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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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.
<.>