Hytori Blond [Arvalyn]

[Sivan]

Sivan listened politely. He was interested, too, he found, but this careful communication required much in the way of internal review to keep the back and forth flow of information clear.

"Arvalyn," he acknowledged, saying the name back with the careful cadence it required. Of course, he noticed that no family name was given and did not pry. Hytori were known to travel, but he supposed there were any number of reasons why a Hytori artist in a foreign city might not wish to fully identify himself. Sivan only really used his father's name because it kept some uppity high elves from getting on their high horses around him.

"I Common very bad. Much travel no learn. Stupid Sivan." He sighed, not because he really thought he was stupid but because he wished he had paid a little more attention when it wasn't quite so important for him to know the language. Then he would be a bit better off now than he was. But hindsight was perfect and there was no Rune of Time for him to manipulate things in his favor. Well, that he knew of.

"You. Aurin. Friends?" And when Arvalyn the Golden asked him whether he was hungry, he shook his head. Then his stomach decided to growl because not only was the world against him, but his own body was, too. He sighed again.

"Save coin. Eat later." Charity wasn't something he knew how to accept with good grace. He didn't know if that was in the offing, but it would make him uncomfortable. Debts and bonds; there was a reason he was so careful with those, spending so much time laying them out to spirits to secure their help in all manner of things.

[Arvælyn]

"That is right." Arvalyn smiled and nodded, approvingly. He'd accented the second syllable with a long-A, as was proper, so he was pleased. All too often he heard it mispronounced, after phonating it in the most precise diction he could muster.

"Common tonguing is hard." Arvalyn offered- his brow was knitted in disapproval at Sivan's self-deprecative characterisation. "They are make rules only to break alike rules." He consoled, slipping off the corner stool to take a few paces closer to where Sivan sat, sidling up to the seat directly beside him.

"Aurin is..." The corner of his mouth twitched, "...friend, yes." Finally, he caught the eye of the barman, who nodded acknowledgement as he finished up with a customer. Arvalyn lowered the house purse back onto the bar, and rested his hand atop it.

"I have many friend, except I am for Aurin his best." He tilted his head, glancing quizzically at Sivan, as in unclear on what he'd meant.

"Did not ask if you are to buy food wanting. Asked if you have hunger." His eyes darted down to the other Elf's belly as it objected to Sivan's sense of etiquette. The bartender strode over to claim the purse from Arvalyn, who looked up at him and said:

"Two bowls of the barley soup and a loaf of sourdough for my friend and me." His posh-accented Common poured out, smooth as honeyed wine. The barkeep cocked and eyebrow and looking askance to Sivan. "Yes, I deserve two bloody shift meals for deigning to work the main bar when I have to perform tonight." Arvalyn snapped, before the man could object. "If it's a problem, put it on Aurin's tab and tell him to take it up with me." The performer stared the barman down until he stepped away, and then his expression returned to a soft, cordial one as he directed his focus to Sivan.

"Will you long in Kalzasi be?"

[Sivan]

It was a curious experience. He was observant enough to see a few tics that led him to believe that he was missing out on a fair amount of subtext and nuance because of their language barriers, but those barriers made getting just the text across difficult enough. It seemed unlikely he would be any more popular here than he had been anywhere else, and who needed friends when one had dependents?

He felt a little bad if Arvalyn was indeed Aurin's best friend, but he didn't actually know Aurin—he just wanted to perform the task set to him properly so he could continue to learn about the powers of alchemy. Maybe they would laugh about this later, or maybe he would be stuck in the shop from then on. He would learn more about alchemy that way, though he was getting a little practice with Common. There were worse things.

"Thank you, friend," he said quietly in Common. That was an easy enough construction, though it lilted like he was trying to sing it. Silly elven tongues. He didn't know if they were friends, but he had heard Arvalyn use the word while throwing his weight around with the bartender.

