“Tsk. Take care with what you offer.” Dmitri lifts an eyebrow, shakes his head with a huffed laugh. "You ought to know I make an abhorrent houseguest. My patience, Vitaly, is limited at the best of times. And this— Charming city manages to be middling.
“Don’t believe that I fail to appreciate your proposition. But I’m pleased precisely where I am, frogs and all.” There’s a hum, an easy cant of his head. “It doesn’t hurt that I am in no danger of running into and of our ‘colleagues.’”
And, of course, it helps worlds, provides heart-thawed ease, to have Faolan so close at hand. The thought of which draws the slightest hint of a smile before he continues—
“As for Alfrig and his Champion, I assume very little. Though lifting the boy by the scruff of his neck into acclaim would be a not entirely unreasonable means of securing ‘Sir Caddick’s’ affections.”
<.>
[DEC, d: 19 PERC, v: nat 1]
Vitaly looks again perplexed; the smile that flickers across Dima's face is so out-of-place with this conversation. But - the boy is back, with whiskey in tow, the entire bottle handed off to Dima's servant. Peddyr slips away one gold ring wealthier and Vitaly has a glass of whiskey in hand when he answers, "Are you so sure Caddick didn't offer his scruff for the lifting?"
He snuffs with a suppressed smile and turns away from the unapproachable pair, his eyes moving over the crowd for more interesting diversion; they pause briefly on a few faces here and there, sometimes lingering longer than others.
As though nothing happened, he settles his focus on Dima.
"So, Dima. Tell me. The last time I saw you - before that lovely, if morbid, dinner party - you were in the company of Sasha Polyak. Occasionally. Whenever he came sniffing around. I suppose that's done with now?"
<.>
Dima sends five gold pieces with the boy, and does take a glass for himself, though for the moment he only holds it, watching the liquid settle (thinking of amber like honey) (thinking honey like wide eyes, at once yielding and fire-struck). Half-thinking to respond regarding Caddick's scruff - it seems not at all unlikely that the 'Champion' is a dyed-in-the-heart opportunist; well, who here isn't? - but he watches the liquor and thinks of Faolan, is thinking of Faolan when Vitaly speaks again and—
"What?" For a moment, Dima doesn't register what Kozak's said, or it's that his thought rebels against the name. (Fuck's sake, why would he want to think of Sasha 'Can't Leave Well Enough Alone' Polyak.) (It seems criminal, really, to let thought of that name exist anywhere near Faolan's.)
There's a sharp exhale, a brief smirk flashing teeth. "Gods. Sasha. There isn't anything to be done with. One might think he'd have learned his lesson the first go-round, but the shit keeps crawling back.
"Well. He'll need to heed his education from here on out." Dima doesn't expand on the why of this. Perhaps it's only that he's had what minor amusement he could glean from Polyak, and has wearied of the man. Perhaps he means to cease entertaining the company of men who want what he won't grant; who can only ever provide Dmitri with passing entertainment, he leading them on pursuits ending nowhere save their dismissal, their humiliation.
Perhaps it's that Dmitri has found something, someone far better than any mere amusement. Perhaps he's found someone he can, would like to, has already well begun to attach himself to.
"The boy is a leech. Moderately entertaining for a time, but I've no more use for him or for his ilk." He takes a sip of the whiskey now, and thank fuck, this at least is better than tolerable.
While he's drinking the whiskey, Dima's going to give the room another scan, looking for any Developing Situations or newly arrived faces. He's also going to take another glance at Alfrig and Caddick, just to gauge how they seem to be interacting, and keep an eye out for whatever Anicetus might be up to.
<.>
Vitaly hums, picking at stray words and lingering looks Dima spends on his whiskey, and really it might be nothing to remark upon just now, but something's twinging as odd. (The whiskey he drinks burns his curiosity away.)
"Well. Someone has use for him," he says after another long draw from his glass. He gestures with the same hand, indicating over Dima's shoulder. "I'm sure the fact that he managed to ride Casimir all the way from Morovsk has nothing to do with you."
