What the Cat Dragged In

[Florian]

Frost 67th

Florian looked a mess. Of weeks of traveling on foot, half of which was away from any known road, after losing an arm, after an unlikely meeting that followed an unfortunate one — Florian looked a mess. But he was there, now, in Kalzasi, in the streets but not quite fully aware. It felt like a dream, or a nightmare, or a bit of both depending on his mood. Nothing felt real, especially not the empty space where his right arm should have been.

But that didn't feel so important anymore. He was in Kalzasi, but it was not enough for him to want to start a new life. He hurt, and he wanted the people who caused his pain to hurt more, but every desire had its starting steps. This desire came with the necessity that he did start a new life, however one could start a new life in this forsaken city. Old thoughts and what seemed like propoganda from centuries ago (rather than just the seasons) were sparked anew when he had finally come to Kalzasi, and it would be a difficult trudge through to correct them.

Florian came from the South Main Road and ended up roaming the streets of the Commons. No one looked or stared at him, as covered as he was for the cold, and it was not unusual for a Lysanrin to exist. It wasn't unusual for anyone to exist, here, and the sheer smell of the city with its clean air and street food caused surprise on its own. He didn't necessarily feel safe, but at least he was unnoticed, and that was second to none. Not even his gilded horn seemed to draw attention, as colorful as everything around him was already.

Florian spied a bench near a frozen fountain and sat, catching his breath and letting himself settle for just a moment. He would have to find somewhere to stay sooner rather than later, but he had to get his bearings first. Kalzasi was a lively city, but he knew little about the intricacies of how it worked. He ran his hand through his too-long, curly hair. Maybe he'd grow it out a bit more. Blue eyes roamed over milling crowds and buskers in the cold, and he suddenly felt like he was looking for someone, something, but he did not know what.

[Lyra]

The wind was bitterly cold against her skin as she walked the streets in the direction of home. Salem had wanted her to take the carriage, but that was too conspicuous for her outing today. Besides, Fletcher would have been truly insufferable if she had rolled in front of his shop in a fine carriage attended by the silver-haired elf. The man was already hardly bearable, and Lyra wished to give him no further cause to bother her. She'd even set alarms to warn her of his approach at her manor, for the old man has a habit of strolling in places he wasn't wanted. That was how Lyra found herself walking through the commons on such a dreadfully frozen day.

I should have sent Naila. She thought with a sigh that misted before her eyes. The cold did not bother her greatly, but it did slow her body somewhat and that was quite tedious.

While distractedly walking the cobbled roads Lyra looked idly around at the milling crowds who seemed even more foolish than she. There were performers about even in this weather, which baffled Lyra, but she supposed everyone must pay to eat. One could not simply hibernate all winter and forgo food... at least most races couldn't. Then her attention was drawn to the side as she heard music that sang in rich tones, resonating through the symphonies that she picked up through her magical senses. It was a haunting melody, bold and furious, and familiar. Lyra paused in her walk to look about her, golden eyes settling on a person who sat stooped on a bench. It was from him that the song came, and Lyra felt drawn to it like a moth to the flame.

She sat beside the man, studying him openly before asking softly, "Who is it you hate so much, child?"

[Florian]

Florian's thoughts had quickly wandered away from people watching, and he did not even realize someone had approached him until she sat. He jumped when she spoke She would have been entirely out of place in Zaichaer, but here, it seemed, she blended more easily.

He looked at her next to him, from where he stared in the distance and brushed a stray curl from his face. His ears were cold. It was bitterly cold. Sitting still only made it worse, but he didn't get up from his spot. Florian's face was blank, and his eyes remained their neutral blue. He did not feel hatred at that moment, but the embers were never cold because he bore a grudge that could not be so easily burned away. He pulled his cloak tighter around him as a cold wind blew past.

"I think we ought to get to know each other better before I start talking about my hatred." His accent was thick and Zaichaeri, and not a rich man's, either. A poor, nonhuman boy from Zaichaer — it was not a difficult jump to make. He adjusted his seat ansd opened his cloak once the breeze had gone. The shirt was torn just above the elbow, and nothing remained below. "But we can start with those who made the beast that did this."