"For long time. Art long. Many learn." He frowned, then tried his native tongue. "Indefinitely. I do not know how long it will take to learn enough about the discipline, to achieve enough mastery that I am released from my apprenticeship, but my contract binds me to Jacun until he deems me knowledgeable and ethical enough to be out from under his eye." He didn't slow down so much as make Arvalyn feel slow, but he did make sure to enunciate, even allowing for the elisions and clever diphthongs and triphthongs and the ever more complex syllabic forms to be as clear and distinct as possible. It occurred to him that watching the man's aura as they spoke might help his mind glean more nuance from what he was saying, but this was a place where people wore masks and played roles, and he didn't know if it would be polite to strip the mask away without permission.

It was one thing to look when one's life was in danger. It was another to casually snatch secrets from people.

[Arvælyn]

"Nothing to thank." Arvalyn replied to Common with Common, and turned on the stool so he was properly facing the other man. As he launched into Mythrasi, Arry's golden gaze slid down to his lips. They were prominent, for certain. He expected plenty of people stared at them when he spoke, whether or not they were trying to glean his meaning. It was almost distracting, but the cabaret chorus boy was focused enough to garner the bulk of his intent, if much of the nuance was lost. He'd, at the very least, gathered the answer to he question he'd posed pointedly.

"If you are long in Kalzasi, do you wish Common-tonguing better to learn?" He inquired, leaning the elbow nearest the bar onto its surface. "If you have time not with learning Alchemy, perhaps..." He paused, wrinkling his nose in annoyance as he lost the thread of his conjugations. At his level of comprehension, he tended to have trouble when a sentence got too complex. It made him prone to speak in short, clipped sentences where he felt his grasp of the language was more grounded,

"Perhaps we could... tongue-barter?" He wasn't sure if that made sense, and judging from the look on Sivan's face it did not. "Ummm... You teaching High Mythrasi, I teaching Common. Spend learning for pay learning. No coin, barter. Yes?" He paused, examining Sivan's expression to see whether he'd been understood.

"If you are time and interest having." He adopted a cavalier expression, and punctuated it with a blithe shrug- Just in case the other Elf declined to even entertain the thought of spending more time with him. He certainly wouldn't want to be caught looking as though he cared.

[Sivan]

Sivan froze. Blue eyes stared at Arvalyn for a long moment and then he started laughing uproariously. It was the loudest he had been and certainly nothing he had expressed since he got her could be called gleeful. He held a hand up lest he offend.

"Apologia— Apologies. I apologies." Actually smiling, his face was rather transformed. Gathering himself, he reiterated Arvalyn's kenning. "Tongue-barter. Sound as..."

He looked to be searching for the words in Common, and couldn't find them. So his blue eyes went wide and his hand slowly stretched longingly toward Arvalyn's cheek as he leaned in, jaw dropping, and tongue writhing as if the worst possible. He stopped, laughing again. "I apologies. I apologies. Is kiss? Kiss... Kiss-wrestle. Tongue-barter. I apologies. Very kind for food. Arvalyn Mythrasi..." And here he began to weigh their relative linguistic skills as if upon scales made of his hand. "Sivan Common."

The weighing clearly favored the substance of Arvalyn's mastery of the high elven tongue.

"A better way to say it would be language exchange." A bit more sober again, his lips still twitched. Anyway, it had made sense once Arvalyn explained what he meant. Sivan hoped he hadn't offended, especially since the laughter had released some tension that he knew was there but didn't know how to let go of. Apparently this place was for blowing off steam in more ways than one.

"I should like this. And you not... not... not-love me for laughter. I apologies."

He wasn't sure when he would have time for a language exchange, or where they could have it. Then again, he supposed it could happen anywhere. And perhaps after a bit more time working for Master Jacun, he would have a better idea of a schedule.

[Arvælyn]

Arvalyn tilted his head in confusion at the sudden, brazen outburst.

"Um..." He looked to the barkeep, who was now shooting a withering look in their direction as Sivan loudly guffawed, drawing attention from all around them. Moments earlier he'd been trying to avoid the embarrassment of rejection, and now he was faced with the far worse embarrassment of ridicule. At least that's what he took it for. If he was wearing a shirt, he might have tugged at the collar, but such as things stood...

"Well." By and by Sivan's tempestuous laughter waned and gave way to words in Common. "It's actually 'Apologize'? So..." He trailed off. Correcting the diction didn't yield quite the balancing force he'd been hoping for, but he had to do something.

