So...

[Aurin]

40 Frost 120
Afternoon

It was not uncommon for Aurin to wake well past noon. When one worked until dawn, one needed to sleep late. He was no vampire, though he and many of his compatriots worked a vampire's hours. Aurin drowsed for a few minutes, then stretched, twisting his spine and using a firm grip on his headboard to really get into it. He was getting older. There were wounds he still felt despite them being long healed, and tensions that fled only temporarily before returning to him. Such was life.

He dawdled long enough to have a cup of tea and a small bite to eat, thinking he would have something more substantial soon. Once he'd scrubbed his face and his teeth, fixed his hair, and thrown some clothes on, he quit his little kingdom, locking the door behind him. This wasn't a particularly crime-ridden neighborhood. Usually, the only people in this alley were workers from the Velvet Cabaret coming and going, or deliveries being made. All the same, he was paranoid so he never forgot to lock it.

As much as he tried to stealthy, it didn't matter that he was off duty. A cook poked his head out from the kitchen to ask a question, and so he answered it. A clerk saw him while making her way to the little office where petty cash was kept to pay for deliveries. She had three questions, so he went into the office with her to explain some things that hadn't been properly communicated to her by whoever was on duty that afternoon. Once she was satisfied and back to her work, he let himself out of the little office to continue along. He was Lunaria's longest-standing employee at this point, so even the other "lieutenants" deferred to him or asked him questions. Sometimes he wondered if Lunaria was grooming him to succeed her, but somehow he doubted that. She would require at least a daily sexual favor for that to be on the table.

Knowing the schedule fairly well, he knocked on the door that led to Arry's broom closet of a dormitory.

"Lord Val’Cithaeron," he called through the door. "Might I trouble you for an audience?"

[Arvælyn]

It wasn't entirely convenient to stand up in the room Arry called his own- At least not for an Elf of Arvalyn's height, but he found a corner below the peak of the angled ceiling. Finn had told him that it was best to sing while standing, and so that was how he was doing his vocal exercises when a knock at the door interrupted his scales.

He arched an eyebrow at the honorific that sounded through the door, but quickly recognised the voice as Aurin's. His first instinct was to smile, and so a huge grin flashed across his visage for a moment, but it faded as he reached over to pull a silken robe from a nearby hanger. He slipped his arms into the sleeves and tied the belt, as padded the three steps across the room to answer the door.

"Hi..." Arvalyn said, taking a backward step to grant access to his tiny room. "Of course." Aurin was hardly a stranger to these cramped environs. There wasn't much space to entertain, and so Arry took a seat on the floor- criss-crossing his legs beneath him, and gesturing for Aurin to join him upon the rug.

"What brings you into my parlour, sir knight?" Arry played along with their usual banter. Ever since the Arvalyn character had been conjured to life the prior year, they'd enjoyed a playful back-and-forth in which Arry was a foppish lord and Aurin his pining knight. It was one of those jokes that had developed naturally, along with their relationship when Arry first appeared on Aurin's doorstep. Aurin had been sort of flirty in a way that Arry didn't know how to receive, and so he'd created a persona who could. Fortunately, that persona had been evolved in a way that served him in his work, as well.

[Aurin]

The man had intended to pull him out to go have dinner somewhere other than the Cabaret. It was good to get away and get out, and he knew how frugal the lad was. Aurin had coin to spare, and if they had a friendship beyond work, it was easier to be open about it when they weren't at work. But Arry was in a robe and invited him in, so he joined him on the rug for the time being.

"Thou'rt too thin," he proclaimed, even as he sprawled, leaning against the wall. "I have come forsooth to fetch thee and take thee for victuals upon my purse."

He paused, not quite having the artistic flair or linguistic aptitude to go full archaic on him.

"Neither of us is working tonight, so I thought I'd see if I couldn't tempt you out for supper somewhere. Someplace fancy if you want to polish Arvalyn, someplace not fancy but still good if you want to breathe and be Arry for a while. It's up to you, really. We haven't... in a while." He shrugged.

There was a back-and-forth dance they did. Aurin had proven time and time again that he was there for Arry, but sometimes things got too vulnerable and he would react as he had at the end of their first meal together. He wasn't proud of it. But they always came back to their friendship, such as it was. Sometimes Arry reacted in similar patterns, though. Aurin didn't know if it was learned behavior from him or from his life before. He certainly didn't know how to speak to it. They were fractious fellows, but when they hit their groove, everything was easy. It just didn't last.

"If we don't stay out too late, I could probably talk our way into the Peacock if there are open seats." He smirked confidently—at least, he was confident that if the right person was working, he could talk them into free seats. "What do you say?"

[Arvælyn]

"That sounds wonderful!" Arry said, with a grin and hopped up to page through the costume racks for something to wear. He didn't bother to keep up his posh pretenses in Aurin's presence. He also unbelted the robe and let it slip easily from his shoulders to crumple on the floor at his feet. He'd donned the garment instinctively, but he wasn't hiding aught that Aurin hadn't seen, so it was doffed blithely as he sifted through his options.