When Dima looks, he'll see Casimir Ozrim is standing with Sasha on his arm; Sasha is pressed too close, behaving with overt familiarity - and drawing attention from nearby guests.
<.>
Dmitri mutters something beneath his breath that sounds suspiciously like 'should have stabbed the bastard when I had the chance.'
Dmitri might, just briefly, be considering stabbing the bastard right now. Because of all the fucking irritations, of all the clearly-not-coincidences, why for shit's sake should Sasha have worked (ingratiated) (and yes, likely fucked) his way here.
(There's a flickered warning suffusing slowly through his nerves. An awareness of how godsdamned much of a show the boy is making. An awareness of just how tenacious he could be in his asinine pursuits, and how little mind he gave to 'no' and 'never.' (Never mind that after those first encounters, after 'no' and 'never' failed to impact, Dima had begun to dangle false promises, the way he's done with several insufferable would-be-suitors, absolute parasites. Never mind that he's done this on... Mm. On more occasions than he currently recalls.))
It isn't a fucking problem. It won't be. Dmitri will pay the boy no mind; he'll behave as if the little shit isn't here; he'll move along if Sasha so much as attempts to approach. There isn't any problem, and Dmitri has more crucial matters to focus on.
Even so, it takes a moment to ease the trace of wary sourness from his expression. Even so, he has to remind himself to ease the curl of this lip. Another sip of whiskey - a drink of whiskey - helps. And Dima rolls his eyes, returning his attention pointedly to Vitaly.
"Precisely what this rancid celebration needs: Another double-dyed shit-stain. If the bastard bears any hopes, he'll find them dashed soon enough.
"Or perhaps Casimir will manage to maintain his attention. It'd be the first useful thing the man's ever done."
Then, speaking lower, a slightly growl entering his voice: "If he so much as moves in my direction, I won't be kept responsible for my actions."
[q: what does dima know about Ozrim? HIST, 24
a: Casimir is the third son of a family of relatively decent status in Exningley. His father is a merchant class tradesman who amassed a fortune that will be passed to Casimir's eldest brother, leaving Casimir a dependent, his trust fund controlled by said brother. Likewise, the middle brother is in that situation.
Casimir is known for being vain and needing constant fawning, likely owed to the situation with his dependency status. He likes to feel he's in control, and Dima is probably aware Casimir has been known to play at dominance in the bedroom.]
<.>
Vitaly scoffs. "You don't really believe Casimir will keep him entertained for long, do you? He's too willing; I'll bet the rest of our whiskey that Sasha only chases you because he can't catch you."
A pitying smile is cast Sasha and Casimir's way; Vitaly doesn't bother to hide it. "If he moves in your direction, perhaps Casimir will challenge you to a duel. Now, that would be entertaining. You're still dabbling in the arcane, aren't you?"
As an afterthought, he adds, "Don't worry. He only carries that tacky gods-forsaken rapier to distract from what's lacking. Monetary or phallic; you decide."
It may be apparent by now that Vitaly, who likes many people, does not like Casimir.
<.>
"Too willing, and lacking strength of will." He doesn't bother to hide the derision that ghosts his expression as he spares a solitary glance toward Ozrim (and doesn't let that glance touch the chronic dangler on his arm). To Dima's mind, Casimir shares a sphere of kinship with Daniil; the both of them obsequious, surrounding themselves with men of equal temperaments, equal hungers that exceed their capabilities or means.
And, yes, Dmitri's heard of Casimir's uninspired efforts toward dominance. (Years ago, he'd known men of Casimir's stripe closer than he cares to think.)
And, no, he isn't particularly convinced that Ozrim will keep Sasha's interest. Dima's not that lucky. Sasha's not so readily satisfied.
There's a fresh pour of whiskey for Dmitri, who casts his eyes toward the ceiling. "I'm not foolhardy enough to take that bet of yours.
"And as much as I might welcome the distraction of a duel - as humorous as it might be to watch Casimir inevitably stumble onto his own blade - I fear the ensuing scandal would send Lord Alfrig into cardiac arrest. While, yes, I do still 'dabble in the arcane,' raising an undead lord to cognizance—" Dmitri glances toward Alfrig, looks back to Vitaly with a shake of his head. "—semi-cognizance, is currently beyond my skill."