Sivan repeated the phrase he'd been unsure of. Perhaps that had been the catalyst for his laughing fit, but he didn't seem able to explain what had been so funny about it... At least he couldn't explain with words. The subsequent pantomime, however, was enough to cut through Arvalyn's embarrassment, and draw laughter from his lips as well.

"Oh!" He understood, at last, and repeated the Common translation of, "Kiss wrestle! I see, now." He made a silly face and playfully conked himself on the head with the heel of his hand, as if to indicate he'd had cranial trauma that would explain the Mythrasi malapropism.

"You mean 'Hate'." Arvalyn clarified, "Or 'Dislike', but no- I don't hate or dislike you." He shifted, "It was much funny. At first I not understanded. Now I do and also make laughter." Smiling now at the prospect of fortifying his Mythrasi, Arvalyn offered his hand.

"We have a deal?" A devilish smirk tugged his lips, "We will together tongue barter?" He winked at Sivan, just to make it abundantly clear that he was saying it wrong on purpose this time.

[Sivan]

Apologize, he mouthed. "Apologize."

Yes, apologies were the things one offered to apologize. That was one wrinkle of the language that perhaps he would remember from now on. He tried at least to listen to Jacun when he was speaking to clients and customers, whether he himself was decanting a reagent or dusting a shelf. Immersion was going to be key, and Flower didn't speak hardly at all so Common was going the be the ocean he drowned in here.

A hand came up to his golden cheek as if in moral shock, but he smiled and accepted the handshake. He was brief about it, awkward. And as the hilarity faded, so too did his relaxation.

"Tongue-barter," he agreed, his smile fading into a ghost. "The deal is struck."

But then he wasn't quite sure what should follow in this conversation and so he fell quiet. Thankfully, Arvalyn's repast appeared quickly. Soup only needed ladling, after all. A small loaf of sourdough and some fresh butter came too. Perhaps this place was truly fancy and not just sequins and feathers. His traitorous stomach growled again as if it had a nose of its own and could smell the savory flavor riding the air. But still and all he refrained from tucking into the food until Arvalyn did. This was only right as Arvalyn was sharing his meal with Sivan, putting him a bit in the role of guest. Sivan may not have liked most people, but he knew how to act around them. Etiquette, at least, kept things from going south right out of the gate.

It was a way for him to structure interactions such that his dander didn't rise. Sometimes he thought he would be better out in the wild where he could just primal scream if he got angry. The problem was, he liked cooked meals and clean clothes. He liked what cities provided. If only they didn't have people in them.

[Arvælyn]

Arvalyn chuckled- Not the uproarious guffaws of moments earlier, but amused all the same at Sivan's rather theatrical phrasing. He repeated the sentiment, knitting his brow and adopting an air of intensity, as if playing a grandiose character on stage: "The deal is struck." He said, in a voice lower, and more gravely than the one with which he'd been speaking, thus far. The arrival of the barley soup and bread served as an elegant segue out of that character and back into the usual hauteur of Arvalyn Val'Cithaeron.

"Gratitude, barkeep." The barman had already turned and was heading back to actual paying customers by the time Arvalyn added, "This will do nicely." He took up the spoon and gestured toward the bowl before Sivan.

"Ingest! Ingest!" He encouraged in the Hytori mothertongue, and plunged his spoon into the murky depths of his own bowl to stir the contents around in the broth. It wasn't the richest victual he'd ever enjoyed. It had the consistency of a rich medley that had been ladled from the top by someone who hadn't deigned to stir the more substantial fare up from the bottom of the pot. He wasn't sure if it was because the man had been instructed to control the dancers' portions to maintain their figures, or whether it was just because the human didn't like him. Whatever the case, this was precisely why he always requested a side of bread. He broke off a piece and dipped it into the broth, letting it soak as he spoke.

"I am have house over ceiling." He pointed up, toward the general direction of his boarding room. "We can possible there encounter, or if you are domecile possessing can we rather there encounter." To work on their intended lesson plan, they could really meet pretty much anywhere- A park, a tea house, another bar. Perhaps another bar would be unwise, lest they drink away the boons of their session before it had time to settle in nimble, sober minds.