"We are due for a catch-up." He noted, as he pulled out a pair of leather trousers dyed the colour of rust and eyed them appraisingly. "I've had quite the week, you see." He nodded approvingly at the breeches and stepped into the legs, pulling them up his slender calves, past his slim hips and fastened them about his narrow waist.

"I've been so hard at work practising my solo song. I think it went really well. I was getting compliments from strangers who walked in on my rehearsal..." Notably, one stranger who'd been looking for Aurin, but Arry didn't fancy getting into that straight away.

He slipped a black poet's shirt over his head, and found the sleeves with his arms.

"But I think the song I've been working on might be too depressing for the venue? You know me- I like those really heart-wrenching torch songs the most, but... I don't know. Those probably aren't the right fit for me here. I'd like to think maybe the reason they aren't letting me perform solo might be more about my song selections than the quality of my voice." As he finished his thought, he also finished lacing up the front of his shirt. He rejoined Aurin on the floor, where he could better scan through his footwear options.

"How was your week?" He inquired, as he tugged a pair of woolen socks up above his ankles, and reached for a pair of black, clunky boots that would serve well if there was snow on the ground.

[Aurin]

"You did mention a new song in passing, I remember," he said, the expression on his face decidedly more smile than smirk for once. When Arry began to change, he averted his eyes. He wasn't uncomfortable with nudity, but he liked to change when Aurin was eye-level with his bits. It had occurred to him that this might be on purpose — cheeky monkey. Once he was searching for footwear, it was hardly a memory at all.

"Let me know if you want me to have a listen at any point," he added. He would have just asked when he planned to rehearse next, but Arry had told him before that he wanted to save his ears for when he got to a certain point so he wasn't comparing things to previous iterations. Artists were weird like that. "And you might have a point there, although that sort of thing might go over well in the lounge. It's quieter. People are more introspective and less rowdy. At least, if they give you that critique. Or we'll have to arrange it so you can audition next door too. Then you can be fully high brow with your tragic aesthetic..." He was pushing the tip of his nose up with the tip of his finger.

Aurin didn't actually think Arry was hoity-toity, but it was a running joke. Someone had to remind him who he was, lest he lose himself entirely in the fantasy of Arvalyn Val'Cithaeron.

"Got in a knife fight in the Low-City the other day," he admitted. "I won. Obviously." For all that he was the one trading in secrets on the side, Arry had a way of figuring things out or tripping over evidence with sheer dumb luck. Anyway, it felt good to admit some things, so it didn't feel like a part of his life existed only in his mind. That way madness laid.

Once the elf was pulling on boots, Aurin began to push himself up the wall until he was standing again.

"Any thoughts about where we should eat?"

[Arvælyn]

"Aye, that's it!" Arry grinned, seeming pleased that Aurin recalled: "'I Remember'. In Mythrasi, though, so the audience don't forget I'm right exotic, I am." He nodded sagely, as he tied the boot laces.

"I'll definitely want you to listen. If you're free tomorrow morning, I'll be doing my song in the showcase where they finally decide whether they'll give me a solo slot or not. I'd love to have you there..." For moral support, of course, but also because Aurin might be able to tip the scales in Arvalyn's favour.

"I'll do it with the 'ole band and everything, so I'm proper nervous." Even though Aurin hadn't offered to help him up, Arry grabbed his hand anyway, and started tugging until the human got the hint and helped him pull himself to his feet.

"I should loooove to perform next door." He sighed, piningly, "I think that's the sort of venue I'm meant for. If I could just get me foot in the door, everything would be different. They don't shirk sad songs there. They bloody well revel in tears and tragedy, and pop to their feet in standing ovation for them what can muster real tears. I can do that, you know. Well. You'll see tomorrow, if you pop by the showcase..." He trailed off and let Aurin lead their way out the door,

"Oi, Aurin!" Arry knitted his brow, chidingly, "I 'ate to 'ear you're getting into street rows-..." He noticed one of their coworkers turning a corner, and quickly cleared his throat and switched back to speaking the King's Common, "...like some common blackguard, sirrah!" He inclined his head in a haughty nod to the smirking dancer who slipped by them. He glanced over his shoulder, waiting until she was out of earshot to answer Aurin's query.

"I just want summat simple. I've been craving a nice, buttery pasty lately. I popped by The Wobbly Stool the other afternoon," He smirked to himself, as he added: "...with my new friend, but I didn't get aught to eat. I've been regretting it ever since."

[Aurin]

Of course, he helped Arry up and played along. He wasn't the freshest meat on the grill anymore, and some people didn't remember his Antirian dialect. He winked at the dancer passing by, and then they were off.

"Oh, the musician you're working with, eh? Probably best you keep it a bit mysterious... Look at you, improving your craft." He smirked, but he was, strangely, proud of Arry. The life he lived might not have been the peak of glamour and artistic sophistication, but he was building a life that was his own and it might yet reach those heights. It was strange: he felt equally responsible for building Arry up and keeping Arry humble. It was all quite strange.

