This man is nothing like he's heard. Nothing like the cruel, vindictive portrait painted of him. (Or maybe. Maybe it's that he's not like that for Faolan.) (Or maybe he's biding his time.) (Or maybe there's truth to be found in the uncertain jumble of thought, of rumor, but Faolan can't get past the smile Dmitri gives him.)
That smile.
It's so tentative, so frail, like hope, and Faolan wonders how it would look if Dmitri smiled without any fear of loss. If he was happy, if Faolan made him happy -
(If they could find some happiness together.)
He's going to get hurt. He knows it. It's set in stone, it's waiting for him at the end of the road north, and Dmitri will smile a different smile, a cruel one while he laughs -
(His faith in that has a fracture in it. There's a blue cast over it the same shade as Dmitri's eyes.)
Faolan looks as though he'd like to speak one thing, but shakes his head and carefully answers, [ You haven't known me long enough to say any of that, Dmitri. ]
Somehow, his hand has found Dima's and he looks down now, studying it. How it looks, held in his own. (Perfect.) (Dangerous thought.)
It's unwise, he knows, but he still says, [ A month might be long enough to know one another. ]
Sen, meanwhile, has been occupying himself and Rin while the lovebirds talk; the game has become one of exotic drink ingredients and what the names of said concoctions might be.
<.>
For a moment, his smile faltered. Not his touch, no, but there's that worry again (not only a worry; a very real chance): That he's pushed too far, spoke with too much claim or asked Faolan to step further than he safely can.
(He isn't used to this: The wanting to see someone happy; the wanting to provide both warmth and aegis for anyone at all. Dima has little practice in speaking words of— Of affection, let alone the feeling he knows now, a certainty wrapping through his veins, suffusing every action.
He feels more for this man than he has words for; he knows such certainty in Faolan.
And though all of this is new, though he knows the way ahead requires care and knows himself ill-equipped for its discernment, he wants and means to learn, to try.)
Faolan speaks, 'a month,' and Dima's smile returns, he, blinking rapidly. Shutting his eyes for a moment, only briefly - only to let the words (the promise? the hope) settle into place - before meeting Fae's once more.
[ Give me a month, then, and I will cherish every hour.
Let me know you, Faolan. And I will— I'll show you what I can. What I am. ]
There's a tilt of his hand; subtle, graceful in the motions that bring his palm to Faolan's, and twine the man's fingers with his own. [ I'd like that very much. ]
Rin is in the middle of holding up three fingers, the better to signify three particular varieties of frog, and how a drop of the not-terribly-toxic poison from each, muddled with citrus and a garnish of crocus petals, might make for a sweet drink with a sharp bite, and that they would call the drink 'Til Drink Croak-Us Part.' It doesn't make sense, exactly, but they'd argue that that is part of the point: No one partaking of this drink would wish to bear an ounce of sense!
<.>
Like the night before, Faolan draws Dima's hand to his lips; there's pain in the way he closes his eyes as though he's certain of the loss facing him, but he knows there's no avoiding it now. Why not give Dmitri more cause to smile like that?
As though he's been given all the world. (Like no one's ever smiled at Faolan.)
It's a promise: their joined hands, the kiss he offers. If by some miracle Dima still smiles at him like that in a month, he'll believe in as much time as Dima gives him.
His attention returns to the thieves and their lively discussion; he's not particularly good at this, but interjects tentatively, "You should add ale to it."
At Sen's bewildered stare, he continues in the same low, somewhat meek voice, "So it hops."
<.>
Rin.
Is.
Grinning.
Grinning and tugging Sen's sleeve, pointing at Faolan. "See, I like him."
There is a good chance that Rin will, at sporadic moments for the next day or so, say aloud to themself 'So it hops.' And they're certain that if they ever were to make this drink - which is unlikely, as catching frogs requires patience and also Rin prefers drinks with cherries! - it would of course include ale.
Dima isn't entirely processing this conversation. Dima is in fact look at his hand in Faolan's, feeling the subtle afterburn of his kiss (like the seal upon a vow, or the casting of a breakless spell), thinking how strange it is, that after decades of existence, he should have found new life; some part of himself that's never had a chance to breathe.
Thinking how fortunate he is, to have this month, and know Fae will be with him through it all.
(Thinking of the sorrow, the pain that runs through Faolan, and thinking that a month may be time to learn small steps to pain's alleviation; to giving Fae - his? Fae? - cause to smile, and know there's life, there can be so much life beyond the ills he's known.)
When Dmitri manages to turn his eyes back toward the group, he finds the barmaid's begun to set out drinks, and reminds himself that there's work to be done yet, there's the haphazard puzzle before them, and— And he need not forfeit Faolan's company, or Faolan's touch in order to address the issues.
So he looks over the correspondence, thinks, and when the barmaid's departed, speaks: "What I cannot fathom - one of the many pieces of the mess I cannot fathom - is the cause of Calabra's fixation on Gower's daughter. What he thinks he can gain through her, and why he went to the trouble of locating Gower and—" A tick of his lip, a sneer he doesn't hide. "Of setting us after the Market. There would have been a simpler way to locate the girl, surely."
