Dima waits with Liviana, trying to observe the scene around him, trying not to think too much about what Faolan might be doing or why he wished to leave, trying not to think about how little he likes to be left waiting (how foolish it can feel), how there's much to be witnessed in this market and he *ought* to be gleaning everything he can, how he knows too much worry to entertain he own curiosity. He tries to focus on what's nearest; the table next to the amulets, the sellers around. He keeps an eye on the tent, as well; watching for Faolan, and making certain there are no signs of trouble within.
Does Dima see anything of note while he's waiting? (Noting that he is distracted by Thoughts rn ofc.)
[PERC, d: 7; He wouldn't notice a dancing gorilla if it walked four feet in front of him.
PERC, liv: 12; Liviana seems too preoccupied with shiny things to notice anything of value at the moment.]
Dima will continue waiting for ten minutes. Liviana will continue admiring all of the shiny things. If Faolan hasn't returned by then, he's just going to. Stick his head into the tent.
<.>
A lot can happen in ten minutes' time.
When Dima approaches the tent, he'll find it's completely empty.
<.>
…He can’t, he thinks, blame Faolan.
He’d upset the man. (Disappointed him? But how?)
Dima will check around the tent, just to be sure he isn’t missing something. Maybe an invisible, a hidden portion that has to be stepped into to be seen?
[note: He finds nothing, ofc.]
Dima, reminding himself that panic will help nothing (and there’s no need to panic; Faolan… slipped off of his own accord, and of course the man can take care of himself; might wish to tend to business of his own; might need a little space) (might want to be away from Dima, and gods, gods, Dima can only hope he hasn’t left the market for good), steps out of the tent, his fingers flexing in the air, eyes darting as he seeks any sign of Faolan.
He asks Liviana if she saw the man; isn’t surprised that she too saw nothing. (He considers asking her to take a look for Faolan while Dima remains here, but he can’t stomach the idea of losing her from sight just now, as well.)
So. Next step. Dima’s going to ask the sellers around if anyone has seen a blond-haired, young human man in the last ten or fifteen minutes.
[INV: 11]
<.>
None of the merchants seem interested in anyone who isn't buying or selling. However, a halfling ghoul stares at Dmitri over the top of its stall table and calls out in a rusty, disused voice, "I saw your boy. The one holding your hand, yes? Then not holding your hand, after. What's it worth to you?"
<.>
Dima's attention is drawn immediately; at the remark about an absent hand, he feels his insides drop again, tightens his jaw and moves toward the ghoul. "That depends on the quality of your information.
"What you've said is enough to surmise that he's gone somewhere. Without particularities, the most I can offer is a moment's attention."
He wants the information, yes; he also doesn't trust what this ghoul might ask.
<.>
The ghoul looks him up and down and nods approvingly. "A moment's attention, then, for the whereabouts of the blond-haired human."
The dead can't touch the living; it seems offering and agreeing are the equivalent of a handshake deal.
[dm: Make a Wisdom saving throw.
WIS: 16; doesn’t succeed.]
Dima's mind expands to its natural, painless limit, and all the sounds, colors, sensations of the market pass through his awareness. He is aware of everything within range of his senses, unfiltered, magical and nonmagical. He is aware of everything autonomic that he learned to ignore.
The ruffling of feathers at his ear.
Each treading footfall.
The scent of earth and dirt and somewhere, faintly, honey and fire.
It lasts for sixty seconds, and when Dmitri is in full control of his attention again, he can see the ghoul putting a stopper on a bottle filled with a swirling, bright substance.
The ghoul holds it up to the blue light and smiles grotesquely, but with satisfaction.
"A necromancer's attention to detail. Fixation on a boy and a feybird. It won't go for as much as some, but in the right circles, you'd be surprised."
With that, the ghoul glances down the path and, stepping on a stool to lean over its table, points toward Phaedron's shop. "Fifteen minutes ago, he made for the wraith. But they've since left."
The ghoul cocks its head at Dmitri and smirks. "You scented him, didn't you? Heard his footfalls? Which way was that?
"If you can hold on tight to that awareness, you'll learn to track him. Call it a free gift with purchase."
[note: the gift is + d4 to one Wisdom check per day in regards to Faolan (Perception, Insight, Medicine, Animal Handling, Survival). Potential for die number increase and number of uses.]
<.>
The little. Fucking. Shit.
He'd be angry - he is angry, somewhere - but the mingled scent of fire and honey shocked, seeped its way through him, and he feels its lingering now, a brightness, a longing— And perhaps, yes, some sense of direction.
