Hytori Blond [Arvalyn]

[Sivan]

15 Frost 120
The Velvet Cabaret
Midday

Too low to find my way
Too high to wonder why
I've touched this place before
Somewhere in another time

Jacun had thought that he needed a break. Jacun knew everything. He wasn't actually a bastard about it, but Sivan had an eternal chip on his shoulder, and hated being subservient to anyone. Not that Jacun was lordly. It was the idea of it. It had taken time for him to get comfortable with his previous master, who had been impossibly benevolent. Perhaps it was because he had begun as more of a friend and teacher before things were formalized. Perhaps Sivan was just reasonably out of sorts because suddenly, the one person he had cared about most in recent memory was gone. He had inherited a grief-stricken automaton, stumbled upon a veritable babe in the woods, and was now in Kalzasi trying to fend for himself as well as the automaton and the fae, one hibernating and the other apparently cursed.

But he had a little cottage of his own. Well, he shared it with his dependents, which now included a passel of elemental sprites whom he paid in aether to keep his new home livable until he could afford to make improvements, which he would hold off on until he knew this apprenticeship was going to stick. He hoped it would. He didn't know if he liked Kalzasi yet, but it wasn't like he had a sense of direction insofar as where his life was heading. His master had wanted him to learn alchemy, so he was learning alchemy. IX needed his skills as an artificer to keep it in shape, and alchemy might help with repair and improvements, too, so he was watching over the inert form of the automaton, who took up a huge chunk of real estate in the cottage without contributing a misting thing. Flower needed a curse-breaker, and so Sivan was going to have to start learning about that, as well.

Perhaps Jacun had a point. He was taking quickly to the books and scrolls assigned for reading. He was diligent in assisting Jacun in his own works, as well as throwing himself into the small, insignificant projects he could complete with the barest understanding of alchemy. It didn't help that he didn't speak the language. It had never mattered before when the two people he spoke to were fluent in Mythrasi. He could get by here, but it was always awkward. People spoke too slow, too loud, and with big gestures because they thought he was stupid. It required a lot of daily meditation to keep his calm. His mother's race had a penchant for falling to darker emotions, and he seemed to have inherited that as well as the ability to communicate with spirits. He couldn't complain, really, as that helped a great deal with his summoning and he could mostly avoid people who irritated him. The tradeoff seemed a great deal fairer than a lot of the other tradeoffs in life.

Jacun had said he could take the delivery around to the back, that the Velvet Cabaret had a service entrance for such things. Be that as it may, Sivan still didn't know the Plaza of the Jeweled Arches well, even if his cottage was nearby, as well as his new place of employment. Perhaps they would send him out that way, and he could find his way back to the shop and from that point on, he would know where it was. But he didn't want to get lost because then he would have to talk to people who would treat him like an idiot because he didn't speak their ugly language.

He didn't know the word "Cabaret" but then he didn't know many words in Common. Seeing it next to an obvious theater and looking similar enough, he took it for the same thing and walked in through the unlocked front doors. Dressed well enough now that he had settled in long enough to do laundry, he didn't stand out so much for what he was wearing, at least. He was confused, though. There was a stage area, and there were entertainments, but most of the people here present were playing cards or dicing.

Not quite sure how to proceed, he walked up to the nearest bar, caught the attention of the barkeep, and indicated his rucksack, wherein there lay a supply of charas, the psychoactive resin specially rolled and alchemized so it shone with more than its natural sparkle.

"Aurin?" he asked, golden brows raised in question. Names, at least, didn't bear translation, and that one sounded musical enough with his exotic phonation.

[Arvælyn]

Arvalyn glared back toward the stage, as he leaned against the service bar, absently twirling an empty cocktail tray on his index finger.

"See how Kasha is out of sync with Meleena?" He observed over his shoulder to the barkeep who'd be half-listening to him gripe all afternoon, contributing nothing to the discourse, apart from the occasional grunt. "And that's not fair to Meleena, because the audience doesn't know whose fault it is. They both look bad." He sighed heavily, as he caught the eye of a customer, who immediately flagged him down. He halted the rotation of his tray, and tucked it under his arm as he sauntered over, with a slight scowl upon a visage accented by a gold, glittery powder.