"We have the debris of several mysteries; there must be something binding this mess together."
<.>
"Not if Calabra thought she was still in Mysos," Sen muses. "And not if Gower never mentioned where he was from. I don't suppose it ever came up in casual conversation between master and servant."
The man he met didn't appear to give a single shit about his employees beyond their service.
"This was in the nightstand, you said?" he asks Rin, prodding the ring now replaced in its box. "Dima, have you known Calabra to tend towards men that way? Oh, fuck alm- Dima. Pay attention. He's not going anywhere."
If Dima's attention has been diverted, it might be because Faolan's other hand joins the first and holds Dima's tightly clasped against his thigh. There's a fearful quality to this, as though he's certain it'll all be snatched away. It's rare and precious, how Dima seems to want him. It's different from the possessive, self-assured way others behaved. (Predatory.) (Never to you.)
Faolan's own attention may have been on their hands and a faint smile has been playing at the corners of his mouth: a little break in the clouds, a little grain of hope shining through. The look fades when he remembers the enormity of the puzzle before them, and how much there is ahead.
"Maybe we ought to start off for the ruins now and see if Nerys is camped there. We can worry through the rest while we walk. Unless he gave you a way to contact him?" he looks quizzically at Dima, wondering how he's meant to inform Nerys when he finds Seddum Madin.
[q: doeS dima have any notion of whether calabra will or will not get it on with men? AND! does the contract from nerys happen to. mention. any way of contacting him?
INS, d: 19 ARC, d: 22
dm: Dima is aware that Calabra has rejected every man who ever approached him, and by all appearances and accounts, is heterosexual. For the latter: Dima has a sense that the contract scroll itself has a spell on it that could (and probably does) alert Nerys when Dima's side has been fulfilled. That said, otherwise he has no way of contacting Nerys other than marching out into the woods.
q: does dima have a sense of whether the nightmare market is on another plane? a: It's not on another plane, nope]
<.>
Dima’s attention was in fact entirely diverted, as much by Faolan’s smile - almost, tracing hint of a smile, and Dima’s heart could break in its beholding - as by his touch. He does let himself be drawn back to the conversation, though he doesn’t lose sensation of the warmth he knows at the way Fae’s clasped his hand, at the way he almost seems to want Dima and Dima’s guarding close.
To Faolan’s question, Dima frowns just slightly. “I’m afraid I have no way to reach him; not directly. As I understand, the scroll is touched with a spell that will alert Nerys on completion of the contract.
“So. Short of locating Seddum, I have no certain method of communication. “
There’s a click of his tongue, a cant his head. “I suppose— I might try writing a message on the contract itself. There isn’t much chance that it would reach Nerys, but it shouldn’t harm anything.
“There is also the option of burning the document, but I’d rather not run that risk; it might sever any opportunity for further return.” Dima’s tone suggests that he’s willing to try it if necessary, but would rather find another option.
It occurs to Dima that if they had access to Gower’s corpse, they might be able to raise an alarm— But that suggestion’s liable to go over poorly, include an unpredictable host of consequences, and anyway, they don’t know where the body is. Still—
“There are spells that could hypothetically allow us to contact Nerys, or even Gower himself. They are—“ His brow furrows, he shakes his head with a huffed breath. “At present, I am unfamiliar with this magic. And Messaging won’t manage what we do.”
He asks Liviana whether she holds any magic that might aid them; then looks over the group again. “If it comes to seeking Nerys in the forest, I’m not opposed. But if any of you have a way of reaching him or Gower— Or anyone we met last night. We might spare more time and energy to direct elsewhere.”
A blink; a thought. “Faolan. What you gained last night—“ The tattoo. The scimitar. “Does any part of it carry a connection to its creator?”
If Faolan isn’t certain, Dima will ask Fae if he can take a look and attempt to discern any potential for connection.
Faolan isn't certain and so he'll start to lift his tunic to show the mark on his back - though Dima never actually gets a chance to look at it.
While Dmitri has been asking everyone at the table for some method of contacting Nerys, Sen has been staring at him with a puzzled expression.
Before Dima can get his hands on bare Fae back, Sen asks in a carefully amiable tone, "Short of locating who, Dima?"
If his late timing means there's confusion about his question, he clarifies, "You said something about locating someone as a means of communication. Who was that?"
<.>
The elf's timing is and always has been abominable.
Or.
Maybe it is, maybe it isn't; when Dima's moved past his moment's exasperation, he turns a mostly neutral, slightly curious expression to Sen. "Seddum Madin."
And— "Sen. What do you know."
Dmitri hopes to fuck there's information to aid the present conundrum, but really, no matter what, he now needs to know what that careful look is about, Sen.
<.>
What does he know?
Sen's own expression goes carefully neutral; his hands fold delicately on the table, then unfold so one can extend just a little in an invitational sort of request. "Maybe nothing. Maybe something.
"You mentioned your contract, as well. May I see it?"
<.>
"You're joking."