He doesn't care at all for the half-dismissiveness in the ghoul's evaluation. He doesn't care to think anyone might take something of himself.
But.
But, he realizes, this could have gone far more sour. He can't say the sudden fullness of awareness was unpleasant, and though he doesn't like that this awareness of Faolan and Liviana could be picked up by some stranger, it's not so very much to give for the information offered, and for the lingering awareness of Faolan.
It's not so very much to give for information pointing to what could be dangerous, what could be dire. (He went back. Back to the wraith, and Dima should have asked what happened there, had gotten sidetracked, allowed himself to be sidetracked. Shit. Shit.) His heartbeat's picking up, his mouth's set with a trace of ire, replaced with neutrality as he bows his head to the ghoul.
"Fair enough. Your generosity is appreciated.
"And take care with that attention, won't you?" It's more an idle remark than a request, and Dima's already turning, moving back toward Phaedron's booth, seeking, seeking after Faolan. After a consult with Liviana, he watches her take to flight, to better observe the area.
So. Dima is going to seek that Fae >:o!
<.>
[PERC d: 21; with aid from puppy check die liv: 22]
Dmitri, aided by Liviana's connection and by the scent he's been attuned to seek, focuses for a moment and is able to pick out Faolan's trail amongst the throng of undead and dead alike.
If he follows it, he'll track Faolan to the shopfront advertising tattoos; Faolan is standing outside with Nerys, his expression mild as they converse. Nerys seems to be gesturing to to shop, then looking over the heads of the crowd to some other spot across the market, to which he points. Faolan nods understanding, then asks a question of the elf.
Nerys looks momentarily perplexed, but with a little shrug, seems to agree to whatever he's been asked.
<.>
Faolan's here.
He's safe; he's all right.
(Where is the wraith. And what is the wood elf doing here?)
(Why is Faolan here, and why didn't he return?)
Dima feels relief, an untensing in his chest, and feels a similar slight easing from Liviana. He asks her whether she sees Phaedron anywhere.
[q: does she see the wraith at all? a: She can see the wraith returning to its stall.]
Liviana relays the information to Dima, who feels his unease creeping in once more, but shakes it off, hurrying toward Faolan as Liviana swoops to perch once more on Dima's shoulder.
As he moves, as he nears, Dima calls out, "Faolan!"
Realizing only after that he could - perhaps should - have simply Messaged the man.
(Knowing he'd needed, somehow, to say his name. Thinking of and scenting honey and flame.)
<.>
Faolan and Nerys both turn to look, each of them wearing an expression of faint surprise. Faolan's resolves into his usual guardedness. Nerys's seems to edge with good humor.
As Dmitri approaches, the wood elf tells Faolan, "I'll wait inside."
Faolan is left to try not to examine how he feels about this. (Accident. Dmitri left after all, and ran into him again here.) (He didn't wait, just as Faolan knew he wouldn't.)
He tries to offer a smile, to sound pleasant when he asks, "Have you found anything interesting?"
<.>
"I found you.”
Words spoken without need for thought; words spoken because they feel like the only apt answer, and because Dmitri doesn't know what to make of the looks from, the exchange between Faolan and Nerys (as if Dima's walked into something; intruded) (...is Faolan upset that Dima did in fact leave the tent?) (after the man slipped away from Dima) (still, Dima did leave).
Dmitri's moved closer, is standing very near to Faolan, searching his eyes for... For anything. Some sign of where he's been. Why he's here and what happened in the time between his disappearance and now.
[ There was nothing in the tent. I was—
I worried. I heard where you went. So I followed you. ]
And, words this time almost blurted, certainly ahead of thought: "Faolan, are you all right?"
<.>
Dmitri followed him?
His surprise is clear again, just for a heartbeat, and his brow furrows. He doesn't know what to say - he needs a moment.
(Did Dmitri wait for him? He was worried, he went looking for Faolan - or is any of that true?) (Dmitri's eyes say it is.)
It's only then that he feels a little exposed. If Dmitri knows where he went, he knows what Faolan must have gone there for: to buy or sell something terribly personal.
Thankfully, the necessity of answering is interrupted by Nerys poking a head out of the clapboard shop. "Faolan, she's ready for you."
With a nod, he starts to turn away, then at last answers, "This won't take long. Come along, wait, or go on without me. Whatever you like."
(And what would he like?
