“Oh, the Humanity!” [Torin]

[Brenner Dornkirk]

"Oh, the Humanity!”
77 Frost 121 Steel

It wasn’t the magic and miscegenation alone that made Kalzasi a vexing venue for Air Commander Brenner Dornkirk. Even the streets themselves were confounding! Or at least they felt that way to the lifelong native of Zaichaer. Though the ZADC officer was well travelled after a fashion, he tended to remain within the borders of his Fatherland- often keeping to the skies on patrols or missions to quash unrest brewing on the outskirts of Zaichaeri dominion. Such as it was, he really wasn’t familiar with other proper cities. Having grown up in Zaichaer’s West End, he knew his own homeland in and out, but Kalzasi was a Byzantine chaos of winding roads and sketchy alleyways in his mind.

He’d started his explorations later than he might have liked, due to a strange affliction that seemed to have passed after a particularly rough patch during which he felt as though his insides were on fire and his veins were running with lava instead of blood. It had been a horrific day of utter agony that left his throat raw from screaming, but once it was over he felt wholly renewed. The colour rushed back to his cheeks overnight and, though he was slimmer than he’d been at the onset of the ailment, he felt stronger. There were other strange after effects that neither Stefan nor Lyra could yet explain. For instance: He didn’t seem to have a discernible heartbeat anymore- or at least not an audible one. His chest whirred as his blood flowed in a consistent stream, rather than a pulsing flow. But whatever was going on within, he looked good for the first time in months. Those who knew him wouldn’t be shocked to see him anymore. He just looked like he’d lost weight. And those who hadn’t seen him since he’d bulked up for the expedition wouldn’t likely see it as a significant change at all. Unlike Stefan, Brenner had always run on the slimmer side.

He sneered as he wove his way through a thoroughfare populated by seemingly every race except for human. It was the first time his very conscious choice to dress in a ZADC uniform made him uncomfortable. Usually he brooked the sidelong glanced and open stares with only pride swelling in his patriotic heart, but now he felt vulnerable. Set apart in a negative way rather than a positive.

“Oh, splendid…” He muttered as a tall, broad-shouldered young human came into view amidst the flowing crowd.

“Pardon me, sir.” He addressed the blonde with a cordial smile, “I was just looking for a good pub. I got a bit of good news today and I’m keen to celebrate, but..” He glanced about distastefully,

“I’m new in town and I’m unfamiliar with the surroundings. I don’t suppose you could conduct me to a pub?” He leaned a bit closer and lowered his voice,

“Preferably someplace that isn’t overly, um… eclectic?”

[Torin Kilvin]

Frost was still holding the city tightly in its sway; even in the crowded streets the warmth of so many bodies barely held the season at bay. Tucking his gloved hands deep into the pockets of his coat Torin tried to keep his shoulders tucked enough to keep his cloak closed about him. The smith was not a fan of the cold and was seriously thinking of returning to his home and the heat of his blacksmithing forge when he saw a man who looked a bit lost and, when their eyes met, the man called out to him.

There was something unusual about his appearance, but for a long moment, the blond couldn't put his finger on it. His clothing was certainly unusual; close-fitting and trim even though it had been made for the cold environment.

The request wasn't all that unusual, though, for as early in the day as it was, many of the pubs that might have been used for celebratory purposes were either closed or only serving food and mild alcoholic beverages. There were lesser drinking establishments that served hard liquor at all times of the day and night, but, based on the man's speech and dress, Torin did not think he would want to be directed to such a place.

The smith was not altogether sure what the word 'eclectic' meant, in the current context, or any other. Luckily, for them both, he did know a place where you could order fancy drinks and hard liquor both, where there was always entertainment worthy of a celebration, and where the serving folk were likely to know words that a simple working man did not.

"The Velvet Cabaret might do well for a celebration. Do you know it? No? Well, it isn't far from where I'm heading. I can take you if you like?"

When he received ascent he fell into step beside the odd fellow. As his mind trailed between the strange accent and thoughts of the Cabaret several things fell into place and his eyes went briefly wide.

Oh.

Yes, Madam Lumeria's establishment might be exactly the right place to take this stranger. The light flush that came into his face was likely covered by the reddening the wind chill had already caused.