He doesn't trust that look. He doesn't particularly trust an open hand from Sen, certainly not when the elf's playing circumspect, and while Dima's fairly certain Sen doesn't intend to abscond with the contract, and while Sen might not intend to tear it into pieces, Dmitri isn't particularly keen to work in blind trust on this.
"I can just as easily tell you of the content."
Rin might be throwing Dima a sour look right now. Rin absolutely is throwing Dima a sour look, and is currently very cross with themself for not picking the damned thing from Dima earlier. They do speak, "Just let him see it."
Dima is still not willing to just let him 'see' it.
<.>
Sen's hand withdraws.
He stares hard at Dima, then nods. "All right. Tell me the content. If you want any help at all, though, I suggest you stop being a paranoid twat."
<.>
Rude, Sen.
Rude, but not entirely unfair, or untrue.
Dima is going to roll his eyes and sigh, just to show that Sen is being unnecessarily troublesome right now. "I'll cease to be a paranoid twat when you cease to steal my gold at every given opportunity."
That isn't entirely fair, and Dima waves a hand as if to brush away any argument, as if to signal that yes, yes he knows, Sen, Dima's simply being demonstrative right now.
He'll then tell precisely what is in the contract, augmented by what he and Faolan heard from Nerys and Moloch about the absconding warlock.
And: "Does that ring any bells."
<.>
Sen listens with a furrowing brow, mouths 'Moloch' with a bemused expression, then snorts and shakes his head as he hunches, arms folding on the table. For a moment, there's silence while he considers.
A frown forms. He glances at Rin, then stares down at the table.
He swears some deep-seated aggravation.
Faolan casts a perplexed sidelong look at Dima, but before he can say anything, Sen speaks quietly, "To be clear. The Nightmare Market is in peril because we were duped into seeking it, and then we were incautious and led Calabra right to its very door. It's our responsibility to mitigate damage by warning Nerys.
"And short of locating your bounty, you have no faster method of reaching him than making the journey, which will almost certainly bring us into a scrape with Calabra and his thugs, assuming they're lying in wait at the ruins. Have I understood all of that correctly?"
<.>
"You know where he is."
What and how does Sen know? There's a moment in which Dima almost continues, but he stops himself short, reminds himself to consider the situation at hand because Sen's correct: They've brought potential peril to the Market.
So there's a pause before Dima speaks again: "Assuming they've gone to the ruins - which is a not inapt supposition, but a supposition nonetheless - then yes: I imagine we'd find ourselves facing whatever 'force' Calabra might muster."
It's unwise to think the man - or, at least, his guard, his close-kept servants - won't be prepared; Dima knows that, and there's no good letting personal animosity veil the possibility. "Calabra and his entourage of bastards may be better prepared than I should like to admit— And I don't relish the thought of what they might do with—" A tick of his lip and a sideways nod of his head; he means what they might do with their hostages, if Manon and Morwenna are with them still, and gods' sakes, if they are, why take them to the ruins?
...He doesn't like the answer that presents itself most immediately. And there's no using getting caught up in this string of 'if's.
Dima shuts his eyes, breathes, and looks at Sen once more. "Are you suggesting that there's a faster way of reaching Madin."
<.>
Sen would laugh; he almost might. His expression seems to be a complicated mixture of pity, amusement, and aggravation - though not all of this is directed at Dima.
"Oh, yes," he replies, and now he does laugh. "There is a faster way, because I do know where he is."
Settling back in his chair, he picks up his drink and holds it out in a benevolent sort of toast. "Sitting at your table, drinking on your account."
With that, he drains his tankard, sets it down firmly (and with some finality), and announces, "All right. Let's get this over with."
[note: The contract says Dima has to find Seddum Madin and bring him to Nerys. But the contract sort of "activates" when Dima holds it and says anything suggesting he's found Seddum]
<.>
Dima has gone stock-still.
Rin has gone stock-still, though they're faster to break, to rise and grab Sen's elbow and say, “No.”
Messaging, [ You don't have to do this. Sen. Sen, you DON’T. ] No, Rin doesn't know what precisely 'this' entails, and *no* they also don't *care*. [ We can go. Now. ]
Dima, meanwhile, has started speaking, eyes fixed on Sen, voice steady but hushed: "You thrice-fucked dunce.”
He has. Questions. Many, many questions.
This isn't the time for any of them. Instead, shaking his head, pressing Faolan's hand and beginning to rise—
"You'd best shine that silver tongue of yours."
Meaning, Dima is in fact thinking ahead to the conclusion of the contract, and any loopholes in its language.
Meaning that as much as he might like to leave Sen to wallow in the mess he's made (fucking how??), he doesn't intend to do any such thing.
Fucking Sen.
Fuck's sake.
Dima, gritting his teeth, reaches for the contract, and hands it out to Sen.
[ Might as well take a look now, you absolute shit. ]
<.>
Sen covers Rin's hand with his own and smiles at them, then kisses their forehead. Before responding to anyone, to anything, he touches beneath their chin with the tip of his finger and urges them to look at him. [ It's not the gallows. Trust me, if no one else. ]
With a little smirk, he adds, [ Trust that I still want that kiss. ]
Turning back to the table, he - stares at the contract. He thinks touching it might just be the trigger for the spell it holds. He could back out, he could run with Rin - ugh, but he'll be hounded by this forever, won't he?