"What can I get you, sirrah?" The persona Arvalyn had adopted shortly after arriving in Kalzasi felt incongruous with service work- especially in the main bar. He'd told management as much many times. Well, he'd told Aurin, many times. Somehow, it never seemed to come up when he was talking to the big boss: Lunaria. In any event, the posh, haughty accent he donned for the full-time role of Arvalyn seemed to drip with condescension even as he took a simple ale order from a perfectly cordial human. "Very well." He grumbled, as he turned his back on the customer and started back for the service bar.

Someone at a table to his right whistled at him, and he shot a withering glare in that direction. Arvalyn didn't typically work serving cocktails anymore. When he'd started out as a chorus boy, it wasn't odd to see him off stage slinging drinks, but these days it was exceptionally unusual and it was only done as a grudging favour for Aurin. The ginger human would occasion to adopt this pleading look when he needed something, and it reminded Arvalyn that he owed a life debt to the man and couldn't say no. They were short-staffed, and so the mixed-blooded golden boy who looked and presented himself as a pure-bred Hytori, donned a skimpy costume from a show that wasn't in the Frost rotation, and took to the floor.

"Amber ale!" He called to the barkeep, who seemed to be speaking with... Or rather at an unfamiliar, young customer, who wasn't responding.

"Zedros help me..." He muttered, as he ducked under the bar to side up next to his flustered colleague and pour the ale himself. While he was waiting for the head to settle, he glanced up to the customer and cocked an eyebrow. His first thought when he saw an Hytori was typically, "Shit!" And this occasion was not atypical. He had maintained his cover pretty well among the customers. Aurin knew he was really a halfbreed urchin from Antiris- Of course he knew, he'd help Arvine Venasyr cultivate the image of Arvalyn Val'Cithaeron. Lunaria knew, as did a few of his other colleagues, but the only times he'd been called out by customers, they'd been amused enough to play along, were travellers just passing through, or had gotten drunk enough to have forgotten the next day.

In a flash standing before a threat to his persona, Arvalyn became Arry- He cast his eyes down, as he always had when he wanted to go unseen. Unfortunately, of late he'd grown quite accustomed to attention and the Elf caught his golden eye before it was fixed upon the ale he was pouring.

[Sivan]

Perfection.

The barkeep ignored him. Had he so mangled the name as to make it unrecognizable? Well, he did seem busy. But then he caught the eye of a Hytori behind the bar, a Hytori of oddly self-effacing demeanor. He was pretty and decorated to be seen but seemed to be hiding in plain sight. It was a mystery. When his eyes caught the golden pair, they seemed to stay caught. His own were blue, rare among Hytori, less so among the Dratori. He tried to smile, though he was a bit confused and not just because he couldn't understand most of the words flying around him.

"A thousand apologies," he said in polite Mythrasi, "and I see you are quite busy. I have a delivery from Jacun to a man named Aurin. If he is not available, I would like to speak to someone who can give me a receipt of delivery and I will cease to be a bother."

Although, perhaps he would linger for a moment after. Jacun's Mythrasi was perfect. Flower's was fine but inconsistent. It might be nice to have a normal sort of conversation that didn't require cycling through the short list of words he knew and a surefire headache. Then again, the other elf looked shy as well as busy, and Sivan only expected to be irritated and disappointed. There was a reason he had eschewed the capital of his delinquent father's people.

"The goods are expensive, though, and should be locked up." The charas had a potent effect on their own, let alone enhanced by Jacun's knowledge. Sivan hadn't expected to become a legal drug runner during his apprenticeship, but he supposed nothing should surprise him. It was too bad Jacun hadn't had him sample and perform quality control. It would be a relief to lay back and hallucinate, he thought. Just for a change of scenery.

