Smoke and Mirrors

Smoke and Mirrors

Aleister & Azcasu

Late summer in Faline; set right after Archon Miriam's rise to power.

Aleister

These days the all-seeing has been spotted more frequently at the Beggar than he has been in the past. Perhaps especially after recent news of the new Archon’s rise to power he feels like he needs to be around the people. Maybe get the word out. That, and it's one of the few places where he feels grounded, surrounded by the buzzing of talk and the clinking of glass, shouts over the loss of coin over a poor bet. It's life. He's not oblivious to the glances people throw in his direction, the whispers directed away from him as he takes a long, deep pull from a cigarette in a black holder. Aleister enjoys the people around him that way. Curious, but wary. Obviously the mask hides something, though not a lot of people know what, and there's always a lot of gossip. He can't help but pick up on various versions, each more wild than the last, and he cherishes all of them.

The air is heavy with smoke from various sources, perfumes, and whatever incense Marie must be burning to cover the smell of stale old furniture. Al is not bothered whatsoever, ordering another drink, side-eying the people looking at him in hopes of him taking off his mask to consume it. And instead bringing out a metal straw. Foiled again. 

Maybe this is not the best look for someone looking for allies. On the other hand, he is obviously, very visibly a mage. Someone with the guts to still display so openly would not be hard to approach on the subject. (264)

Azcasu

The sky overhead is slowly darkening, deep blues in the east, the sun painting the western horizon in gold and peach hues. It is quite nice outside, and Azcasu leaves the Jug with a spring in her step. The final touches to the building were completed yesterday; though they’d been spared the worst of the worm destruction, there had been some incidents ‒ a piece of the roof had gone missing and flames from a nearby fire had charred some roof beams. Nothing a new fresh coat of paint didn’t fix. 

What is more bothersome, though, is the spells. Bespoke spells to keep prying eyes away; it is a point of pride for her to keep the city guard away from the Jug, but now, the magic has faded, or broken, or perhaps there had been some magic going haywire from the former archmage.

And with the current political climate, and the new archmage ‒ no, Archon, she thinks, a bitter thought  ‒ she feels the need for subterfuge even more.

That’s why she is walking towards another tavern, this evening: the Beggar. A place she comes to more often than one would think; despite it technically being a competitor, Az quite enjoys the atmosphere... decadence with a touch of decay. She smiles thinly to herself as she enters the building. There is a certain person she is looking for ‒ and he often frequents the place.

Despite their differences, it smells similar to the Jug. Beer, spirits, smoke; unwashed people, food. It lacks the hint of old blood that seems to plague the Jug despite scrubbing it clean, but the odour of incense makes up for it. 

Azcasu makes her way through the crowd with slow, confident steps, watching the other patrons. She’s not bothered to cover up her eye today; she knows what she’ll see, here. It’s never anything good, but she doesn’t expect it to be, either. Hint of affairs, of murder, of shame and desire and disgust. Everybody here has something to hide, and she sees it all. The faintest hint of a headache starts to throb in the back of her skull.

Sure enough; there is a tall figure, easy to spot due to towering over the rest of the crowd… the intricate mask and well-tailored clothing helps, too. The cloud of smoke around him adds a bit of flair, she thinks, as she saunters up to his table. 

“Hello, Al.” her voice is low, hoarse, and there is a hint of irony lacing it. “Long time no see, huh?” Compared to many others here, he is… strangely blank, in her vision. He’s cheated at one of the roulette games, and there is the fact that he is hiding a giant eyeball behind his carved mask, but otherwise… It's almost peaceful, watching him. A strange man; he comes across as quite old-fashioned, and sometimes when she looks at him, there is a sense of age. She can’t tell how old he is, but suspects it is far, far older than he would like people to think.

She slides down on a chair beside him, taking out her own pipe, and gives him an expectant look; her blue gaze is cold, piercing. “You got fire?” (540)

Aleister

The eye turns sharply towards her at the greeting, though Aleister is otherwise composed to respond. As far as he knows, his mask hides the eye, and it turns towards her with a deliberate slowness. "Az. It has been!" His reply is cheerful, entertainment in the undertones. Az does not regard him with the wariness the other patrons were giving him, isn't careful in her step around him, and he appreciates that. Unexpected, different. Also he'd forgotten the rest of her name, but that's not here nor there.