Gods, though, it's tempting: The thought of cutting down the overweening shithead here and now, and the thought of wiping Sasha from existence while he's at it. The trouble is, there's little good in hashing out Morovsk's troubles in another territory's court.
And. "Consider as well: My sister would murder both of us," tilting his glass toward Kozak, "at the first opportunity."
<.>
Vitaly tsks. "Deza loves me. She might murder you, but surely with your 'skillset', that shouldn't be any sort of consideration at all."
He begins to say something further, but abruptly changes tack. "Oh, gods, they've seen us. Leave it Casimir to think it's anything but comical to be sporting your leavings like last year's fashions."
He grasps Dima by the elbow and steers him towards a small congregation of people nearer the doors. "Dima, have you met Tacita? Exarch Wesh is from the southlands, and do you know, Tacita, I was just telling Dima here that Casimir Ozrim positively hates you and won't come within thirty feet of you, which means you are the safest harbor in this room."
Tacita Wesh stares at the men with raised brows, then lets her gaze settle on the bottle Vitaly is now carrying. She angles her head to see Casimir faltering in his step and whispering to Sasha, motioning to someone-or-the-other. Then, returning her stony expression to Dima and Vitaly, she holds out her glass and taps it with one long fingernail.
"Exarch, should you be indulging?" Vitaly gasps, feigning shock.
"Should you be requesting sanctuary without a donation to the church, Vitaly?" As Vitaly pours, she examines Dima with a reserved gaze. "It's Lord Voronin, is it? Or Dima Stolarz - no, you're not him. He's dead now, isn't he?"
<.>
"Loathe though I am to encourage any act of tithing, I take this as a minor price to pay." And, with an incline of his head toward Kozak, "I'll bring you a bottle tomorrow. Call it my gratitude."
To Tacita, he bows his head, straightens. "Exarch, you have my envy: The gods know I would like to possess half your power in warding off Ozrim." Dima is not looking back toward the shitstain and his parasitic jag. He's perfectly content not to think about either of them again. (Should he, though? Think about their presence in this city.) (No, no; there's nothing either of them can mangle, and if Dima plays his socializing right, it shouldn't take too terribly much to keep free of them. If nothing else, he'll have to have Kozak run interference— For a further bottle or two of gratitude.)
"It is Lord Voronin, yes—Dmitri." Then, with a faux-scowl toward Vitaly, "'Dima' to the more reckless among us.
"Regrettably alive, in either name." While Kozak is in the business of pouring, Dima's going to hold out his glass, because after that near-miss he damned well deserves another drink, please and thank you very much.
"I trust you're enjoying yourself." He trusts - and his voice says he trusts - to no such thing. "It seems we've all come quite a way to witness this Champion's—" He waves a hand slightly, dismissive. "—Show of, as Kozak says, ooze and amiability."
<.>
Tacita sips her whiskey exactly as she might a glass of wine, her eyes once more tracking Casimir's progress. It's Vitaly who speaks first.
"It can't be proven that I said any such thing, and I'll thank you not to paraphrase me to the good church authorities, lest they say something I might later regret."
Tacita doesn't look at either man, but she speaks in a low, dismissive tone. "Who would listen?"
The two younger clerics in the group seem to be her companions - or apprentices. She glances at them and says neutrally, "Walk away, and ponder the mysteries of Waukeen. Quietly."
The pair departs and Tacita sighs, her shoulders relaxing just a little. "They begged to accompany me. Most of the youths taking the mantle have never been north of Mysos. I might be destroying their illusions of pious Exarch Wesh somewhat; prolonged company will do that."
"Extorting for whiskey does leave a stain on the reputation," Vitaly drawls.
"Extortion is only extortion if you have no other options," she counters in a patronizing tone. "You could both have departed. It's not as though there's anything here but irritated nobles and whatever that is."
'That' being Alfrig and his Champion.