Faolan reaches out and presses the contract down as though preventing Sen from taking it. Surprisingly, he's the one who says it out loud. "You don't have to do this."
Sen considers for perhaps a heartbeat, then replies, "I don't. But I will. I'm not all thievery and stories."
With that, he grasps the contract, which glows briefly.
From the right of the table, a voice says, "That took less than a day. Impressive."
Nerys approaches, hands clasped casually behind his back, and smiles approvingly at the group. "I lost a bet, you know. I thought it would take months. He's very good at obfuscation, your bard. Watching him last night, I was sure he'd lead you on a grand chase."
<.>
Well. Rin does trust Sen; if nothing else, they're sure he can get out of any scrape, and they can help him get out of whatever's even going on (Seddum??) (a warlock??), and that kiss, that smirk goes a long way to set them less on edge. Still wary, still waiting for anyone to try anything, but they gave Sen a nod, and now they're going to stay very, very close to him, and anyone who tries to change that is going to losing a fucking finger or three.
Dima is currently watching Nerys as if he'd like very much to strangle him.
Then strangle Sen.
Then strangle Nerys again, for good measure.
(Well. The upside to this absolute mess: The problem of contacting the wood elf has been solved.
Never mind that it's opened a host of other problems Dmitri can't begin to track. Fucking. Sen.
Fucking 'Seddum.' Shit.)
What Dima thinks, and keeps from saying: 'Nerys, what the fuck.’
What he does say: "Grand chases seem to be his forte." And, after a sharp exhale through his nose, "We will, of course, need to discuss the matter of this contract's outcome. Given what we have learned.
"Given what you apparently knew when you sent us off."
<.>
Nerys seems perplexed by Dima's ire, as well as by Sen's apparent calm in the midst of all of this. He cocks his head at the necromancer and replies, "Suspected, Dmitri. If I'd known for certain, I wouldn't have wasted anyone's time."
He hums and regards Sen appraisingly, now that he's a little closer than he was the night before, then returns his attention to Dima. "I'll admit, it was a little bit of a 'gimme', wasn't it? But I wanted to know what sort of caliber men you are. Ah, men and tiefling; my apologies."
"What I mean is, I hoped to learn how quick you are on the uptake, and how you might react to learning one of your own is - well. Him."
With an expression of quiet exasperation, he says to Sen, "Now. Would you please be so good as to come collect your demon."
Faolan slowly leans nearer to Dmitri and whispers, "Dima. I don't understand what's going on."
Sen, for his own part, sits casually sprawled, though one hand rests against Rin's shoulderblade and rubs slow, soothing arcs. "Business first, pissant collection second. You've got a problem heading your way."
Nerys looks around at the faces of the party and shakes his head. "I'm afraid you've lost me."
<.>
Looking over to Faolan - feeling a sudden, if likely to be short-lived, easing of his tension at the sight, the reminder that whatever the mess around, Faolan is here, a presence worth the world - Dima shakes his head slightly, speaks low, "I don't believe I have the scope of it, myself." And, [ The godsdamned elf's dug us all into a hole; that much I see for certain.
Moloch's eloquent high elf— Perhaps I should have guessed. ]
Then, addressing Nerys, brusque, "We were followed. Last night."
Rin, scowling, cuts in, jamming a finger in Nerys's direction: "You could suspect Sen, but you didn't catch the fake necromancers stumbling into mirrors??"
Dmitri close his eyes. Messages the tiefling, [ Rin. Please. ] (Absolutely ignoring Rin's response, [ ’Rin please' WHAT. ] Presses Fae's hand and breathes. Looks at Nerys. "Calabra's men followed us, led by the guard who murdered Gower. From what we understand, they sought information regarding Gower's child—
"And through our... Negligence. They gleaned that very information, along with access to the market.
"Your greeter must have noticed them." A click of his tongue, a cant of his head. "Dependent on the skeleton's awareness, I suppose."
<.>
Faolan still doesn't really grasp what's unfolding here; he does, however, notice something crucial: Dima seems to relax when reminded of his presence. (He takes comfort in Faolan's nearness? In the fact of him, maybe?) So, as something of an experiment, he shifts a hand to rest on Dmitri's thigh: light, intimate, and soothing.
[ Hindsight has eagle eyes, Dima. Why would you suspect Sen, of all the eloquent elves in the world, hm? ]
Nerys, meanwhile, considers this information, then responds carefully, "If you'll recall, there was a situation last night. I - might have said it was routine, though it was anything but. The 'greeter', as you call him, was found pieced apart and scattered by the river. We still haven't found all of him.
"But before you level any accusation or condemnation: the Market doesn't turn away visitors. Until now, we've had no problem enforcing the rules.
"Granted, no one's thought to threaten our generally peaceful host of more than three hundred undead before. There's always a first time."