"You're probably right, though, our regular audience would probably rather hear about your amorous encounter with a hot meat pasty and how you suffered the burning of your bits for unrequited love." He sniggered, but it was true. They did get upper-class patronage, and the bouncers did perform some face patrol before letting just anyone in, but people weren't necessarily here for the same style of entertainment as next door. And Aurin had heard plenty of complaints from their other neighbors at the Jade Crane about how patrons wanted happy endings like they got at the Velvet Cabaret. Life was a strange beast.

"Sure, I know where the Wobbly Stool is, and I'll be there in the morning if you want me to be."

Once they were out of earshot from the front doors, he added, "You have your goals and I have mine. Both our paths sometimes threaten violence."

Sometimes Arry was good for a secret or two, gossip purloined from clients or from the other courtesans. Aurin always listened, sifting through the secrets for something that might be worth coin, but of course he had to be sure it wouldn't bring trouble down on the courtesan, on Madame Lunaria, and on the Velvet Cabaret — let alone on him.

[Arvælyn]

Arry blinked at Aurin's mention of a 'musician he was working with'. That didn't sound like he was talking about the in-house band, or its music director. Everyone worked with them, so it wouldn't bear mentioning.

"Um, no... He and I are working on summat else, but..." He narrowed his eyes slightly, "'ow d'you even know about him?" Arry knew that Aurin trafficked in secrets and this wasn't the first time he'd let slip that he already knew something Arry had thought private. Perhaps someone from the cabaret had seen him chatting up the street musician, after all, just as he'd feared. Maybe it had been Aurin himself. The market was, by definition, a hub of activity and it was altogether possible Aurin's meanderings had taken him there at the same time. Perhaps that was even where Aurin had been when Torin was looking for him at the cabaret.

"I was going to tell you about that, you know... You just didn't give me a chance." Arry blustered, crossing his arms as they wove through the tables and chairs of the main bar area.

"Speaking of new friends," Arry began, a bit sharply, "I met your mate Torin the other morning, as well. He seemed keen to show you summat he'd crafted, but you weren't about. I'd never heard of him, so I didn't want to let him into your cabin whilst you were away." The half-Elf glanced sidelong to gauge Aurin's reaction. The exchange with the young lummox had been an odd one, indeed, and had nearly come to a head at one point when Arry's sharp tongue got the better of him.

"Another stray for your collection?"

[Aurin]

"You didn't tell me?" he asked, surprised. He opened the front doors and then they were out in the winter air. "Huh."

Perhaps he had heard it from someone else. He did keep his ear to the ground and his fingers to the pulse of the cabaret and the wider city, but he couldn't turn down every drink or toke offered by an affable client who wanted to feel like they were part of the in-crowd.

"Well, feel free to tell me whatever you want to share. You know I like to hear about your career." He smiled as he shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "Oh, aye. Ran into Torin. Runeforger's apprentice. First met him when he came to make a delivery to Madame Lunaria. Poor kid was dazzled by our humble venue. He's been back a few times. Likes the music, but the first time he was in front of house, his eyes got so wide, I smoked him out to calm him down." He laughed at the memory. Aurin couldn't remember being so overawed by a place in his life.

"Were you nice or was Arvalyn Val'Cithaeron, First of His Name, a right cunt?" He smirked. Aurin had pointed out that Arvalyn was a bit of a cunt and Arry had claimed it was perfect for a lordling, as if he knew a lot of them.

Of course, he had heard the sharpening of Arry's tone. He just didn't know if it had to do with Torin, with him already knowing his secret, or both. Aurin had assumed it would always be easy to communicate because their childhoods held many similarities, but he had found that was not the case. They were individuals and quite different and sometimes something he said or did would piss Arry right off, or vice versa. Thankfully, they made up rather quickly, too.

[Arvælyn]

"No, I didn't." Arry replied, taking Aurin's uncertainty as counterfeit. He'd honestly been nervous to broach Finn with Aurin, so it certainly wasn't something he'd have casually let slip. Finn the Future Fantastic represented a potential path for Arvalyn to advance beyond the comforts of the cabaret into more legitimising theatrical circles. Finn was patronised by a great noble house and hobnobbed with the sort of elites who wouldn't be caught dead in the Velvet Cabaret, Arry reckoned. The young half-Hytori wouldn't want Aurin to ever think that he was ungrateful for the boons he'd facilitated, or that he was overeager to move past their shared place of employment. Intellectually, he knew that Aurin wanted the best for him and had done everything in his power to help Arry's dreams come true, but on an emotional level he worried that Finn might make Aurin jealous, because Arvine was, at his core, prone to let his golden eyes go green from time to time. Case in point:

"Torin seemed to think I was a right cunt, though I was only trying to be 'elpful. I was just taken aback that someone so clearly doting after you didn't even ken the bloody surname of the man what he was pining after." Arry's nostrils flared slightly against the cool breeze that whooshed into his face as he stepped outside. He withdrew his hands into his sleeves, and crossed his arms so he could tuck his digits into the warmth of his armpits.

"But yeah, your story just about stacks up with what I got from the 'orses mouth." He snarled slightly, "Wait, are you asking if I was cunty because the kid said summat to you about me?"