Print Lead & Paint it Gold

[Arvælyn]

"You got a new job?" Arry repeated, incredulous as he turned his head to face Aurin as they walked. "Oi! Way to bury the lede, there!" His eyes still looked tired and squinted yet in the sunlight, but his smile was in earnest.

"Can't say as I know what an impresario is, exactly, but based on the word my guess is summat a mite bit flashy." He'd heard Aurin use the word in the past and, based on context clues, he felt like he got the gist, but the truth was he didn't really know what it meant. He just knew that he liked the sound of it, because it sounded kind of exotic and definitely fancy.

"Oh definitely eat first." Arry agreed with a hearty nod, "And, in my experience, a few cocktails make a shopping excursion a sight more fun. It just puts a body in the proper mindset to spend money, way I see it." Aurin's news seemed to lift Arry a bit out of the mire, but the young half-elf made no overtures toward explaining his condition. Aurin might have seen past the façade, but as far as Arry was concerned he could just pas it off as a normal hangover since he wasn't bleeding out of any orifices at the moment.

As the Golden Peacock came into view, Arry regarded its architecture with new appreciation as he envisioned his name emblazoned upon its marquee. It was a beautiful building, but seemed that much more beautiful with "Arvalyn" written in some fancy font in elephantine proportions, as he imagined it would be.

"I'm so excited!" He beamed through the grey, "And proud of you!" He said, instinctively tucking an arm under Aurin's and leaning into him as they walked. "'ow did you manage it, in the end?"

[Aurin]

"You didn't seem in the mood for good news," he said mildly. "Impresario's just a fancy word for managing director. I thought you'd prefer it given your penchant for the fancy."

When Arry took his arm, he knew it was probably just habit coupled with his excitement, but Aurin stood a bit straighter and his crooked smile straightened out a bit. Their amble took them past the Theater in question and toward places they both liked to eat.

"Well, remember your friend Darus of Haqs from Antiris?" He waited for his old alias to register with the man. "He looks a bit different than he used to, but he was in town. Tracked down someone whom Celisa Kolkis owed a debt to... stirred up some chaos down in the Middens and the Low-City, got her debt, well, forgotten, and she wanted out of the job anyhow. Put me forward at Darus' behest, talked Lord Yserloo and Elric Hansom to agree. So I'll be part of that triumvirate.

"More to the point," he continued, hoping to maintain Arry's warmth with how all this would benefit him directly, "I got a bit chummy with them over some bubbles and let Elric decide I knew who was worth bringing over from the Cabaret. I stroked his ego, but told him I could narrow down the list to those who were the easiest to work with. Your name will be on the list so next round of auditions is your chance. Not entirely sure how long that will be, but I should think you'll be on board by Ash at the latest." He didn't even bother adding a snide addendum. It probably wouldn't help shore up the friendship, and that was one of the reasons he had focused on the Theater lead in the first place.

[Arvælyn]

"Well, I do prefer it..." Arry bristled a bit, albeit playfully, "I just didn't know what it meant." He stuck out his tongue, but his mind, weary from its recent aetheric uses, was catching up to the recent news and the excitement was proliferating exponentially. "And good enough news is like to change a body's mood, innit?" He posited, as he stared wide-eyed at the elegant theatre by which they strolled.

Arry nodded.

"'andsome bloke, 'e was." He offered a wink, before gesturing for Aurin to continue his thought. He nodded along, with a great deal of interest.

"A try-um-vi-rate? That's sounds well fancy, too! An impresario of the triumvirate. I've got to warn you, it sounds like this new wardrobe of yours is going to cost a pretty penny to live up to such a title." His mind was already flittering toward the outfits he could buy for himself, once he was a star of the legitimate stage. He wouldn't need to borrow musty old costumes with moth holes and strangers' sweat stains artfully concealed by accessories. Not for much longer, at any rate.

"Auditions?" He frowned, "You can't just get me in? Or invite the bloke to one of my shows at the Cabaret- without telling me, ideally. I'm well nervous just thinking about an audition in front of some strangers!" He performed in front of strangers all the time, of course, but they were there to have a good time not actively intent upon criticising him. The notion of an audition was altogether frightening the more he rolled it over in his weary mind. His clench tightened slightly upon Aurin's arm, unconsciously as his nerves set in. His aetheric hangover made him more prone to negative thoughts, and so the nervousness quickly waxed to the point that it eclipsed the excitement.

[Aurin]

The compliment gave him pause, but he supposed Arry was just in a better mood for the news so he continued, nodding along as they walked.

"Triumvirate... just a fancy word for power split into three equal parts. Impresario... just a fancy word for the person making the business decisions for a theater or opera house or whatever. So I'll have to stroke Hansom's ego and make his life easier so he'll listen to me, and make Yserloo feel important because... Avialae are important or whatever." He realized there was a lot of whatever, but Arry knew that he sort of flew by the seat of his pants, improvising as he went.

"Anyway, I don't think my clothes have to be the fanciest. Yserloo's the lord, Hansom is the artiste. I'm just the businessman. But probably a little more respectable than what I wear keeping people drinking in the Cabaret, you see? It's like now," he pointed out, halfway serious, halfway teasing, "I'm the stem and you're the flower."