[q: would dima know anything about Waukeen, however vague? REL, 15 a: Dima generally knows Waukeen is the goddess of trade. He's able to recognize the holy symbol of an upright coin bearing Waukeen's profile.]
no subject
“Don’t believe that I fail to appreciate your proposition. But I’m pleased precisely where I am, frogs and all.” There’s a hum, an easy cant of his head. “It doesn’t hurt that I am in no danger of running into and of our ‘colleagues.’”
And, of course, it helps worlds, provides heart-thawed ease, to have Faolan so close at hand. The thought of which draws the slightest hint of a smile before he continues—
“As for Alfrig and his Champion, I assume very little. Though lifting the boy by the scruff of his neck into acclaim would be a not entirely unreasonable means of securing ‘Sir Caddick’s’ affections.”
<.>
[DEC, d: 19
PERC, v: nat 1]
Vitaly looks again perplexed; the smile that flickers across Dima's face is so out-of-place with this conversation. But - the boy is back, with whiskey in tow, the entire bottle handed off to Dima's servant. Peddyr slips away one gold ring wealthier and Vitaly has a glass of whiskey in hand when he answers, "Are you so sure Caddick didn't offer his scruff for the lifting?"
He snuffs with a suppressed smile and turns away from the unapproachable pair, his eyes moving over the crowd for more interesting diversion; they pause briefly on a few faces here and there, sometimes lingering longer than others.
As though nothing happened, he settles his focus on Dima.
"So, Dima. Tell me. The last time I saw you - before that lovely, if morbid, dinner party - you were in the company of Sasha Polyak. Occasionally. Whenever he came sniffing around. I suppose that's done with now?"
<.>
Dima sends five gold pieces with the boy, and does take a glass for himself, though for the moment he only holds it, watching the liquid settle (thinking of amber like honey) (thinking honey like wide eyes, at once yielding and fire-struck). Half-thinking to respond regarding Caddick's scruff - it seems not at all unlikely that the 'Champion' is a dyed-in-the-heart opportunist; well, who here isn't? - but he watches the liquor and thinks of Faolan, is thinking of Faolan when Vitaly speaks again and—
"What?" For a moment, Dima doesn't register what Kozak's said, or it's that his thought rebels against the name. (Fuck's sake, why would he want to think of Sasha 'Can't Leave Well Enough Alone' Polyak.) (It seems criminal, really, to let thought of that name exist anywhere near Faolan's.)
There's a sharp exhale, a brief smirk flashing teeth. "Gods. Sasha. There isn't anything to be done with. One might think he'd have learned his lesson the first go-round, but the shit keeps crawling back.
"Well. He'll need to heed his education from here on out." Dima doesn't expand on the why of this. Perhaps it's only that he's had what minor amusement he could glean from Polyak, and has wearied of the man. Perhaps he means to cease entertaining the company of men who want what he won't grant; who can only ever provide Dmitri with passing entertainment, he leading them on pursuits ending nowhere save their dismissal, their humiliation.
Perhaps it's that Dmitri has found something, someone far better than any mere amusement. Perhaps he's found someone he can, would like to, has already well begun to attach himself to.
"The boy is a leech. Moderately entertaining for a time, but I've no more use for him or for his ilk." He takes a sip of the whiskey now, and thank fuck, this at least is better than tolerable.
While he's drinking the whiskey, Dima's going to give the room another scan, looking for any Developing Situations or newly arrived faces. He's also going to take another glance at Alfrig and Caddick, just to gauge how they seem to be interacting, and keep an eye out for whatever Anicetus might be up to.
<.>
Vitaly hums, picking at stray words and lingering looks Dima spends on his whiskey, and really it might be nothing to remark upon just now, but something's twinging as odd. (The whiskey he drinks burns his curiosity away.)
"Well. Someone has use for him," he says after another long draw from his glass. He gestures with the same hand, indicating over Dima's shoulder. "I'm sure the fact that he managed to ride Casimir all the way from Morovsk has nothing to do with you."
When Dima looks, he'll see Casimir Ozrim is standing with Sasha on his arm; Sasha is pressed too close, behaving with overt familiarity - and drawing attention from nearby guests.