He nods with a hum, producing a small, silver lighter brandished with an eye from his inner coat pocket, and using it to light up Az' pipe. "What brings you here? Sampling your competitor's drink?" With those words he flags down the bartender to order something for Az, whether or not she asked for it. (143)

Azcasu

She lights her pipe, takes a drag on it, and exhales in his direction, before laughing quietly. The strange visual of the eyeball juxtaposed behind the intimidating mask makes this meeting just as weird as the first time she met him. 

“You, actually.” She watches, quiet as he speaks to the bartender, glancing between the two of them. The bartender is sneaking money from the tip jar, and also had a drink on the job earlier, but he hopes nobody will notice. When he leaves, she turns to Al again. “I need some spells redone.” She takes another drag on her pipe, peers at him from behind the smoke. “The whole fiasco with the corrupted archmage ‒” there is an expression of disgust ghosting over her face, “seems to have disrupted them. No wonder, all that magic fuckery.” She hums. “So I’d like to hire your services again, especially now, with… you know.” A vague wave of her hand. “I don’t need those fucking witchfinders to come pester the Jug.” It’s maybe not exactly well-known, but certainly not a secret, that many of the Jug’s customers are mages. (188)

Aleister

A very tiny tilt of his head betrays his interest, gears turning slowly before they speed up again. "Me?" Al is not too surprised, people come to him through the places he haunts frequently enough, but still he needs some time to remember what he'd done for Az in the past. 

"Ahh. The archmage, yeah. What a fiasco indeed." He'd heard and seen many a mage turn into a monster... But one amidst Faline? From the oh-so organized Order? The archmage of all? It'd pulled him out of the dull repetition of days, to find himself in the present again. All that followed was perhaps to be predicted, and he’d happily played his own role in it. That Miriam got to power was no surprise, not to him. History always repeated itself. "That's not unexpected, no. Well I'm glad to be of help, it's been a while since I've seen your place too. What's it called again?" He wants to say 'jig' but he's quite sure that's wrong, so. He reaches the straw in his drink back through the space in his mask, keeping his eye on Az. (188)

Azcasu

She’s met Al a few times by now; he has redone those spells before, and she’s never entirely sure if his memory is that bad, or if he’s faking it. If he was, she’d have noticed it ‒ but she never does, so apparently his memory is just like that, like holding water with a sieve. It just adds to the mystery of the tall mage.

“The Black Jug,” she replies, glances towards the bar. Could use that drink now. “When could you get this done at the earliest, and what’s your price?” She doesn’t like leaving the Jug unprotected, visible. Its reputation would protect it well enough ‒ and she has bribed a fair amount of higher-up people in the city guard as well ‒ but still, she’ll sleep better when the spells are back in place. (138)

Aleister

Ah yes, a nod in reply, vague recollection of the name coming back to him. It's always a little vague and jumbled, but he's learned to live with his bad memory. Well, sometimes. Sometimes it lives him. 

"I can get it done right now if you want." Maybe he can hear the need in her voice, or he's just bored; which doesn't matter. Az provided a change of scenery, he'd be happy to take it. "Tomorrow is fine too. Whenever." He adds with a shrug of his shoulders, a small tug on the corners of the masks' mouth. A smile.

Price was the harder question for him. Money was always nice, though not always very needed. He felt there were more entertaining options than just coin. "You can pay me in coin, or you let me in on a fun evening at the place." He offered, though maybe it was more an inquiry. "Which would you prefer?" (157)

Azcasu

She’s quiet for a bit, eyes narrowed in thought. The sooner the better, though the suspicious part of her is wary about how quickly he agreed. The rest is just relieved.

With a flourish of her pipe, she thinks it over, tapping her long claw-like nails on the wooden table. “Hm. Why not now, then, and then we can discuss the price over a glass of wine in my office,” she eventually replies. “Might be faster than waiting for that damn drink.” She gives the bar a pointed look and a scoff. The Beggar is actually one of her favourite places, besides the Jug; the atmosphere just has that right touch of depravity and decay. And its patrons and staff are always entertaining.

“So if you’re up for that…” she trails off, gestures towards the door. “Let’s get it done.” (140)

Aleister

"Sounds fine to me." He finishes his own drink, a little oblivious to Az’ annoyance. "Let's." He replies, putting the drink down before getting up.