He held the door open to one of the places nearby that catered to the clientele of that famous plaza, an upscale place where one might go for fancier drinks and better food than they got from their kitchens. Following Arry directly, he waved to the maitre d' and they were immediately seated at a small, out-of-the-way table for two. He supposed he would be able to get better seats going forward, but he didn't want to start throwing weight around. It was better for people like that to see him as someone like them who had merely worked his way up than someone putting on airs.

"Well, I got the job around noon and it's early for supper, so I haven't had all that much time to manipulate things. For now, you'll have a guaranteed audition when most of the Cabaret folks won't, but I'll see if I can't get him over to the Cabaret before everyone knows I'm moving over and I'll make it on a night you're performing."

Really, he started a small riot to get the kind of leverage he had and Arry wasn't even willing to audition!

[Arvælyn]

"Sooo... Fancy words and bland suits? Got it, got it." Arry might have been earnest in his critique of Aurin's more modest fashion sensibilities, but he couched it behind a smirk and a dry wink so it left open the possibility that he was merely in jest.

"Well, let me know if you need help charming any of your fellow..." He furrowed his brow in thought, "Triumvirators?" The demonym 'triumvir' was obviously not in Arry's lexicon, as its root had just been added.

"So, if you're the stem, I reckon floral jacquard is off the table?" He wrinkled his nose, registering that his first plan of action had been dashed by that implication. But his disappointment was not long lived, as he glanced up to find crystal chandeliers on the ceiling above as he entered Aurin's chosen watering hole. It seemed high class enough to house a Triumvirate Impresario and the new matinee idol of the Golden Peacock, and he smiled approvingly.

That smile faded as he saw where they were being led by the matire d', and he cleared his throat- tapping on the man's shoulder with his rune-bearing arm, and emitting a gentle, flirtatious energy to disarm the older human.

"Oh, sir?" He asked in a boyish tenor, with the innocent descant of an ingenue. "Might we have a table a bit farther from the kitchen?" He inquired, code-switching back to Arvalyn's posh dialect to suit their environs. He bit his bottom lip, "...if it's no bother." The host cast a blushing smile to Arry, and then a sidelong glance to Aurin, before nodding and redirecting them to a more prominently placed table right under one of the chandeliers Arry had been admiring.

"Lovely." He said with a grateful nod, as he claimed his seat and returned his full attention to Aurin.

"Lovely." He repeated, this time for Aurin's benefit. His nerves were assuaged at Aurin's proposed resolution, "Just please don't tell me when he comes. I'll get so nervous, if I know someone important is in the audience." He glanced down at the menu, actually regaining some of his colour now that he'd engaged his rune again.

[Aurin]

"Not bland, you frilly fop," he said, though his tone was good-humored exasperation. "Understated." And he supplied, "Triumvir. Though probably best not to use that to their faces. And I suppose some jacquard accents wouldn't go amiss."

As he watched and Saw tendrils of aether flow out from his ward to flirt with the maître d's, he was glad that it wasn't being used on him, at least. He wondered if there was a way to resist such compulsions, having only realized they were being used on him but rarely. Perhaps he would talk to Torin about it and see about fashioning some sort of protection. While he was less riled up about Arry trying to calm him down and improve his mood, there might be other people out there who would use that trick against him in a business setting.

But then he realized he could hire Arry to sing at a business negotiation and use that trick for his own gain.

At their nicer table, he considered the slow manifestation of a glamour to make his best clothes look somewhat finer, but they had sufficed for getting the new gig so he supposed they would do. He also considered glamouring a scorching case of lovers' pox about Arry's pretty mouth, but thought better of that too.

"Indeed," he said, though he was looking at the young man when he agreed. Whether it was the news, the nicer table, or something else, he seemed to be perking up. That was something.

"In any case, more sober and businesslike than what I've worn around the Cabaret, but still subtly rakish and fuckable, if you please. Summer weight is our first priority, but Ash will come soon and the cold weather will come. Shit, you're the first person I've told, obviously. Ought to tell Lunaria after this..."

[Arvælyn]

"Oi!" Arry lost his finesse for a moment, as he raised his volume with an urchin's exclamation. But he caught himself, and cleared his throat before continuing more softly and more elegantly, "I'm not a fop." He fixed his collar, and looked altogether incredulous. "I just aspire to be." And Aurin's news brought him several steps closer to that goal, so he was all smiles.

"Triumvir." He repeated, mouthing the words several times silently after repeating it the once aloud. "Is it an insult, or... why oughtn't I use it to their faces?" He wondered, as his eyes scanned the cocktail section of the menu and landed on a savoury marriage of briny and boozy that he resolved to order to whet his appetite.

"Oh bloody hells, Aurin, you could wear this tablecloth and look subtly rakish and fuckable." He said, rolling his eyes playfully, but when that gaze returned to Aurin it did linger a bit longer than a friendly glance. Success was a sexy accessory on the foxy impresario-to-be.