To believe waiting once means something about the future. )
"After this and one other stop, Nerys will help with what we came here to do. Out of the goodness of his heart, I'm sure."
<.>
That isn't an answer.
Faolan avoided or evaded answering, and Dima doesn't know why, can only guess there's something the man doesn't wish to share. (Can, perhaps, suppose that some manner of business was handled between Faolan and the wraith, as well as or alongside (?) Faolan and the wood elf.) (What Dima wants to ask, what Dima is certain he should keep to himself, at least for now: Faolan, what did you give up?) Maybe it's nothing, or nothing much. Maybe Faolan only wished to ask questions, or... explore options. And it isn't precisely Dima's business or right to know what Faolan does.
(But wouldn't Dima like to know.) (But wouldn't Dima like to be counted near enough to be told, or to have witnessed.)
There isn't time to inquiry; there's no privacy just now, and Faolan's already moving (leaving Dima to wait once more?) (no, no, not necessarily that, thank gods), going to undertake something unknown. Dima's already moving after; he won't lose sight of Faolan again (he tells himself) (he hopes).
Dima doesn't speak just now. He nods to Faolan, continues following into the tent and Messaging: [ What is it that's happening here? ]
And. To Nerys: [ What did you DO. ]
[CHA, d: 8]
<.>
Nerys stares at Dima in the wake of his message, then clears his throat and answers out loud, "I did nothing at all to him. As I told you, I arbitrate. Nothing more or less."
Faolan was beginning to form a response to the question sent his way, but now finds himself looking from Dmitri to Nerys, who inclines his head and remarks neutrally, "He wishes to know what I did to you."
Behind Faolan, a wizened half-elf waits with a look of growing impatience. When she hears this, she snaps, "Your time may not be valuable, boys, but -"
"I'm coming," Faolan interrupts softly, and so he does turn to follow her to a little alcove. Seating himself in a chair beside her, he begins to bare his arm, which she smacks away.
"Lean forward and bare your back; it's no small thing."
Obediently, he shrugs out of the little armor he wears, then the rough shirt beneath. Hunching to give her access, he regards Dmitri.
[ They had something I wanted. I had something I didn't want. What's happening here is a marking. A tattoo to hold magic in reserve.]
Then, [ I told you. You aren't the first to look at me the way you have been. Have you ever considered how those looks might linger in memory? How they might be a reason to feel shame? Because I keep falling for it. Maybe this time, I think. I have so many 'maybe this times' and firsts and lasts, Dmitri, and I would rather have a mark and a good sword.
no subject
Does Dima see anything of note while he's waiting? (Noting that he is distracted by Thoughts rn ofc.)
[PERC, d: 7; He wouldn't notice a dancing gorilla if it walked four feet in front of him.
PERC, liv: 12; Liviana seems too preoccupied with shiny things to notice anything of value at the moment.]
Dima will continue waiting for ten minutes. Liviana will continue admiring all of the shiny things. If Faolan hasn't returned by then, he's just going to. Stick his head into the tent.
<.>
A lot can happen in ten minutes' time.
When Dima approaches the tent, he'll find it's completely empty.
<.>
…He can’t, he thinks, blame Faolan.
He’d upset the man. (Disappointed him? But how?)
Dima will check around the tent, just to be sure he isn’t missing something. Maybe an invisible, a hidden portion that has to be stepped into to be seen?
[note: He finds nothing, ofc.]
Dima, reminding himself that panic will help nothing (and there’s no need to panic; Faolan… slipped off of his own accord, and of course the man can take care of himself; might wish to tend to business of his own; might need a little space) (might want to be away from Dima, and gods, gods, Dima can only hope he hasn’t left the market for good), steps out of the tent, his fingers flexing in the air, eyes darting as he seeks any sign of Faolan.
He asks Liviana if she saw the man; isn’t surprised that she too saw nothing. (He considers asking her to take a look for Faolan while Dima remains here, but he can’t stomach the idea of losing her from sight just now, as well.)
So. Next step. Dima’s going to ask the sellers around if anyone has seen a blond-haired, young human man in the last ten or fifteen minutes.
[INV: 11]
<.>
None of the merchants seem interested in anyone who isn't buying or selling. However, a halfling ghoul stares at Dmitri over the top of its stall table and calls out in a rusty, disused voice, "I saw your boy. The one holding your hand, yes? Then not holding your hand, after. What's it worth to you?"
<.>
Dima's attention is drawn immediately; at the remark about an absent hand, he feels his insides drop again, tightens his jaw and moves toward the ghoul. "That depends on the quality of your information.