He purses his lips and thinks for a moment, then reaches out to grasp Sen and Dmitri, who in turn are touching Rin and Faolan. Without warning, the five souls vanish from the tavern and reappear on the outskirts of the ruins, where well-disguised caravans sit idle, waiting for tomorrow's departure.
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kingdomsofrain2026-01-17 02:26 pm
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That smile.
It's so tentative, so frail, like hope, and Faolan wonders how it would look if Dmitri smiled without any fear of loss. If he was happy, if Faolan made him happy -
(If they could find some happiness together.)
He's going to get hurt. He knows it. It's set in stone, it's waiting for him at the end of the road north, and Dmitri will smile a different smile, a cruel one while he laughs -
(His faith in that has a fracture in it. There's a blue cast over it the same shade as Dmitri's eyes.)
Faolan looks as though he'd like to speak one thing, but shakes his head and carefully answers, [ You haven't known me long enough to say any of that, Dmitri. ]
Somehow, his hand has found Dima's and he looks down now, studying it. How it looks, held in his own. (Perfect.) (Dangerous thought.)
It's unwise, he knows, but he still says, [ A month might be long enough to know one another. ]
Sen, meanwhile, has been occupying himself and Rin while the lovebirds talk; the game has become one of exotic drink ingredients and what the names of said concoctions might be.
<.>
For a moment, his smile faltered. Not his touch, no, but there's that worry again (not only a worry; a very real chance): That he's pushed too far, spoke with too much claim or asked Faolan to step further than he safely can.
(He isn't used to this: The wanting to see someone happy; the wanting to provide both warmth and aegis for anyone at all. Dima has little practice in speaking words of— Of affection, let alone the feeling he knows now, a certainty wrapping through his veins, suffusing every action.
He feels more for this man than he has words for; he knows such certainty in Faolan.
And though all of this is new, though he knows the way ahead requires care and knows himself ill-equipped for its discernment, he wants and means to learn, to try.)
Faolan speaks, 'a month,' and Dima's smile returns, he, blinking rapidly. Shutting his eyes for a moment, only briefly - only to let the words (the promise? the hope) settle into place - before meeting Fae's once more.
[ Give me a month, then, and I will cherish every hour.
Let me know you, Faolan. And I will— I'll show you what I can. What I am. ]
There's a tilt of his hand; subtle, graceful in the motions that bring his palm to Faolan's, and twine the man's fingers with his own. [ I'd like that very much. ]
Rin is in the middle of holding up three fingers, the better to signify three particular varieties of frog, and how a drop of the not-terribly-toxic poison from each, muddled with citrus and a garnish of crocus petals, might make for a sweet drink with a sharp bite, and that they would call the drink 'Til Drink Croak-Us Part.' It doesn't make sense, exactly, but they'd argue that that is part of the point: No one partaking of this drink would wish to bear an ounce of sense!
<.>
Like the night before, Faolan draws Dima's hand to his lips; there's pain in the way he closes his eyes as though he's certain of the loss facing him, but he knows there's no avoiding it now. Why not give Dmitri more cause to smile like that?
As though he's been given all the world. (Like no one's ever smiled at Faolan.)
It's a promise: their joined hands, the kiss he offers. If by some miracle Dima still smiles at him like that in a month, he'll believe in as much time as Dima gives him.
His attention returns to the thieves and their lively discussion; he's not particularly good at this, but interjects tentatively, "You should add ale to it."
At Sen's bewildered stare, he continues in the same low, somewhat meek voice, "So it hops."
<.>
Rin.
Is.
Grinning.
Grinning and tugging Sen's sleeve, pointing at Faolan. "See, I like him."
There is a good chance that Rin will, at sporadic moments for the next day or so, say aloud to themself 'So it hops.' And they're certain that if they ever were to make this drink - which is unlikely, as catching frogs requires patience and also Rin prefers drinks with cherries! - it would of course include ale.
Dima isn't entirely processing this conversation. Dima is in fact look at his hand in Faolan's, feeling the subtle afterburn of his kiss (like the seal upon a vow, or the casting of a breakless spell), thinking how strange it is, that after decades of existence, he should have found new life; some part of himself that's never had a chance to breathe.
Thinking how fortunate he is, to have this month, and know Fae will be with him through it all.
(Thinking of the sorrow, the pain that runs through Faolan, and thinking that a month may be time to learn small steps to pain's alleviation; to giving Fae - his? Fae? - cause to smile, and know there's life, there can be so much life beyond the ills he's known.)
When Dmitri manages to turn his eyes back toward the group, he finds the barmaid's begun to set out drinks, and reminds himself that there's work to be done yet, there's the haphazard puzzle before them, and— And he need not forfeit Faolan's company, or Faolan's touch in order to address the issues.
So he looks over the correspondence, thinks, and when the barmaid's departed, speaks: "What I cannot fathom - one of the many pieces of the mess I cannot fathom - is the cause of Calabra's fixation on Gower's daughter. What he thinks he can gain through her, and why he went to the trouble of locating Gower and—" A tick of his lip, a sneer he doesn't hide. "Of setting us after the Market. There would have been a simpler way to locate the girl, surely."