"Really?" The gaze remained fixed, though the expression changed to one of earnest surprise. He smiled, seeming touched. "You told me first? Why, I'm honoured!" He genuinely hadn't expected that, given how weird Arry had gone and made things between them. As they hadn't found their stride in whatever form their relationship was starting to take, the half-elf assumed the human would have turned to a more doting audience. Arvalyn's ears were sharp, and his tongue could be sharper, so it was a pleasant surprise to learn he'd been first.

"Ah, the old girl can wait it out a bit. Let's get you dressed to the nines to put in your notice, eh? I know, I know- 'Understated'," He said with a snarl of distaste, "But you've committed to jacquard accents, and there's no turning back. Should we get an appetizer?"

[Aurin]

"From what I gather, most people who have claimed the title of triumvir in history have been rather bastards and tyrants, so..." He shrugged. "Connotations, I suppose."

He ordered something smoky and warming. Aurin favored such drinks, perhaps a nod to where he had come from and its warmer climate. Kalzasi always felt cold to him on some level. What sounded like an honest compliment was followed by Arry's incredulity and Aurin could only respond in kind.

After a serious pause, he said, "You know I did this for you, don't you?" It was obvious to him, but perhaps it wasn't to Arry. "I mean, I found a way to make it work out to my benefit as well, but I wouldn't have jumped on the hint of a possibility and possibly tanked Lunaria as a willing contact if had just been me." But before that could land and make things uncomfortably honest and intimate, he nodded and picked up his menu.

"They have that shrimp toast thing you like," he suggested before even getting the menu open. He was someone who watched and listened, and of course, he had a bit of an encyclopaedia in his head where it came to Arry. But he was beginning to think Arry was right on one account: best catch Lunaria in a good mood to soften the blow of his notice. Perhaps when she was counting her gold and Pascal was curled up on her lap purring and making biscuits. He hoped that she would be amenable to his shift out of her employment. If they kept up good relations, it could be beneficial for both of them. In fact, that was the tack he would likely take, reminding her that they would be neighbors and could find mutually beneficial arrangements that funneled money into both their coffers.

[Arvælyn]

"Some people like to come off that way, don't they? I've known a few what aspire to be seen as bastards, every now and again..." Arry said, looking Aurin up and down pointedly, "Just like I aspire to be a proper fop. But I'll be sparing with the word." Would he, though? The pursuant wink begged the question of his sincerity.

Aurin's serious pause was met with a bemused expression on Arvine's part. He blinked at unnatural intervals as his mind processed the claim.

"For me?" He replied, in the brief silence before Aurin pointedly changed the subject. It wasn't deft enough to distract Arry from so salient a point as that which Aurin had just made, though.

"Oh, um..." He furrowed his brow, "Yes, that would be lovely..." He trailed off, as he mind wandered back to the point at hand. Had Aurin been in earnest? Unfortunately, Arry's well-informed opinion was that he had been.

"You really do love me, in your way, don't you?" He said softly. An incautious, but passing vulnerable utterance that he'd not have let slip if he'd been conscious it was en route to his tongue. "Don't answer that." He added, promptly, when his wits caught up to him. "You don't have to." It had been an awkward query, and Arry felt it was as like to yield snark as sympathy, and he imagined Aurin would prefer to retain his well-cultivated mystique.

Arry blinked up at the waiter, who arrived with their drinks and set them down. He ordered 'the shrimp thing', as Aurin had called it and, for his main course, an almond crusted trout dish with a side of sauteed mushrooms and roasted garlic potatoes. With their orders placed, he handed the menu up and waited for the server to leave earshot, before looking Aurin in the eye and stating, with atypical intensity:

"Thank you, Aurin."

[Aurin]

"I do," he said quickly as the waiter was approaching, the better to prevent a follow-up question. But while it was impossible to say the thing outright, acknowledging it was, apparently, possible. After hearing the specials, he selected something fishy. He did have a penchant for the freshwater fish from Lake Udori, though he would have killed for a properly fried catfish from a river he would likely never see again. One made adjustments to make life work; that was all.

At the thanks, he looked up sharply and found something quiet and true in his golden-eyed companion. He cleared his throat once, then again.

"Use your trick," he said quietly. "You should know, and I guess you didn't, which is my fault." It was a rather huge offer; he didn't like to let people in. Not into his home, though Arry had been. Not into his heart, though Arry was there still. He didn't know why it wasn't enough for Arry, why the pretty young man required more than he was comfortable giving, but he assumed there was something lacking in him. At least Arry had the minstrel giving him what he needed; at least, he had never seen Arry so happy because of him.

The drinks arrived before he could say more, for which he was grateful. It was painful enough cracking the door open for Arry. He took a gulp of his drink without pausing for a toast, his nerves showing even if Arry chose not to use his trick to see into his soul. Hazel eyes searched the depths of his dark drink, wondering if he would feel it this time. He supposed not if Arry was just listening and not singing marching orders into his mind. It made it difficult to trust him sometimes, knowing he could do that. And perhaps he would read the sincerity in him and know that he always had that vulnerability to exploit in Aurin. Certainly, the man wouldn't fault a street kid for growing up and using people to assure his own survival.

That was how life worked.