"What you've said is enough to surmise that he's gone somewhere. Without particularities, the most I can offer is a moment's attention."
He wants the information, yes; he also doesn't trust what this ghoul might ask.
<.>
The ghoul looks him up and down and nods approvingly. "A moment's attention, then, for the whereabouts of the blond-haired human."
The dead can't touch the living; it seems offering and agreeing are the equivalent of a handshake deal.
[dm: Make a Wisdom saving throw.
WIS: 16; doesn’t succeed.]
Dima's mind expands to its natural, painless limit, and all the sounds, colors, sensations of the market pass through his awareness. He is aware of everything within range of his senses, unfiltered, magical and nonmagical. He is aware of everything autonomic that he learned to ignore.
The ruffling of feathers at his ear.
Each treading footfall.
The scent of earth and dirt and somewhere, faintly, honey and fire.
It lasts for sixty seconds, and when Dmitri is in full control of his attention again, he can see the ghoul putting a stopper on a bottle filled with a swirling, bright substance.
The ghoul holds it up to the blue light and smiles grotesquely, but with satisfaction.
"A necromancer's attention to detail. Fixation on a boy and a feybird. It won't go for as much as some, but in the right circles, you'd be surprised."
With that, the ghoul glances down the path and, stepping on a stool to lean over its table, points toward Phaedron's shop. "Fifteen minutes ago, he made for the wraith. But they've since left."
The ghoul cocks its head at Dmitri and smirks. "You scented him, didn't you? Heard his footfalls? Which way was that?
"If you can hold on tight to that awareness, you'll learn to track him. Call it a free gift with purchase."
[note: the gift is + d4 to one Wisdom check per day in regards to Faolan (Perception, Insight, Medicine, Animal Handling, Survival). Potential for die number increase and number of uses.]
<.>
The little. Fucking. Shit.
He'd be angry - he is angry, somewhere - but the mingled scent of fire and honey shocked, seeped its way through him, and he feels its lingering now, a brightness, a longing— And perhaps, yes, some sense of direction.
He doesn't care at all for the half-dismissiveness in the ghoul's evaluation. He doesn't care to think anyone might take something of himself.
But.
But, he realizes, this could have gone far more sour. He can't say the sudden fullness of awareness was unpleasant, and though he doesn't like that this awareness of Faolan and Liviana could be picked up by some stranger, it's not so very much to give for the information offered, and for the lingering awareness of Faolan.
It's not so very much to give for information pointing to what could be dangerous, what could be dire. (He went back. Back to the wraith, and Dima should have asked what happened there, had gotten sidetracked, allowed himself to be sidetracked. Shit. Shit.) His heartbeat's picking up, his mouth's set with a trace of ire, replaced with neutrality as he bows his head to the ghoul.
"Fair enough. Your generosity is appreciated.
"And take care with that attention, won't you?" It's more an idle remark than a request, and Dima's already turning, moving back toward Phaedron's booth, seeking, seeking after Faolan. After a consult with Liviana, he watches her take to flight, to better observe the area.
So. Dima is going to seek that Fae >:o!
<.>
[PERC
d: 21; with aid from puppy check die
liv: 22]
Dmitri, aided by Liviana's connection and by the scent he's been attuned to seek, focuses for a moment and is able to pick out Faolan's trail amongst the throng of undead and dead alike.
If he follows it, he'll track Faolan to the shopfront advertising tattoos; Faolan is standing outside with Nerys, his expression mild as they converse. Nerys seems to be gesturing to to shop, then looking over the heads of the crowd to some other spot across the market, to which he points. Faolan nods understanding, then asks a question of the elf.
Nerys looks momentarily perplexed, but with a little shrug, seems to agree to whatever he's been asked.
<.>
Faolan's here.
He's safe; he's all right.
(Where is the wraith. And what is the wood elf doing here?)
(Why is Faolan here, and why didn't he return?)
Dima feels relief, an untensing in his chest, and feels a similar slight easing from Liviana. He asks her whether she sees Phaedron anywhere.
[q: does she see the wraith at all?
a: She can see the wraith returning to its stall.]
Liviana relays the information to Dima, who feels his unease creeping in once more, but shakes it off, hurrying toward Faolan as Liviana swoops to perch once more on Dima's shoulder.
As he moves, as he nears, Dima calls out, "Faolan!"
Realizing only after that he could - perhaps should - have simply Messaged the man.
(Knowing he'd needed, somehow, to say his name. Thinking of and scenting honey and flame.)