He didn't know why he was sharing so much, but it also wasn't a secret the moment he was uncloaked. It was the very specificity of her question that made him wonder what she knew and how he knew it. He blinked, and his eyes were reflective silver. Her aether was distorted and dark, but he could see she was using it — or had just used it — it was hard to tell. The scent, too, was unidentifiably floral.

"Who has earned your hatred?"

[Lyra]

Lyra glanced down at the missing arm before focusing on the boy's face. She studied him intently, a growing sense of kinship as he spoke. His words were neutral, heavily accented by whatever culture he was from, but they rang with a note of familiarity that Lyra knew very well. Embers though they were, Lyrielle knew that song for what it was. This one knew true hatred and sought vengeance with such ferocity that her mark burned in her chest.

"A beast took your limb, yet you survived?" Lyra leaned closer, ignoring whatever boundary of personal space that Florian might have, "You look as if you wandered the streets for days, destitute and worn, yet here you are. Something drives you, and we hear it."

Lyra paused and sat back slightly, though she kept her body turned toward Florian as she answered his question with a question of her own, "Do you search for justice or vengeance?"

[Florian]

Florian leaned back a bit as the woman leaned in, though he was unsure if he should have been insulted. She didn't seem disgusted or angry with him, though. She seemed intrigued by him, and he wondered what had originally drawn her to him after he had sat down. He blinked the silver out of her eyes and they were blue once more, neutral but with a new intensity.

"The claws sealed the wound as it cut." He provided by way of explanation, and still more words came out of him despite himself. "I've not been wandering the streets, but the wilderness. All I own is what you see. I came here because I had to — there is no place for me in the city of my birth. Not now. Not anymore." He studied her own face and decided that he liked the way she spoke. They seemed to be of the same mindset.

"There is no justice for me. I seek revenge." He whispered to her. What she was saying reminded him of the man he met in the dark woods, the man who promised revenge. It didn't just remind him, it near mirrored his offer, and he near repeated his reply. He shifted so that he was covered again, and looked back at her.

"Who are you? I'm Florian."

[Lyra]

His eyes changed colors, something Lyra had not noticed before but now seemed obvious with their closeness. It was not necessarily an unusual thing given that Lyra knew of at least one magic that tended toward visual prowess, so she thought little of it.

"A beast with claws that cauterized the wound." She mused, "It is an even greater wonder that you live. It sounds quite ferocious."

Hadn't he said that the beast was created by someone? Someone that he hated? Now he wandered in a city that was unknown to him, or so Lyra suspected given his next words. Still a feeling grew in her, and she wondered once more why it was she was so curious, so interested. She recognized that song that rang in his soul, a twin to her own, though his was softer, less refined. It was new hate, or rather newly realized. Once more she opened herself to the symphonies, listening more, searching to understand where those feelings came from. Then she noticed it, a resonance faint but familiar.

"Justice is limited, and often unobtainable for those who need it most." She spoke softly, tilting her head, "Those like us cannot expect justice, so we must instead seek it for ourselves, with our own hands."

"We recognize you, little one." Lyra smiled a knowing smile, touching the shoulder of the arm that was still whole, "Florian, we are kin, though we share no blood." Her smile grew wider, "You may call us Lyrielle, or Lyra in public. Do you wish to come with me?"

[Florian]

Florian watched Lyra, as she moved and smiled and spoke. It was too...coincidental, too easy. Had he really just met someone by chance that knew what he knew, or was it something else. "I survived because it knew me. It took the arm as a trophy. It wasn't an unintelligent beast, but twisted."

Whether it was too coincidental and too easy or if he had really just fallen on good fortune, it didn't matter. It was a chance, and he had nothing else for himself. Nothing to look for, no family to find, and certainly no extant opportunities. This Lyrielle was the chance he had, and she seemed to agree with him on the matters close to his heart.

"So you seek vengeance yourself, Lyra?" He felt like he already knew the answer, and he held his hand towards her, palm up, a showing of the mark that was left after his meeting with Killian. The remarkably mundane black circle. "I met a man in the impenetrable darkness and I was given a promise in return." He smiled. "If that's the way we're kin, then I will follow you where you lead. I have nothing in this city but myself, and I don't even have all of that anymore." He smiled. "But I have other skills that you might find useful. What do you do?"