat, but the universe had thrown a lot in her direction at a rapid-fire pace. There had been moments of pain...and peace. Opening up who she was to another was a gamble and not one the brunette took lightly, but she knew that to find that neutral ground between them, it was necessary.

"I don't think it's cynical, Oberan. You've proven yourself an apt student of the art of observation. I've seen you watch people, trying to figure them out, prodding them with your words and wit to either get under their skin or throw someone off their game. It's not a frivolous skill." She could go on and on about that topic but was getting a little ahead of herself, so Natalia reined herself in and got back on track.

In her opinion, people who had been significantly hurt used cynicism as a shield, but that wasn't an observation she would divulge to him. No, no...that was best saved for another trial. There were no clues for her to follow regarding his particular flavor of pain, so caution was required.

But it also didn't mean she would stay silent on the matter either.

Giving a soft shrug of shoulders, Natalia retorted with her own wisdom. "Cynicism is smoke and mirrors - an illusion. The advice you've given me is based on logic and truth. I will consider what you've said carefully."

Oberan's startled exclamation of pain further piqued her curiosity. Standing and looking closer, she realized the reality of his predicament and swiftly tried to remove Apollo as quickly as possible. The dragonet, of course, had other ideas, dodging both her and Oberan's attempts to corral him until the kletier claimed victory and his prize.

The man quickly explained the 'how' and the 'why' seemed self-explanatory. Before she could get her hands on the dragonet, however, Apollo lashed out at Oberan again, prompting a stern command from her to control the situation.

"APOLLO, NO!"

The tiny creature responded to that, all heads lowering as he slunk towards her outstretched hand, turning briefly to issue one challenge to his larger adversary - a colorful challenge at that.

Wrapping him up against her body, Natalia slowly descended the ladder, waiting a beat before speaking to the dragonet again, tone laced with disapproval. "I have enough issues with Ares. I will not tolerate this from you, little one."

As her feet found the floor, the young mortalborn swiftly moved to where Apollo's bag was, setting him down on top of it and detaching the apple from the the heads fighting over it, clucking her tongue a bit. "I also will not reward that behavior. In your bag. Now. You may return when you can behave appropriately." She opened the bag and pointed inside to emphasize the point and hopefully give the creature a visual cue.

With that matter settled, she turned to Oberan, who had begun spouting off about how everyone always wanted something. In a way, he was right but so very wrong at the same time. To her, to want something from another was a form of exploitation. There was a time and place, but it wasn't then or with him. How could she even begin to explain the uncertainty inside? Everything screamed at her that she was right where she was supposed to be. Why for? She had no idea, but until Natalia figured it out, she planned to be a spectacular pain in Oberan's ass.

Slightly exasperated with his refusal to see her point, Natalia took up the challenge he presented. "You just said there are plenty of people who want to spend time with you for the sake of it. What's the difference between what you are saying and what I'm saying? Besides, I'm not a stranger. A stranger is someone one does not know, but you know me."

It was a tricky path she was heading down, but hopefully, her words would knock Oberan out of his habit of being contrary. He needed to understand she wasn't some stupid girl that washed up in Etzos and found herself moonstruck over the great and powerful Oberan. Natalia had already pointed out how observant he was, so it was time to play into that.

"You knew the night we met that I was different. You felt it just like I did - a sense of kinship. A unique sameness, for lack of a more appropriate set of words. You didn't question me, and I didn't question you - we just accepted each other and went on with our lives."

As he spectacularly descended the ladder, Natalia approached quickly, holding out her hand, glancing up at the pot perched on his head with a pointed look. "Trust has to start somewhere, Oberan." Her frustration was evident, but quickly enough, it melted away, and her expression softened as she realized the folly of her request.

"No. Not like this. It has to be your decision, and when you feel it's right, not because I want it to be."

It was time to move on, and he seemed all too willing to discuss her ideas. Was it easy to do so without having anything settled? Not really, but then again, sometimes that was life.