[Arvælyn]

Arvalyn's eyes darted back up, a double-take, as they noticed blue rings around the pupils of the other Elf. Perhaps he wasn't a pureblood, after all. He might have just been another city-born half-Elf from here or another of the free cities. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he parted his lips to speak. But the stranger beat him to the punch, and he blinked.

It took a moment to register to Arvalyn that another language was being spoken, and that it was not just the volume of the room or a thick accent that made it difficult to comprehend straight away,

Shit. Mythrasi.

Maybe he was a purebred, after all. In any event, he was caught in the conversation now- It wouldn't do to just ignore a customer and walk away, and he did speak conversational Mythrasi. In fact his accent was impeccable. He used to practice with another boy who'd spent time in Sol'Vallen, and he'd learnt the rules of proper pronunciation. The problem was he didn't know all the rules of grammar, and his vocabulary was limited. This combination of a flawless native accent and a limited bank of words which often came out-of-order made him sound like a native of Sol'Vallen who happened to be touched in the head.

"Yes." He began in the Hytori tongue, "I am extreme busy." He was speaking a bit slowly, now, but so far these were all words he knew and most he'd just heard spoken. "But I know Aurin. I can him your delivery give." He held up his index finger, "One moment." He took the tankard of amber he'd just poured, and strutted back over toward the service bar, ducking under and heading back out to the floor to drop the drink off. He took the man's coin and ignored the other customers attempting to get his attention, as he made his way back over to the strange Elf. Now they were on the same side of the bar, and Arvalyn's demeanour was neither the self-assured, haughtiness he'd worn before he'd seen the Elf, nor was it the obsequious bashfulness he'd exhibited when he was trying not to be noticed. It was a sort of cautious, uncertainty.

He extended his hands,

"Will you giving me delivery?"

[Sivan]

Sivan was confused. Watching the other elf move, he saw him transform. There must have been more than one person living in his skin—one person behind the bar, another person speaking, another person serving customers. He didn't know if this returning creature was one of his previous incarnations or a new on.

Uncertain how to proceed, he considered. Sivan was passing clever; often sharp, but not mean. It occurred to him that the halting tongue might be the key. Though the newest alchemist did not understand Common, the golden one clearly maneuvered through that language with ease. It was his Mythrasi that was strange, as though he learned like a singer, able to learn sounds by ear if not by meaning. He opened his mouth to launch into a flowery, overly complicated reiteration of what he had said before in order to trip him up, confuse him, and yank off his mask, revealing whatever it was he hid underneath, but then he paused.

This was a theater, albeit like no theater he had ever seen. Then again, he wasn't the sort who attended the theater—there were people there. But artists of this ilk wove illusions with mundane skills and probably some with magical skills. Perhaps this one poured his soul into Masquerade and changed his shape to lure patrons with Hytori beauty. It seemed rude to pour his own soul into Semblance to see through it. The would-be Hytori was only doing his job. But even so, Sivan had no idea whether the people here were of ill or favorable repute. He wasn't going to let the expensive stock miss its mark and suffer the consequences. Perhaps witnesses might support his behavior, but this was not Sol'Valen. He could not speak their language and he would not risk their justice system, let alone lose the place with Jacun that he had traveled so far to secure.

"I will wait, Golden," he said, and sat down.

Mythrasi was a subtle language. With a tiny shift in inflection, he turned an adjective into a name. It wasn't this one's Name—he would not be able to yank him out of another plane with it—but it seemed suitable for one made of gold.

[Arvælyn]

Arvalyn tilted his head, bemusedly.

"No trusting for me?" He inquired with an arched eyebrow, albeit coupled with a glint of amusement cutting through his nerves at being caught. He hadn't been called out yet, so perhaps his Mythrasi was getting better. Still and all, he probably shouldn't press his luck. He turned to head back to the floor, but paused.