By now it is mostly dark outside, though still light enough to see pretty well. It's a very enjoyable evening out, the temperature mild and the sky clear. "Has the trashing worm done much damage to The Black Jug?" Al inquires, curious but mostly interested in catching up with Az. It has been a while. "I've heard about it happening, but I wasn't there for it, alas. Would've loved to see that scunner get their dues." He was not a fan of the order, let alone Hagia. (112)

Azcasu

She follows him out, one last glance around the Beggar before stepping outside. The cool night air is welcome, and she hums at his question as she joins his side. “A bit,” she says, frowning. “The house was mostly fine… a couple of roof tiles gone, a bit scorched in some places, and of course a lot of debris. But the biggest worry was whether the ground had become unstable or not.” She still has her pipe in her hand, and she takes a last drag on it before knocking out the ash with a flourish. “Had to do some improvised scaffolding and support in the basement before I could get hold of a stone mason. It’s.. a work in progress, still, down there.”

At his last words, she laughs. “Oh, same. I wasn’t here for it either, I had business in Mead… would’ve loved to see it as well. Fuck those stuffy academics and their mage monopoly.” She trails off, and something dark ghosts over her face. “Except now we’ve got that puritanical menace Miriam and her rabid witchfinder army to worry about.”

She puts her pipe away into a pocket, dusts off her hands, then gives him a sideways glance.  “What have you been up to lately? Wasn’t exactly yesterday that I saw you.” She only has the very vaguest of notions of what he actually does, except enchanting things for people and sitting at the Beggar. (239)

Aleister

He'd seen the aftermath after a few walks through Faline at night, people were already rebuilding and most of it was cleaned up. Though the city had a vague stench now he found hard to place, beyond just the general notion of "death". Did people stop to think they killed someone, or was it just a monster? Was Hagia mourned, or just the rubble she'd left behind?

Now to him, Hagia had been a monster for a long time before she became a giant worm. He felt worse for the worm, actually. "Mhm. Fuck them indeed. Seems they did a good job of fucking themselves over though." No extra needed from him or Az. Miriam was the best proof of the Order messing up. 

Aleisters eye turns to Az at the question, seemingly puzzling it over himself as well. "Sometimes the days bleed into weeks and months. I've been here-and-there. Participated in the wonderfully organized debate in front of the king’s palace in Faline. Suppose my effort paid off; Sabora didn’t win.” Al laughs behind the mask. He still preferred this over Sabora’s win, somehow. This made sense. It was unfortunate, but it made sense. Unfortunately he couldn’t give her more detail even if she wanted that. His memory got sloppy quick. 

The tall man straightens his coat as they pass the various buildings in Faline, most still in pristine condition, though it's easy to tell whereabouts the worm trashed through the city. There are some buildings obviously worse off before they reach the Black Jug, and the outside of the building brings back some memories for him. "Did any of your people get hurt? Through the chaos, I mean." (280)

Azcasu

Azcasu laughs at that, a short sharp sound. “Themselves, and everyone else in the process.” His answer draws an amused huff from her; she doesn’t exactly agree, but… Sabora would’ve been a simple pawn under the king, which Az thinks would’ve been pretty bad as well.

She also watches their surroundings, but keeps her own thoughts about the destruction the worm caused quiet, but she turns at his question, a thoughtful frown on her face. “Yeah. My accountant got smashed by falling debris, and a couple of the fighters are gone too. Not all of them dead, but I doubt they’ll return to the ring anytime soon.” She sighs, rubs the back of her nose. “It was a huge mess. I’m gonna need to find some new people soon.”

When they step inside, they are met with a buzz of people, and more than a few turned heads. Az is a well-known face; respected, feared… but also familiar. Al, on the other hand ‒ a tall, masked stranger, in fine clothes ‒ the stares linger. Azcasu hums, nods towards the staircase that leads to the second floor. “Let’s go.” (189)

Aleister

"Kills time and brain. I only got plenty of one." Aleister stifles a laugh. Bad habits, obviously.

Though her retelling of the accountant’s fate makes him shudder a little. "Sorry to hear that." Oof, smashed? Rough. He is sure the city holds many more such stories, which really does nothing to help the case of these powerful mages roaming free. He knew the risks, and now the city knows too, with Miriam as the result. "I'll keep my eyes out for you. Just in case." Perhaps some of the Ravens would be interested, hm. Might see if his service was needed there soon.

Aleister steps in after Az, needing to bow down a little to get through the doorway without thunking his mask. The stares are not unexpected, and he dares a little nod of his head towards the sea of strangers. "Sure. Good to see the place is busy none the less though," the man comments, following Az up the stairs as prompted. 