As the conversation turned to The Lamont and her scarce little inkling of a plan, it was hard to ignore that 'we' had turned to 'I.' Natalia didn't call him on it but curiously wondered if the lone-wolf lifestyle he seemed to favor was the reason why. How long had he been on his own? Oh, he probably kept people around for various purposes, but if she had to guess, she'd say he kept his own council and trusted few, if any.

Honing almost immediately on the Inn, Natalia looked at him and blinked. In all her meticulous planning and strategizing, she never once had considered the Inn, which in hindsight, was the perfect solution to the issue. Then again, the idea of using an alternate location for the event hadn't occurred to her until she was face to face with Oberan, pitching the idea.

As she listened, it became apparent that he had either thought about the venture a bit before their conversation or Oberan had a mind for business. It wasn't difficult to spot the type, having watched her father for arcs. She didn't have that type of mind, undoubtedly disappointing Chamadarst, but what she lacked in commerce sense, the mortalborn made up for in understanding people.

The mention of Velvessa performing sent the young mortalborn into a brief fit of panic, unbeknownst to her companion. No one knew what the biqaji was tutoring Natalia in, and it needed to stay that way. She trusted Velvessa to keep her secret - Oberan was the issue. If he sniffed a morsel of something he deemed interesting, he'd hunt it down just for the challenge of it all - just like her. The entire subject prompted her to make a mental note to cover her tracks a bit more when seeing Velvessa.

Mal'hudre. He had a point regarding Mal'hudre. She and Oberan had chased down the man responsible for assaulting one of the Inn's servers and the enterprising pair were offering a unique service for which they would be responsible for all the heavy lifting - a winning situation for the Inn if there ever was one with low to no overhead and reaping the benefits of increased food and drink sales.

Once again, he proved himself so much more than he allowed others to believe, accurately pointing out that while he would be cashing in a favor, Natalia had forged connections with the biqaji couple. Even she could see that Mal'hudre and Velvessa would be hard pressed to turn down the pair if they set their mind to the task and presented the proposal wisely.

Natalia's first comment came on the heels of his assessment of the aura she projected. "Obedient girl?"

What followed was probably not expected but couldn't be helped. Laughter. Genuine, musical laughter spilled into the air, ringing softly like a bell, delaying her reply for a few trills. "Oh, wow. If my father could hear that...." Of course, Oberan didn't know that her remark rang true for both Stephan Gregorios and Chamadarst, but she did, noting the incredible irony of such. Did it really matter which one she meant?

As the laughter settled, Natalia watched Oberan devour the food, thinking about what to say or not. "I freely admit that I'm a profound disappointment to many people, including those with whom I share a bloodline. Grayson will attest to that." It was an honest, blunt admission that lacked any indicators of regret. She could have elaborated but chose not to, far preferring to focus on the plan instead of the skeletons in her closet.

"I'll ask alongside you," she said, considering the situation. "They may be biqaji, but they are certainly Etzori, and you know the mindset of the people here better than I do. You'll have better luck opening the door to that conversation."

Besides that, there was another reason Natalia was acutely aware of. Picking up a piece of cheese, she took a small bite and continued. "From what I can tell, you and I have different skill sets. One or the other on their own has a smaller chance of success than both of us working together. You can address the more Etzori-type issues while I might be able to appeal on a more emotional level. We both think reasonably fast on our feet, so we can pivot swiftly if the offer goes sour and attempt to salvage it."

One thing that was becoming clear to Natalia was that Oberan, while 'having great taste in whiskey,' also appreciated good food. The cookies had been the opening clue to that fact about the man, but he was proving to have a deeper appreciation for all things edible. She hadn't really considered the items as they were stowed in the basket, but he was downing a goodly many of them with enthusiasm. Or...he was just famished. Maybe it was that.

Taking a piece of the bread, the mortalborn reached over and put a small amount of soft caramelized onion cheese on it - one of her favorites. "That one is good; this one is better," she remarked, offering the bread to Oberan carefully as she gestured to the cheese he just commented on.