"We have the debris of several mysteries; there must be something binding this mess together."
<.>
"Not if Calabra thought she was still in Mysos," Sen muses. "And not if Gower never mentioned where he was from. I don't suppose it ever came up in casual conversation between master and servant."
The man he met didn't appear to give a single shit about his employees beyond their service.
"This was in the nightstand, you said?" he asks Rin, prodding the ring now replaced in its box. "Dima, have you known Calabra to tend towards men that way? Oh, fuck alm- Dima. Pay attention. He's not going anywhere."
If Dima's attention has been diverted, it might be because Faolan's other hand joins the first and holds Dima's tightly clasped against his thigh. There's a fearful quality to this, as though he's certain it'll all be snatched away. It's rare and precious, how Dima seems to want him. It's different from the possessive, self-assured way others behaved. (Predatory.) (Never to you.)
Faolan's own attention may have been on their hands and a faint smile has been playing at the corners of his mouth: a little break in the clouds, a little grain of hope shining through. The look fades when he remembers the enormity of the puzzle before them, and how much there is ahead.
"Maybe we ought to start off for the ruins now and see if Nerys is camped there. We can worry through the rest while we walk. Unless he gave you a way to contact him?" he looks quizzically at Dima, wondering how he's meant to inform Nerys when he finds Seddum Madin.
[q: doeS dima have any notion of whether calabra will or will not get it on with men? AND! does the contract from nerys happen to. mention. any way of contacting him?
INS, d: 19
ARC, d: 22
dm: Dima is aware that Calabra has rejected every man who ever approached him, and by all appearances and accounts, is heterosexual.
For the latter: Dima has a sense that the contract scroll itself has a spell on it that could (and probably does) alert Nerys when Dima's side has been fulfilled. That said, otherwise he has no way of contacting Nerys other than marching out into the woods.
q: does dima have a sense of whether the nightmare market is on another plane?
a: It's not on another plane, nope]
<.>
Dima’s attention was in fact entirely diverted, as much by Faolan’s smile - almost, tracing hint of a smile, and Dima’s heart could break in its beholding - as by his touch. He does let himself be drawn back to the conversation, though he doesn’t lose sensation of the warmth he knows at the way Fae’s clasped his hand, at the way he almost seems to want Dima and Dima’s guarding close.
To Faolan’s question, Dima frowns just slightly. “I’m afraid I have no way to reach him; not directly. As I understand, the scroll is touched with a spell that will alert Nerys on completion of the contract.
“So. Short of locating Seddum, I have no certain method of communication. “
There’s a click of his tongue, a cant his head. “I suppose— I might try writing a message on the contract itself. There isn’t much chance that it would reach Nerys, but it shouldn’t harm anything.
“There is also the option of burning the document, but I’d rather not run that risk; it might sever any opportunity for further return.” Dima’s tone suggests that he’s willing to try it if necessary, but would rather find another option.
It occurs to Dima that if they had access to Gower’s corpse, they might be able to raise an alarm— But that suggestion’s liable to go over poorly, include an unpredictable host of consequences, and anyway, they don’t know where the body is. Still—
“There are spells that could hypothetically allow us to contact Nerys, or even Gower himself. They are—“ His brow furrows, he shakes his head with a huffed breath. “At present, I am unfamiliar with this magic. And Messaging won’t manage what we do.”
He asks Liviana whether she holds any magic that might aid them; then looks over the group again. “If it comes to seeking Nerys in the forest, I’m not opposed. But if any of you have a way of reaching him or Gower— Or anyone we met last night. We might spare more time and energy to direct elsewhere.”
A blink; a thought. “Faolan. What you gained last night—“ The tattoo. The scimitar. “Does any part of it carry a connection to its creator?”
If Faolan isn’t certain, Dima will ask Fae if he can take a look and attempt to discern any potential for connection.
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no subject
While Dmitri has been asking everyone at the table for some method of contacting Nerys, Sen has been staring at him with a puzzled expression.
Before Dima can get his hands on bare Fae back, Sen asks in a carefully amiable tone, "Short of locating who, Dima?"
If his late timing means there's confusion about his question, he clarifies, "You said something about locating someone as a means of communication. Who was that?"
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The elf's timing is and always has been abominable.
Or.
Maybe it is, maybe it isn't; when Dima's moved past his moment's exasperation, he turns a mostly neutral, slightly curious expression to Sen. "Seddum Madin."
And— "Sen. What do you know."
Dmitri hopes to fuck there's information to aid the present conundrum, but really, no matter what, he now needs to know what that careful look is about, Sen.
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What does he know?
Sen's own expression goes carefully neutral; his hands fold delicately on the table, then unfold so one can extend just a little in an invitational sort of request. "Maybe nothing. Maybe something.
"You mentioned your contract, as well. May I see it?"
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"You're joking."
He doesn't trust that look. He doesn't particularly trust an open hand from Sen, certainly not when the elf's playing circumspect, and while Dima's fairly certain Sen doesn't intend to abscond with the contract, and while Sen might not intend to tear it into pieces, Dmitri isn't particularly keen to work in blind trust on this.