"You will wait and wait. Aurin is not here many hours." He bade over his shoulder, as he returned to his duties at the tables. After taking a few orders, and bussing some empties, he turned to the bar where he found its tender more attentive to his section. He stole a glance at the strange Elf waiting at the bar. Arvalyn was curious. By and by, his tray was full and he returned to his customers.

As he collected coin from a particularly raucous table of middle-aged, middle-class matrons, he glanced to the rear of the room where he could see the current act was on its final number.

Thank the gods, he thought to himself. Finally Kasha would clear the stage and get back to serving drinks where she belonged, and Arvalyn could pour a couple cups of honey-wine and dish with Meleena about that disaster of a set, whilst he counted his tips. He returned to the service bar and called over to the barkeep,

"They're on the finale number, and Kasha did not earn a break before she takes over here, so I'm cashing out now." Arvalyn said, taking an empty seat and the mostly empty bar and pulling his coin pouch out to count the take for the shift. He glanced sidelong, and found the Elf boy still sitting there. He tilted his head in that direction and inquired in Mythrasi:

"Have you a common tongue?"

[Sivan]

Sivan had had to shake his head no when the other Hytori questioned him. It wasn't personal, it was him protecting his newly won apprenticeship because he was damned if he was going to be supporting an automaton and a fae who could not contribute, not if he had no means to support. That mystery walked away and left him to his own devices. It hadn't exactly been hours and hours by the time the Golden returned, but Sivan was still sitting there, holding his pack in his lap with its precious contents. There was a glass of water in front of him, garnished with a lemon wedge, a lime wedge, and other things. Some bartenders were all right giving drinks that wouldn't earn them a tip. Others had a sense of humor. But if this bartender was teasing Sivan, he didn't seem to notice or care.

"Not good," he said, raising a hand as if that would help him explain. It might have been a Dratori tick. Their language involved quite a bit in the way of gesture and delivery, but he wasn't speaking Rivach at the moment. Torn between two worlds, here he was in a third world where he didn't speak the language. His tone was apologetic. Sivan was normally quite feisty. Today he was too tired to be his normal, ornery self.

Having made some headway improving his new home and having made some headway securing a paid apprenticeship, things were looking up, but he was still burdened by the care of other people who gave little back. And it wasn't their fault. He couldn't be mad. It was just rough, but then Life had never been especially in his corner.

"Sorry," he said. Haltingly, he managed to string together a few words, a few concepts, to try to explain himself. "No trust. New job. No lose. Very bad."

It was galling. He was no poet, but he could communicate as well as anyone in a language he knew. But all he could do was be patient and pay attention. He would pick it up. He was clever like that. After all, he hadn't been here but two weeks. He was certainly his own worst critic.

"You sing?" he asked. His face screwed up a bit as he tried to remember the right word. "You dance?"

It might be a frustrating conversation, each of them fluent in a language but with only passing familiarity with each other's, but if he was going to have to wait for hours for Aurin or another of his ilk to arrive and give him a receipt of delivery, well, he might as well talk to someone. He didn't have money to be spending on alcohol or whatever else was on that menu and it seemed as though the Golden was no longer slaving away.

[Arvælyn]

Arvalyn nodded acknowledgement, pursing his lips and returning his golden eyes to the copper coins before him. Silently mouthing the numbers he was counting, as he dipped a quill into its inkpot and lined it up with the appropriate spot on the shift ledger. He scribbled in the copper count, and set the quill aside as he pocketed his copper tips and put the rest into the house purse. The voice to his right rose up again, continuing in brief bursts of broken Common.

"Be not sorry." He replied in Mythrasi, "Common tongue is common. Mythrasi is music." A faint, but sincere smile crossed his countenance, as he idly toyed with the stack of silver he hadn't counted yet.

"You are have new working post?" He inquired, with a gesture to the package he kept on his lap. "It is a great treasure, surely, for you hold with much security." That said, he returned his attention to his accounting for a few moments, to log in the silver count for the shift and portion out his tips from the house haul.