The comment about her secured slot in the show was met with the faintest trace of a blush. Why was everyone so intent on putting her in front of an audience? No matter - she'd find a way out of it. Oberan sweeping the details to the side afforded her time to figure out how to wiggle out of that particular snag.

The boring stuff - that she was good at. Perhaps it wasn't as theatrical or glamorous as performing, but Natalia was good at details. Maybe, just maybe, they had a shot at pulling the plan off, although never had she dreamed she'd actually get Oberan to agree with her. The universe worked in mysterious ways sometimes.

'Girl-with-no-name,' was mentioned, prompting a grin from the brunette. "I have a name. Perhaps sometrial you'll even be interested enough to ask it."

Grabbing another bag of cookies from her bag, Natalia twisted around and offered them up to him, words dancing from her lips teasingly. "I don't blame you, though, with all that mysterious handsomeness you have to contend with. Such a burden, I'd imagine, being as humble as you are, my dear."

What the beneath have I gotten myself into?

Only time would tell.

Template credit: Oberan

[Oberan]

“A down payment eh?” Oberan considered it for half a breath, the same amount of time needed for the last of his sentence to fizzle into silence. “Offer… not accepted.” A grin accompanied the statement, as did a decisive shake of his head. “No deal was made, you unveiled your secret free of charge, and you will get nothing in return.” He shrugged non-apologetically. “And this is exactly why Nashaki is known as the City of Trade, and Scalvoris is not. None of you understand the dealings of making deals.”

She continued however, referring to her earlier statement about not using her power and pointing out the nuance therein. Semantics, really, but Oberan couldn’t say he disliked that.

“We are far more alike than you thought, and I needed to show you that,” she said.

Now that was a suspicious statement. A light frown formed on Oberan’s brow, and his lips pursed as he pondered the significance for a few moments. Well, he supposed that if one knew what to look for, it was easy to recognize minute tells and draw conclusions. Which meant she knew more than he would have anticipated. Perhaps he needed to keep more of an eye on this one.

Eventually spotting her troublemaker of a lizard, Sophia gathered the tiny being with some difficulty, admonished it, and bade it to crawl into its pouch, not to come out unless it behaved itself. Served that apple-thief right. While he could overlook the theft, Oberan didn’t appreciate being bitten this many times. He just hoped the Apollo didn’t carry any diseases.

“What’s the difference between what you are saying and what I’m saying?” Sophia then continued the discussion.

“There’s a very large difference.” A very obvious difference, of a very simple nature. He raised both eyebrows in an incredulous expression, as if he couldn’t quite understand why he needed to explain this at all. “The difference is that I said it, and I agree with my words, and I don’t with yours.” One balled hand smothered a chuckle. “Also I don’t know what your motives are. You say you don’t want anything, but then you start talking about down payments and whatnot. I’m receiving conflicting messages here.”

She argued about being a stranger, correctly noting that one didn’t know strangers. Oberan had to concede that point, albeit reluctantly. “Fine. You’re an acquaintance. In my experience however, those tend to be exactly the people who’d approach because they want something. Emboldened because you know them, you see?”

There wasn’t any accusation hidden within his words. Oberan argued for argument’s sake. Because he could see the exasperation begin to build within her, slipping into her body language and the tone of her voice. Subtly. Enough for Oberan to detect, to savor. He wanted to see how far he could push her.

But she did raise an interesting point. The night they’d met for the first time, he had indeed sensed … something about her. He couldn’t really express what, it was the type of hunch that refused to be pinned down. Something he knew, but couldn’t quite put his finger on. A sensation that teased him from the edge where his conscious mind bordered on the subconscious. The moment he tried to hone in on it, to try and figure it out, it skittered out of reach, leaving him frustrated and annoyed. Like a silhouette only visible from the corner of his eyes.

There was no question that she was exceptional in one way or another. Very few people would have accepted his open invitation to chase down a potentially dangerous thug. Nish and the others surely wouldn’t have. They’d have insisted on waiting for the guard, or running for a nearby patrol rather than after the thug. That did grant her some credit.