"My name is Torin, Kilvin." He offered, not wanting to take his hands out of the warmth he had them tucked into to shake hands, he figured it could wait until they arrived. Now that Arvalyn was no longer working at the Cabaret there was no reason for Torin not to stop in for a drink, or even a meal.

[Brenner Dornkirk]

"A cabaret?" Brenner tilted his head thoughtfully, then nodded firmly. "Sounds jaunty. I'm in." He gestured broadly ahead, "Lead on."

The company of another human, and one as sturdily built as this one, assuaged the concerns he'd been harbouring in this odd little alley dressed as he was. The narrowed eyes cast in his direction felt a sight less ominous in present company.

"Brenner Dornkirk." He replied, turning slightly to the side and starting to lift his hand before noticing that Torin's remained firmly entrenched in his pockets. He closed the gloved fingers of that hand into a fist before lowering it back to his side. Perhaps handshakes upon introduction weren't a thing in Kalzasi. Pretty much everyone he'd met thus far had known he was a foreign delegate and was probably savvy enough to know Zaichaeri customs. It was entirely possible that had all been for his benefit.

A bit of silence hung between them as they started down the road together, as Brenner considered how he might break the ice with a complete stranger from a dangerous magocracy. After an awkward few moments, he finally piped up.

"So, um, Mr. Kilvin..." He began, clearing his throat after uttering his name in a rather formal fashion, "Are you a native of Kalzasi, or did you emigrate from elsewhere?" Always a telling question, the underlying query being- Were you born into this lot or did you choose it? Loath though he was to dwell on it, there were many humans who simply didn't share his beliefs. It was odd to Brenner. Why would any man shirk the notion of his own race's superiority when it served him to acknowledge it?

[Torin Kilvin]

The man seemed interested in his suggestion, so Torin led the way through the busy streets without hesitation, having long since memorized the path that led to the establishment. The Cabret itself was interesting, but it was the small house behind it that had led the smith's feet so often to tread the paths that led thus.

"Nice to meet you, and welcome to the city." It was a bit of a gamble, but based on his lack of local knowledge, his dress, and his accent, it was a reasonable one.

"May I ask what brings you to the city? I only came a bit over a year ago myself. But I was raised less than a day outside, so, I suppose I've lived here all my life."

The people of the villages did not think of themselves as natives of the city, but Kalzasi certainly held sway for a much greater swath of land than just its capital.

"Have you traveled much? I've never been out of the country." He hadn't really thought about the fact before, but it was true. Starfall was as far as he'd ever been and it was still in Kalzasi.

Within a few minutes they arrived and Torin led the newcomer through the fancy front doors rather than taking him around back as he might have, had he been alone. The entrance was certainly impressive, at least, everything was expensive and the multiple attendants waiting to greet them and help them out of their outer clothing gave the impression of care. Once Torin was out of his cloak and gloves he turned to shake Mr. Dornkirk's hand.

"Sorry, I get cold easily, I wasn't trying to be rude." Once the ritual greeting was accomplished he led into the main room of the establishment. Equally lavish, the room was littered with tables. Most were empty at this time of day, but the scents implied a world of delightful food and beverage options towards the kitchens, and a plethora of delights of a different sort in the public rooms deeper in the building.

As they entered a trio of performers were taking the stage, a man playing the lute, and two women, one appeared to be a singer and the other a dancer. Torin made for a table near one wall where the stage was easily visible. As the performance progressed the three kept switching roles, seeming surprised each time they found themselves in a different position, and though it was obviously an act, it was still both amusing and impressive as they each outdid each other, seemingly by accident.

When a serving woman arrived Torin ordered a hot spiced wine and waited politely for the stranger to make his own celebratory choice. Once she had departed he asked,

"Would it be alright to ask what you're celebrating?"

[Brenner Dornkirk]

"I thank you." Brenner inclined his head in cordial acknowledgement of the welcome Torin offered him.

"An invitation from your pr-... Your Shinsei." He belatedly elected to use the local term. "I'm something of a diplomat, these days." He knew that he exuded enough of a Zaichaeri air that he needn't mention from whence he hailed. It may as well have been written on his forehead, given his militant mode of dress and his sharp dialect of Common.

"I'm afraid I haven't... At least not this far North." He travelled about or above his own realm frequently enough, but rarely had he ventured beyond the borders of the Fatherland.

