Legend of Ransera

East End, Zaichaer
50th of Searing, 124 of Steel

The Grymalka at the Clinic were sworn to secrecy. Aurin liked it that way. He was skittish around healers, even professional ones, given an early experience with one of Ioniri's Mystics. Granted, he wasn't likely to find one of those here—coven witches being given licenses by the Order was all well and good, but being a devoté of an actual draegir was yet another. Odd, though; he thought this place was ripe for Arry's bondage gods to pluck. He was rather happy with the demigod hiding among the covens, however. They were a local god, at least.

No longer in the Coven Market, he was making his way through the East End, just minding his business, when he espied Reiner Dornkirk and (gasp) unescorted. He looked hither and thither but so no Kämpfer glowering possessively after him, and it was just too ripe an apple not to pick.

He trailed the hapless soldier for several blocks, but it wasn't until he turned a corner and found him relatively alone, and nobody likely to intercede on his behalf when Aurin finally stalked up silently behind him, wound up, and slapped him hard on the arse.

"Schönling!"

It had been a while, but Aurin was incorrigible and horrible and many other bad adjectives. He danced back a few paces, sure to avoid any knee-jerk punches in the face. When Reiner spun on him, though, he laughed delightedly.

"Oh, I knew I recognized that nancing gait. How the mists have you been, you pretty bastard?"

Certainly, Reiner could probably still punch him. Aurin had a very punchable face, especially when he was smirking like that—and he was usually smirking like that.

The dog on Aurin's trail was most definitely not a witch.

A punch would have been his due, but his reflexes kept him from the spray. Reiner wasn't glowing; he was perspiring. He laughed with wicked delight, then pulled a faux moue of displeasure.

"Show some respect, Dornkirk. This is Fraulein Kavafis." He laughed again. "Offered her a scrap of my lunch and she's been following me ever since. How are you?"

The question was sincere, and his eyes were curious, his smirk not so sharp as it could have been. He wasn't entirely sure Dornkirk didn't actually hate him. It was more fun not to cheat, use a trick, and know.

When his indicating hand fell back to his side, the dog sniffed at it, then whined. It was a mite strange to see a relatively healthy stray dog in Zaichaer, even now that things were getting back to normal. Between the mists and the year of winter, there had been feral packs and strange abominations, but having what could be called a pet, that was new and rare. Perhaps he was parading her around hoping for a reward.

It was hot and Reiner was sweating. If he chanced to run into Kuno, he would have to figure out a clever way to tell him to go take his pretty young friend to the river to swim without crossing that unspoken boundary they both seemed to see and silently acknowledge. Well, it was good to have contacts in the military.

"Can I buy you something cold to drink? Was going to try to find her some clean, cold water."

"Ugh, fucking Kathalan. Frau Kavafis."

But he strolled along gamely beside the emo soldier, his own hands swinging as he walked with a looser gait, catching what breeze they could. He nodded approvingly at the biergarten as they entered. This was the sort of place he could relax for a bit.

As for the dark beer, he grinned. "The darker the better, dark as is my soul. You know, if you believe in those."

They were real; almost anyone with a magic trick could tell you that. But they were just patterns of aether, more complex than most, but not rare. Others considered them holy. Aurin didn't know about all that.

"How's tricks, Private?"

However the young Dornkirk felt about him, Aurin liked him well enough. He wasn't good at forming meaningful connections, although sometimes he drunkenly stumbled into them. And, of course, because Aurin couldn't rightly think about people without thinking about what they could do for him, Reiner Dornkirk was an easier connection than his more prominent cousin and the soldier was unlikely to tell him to fuck right off because he knew that Stefan Dornkirk made use of his talents. Rubbing elbows with the First Minister could surely help Aurin out, but he figured it was best to be strategic and sparing in that. It reduced the risk of running into Dornkirk's brother-in-law, who was the Grand Poobah of the Magic Police. Valencia was running point on the Order; Aurin was content to be entirely mundane in his skills, at least in the public eye.

That being said, he was curious how Reiner would react if he got him into the Menagerie and let the Myshalarai get him out of his lederhosen...

"Well, fuck... to be fair, the only way to get ahead in Kalzasi is to kiss a little feathery ass, so I hear a lot of it there and get more practice. Speak Kathalan and people start giving you funny looks, so I only get to practice here." He let the malapropism pass; he hadn't had formal education either, but had tried to learn as much as he could so he could at least pretend and get more powerful, affluent people to follow his lead.

"And fuck, well done. Good on you." He raised his glass once more at the promotion and drank. "Lieutenant Dornkirk has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" He grinned. "Prost, prost, prost."

Aurin considered. "You're what, twenty-something? You just spent over a year under horrible conditions. You're traumatized. Everyone around you is traumatized. Recovering from that, learning to be normal again when you had to be anything but just to survive... that takes time if it's even possible for everyone to get back there. Be patient with yourself, Dornkirk. Be kind. Mists know, most fuckers are like me and won't be patient and kind. People depend on you, so take care of yourself, or you won't be able to take care of them, of your responsibilities. Or the people you love, or whoever you end up loving when you get around to it."

He was only too happy to change the subject. "No... I do have a job in Kalzasi, but I have learned how to delegate. I make the big decisions and let accountants to the figuring for the most part. That way, I get to see Zaichaer, Gel'Grandal, and other places. I think about moving sometimes. Perhaps to Zaichaer just to harass you with more regularity... Or perhaps anywhere else. Never really felt like I had a home, you know? Or maybe you don't. You grew up with family on the East End, right?"

As for the dog, he looked down at her and then back at him, shrugging. "Seriously, she was whining. I fed her. She followed. I have no idea what in the mists her name is. Do you want a dog?"

Aurin snorted, rolled his eyes.

"Look, we both know I'm a... a Fotze. I take the piss out of people I like. If I didn't like you, I wouldn't bother. And you could have just told me to fuck off when I invited you for a drink, you know." He paused, shifting focus. "Es ist die Sprache des Imperiums, nicht wahr? Sie wollen dich erobern."

Hazel eyes tracked Reiner's response, words and facial tics. He understood the cultural connection between the Imperium and Zaichaer, but he thought they ought to focus more on their own culture and linguistic identiy if they didn't want to get annexed. It seemed as though they had tried; thankfully the Eclipse or something had sent them home to manage their own affairs.

As for the dog, he was going to have to find it a home. He didn't think Torin's Huntress would accept a dog when she was mostly wolf, and he didn't think Arry would find it a funny joke. They probably ate dog in Solunarium, anyway. Perhaps he could take it back to the covens and it could become a mascot, or something. There were young enough little witches in the Whispers that they would probably fall in love with a dog. There, problem solved.

He would not be introducing Reiner to his pet coven, though. For all the Dornkirks knew, he was pure of all magic, and that was how he wanted to keep it.

But Aurin did wonder whether Reiner only put up with him because Kämpfer had enjoyed drinking with him. If so, it might take a different tack to confirm him as a reliable source of information. He didn't know if Kämpfer and Dornkirk would remain hand in glove, but they could both be useful—and fun. The ginger liked to have fun while he worked.