But trust? He didn’t consciously choose to trust people. Either he did, or he did not. It depended on many factors. Hunches, whether or not he liked the person, their words and behavior, how well he knew them. It did strike him as ridiculous that he’d trust a notorious assassin over a young Scalvorian girl, but he did not have control over it. Trust was built over time, there was no forcing it, and Oberan wasn’t going to try.

Especially not when someone almost demanded he did –though she did retract it immediately. He didn’t respond to it with anything but a momentarily raised eyebrow while he buttered bread, and figured out if he wanted to eat it with cheese or meat.

He changed the subject to the performance night idea, spitballing possibilities for the venue and some of the acts. As well as how to go about securing one particular location. While Sophia did seem to be on board with trying to convince Mal’hudre and Velvessa to let them use the Inn for Dinner, she didn’t quite agree with his assessment of how she came across.

“I’m not saying you are. I’m saying that’s the impression you give people—”

Sophia burst into laughter. It bounced off the walls, shook her shoulders, and lasted only a short while. Then she managed to compose herself, stifling the occasional chuckles that arrived behind schedule. Oberan stuffed his mouth in the meantime, a little confused by the outburst, and pondering the comments that followed.

Pausing his chewing for just a fraction of a moment as the words tumbled out of her mouth. Barely noticeable at all, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it reaction. As he resumed grinding bread and smoked ham to mulch, he considered, evaluated, and came to an impulsive decision. Then continued on as he had been.

“Grayson? I thought your … cousin was called Gareth,” Oberan said after swallowing, eyeing her without turning in her direction. He had been doing the same the whole time, gauging her reactions to just about anything he said, but he paid special attention here. How people reacted to possibly being caught in a lie was telling, after all.

Oberan’s mood seemed to be improving the more he ate. Perhaps it had something to do with her saying she would indeed assist in persuading the Inn’s managers–or at least try to.

What also helped that the food was good, of course. The bread was fluffy, the cheeses creamy, and the meat nice and savory. He tried some of everything, on their own and in combination, and accepted whatever Sophia handed him. Onion cheese? He wolfed it down without second thought.

"I have a name,” she said, “Perhaps sometrial you'll even be interested enough to ask it."

“Ah, it’s such a shame your parents didn’t bother to name you. What horrible, horrible practice. Everyone needs a name. To withhold that from you is just cruel! Don’t worry though, I’ve no doubt I’ll find something to call you by. It’ll be a process, I’m sure, but we’ll find something that suits you like a glove, eventually.” He gave her a smile that was probably supposed to be reassuring, but ended up as more of a smirk. Oberan had, naturally, no inclination to ever ask for her name anymore, if he’d even had before.

He accepted the offered bag of cookies, ate one of them right then and there, and stowed the rest away on the inside of his cloak. Oddly, while it had a number of small pockets sown into it, none of them bulged outward. From the look of things, there wasn’t anything inside any of them.

“Yes, it truly is a curse more than a blessing sometimes.” He placed a hand on his forehead melodramatically. “Everywhere I go, people swoon over me, unable to tear their eyes away from me. It’s problematic. Do you realize how hard it is interacting with people who faint the moment you speak to them? Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be a normal, plain-looking fellow who doesn’t attract any attention.” He shook his head and let his shoulder sag for a moment. In just a few seconds, he cheered right back up. “But then I consider, wouldn’t it be painfully boring to be one of the masses? Better to just be me, with all the perks, boons and shortcomings that might entail.”

He clapped his hands together with finality, then breathed a contented sigh. “Right. That’s it for me tonight. I’ll leave you with that nugget of very profound wisdom to chew on, and be on my way. Thanks for the meal, I enjoyed it. Good luck with that situation there.” He waved his hand at the rafters and the canopy of costumes and props he’d created. “Oh, and tell Laddy I quit. Or don’t, doesn’t matter. He’ll figure it out once he realizes it’s been rather quiet here for some time, I’m sure.

“Well, then. See you around, Marcy!”

With an elaborate bow, he strode out of the room, out of sight, and straight up vanished.

Template credit: Natalia Gregorios