"Ah!" The Air Commander smiled and paused in the doorway to take in the ornate decor of the building, looking every bit the tourist as he examined what he considered to be an altogether exotic style of architecture.

Brenner smiled warmly and shook the offered hand with a nod.

"Of course." He shook his head dismissively, "Not at all." He'd taken it more for a cultural difference than an outright insult, but he was glad to have it cleared up either way.

He followed Torin to the table and sat across from him.

"That sounds rather like Glühwein. I'll have the same. Perfect weather for it." He watched the wench saunter off for a moment, but Torin's voice drew his gaze back toward his current companion.

"Certainly. I'd been a bit infirm for the past few months, but as of today it looks as though I'm ship shape and finally feeling quite myself again." He hadn't received a clean bill of health per se. There were still strange symptoms that hadn't been explained, but the most overt of the issues were clearing up and he felt as strong as an ox and his colour had returned.

He glanced to the stage and regarded the performance with a good-natured chortle.

"What a lark."

[Torin Kilvin]

The smith was duly impressed by both the diplomatic status of this stranger as well as the fact that they were invited to an event by the Shinsei. Torin suspected it was the prince's wedding, but would not say so in case he was wrong.

In retrospect, he realized that it might not have been the best choice to bring such an important man to the Cabaret. But it was too late to change his mind now, and besides, lots of important men had come, including the Shinsei. He had never been outside the territory considered a part of Kalzasi, and wasn't overly familiar with the accents or dress of people from any particular place outside either. That the man was foreign had been obvious before he'd mentioned his diplomatic status, but his temporary host would not have been able to name his home.

Their drinks arrived promptly and without mention of payment. The staff knew Torin and accepted that, one way or another, the bill would be taken care of.

Raising his steaming mug in salute Torin toasted,

"To your continued health then, and to the success of your diplomatic endeavors."

Sipping the sweetened and spiced beverage, he sighed comfortably as it washed away the last of the chill in his core.

As their drinks had been delivered the singing threesome had finished, to mild applause due to the early hour, and taken their leave. The two men, similar enough in look that they might have been brothers, that replaced them were wearing stretchy bits of almost nothing. They were acrobats, Torin knew, but their current performance seemed to be something closer to a very athletic sensual dance that showed off the flexibility of garments and dancers both.

When he'd first come to the city, Torin would have been blushing into his cup at the show but he was now enough used to the Cabaret that he was able to appreciate it on an aesthetic level without shame.

[Brenner Dornkirk]

Brenner nodded stiffly to the bar wench when she returned with the drinks, and leaned over the mug. He raised a hand to waft the steam toward his face and take in the aroma. He smiled to himself- it was indistinguishable from glühwein, but it wasn't masquerading itself under a Zaichaeri moniker. He was increasingly accustomed to being served facsimiles of foodstuffs from his own culture that didn't match up to what he could get at home. This, however, smelled as good as any glühwein he might pick up at some stall at an outdoor market on the West End in Frost, but it wasn't sold to him as such and so he was able to enjoy it without the same cynicism he applied to those other offerings.

"I thank you." He lifted the mug and tasted the drink, relieved to find the taste matched the scent. "Lovely." He murmured against the rim of the cup as he tipped it back for another quick sip, before placing it down and cupping it between both hands. The warmth was more comforting than the act on stage had been entertaining, and so he didn't brook the inconvenience of removing them to clap.

The performers who took the stage next were in a state of dress he'd not have expected to see outside a brothel in Zaichaer. Little did Brenner know, the establishment to which Torin had brought him offered those services as well around a corner and behind a curtain, but still he averted his gaze.

"Oh my..." His eyes fell to the steaming cup of spiced wine. "Is this, um... a regular haunt of yours, Mr. Kilvin?" It sounded halfway between a question and an indictment the way he delivered it.

[Torin Kilvin]

The smith shrugged one broad shoulder,

"A friend of mine used to work here so I ended up here when I would wait for him, I guess I got used to it."

Except for the first time, Torin hadn't even come to the Cabaret for the sake of enjoying its entertainment alone. He had come for Aurin, but the staff and even some of the performers were used to seeing him hanging around after a year, so, even now that the redhead no was no longer on the payroll he was treated as a sort of honorary employee.