When the strange Elf spoke again, the reception to his questions was markedly more enthusiastic. Arvalyn straightened his back, sitting up and broadly grinning with emphatic nods.

"I sing!" He confirmed, "I dance!" He gestured to the coin before him and wrinkled his nose, displaying distaste in an expression intended to cross their language barrier. "This is not my working post. I am a friend helping- a favour making." He canted his head to one side, "Aurin, actually." But he quickly, segued beyond that bit of trivia.

"Possible you will later see me. I am tonight presenting on..." Arvalyn grimaced, unsure of the word. He gestured back toward the stage, which was now clearing. "On..." He fumbled for the word, ostensibly checking to see if it was somewhere on the ceiling. "On bard box." He knew it wasn't the proper term, but honestly it seemed like a fitting synonym for 'stage'.

"Aurin will late." He recovered his tempo, "You are probably then still here."

[Sivan]

And then, suddenly, they were holding a conversation. Switching back and forth between Mythrasi and Common, they managed to communicate more, sharing the burdens of translation within one's mind and one's mouth.

"Jacun, alchemist," he said, knowing the word for that sort of magic in Common. "I, apprentice."

That called for a proper introduction, the which he delivered in Mythrasi, even translating his chosen Dratori surname, which made it a bit of poetry. He touched his brow and bowed his head slightly to the off-duty performer. "Sivan Who-Runs-Toward-the-Sun Len'Myran. I bow to you, Golden."

He supposed he might have returned to Jacun momentarily unsuccessful and come back to drop off the delivery when Master Aurin was present, but he was petty and would rather sit here and sip water in the meantime so Jacun would learn not to waste his time just because he was an apprentice. Anyway, it was cold outside and there were interesting things going on here, people to watch, and such. This place was the Rune of Masquerade made manifest. It would be nice to escape reality for a moment or two.

"Bard box," he repeated, then glanced over to the stage. "Stage," he corrected, then slowly went through the various declensions of the noun with examples. A tarnished brow rose at the end of that and after a brief hesitation, he asked in Common, "Understand?"

Sivan didn't ask about the man's strange way of speaking; that would be rude. Instead, he offered a little help and hoped it wouldn't be taken in the wrong way. Of his delivery, he said, "drugs," along with the Rivach gesture that implied improved by magical means, which might have made sense even without the Rivach word. If someone was actually willing to sit down and work with him to communicate, he was apparently willing to pull out all the stops he knew to communicate clearly with the tools at his disposal.

And, "I will stay here," he declared, though he didn't quite communicate whether that was for Aurin, for Golden's performance, or both.

[Arvælyn]

"Well met, Sivan Len'Myran." The salutation was in Common, but the name was pronounced beautifully by Arry's practiced tongue. He made his own introduction in Mythrasi- It was a stock phrase that he'd learnt early on and used often, so it flowed smoothly and without interruption, unlike the more extemporaneous thoughts he'd attempted to form in his mother's tongue.

"I am called Arvalyn..." He paused, and left it at the first name he'd adopted. To continue to the next part of his nomenclature would raise questions he wasn't prepared to answer, just yet.

"Ah, yes- Stage!" His face flushed, embarrassed at the error. "Forgive!" He turned back to the coin in front of him and pocketed the silver he was owed, stowing the rest in the house purse. "I am from a distant, um... Valley." Arry was a practiced liar, and usually when he was speaking Mythrasi, he was at the very least bending the truth, so he referred to the backstory he'd been developing for years now. "Did not learn High Mythrasi. In my hearth-place we are occasion unaccustomed words making." He explained, glancing back to the young man with an apologetic smile.

He glanced down to the package, and repeated the Common with Common.

"Drugs?" He arched an eyebrow, "Magic drugs?" That elicited a snicker, and muttered to himself, "That should make Aurin happy..." Arvalyn sat upright to reach across the bar and hang the ledger from a nail on the other side, pushing the quill and ink off to one side and holding up the house purse to get the barkeep's attention. As the man headed their way, Arry asked:

"Have you hunger?"