"I can just as easily tell you of the content."
Rin might be throwing Dima a sour look right now. Rin absolutely is throwing Dima a sour look, and is currently very cross with themself for not picking the damned thing from Dima earlier. They do speak, "Just let him see it."
Dima is still not willing to just let him 'see' it.
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Sen's hand withdraws.
He stares hard at Dima, then nods. "All right. Tell me the content. If you want any help at all, though, I suggest you stop being a paranoid twat."
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Rude, Sen.
Rude, but not entirely unfair, or untrue.
Dima is going to roll his eyes and sigh, just to show that Sen is being unnecessarily troublesome right now. "I'll cease to be a paranoid twat when you cease to steal my gold at every given opportunity."
That isn't entirely fair, and Dima waves a hand as if to brush away any argument, as if to signal that yes, yes he knows, Sen, Dima's simply being demonstrative right now.
He'll then tell precisely what is in the contract, augmented by what he and Faolan heard from Nerys and Moloch about the absconding warlock.
And: "Does that ring any bells."
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Sen listens with a furrowing brow, mouths 'Moloch' with a bemused expression, then snorts and shakes his head as he hunches, arms folding on the table. For a moment, there's silence while he considers.
A frown forms. He glances at Rin, then stares down at the table.
He swears some deep-seated aggravation.
Faolan casts a perplexed sidelong look at Dima, but before he can say anything, Sen speaks quietly, "To be clear. The Nightmare Market is in peril because we were duped into seeking it, and then we were incautious and led Calabra right to its very door. It's our responsibility to mitigate damage by warning Nerys.
"And short of locating your bounty, you have no faster method of reaching him than making the journey, which will almost certainly bring us into a scrape with Calabra and his thugs, assuming they're lying in wait at the ruins. Have I understood all of that correctly?"
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"You know where he is."
What and how does Sen know? There's a moment in which Dima almost continues, but he stops himself short, reminds himself to consider the situation at hand because Sen's correct: They've brought potential peril to the Market.
So there's a pause before Dima speaks again: "Assuming they've gone to the ruins - which is a not inapt supposition, but a supposition nonetheless - then yes: I imagine we'd find ourselves facing whatever 'force' Calabra might muster."
It's unwise to think the man - or, at least, his guard, his close-kept servants - won't be prepared; Dima knows that, and there's no good letting personal animosity veil the possibility. "Calabra and his entourage of bastards may be better prepared than I should like to admit— And I don't relish the thought of what they might do with—" A tick of his lip and a sideways nod of his head; he means what they might do with their hostages, if Manon and Morwenna are with them still, and gods' sakes, if they are, why take them to the ruins?
...He doesn't like the answer that presents itself most immediately. And there's no using getting caught up in this string of 'if's.
Dima shuts his eyes, breathes, and looks at Sen once more. "Are you suggesting that there's a faster way of reaching Madin."
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Sen would laugh; he almost might. His expression seems to be a complicated mixture of pity, amusement, and aggravation - though not all of this is directed at Dima.
"Oh, yes," he replies, and now he does laugh. "There is a faster way, because I do know where he is."
Settling back in his chair, he picks up his drink and holds it out in a benevolent sort of toast. "Sitting at your table, drinking on your account."
With that, he drains his tankard, sets it down firmly (and with some finality), and announces, "All right. Let's get this over with."
[note: The contract says Dima has to find Seddum Madin and bring him to Nerys. But the contract sort of "activates" when Dima holds it and says anything suggesting he's found Seddum]
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Dima has gone stock-still.
Rin has gone stock-still, though they're faster to break, to rise and grab Sen's elbow and say, “No.”
Messaging, [ You don't have to do this. Sen. Sen, you DON’T. ] No, Rin doesn't know what precisely 'this' entails, and *no* they also don't *care*. [ We can go. Now. ]
Dima, meanwhile, has started speaking, eyes fixed on Sen, voice steady but hushed: "You thrice-fucked dunce.”
He has. Questions. Many, many questions.
This isn't the time for any of them. Instead, shaking his head, pressing Faolan's hand and beginning to rise—
"You'd best shine that silver tongue of yours."
Meaning, Dima is in fact thinking ahead to the conclusion of the contract, and any loopholes in its language.
Meaning that as much as he might like to leave Sen to wallow in the mess he's made (fucking how??), he doesn't intend to do any such thing.
Fucking Sen.
Fuck's sake.
Dima, gritting his teeth, reaches for the contract, and hands it out to Sen.
[ Might as well take a look now, you absolute shit. ]
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Sen covers Rin's hand with his own and smiles at them, then kisses their forehead. Before responding to anyone, to anything, he touches beneath their chin with the tip of his finger and urges them to look at him. [ It's not the gallows. Trust me, if no one else. ]
With a little smirk, he adds, [ Trust that I still want that kiss. ]
Turning back to the table, he - stares at the contract. He thinks touching it might just be the trigger for the spell it holds. He could back out, he could run with Rin - ugh, but he'll be hounded by this forever, won't he?