<.>
Dmitri mutters something beneath his breath that sounds suspiciously like 'should have stabbed the bastard when I had the chance.'
Dmitri might, just briefly, be considering stabbing the bastard right now. Because of all the fucking irritations, of all the clearly-not-coincidences, why for shit's sake should Sasha have worked (ingratiated) (and yes, likely fucked) his way here.
(There's a flickered warning suffusing slowly through his nerves. An awareness of how godsdamned much of a show the boy is making. An awareness of just how tenacious he could be in his asinine pursuits, and how little mind he gave to 'no' and 'never.' (Never mind that after those first encounters, after 'no' and 'never' failed to impact, Dima had begun to dangle false promises, the way he's done with several insufferable would-be-suitors, absolute parasites. Never mind that he's done this on... Mm. On more occasions than he currently recalls.))
It isn't a fucking problem. It won't be. Dmitri will pay the boy no mind; he'll behave as if the little shit isn't here; he'll move along if Sasha so much as attempts to approach. There isn't any problem, and Dmitri has more crucial matters to focus on.
Even so, it takes a moment to ease the trace of wary sourness from his expression. Even so, he has to remind himself to ease the curl of this lip. Another sip of whiskey - a drink of whiskey - helps. And Dima rolls his eyes, returning his attention pointedly to Vitaly.
"Precisely what this rancid celebration needs: Another double-dyed shit-stain. If the bastard bears any hopes, he'll find them dashed soon enough.
"Or perhaps Casimir will manage to maintain his attention. It'd be the first useful thing the man's ever done."
Then, speaking lower, a slightly growl entering his voice: "If he so much as moves in my direction, I won't be kept responsible for my actions."
[q: what does dima know about Ozrim?
HIST, 24
a: Casimir is the third son of a family of relatively decent status in Exningley. His father is a merchant class tradesman who amassed a fortune that will be passed to Casimir's eldest brother, leaving Casimir a dependent, his trust fund controlled by said brother. Likewise, the middle brother is in that situation.
Casimir is known for being vain and needing constant fawning, likely owed to the situation with his dependency status. He likes to feel he's in control, and Dima is probably aware Casimir has been known to play at dominance in the bedroom.]
<.>
Vitaly scoffs. "You don't really believe Casimir will keep him entertained for long, do you? He's too willing; I'll bet the rest of our whiskey that Sasha only chases you because he can't catch you."
A pitying smile is cast Sasha and Casimir's way; Vitaly doesn't bother to hide it. "If he moves in your direction, perhaps Casimir will challenge you to a duel. Now, that would be entertaining. You're still dabbling in the arcane, aren't you?"
As an afterthought, he adds, "Don't worry. He only carries that tacky gods-forsaken rapier to distract from what's lacking. Monetary or phallic; you decide."
It may be apparent by now that Vitaly, who likes many people, does not like Casimir.
<.>
"Too willing, and lacking strength of will." He doesn't bother to hide the derision that ghosts his expression as he spares a solitary glance toward Ozrim (and doesn't let that glance touch the chronic dangler on his arm). To Dima's mind, Casimir shares a sphere of kinship with Daniil; the both of them obsequious, surrounding themselves with men of equal temperaments, equal hungers that exceed their capabilities or means.
And, yes, Dmitri's heard of Casimir's uninspired efforts toward dominance. (Years ago, he'd known men of Casimir's stripe closer than he cares to think.)
And, no, he isn't particularly convinced that Ozrim will keep Sasha's interest. Dima's not that lucky. Sasha's not so readily satisfied.
There's a fresh pour of whiskey for Dmitri, who casts his eyes toward the ceiling. "I'm not foolhardy enough to take that bet of yours.
"And as much as I might welcome the distraction of a duel - as humorous as it might be to watch Casimir inevitably stumble onto his own blade - I fear the ensuing scandal would send Lord Alfrig into cardiac arrest. While, yes, I do still 'dabble in the arcane,' raising an undead lord to cognizance—" Dmitri glances toward Alfrig, looks back to Vitaly with a shake of his head. "—semi-cognizance, is currently beyond my skill."