<.>
Faolan and Nerys both turn to look, each of them wearing an expression of faint surprise. Faolan's resolves into his usual guardedness. Nerys's seems to edge with good humor.
As Dmitri approaches, the wood elf tells Faolan, "I'll wait inside."
Faolan is left to try not to examine how he feels about this. (Accident. Dmitri left after all, and ran into him again here.) (He didn't wait, just as Faolan knew he wouldn't.)
He tries to offer a smile, to sound pleasant when he asks, "Have you found anything interesting?"
<.>
"I found you.”
Words spoken without need for thought; words spoken because they feel like the only apt answer, and because Dmitri doesn't know what to make of the looks from, the exchange between Faolan and Nerys (as if Dima's walked into something; intruded) (...is Faolan upset that Dima did in fact leave the tent?) (after the man slipped away from Dima) (still, Dima did leave).
Dmitri's moved closer, is standing very near to Faolan, searching his eyes for... For anything. Some sign of where he's been. Why he's here and what happened in the time between his disappearance and now.
[ There was nothing in the tent. I was—
I worried. I heard where you went. So I followed you. ]
And, words this time almost blurted, certainly ahead of thought: "Faolan, are you all right?"
<.>
Dmitri followed him?
His surprise is clear again, just for a heartbeat, and his brow furrows. He doesn't know what to say - he needs a moment.
(Did Dmitri wait for him? He was worried, he went looking for Faolan - or is any of that true?) (Dmitri's eyes say it is.)
It's only then that he feels a little exposed. If Dmitri knows where he went, he knows what Faolan must have gone there for: to buy or sell something terribly personal.
Thankfully, the necessity of answering is interrupted by Nerys poking a head out of the clapboard shop. "Faolan, she's ready for you."
With a nod, he starts to turn away, then at last answers, "This won't take long. Come along, wait, or go on without me. Whatever you like."
(And what would he like?
To believe waiting once means something about the future. )
"After this and one other stop, Nerys will help with what we came here to do. Out of the goodness of his heart, I'm sure."
<.>
That isn't an answer.
Faolan avoided or evaded answering, and Dima doesn't know why, can only guess there's something the man doesn't wish to share. (Can, perhaps, suppose that some manner of business was handled between Faolan and the wraith, as well as or alongside (?) Faolan and the wood elf.) (What Dima wants to ask, what Dima is certain he should keep to himself, at least for now: Faolan, what did you give up?) Maybe it's nothing, or nothing much. Maybe Faolan only wished to ask questions, or... explore options. And it isn't precisely Dima's business or right to know what Faolan does.
(But wouldn't Dima like to know.) (But wouldn't Dima like to be counted near enough to be told, or to have witnessed.)
There isn't time to inquiry; there's no privacy just now, and Faolan's already moving (leaving Dima to wait once more?) (no, no, not necessarily that, thank gods), going to undertake something unknown. Dima's already moving after; he won't lose sight of Faolan again (he tells himself) (he hopes).
Dima doesn't speak just now. He nods to Faolan, continues following into the tent and Messaging: [ What is it that's happening here? ]
And. To Nerys: [ What did you DO. ]
[CHA, d: 8]
<.>
Nerys stares at Dima in the wake of his message, then clears his throat and answers out loud, "I did nothing at all to him. As I told you, I arbitrate. Nothing more or less."
Faolan was beginning to form a response to the question sent his way, but now finds himself looking from Dmitri to Nerys, who inclines his head and remarks neutrally, "He wishes to know what I did to you."
Behind Faolan, a wizened half-elf waits with a look of growing impatience. When she hears this, she snaps, "Your time may not be valuable, boys, but -"
"I'm coming," Faolan interrupts softly, and so he does turn to follow her to a little alcove. Seating himself in a chair beside her, he begins to bare his arm, which she smacks away.
"Lean forward and bare your back; it's no small thing."
Obediently, he shrugs out of the little armor he wears, then the rough shirt beneath. Hunching to give her access, he regards Dmitri.
[ They had something I wanted. I had something I didn't want. What's happening here is a marking. A tattoo to hold magic in reserve.]
Then, [ I told you. You aren't the first to look at me the way you have been. Have you ever considered how those looks might linger in memory? How they might be a reason to feel shame? Because I keep falling for it. Maybe this time, I think. I have so many 'maybe this times' and firsts and lasts, Dmitri, and I would rather have a mark and a good sword.
That's what's happening here. ]
<.>