Coming in helps him remember the layout. What she'd asked to hide last time. He'd since, though, still not seen one fight. That'd be good payment. Al would love an invitation to a mage throw-down. He'd never participate himself, well aware his magic is a fraud, and a little too worried about how much an actual real-time fist to the face would hurt. (227)

Azcasu

She leads him up the stairs. The second floor is mostly empty, and they don’t stop there; Azcasu’s office is on the third floor. She seems to relax minutely when they step inside, and she walks over to a large and intricately decorated cupboard, taking out a bottle of wine and two glasses. She puts them on the large wooden desk, mostly empty, save for a few stacks of paper, an inkwell, and a handful of quills.

She’s quiet as she pours a glass, pushing it towards him when she’s done, then filling up her own. She raises the glass, looks at the deep red colour, then her gaze shifts to him, once again taking in his strange appearance, and what she can perceive of him, the things that are hidden.

“So what’s your price?” she asks, simply. (138)

Aleister

He does not think twice about following someone who is mostly a stranger up a set of stairs into their private office. Not even someone notorious like Azcasu. Al does not think to worry, secure in his abilities to get out of situations when needed, and as usual overwhelmed by simple curiosity. 

The tall man sits down when prompted, turning the chair a little sideways so his legs don't bump the desk. A nod of thanks towards her when he picks up the glass, seemingly giving the liquid a sniff before pulling a straw out of his coat. He's not taking that mask off - not yet. He has no reason to unsettle Azcasu, or have her toss him out of the window. He's seen those arms, pretty sure she can lift him without much trouble. 

"My price. Question of the century," he grumbles a little to himself, at himself. "Your place is heavily frequented. That does mean my magic needs to affect more people, making it cost more of my time and energy." And his memory, mostly that. "You can imagine the difference it'd be with enchanting a place in the forest where maybe three people a year stumble past. A spell for such a place could last a lifetime. I could ask for a pretty penny, but I don't have a lot of interest in coin." Aleister waffled on. Perhaps just musing to himself. "Is there anything you could offer beyond such? Though we can establish a base value. 300 coins for the base spell, 150 for every time I need to come back to refresh." A pause, a sip through the straw of the wine. Pretty good. "Or you provide me with some more wine, or maybe some connections to other people who might need a spell. I am not picky. I can imagine your coin went into your establishment's repairs." (313)

Azcasu

“Always,” she agreed, quite familiar with the struggle of pricing one’s services. She looks thoughtful, nods slowly in agreement. It’s not a cheap service he provides, but the advantages far outweighs the costs; otherwise she’d have to bribe people, and that could easily snowball, if a higher-up at the guard starts feeling greedy. “Fair points, all of them,” she says, procures a blank paper from a drawer, and starts writing down things. Her handwriting is flowing, neat, with some letters in particular shapes. Hard to read, if you’re not used to it.

“300,” she repeats, jots it down. “150. Hm.” She clasps her hands, pushes the paper aside to dry. “Wine, yes, not really something I have a lot of, except my personal stash,” she starts, hums. “Got no names for you, right now, but I’ll let you know if I stumble on any…” she trails off, frowning a little. What else could he be interested in? She has the money, but every expense stings right now.

At his comment about repairs, her expression turns a little irritated. “Mm. Hasn’t been cheap, certainly. Masons are in high demand right now… lots of people with the same problem.” She cocks her head, peers at him. “Ever been interested in seeing what goes on down there? Or are you not someone who appreciates a good fight?” (224)

Aleister

He shrugs, a small amused sound at her commentary on the wine. "Ah, it was just a suggestion." He is happy to hear what she comes up with, after all, Azcasu knows her own talents far better than he could know. 

Aleister nods, his mask seemingly frowning a little in thought, still sipping from the straw. The eyeball hiding behind it is looking around; interested. Scooping out the place a little. The nice part about wearing a mask is that people can't see what you're doing behind it; or he assumes. He has no idea about Az’ magic, and what that means for him. 

His interest is quickly caught by her offer of going downstairs sometime. "I have not. I'd be interested for sure, and I'd be happy to take my price down for an invitation to a good night of it. As long as I'm not the one getting punched, admittedly wouldn't be my strong suit nor look very good on me." He admits, folding his legs and placing a gloved hand on his knee. These are far more interesting payments to him than coin. "Do you fight? Or do people fight for you?" (195)

Azcasu

Azcasu can’t help but stare for a moment. It’s an incredibly weird image, seeing him use the straw through the mask, and then it just… disappears into the eyeball beneath it. She blinks, then looks away, takes a sip of wine instead.

“You’d be welcome to, whenever we start up again,” she says, leaning back in her chair. “There’s still some things left to do before the fights can resume as usual.” Then she smirks, watches him from beneath hooded eyes. “No, you don’t strike me as a person who fights with their hands,” she replies, giving the mask a pointed look. “Would be hard, what with all the…” she makes a vague gesture at his head. “No good if that falls off, huh?”