Faolan reaches out and presses the contract down as though preventing Sen from taking it. Surprisingly, he's the one who says it out loud. "You don't have to do this."
Sen considers for perhaps a heartbeat, then replies, "I don't. But I will. I'm not all thievery and stories."
With that, he grasps the contract, which glows briefly.
From the right of the table, a voice says, "That took less than a day. Impressive."
Nerys approaches, hands clasped casually behind his back, and smiles approvingly at the group. "I lost a bet, you know. I thought it would take months. He's very good at obfuscation, your bard. Watching him last night, I was sure he'd lead you on a grand chase."
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Well. Rin does trust Sen; if nothing else, they're sure he can get out of any scrape, and they can help him get out of whatever's even going on (Seddum??) (a warlock??), and that kiss, that smirk goes a long way to set them less on edge. Still wary, still waiting for anyone to try anything, but they gave Sen a nod, and now they're going to stay very, very close to him, and anyone who tries to change that is going to losing a fucking finger or three.
Dima is currently watching Nerys as if he'd like very much to strangle him.
Then strangle Sen.
Then strangle Nerys again, for good measure.
(Well. The upside to this absolute mess: The problem of contacting the wood elf has been solved.
Never mind that it's opened a host of other problems Dmitri can't begin to track. Fucking. Sen.
Fucking 'Seddum.' Shit.)
What Dima thinks, and keeps from saying: 'Nerys, what the fuck.’
What he does say: "Grand chases seem to be his forte." And, after a sharp exhale through his nose, "We will, of course, need to discuss the matter of this contract's outcome. Given what we have learned.
"Given what you apparently knew when you sent us off."
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Nerys seems perplexed by Dima's ire, as well as by Sen's apparent calm in the midst of all of this. He cocks his head at the necromancer and replies, "Suspected, Dmitri. If I'd known for certain, I wouldn't have wasted anyone's time."
He hums and regards Sen appraisingly, now that he's a little closer than he was the night before, then returns his attention to Dima. "I'll admit, it was a little bit of a 'gimme', wasn't it? But I wanted to know what sort of caliber men you are. Ah, men and tiefling; my apologies."
"What I mean is, I hoped to learn how quick you are on the uptake, and how you might react to learning one of your own is - well. Him."
With an expression of quiet exasperation, he says to Sen, "Now. Would you please be so good as to come collect your demon."
Faolan slowly leans nearer to Dmitri and whispers, "Dima. I don't understand what's going on."
Sen, for his own part, sits casually sprawled, though one hand rests against Rin's shoulderblade and rubs slow, soothing arcs. "Business first, pissant collection second. You've got a problem heading your way."
Nerys looks around at the faces of the party and shakes his head. "I'm afraid you've lost me."
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Looking over to Faolan - feeling a sudden, if likely to be short-lived, easing of his tension at the sight, the reminder that whatever the mess around, Faolan is here, a presence worth the world - Dima shakes his head slightly, speaks low, "I don't believe I have the scope of it, myself." And, [ The godsdamned elf's dug us all into a hole; that much I see for certain.
Moloch's eloquent high elf— Perhaps I should have guessed. ]
Then, addressing Nerys, brusque, "We were followed. Last night."
Rin, scowling, cuts in, jamming a finger in Nerys's direction: "You could suspect Sen, but you didn't catch the fake necromancers stumbling into mirrors??"
Dmitri close his eyes. Messages the tiefling, [ Rin. Please. ] (Absolutely ignoring Rin's response, [ ’Rin please' WHAT. ] Presses Fae's hand and breathes. Looks at Nerys. "Calabra's men followed us, led by the guard who murdered Gower. From what we understand, they sought information regarding Gower's child—
"And through our... Negligence. They gleaned that very information, along with access to the market.
"Your greeter must have noticed them." A click of his tongue, a cant of his head. "Dependent on the skeleton's awareness, I suppose."
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Faolan still doesn't really grasp what's unfolding here; he does, however, notice something crucial: Dima seems to relax when reminded of his presence. (He takes comfort in Faolan's nearness? In the fact of him, maybe?) So, as something of an experiment, he shifts a hand to rest on Dmitri's thigh: light, intimate, and soothing.
[ Hindsight has eagle eyes, Dima. Why would you suspect Sen, of all the eloquent elves in the world, hm? ]
Nerys, meanwhile, considers this information, then responds carefully, "If you'll recall, there was a situation last night. I - might have said it was routine, though it was anything but. The 'greeter', as you call him, was found pieced apart and scattered by the river. We still haven't found all of him.
"But before you level any accusation or condemnation: the Market doesn't turn away visitors. Until now, we've had no problem enforcing the rules.
"Granted, no one's thought to threaten our generally peaceful host of more than three hundred undead before. There's always a first time."
He purses his lips and thinks for a moment, then reaches out to grasp Sen and Dmitri, who in turn are touching Rin and Faolan. Without warning, the five souls vanish from the tavern and reappear on the outskirts of the ruins, where well-disguised caravans sit idle, waiting for tomorrow's departure.
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