Gods, though, it's tempting: The thought of cutting down the overweening shithead here and now, and the thought of wiping Sasha from existence while he's at it. The trouble is, there's little good in hashing out Morovsk's troubles in another territory's court.
And. "Consider as well: My sister would murder both of us," tilting his glass toward Kozak, "at the first opportunity."
<.>
Vitaly tsks. "Deza loves me. She might murder you, but surely with your 'skillset', that shouldn't be any sort of consideration at all."
He begins to say something further, but abruptly changes tack. "Oh, gods, they've seen us. Leave it Casimir to think it's anything but comical to be sporting your leavings like last year's fashions."
He grasps Dima by the elbow and steers him towards a small congregation of people nearer the doors. "Dima, have you met Tacita? Exarch Wesh is from the southlands, and do you know, Tacita, I was just telling Dima here that Casimir Ozrim positively hates you and won't come within thirty feet of you, which means you are the safest harbor in this room."
Tacita Wesh stares at the men with raised brows, then lets her gaze settle on the bottle Vitaly is now carrying. She angles her head to see Casimir faltering in his step and whispering to Sasha, motioning to someone-or-the-other. Then, returning her stony expression to Dima and Vitaly, she holds out her glass and taps it with one long fingernail.
"Exarch, should you be indulging?" Vitaly gasps, feigning shock.
"Should you be requesting sanctuary without a donation to the church, Vitaly?" As Vitaly pours, she examines Dima with a reserved gaze. "It's Lord Voronin, is it? Or Dima Stolarz - no, you're not him. He's dead now, isn't he?"
<.>
"Loathe though I am to encourage any act of tithing, I take this as a minor price to pay." And, with an incline of his head toward Kozak, "I'll bring you a bottle tomorrow. Call it my gratitude."
To Tacita, he bows his head, straightens. "Exarch, you have my envy: The gods know I would like to possess half your power in warding off Ozrim." Dima is not looking back toward the shitstain and his parasitic jag. He's perfectly content not to think about either of them again. (Should he, though? Think about their presence in this city.) (No, no; there's nothing either of them can mangle, and if Dima plays his socializing right, it shouldn't take too terribly much to keep free of them. If nothing else, he'll have to have Kozak run interference— For a further bottle or two of gratitude.)
"It is Lord Voronin, yes—Dmitri." Then, with a faux-scowl toward Vitaly, "'Dima' to the more reckless among us.
"Regrettably alive, in either name." While Kozak is in the business of pouring, Dima's going to hold out his glass, because after that near-miss he damned well deserves another drink, please and thank you very much.
"I trust you're enjoying yourself." He trusts - and his voice says he trusts - to no such thing. "It seems we've all come quite a way to witness this Champion's—" He waves a hand slightly, dismissive. "—Show of, as Kozak says, ooze and amiability."
<.>
Tacita sips her whiskey exactly as she might a glass of wine, her eyes once more tracking Casimir's progress. It's Vitaly who speaks first.
"It can't be proven that I said any such thing, and I'll thank you not to paraphrase me to the good church authorities, lest they say something I might later regret."
Tacita doesn't look at either man, but she speaks in a low, dismissive tone. "Who would listen?"
The two younger clerics in the group seem to be her companions - or apprentices. She glances at them and says neutrally, "Walk away, and ponder the mysteries of Waukeen. Quietly."
The pair departs and Tacita sighs, her shoulders relaxing just a little. "They begged to accompany me. Most of the youths taking the mantle have never been north of Mysos. I might be destroying their illusions of pious Exarch Wesh somewhat; prolonged company will do that."
"Extorting for whiskey does leave a stain on the reputation," Vitaly drawls.
"Extortion is only extortion if you have no other options," she counters in a patronizing tone. "You could both have departed. It's not as though there's anything here but irritated nobles and whatever that is."
'That' being Alfrig and his Champion.
[q: would dima know anything about Waukeen, however vague?
REL, 15 a: Dima generally knows Waukeen is the goddess of trade. He's able to recognize the holy symbol of an upright coin bearing Waukeen's profile.]
<.>