"I haven't done anything in the backrooms, I stay in the main room, mostly for the food, but the performances are usually impressive. If he still worked here he could give you a better idea of everything they have on offer but..." Describing even a fraction of the substances, people, and other vices on sale was far beyond him so he settled for, "A lot. Do you have places like this where you're from?"

He had thought to ask where the stranger was from but it almost felt rude. The way the man held himself, the way he spoke, seemed to imply that everyone already knew the lofty heights from which he had descended. Torin was technically now an established businessman with enough income to live more than comfortably, but there was something that Brenner had that he doubted he ever would. Something of a confidence so easy it lived in his bones, an expectation of competence and being given his due.

Without really thinking about it the blond opened himself to his new rune, his only one. Letting the flood of his senses come without fighting it he kept himself calm. He was getting better at allowing the initial rush to come without being overwhelmed by it. Once it had settled he was able to take hold of the flow and direct it.

The aura overlaying the foreign man was confusing at first, and, upon closer inspection, remained so. Aurin's aura had been confusing to study but Torin knew him well enough that eventually, it had made sense. Not knowing Brenner at all, the swirl remained an odd set of bright and dark spaces, pouring into each other as though contesting each other to see which would come out the victor. The bright patched felt... sharp, there was no other word for it that Torin could come up with. The dark ones were deep, like rivers running from the hollows of the earth. Neither felt safe. There was a control to it, as though each of the two beasts had reins which Brenner held, but they were not tame, merely bound.

[Brenner Dornkirk]

Brenner kept his eyes downcast as if the stains on the wood of the table were suddenly the most fascinating spectacle in Kalzasi. One particularly stark ring must have been left by an especially rich red wine, he thought. He did hazard to shift his focus very pointedly to Torin when the man spoke, doing his best not to focus on the immodest performance in his peripheral vision.

“I imagine some such haunts exist in… parts of Zaichaer.” His lip curled into a snarl of distaste in the saying, that seemed to suggest they were not parts with which he was familiar.

“I suppose it is an industrious conceit- marrying so many different forms of diversion into a single establishment.” The merchant’s son in Brenner could appreciate the business model, at least. It seemed well attended, even as early as it was. He imagined evenings were quite rollicking in the venue.

“I must say the culture here is quite remarkable. It’s a wonder the population doesn’t die out for all the emphasis on…” He ventured a glance to the stage, albeit a brief one, “Unconventional sexual practises.” He cleared his throat and adjusted his collar.

“Among the many firsts I’ll experience on this trip, I’m to attend my first marriage between two men. Personally, I fail to see the purpose of nuptials that don’t offer so much as the possibility of producing offspring to sustain the implicit alliance, but part of diplomacy is practising some degree of moral relativism…” He drew the cup again to his lips and sipped,

“At least outwardly.” He added with an arched brow as his gaze returned to the purple ring that marked the wood of their table.

[Torin Kilvin]

The truth was, Torin had no idea what to make of this man, or how to have a conversation with him. He seemed to be judging everything and finding it wanting in comparison to his native city. Perhaps he was homesick, or hadn't wanted to leave in the first place. It seemed odd that someone who chose to be a diplomat would pine to be back home, but, then again, what better reason to defend its interests diplomatically than a genuine love? The smith knew very little about Zaichaer, certainly nothing that any laborer on the street wouldn't. Supposedly they were making advances in clockwork and steam, both of which held interest to him.

He ventured,

"I don't know much of your home, but I've heard of the clockwork marvels. Do you work with them at all?" It was likely the answer would be 'no'. It was silly to think everyone in even a place famous for it would be personally involved. Kalzasi was famous for its magical innovations but that by no means meant that everyone had their own magic, or worked with it. There were fishmongers and farmers just like everywhere.

Brenner was not a fishmonger or a farmer, not based on his callouses. Seemed more like a soldier, and now a diplomat, or at least foreign dignitary, considering. Torin did not know what 'industrious conceit' meant, but he thought he understood the rest so said,

"I have a small shop. I am a blacksmith and a runesmith, I combine them in my work."

As Torin also did not know what the difference between Kalzasian and Zaichaeri sexual practises were (not knowing seemed now the theme of the conversation), he decided not to comment on the idea. He was almost foolish enough to ask 'what of love?', but mockery was too close to him still, after a childhood full of it not yet very far away.