He withdrew the hunk of bread, now drenched and darker than it had been before bathing in broth, and took a bite.

[Sivan]

"I ingest," he promised with a vague smile.

The fare was plain, but he wasn't bothered. Not much of a cook himself, he had mostly bought things that could be eaten on their own, grazed whenever he or Flower felt hungry. Fruit, vegetables, cheese, breads—they kept well enough. The fire sprite he had engaged to live in his hearth was getting the hang of keeping most of the one-room cottage warm, but leaving the corner that made up the kitchen cooler. It helped their supplies stay fresh longer, though he couldn't really afford to buy in bulk. Flower wanted to help around the house, but Sivan didn't know to cook so couldn't really teach him, and they didn't own much so there wasn't much to tidy, and they hadn't lived there long enough for any deep cleaning to be necessary. He could imagine the little fae being frustrated, but Sivan had no answers for him yet.

A simple bowl of soup was a hot, cooked meal that he hadn't had to figure out himself. Alchemy was going to be easier than cooking. It being free made it taste even better, and anyway, hunger was the best sauce. The monster in his belly would be appeased.

"Have house small," he replied after swallowing a spoonful while his bread soaked up the broth. "Small house," he corrected. "Green roof. Not far." The brightly colored roofs were the 'jeweled arches' that gave the neighborhood its name. His own roof might have been a vibrant emerald or peridot at one point. Now it was faded to verdigris.

"I come here?" It sounded like a request. Furniture was so minimal and the space was largely taken up by the currently defunct IX, and then there was the most pre-verbal fae, who was sweet-natured but might feel either left out or get in the way. He wasn't embarrassed, it was just exhausting thinking about trying to explain the whirlwind of his life in a language that was not his own.

[Arvælyn]

Arvalyn swallowed down a spoonful of broth and parted his lips to correct Sivan's word order, but the Elf recognised the mistake on his own.

"Good!" He responded, encouragingly. "A small house with a green roof." He further clarified, with slow, deliberate articulation. He took another bite of a broth-soggy bread and smiled contentedly at this turn of events. He'd always meant to improve his Mythrasi, but he'd spent the past two years focusing so diligently on filling out the skills more specific to his current work and the career he hoped to carve out of it. He'd been working hard on his body- Doing stretches with the contortionists to improve upon his natural flexibility, rehearsing choreography for numbers he wasn't even in, doing vocal scales to stretch the range of his instrument- To say nothing of working the odd shift slinging drinks or serving food. But even to just spend an hour or two per week focused on sitting down with a native-speaker to really talk through the gaps in his knowledge was an exciting prospect. His mind was nimble enough, and he was confident that it would help immensely and help him shore up the noble, Hytori character he presented to the world.

"Here is good." Arvalyn replied, "Maybe upstairs." He shifted back to the Elven tongue, "It is there more full of peace and few distracting." Arry hadn't learned what he knew of Mythrasi through immersion or through formal training. He certainly hadn't had a doting, Hytori mother speaking it to him as a child. She kept her fluency to herself and took it back to Sol'Valen when she abandoned him and his father. He'd had learnt from another poor, mixed-blooded boy who haunted the streets of Antiris' Southwest slums. They'd used it to chat amongst themselves and share private secrets that the others couldn't breach. It had been so much fun to talk shit about the humans while they were fully in ear shot and they were none the wiser.

Arvalyn lifted the wooden soup bowl to his full lips and tipped it back, to gulp down the final drops. As he lowered it back to the bar top, he noticed movement on the stage in his periphery and turned his head to see what was going on.

"Shit." He cursed in Mythrasi, but not for Sivan's benefit. It was just something he'd taken to doing years ago, because it didn't seem to offend the human pearl-clutchers who disapproved of cursing in Common. With his current persona, it only seemed more appropriate. He turned to Sivan.

"I must for the next show prepare." He explained, "I am..." He paused, uncertain of how to translate what he meant. Failing that, he just switched back to Common, "Featured dancer?" He scanned Sivan's eyes seeking comprehension, before continuing to speak gracelessly in the more graceful tongue, "I am not the show's celestial body. I dance in rear."