She would pay good money to see Aleister in a fight, actually, just to see the mask get knocked off, and the opponent’s reaction to it. He might do better in the ring than he assumes.

“Mmm,” she hums, and narrows her eyes thoughtfully at his question. “I don’t fight in the pits, no. Elsewhere… it happens.” She cracks her knuckles, grins. “No. I have a group of fighters employed, just to keep things interesting. They can’t get any of the winnings, but they do get proper wages. For everyone else… It's free to fight, but there’s a fee to watch.” (225)

Aleister

People stared and gave him odd looks all the time, this was not new to him. And so he does not think twice about Az' looks either. It'd be far weirder if she hadn't. 

Aleister keeps his cool and collected pose, no change in expression, looking at Az as she speaks. She's confident, and in her own way loud, and he'd love to see more of that. His head tilts a fraction as she motions at him, before what she means settles in. "Oh. It would not be a problem for me, but I keep the mask on for others." Aleister admits, briefly touching it's chin. "The problem with it falling off would be my opponent shitting himself and that mess needing to be cleaned up. That's all." Cursing always felt a little weird, but he figured Az appreciated some straight forwardness.

"That makes sense. Not many people have ever wanted nor tried to throw down with me. I think the height scares them off. Maybe the mask." He adds with a shrug. He'd pissed plenty of people off,  but then he also often carried a staff and you didn't want to get wacked by that. 

"So there is no incentive to win? They just have to fight? Interesting. I'd assume you'd want everyone motivated." He muses, though Aleister knows very little about how to motivate people anyway. He's never had anyone work under him, as far as he remembers. 

But he nods at her explanation, a hum in his throat. "I suppose I can take off the fee for refreshing the spell, if you allow me free entrance whenever. How does that sound?" (274)

Azcasu

That earns him a wide grin and a loud cackle. “You could make a whole strategy out of that. There’s been worse messes down there, I promise. I’m not gonna convince you to throw down in the pits, though.” She shrugs, then smirks. “Even if it would be an interesting sight.” She wonders briefly how well-known his real face is ‒ an eyeball for a head isn’t something one is likely to forget, is it?

At his comment, she blinks, puzzled, and tilts her head. “Motivation to win? I mean, losing usually means you get knocked out. They’re paid to do their best, but I’m not gonna notpay them if they lose.” Her fighters aren’t really there to win ‒ though it’s nice when they do ‒ but rather make sure there is always an opponent ready when other people come to test their mettle in the pits. She’s confident in her ability to see if one of her fighters has been paid off or bribed to lose; she has even used that idea to her advantage, a few times.

Her smile widens, and she puts down her glass to write it down. “Sounds great on my end,” she says, almost a purr in her voice, and she finishes the paper with a flourish. She gives him a lazy toast, then leans back in her chair, giving him a curious, almost calculating, look. “So, Al. I’ve heard so many things about what is hiding behind that mask. Would you mind showing me?” (253)

Aleister

"Interesting I'm sure. Funny, too. The tall ones go down so hard, I've seen." Not like he'd never thrown down at all. He just wasn't that elegant on his feet, not nearly as elegant as he made himself out to be. 

He does not seem to respond outwardly to that. Perhaps a difference in experience there. "Giving up is so much easier, though. You get hurt either way. But I am not here to question your business, not at all. Just a practice I am unfamiliar with." And he is curious. Wasn't everyone? 

Another nod, almost exaggerated by his mask, fingers intertwined on his knee as he rests his hands after the toast. "Have you? There's so many stories. The simpler ones have this idea of me being deformed in some way, burns or even that my skull would be visible. I don't mind if you'd like to see. People won't believe you when you tell them anyway." The man continues, matter-of-factly. The stories people came up with were far more believable than the truth.

But with that he bends his head down, picking the mask up with his hands and taking the hood that'd be hooked onto it off. In all its glory, an eyeball the size of a head sits upon the palm of a hand, it's fingers pointed, inhuman. Briefly it turns to look at the mask in his hands, fingers stroking it's polished surface, before the eye turns to Az. "I was cursed by someone I thought I could trust a long time ago. I have been like this since, unfortunately." He hates it. (267)

Azcasu

“They do…” she drawls, swirling her glass of wine. His comment about giving up sounds weirdly personal, in her opinion, and she wonders if that, perhaps, is a facet of his personality. Maybe living very long gives you a different perspective on things.

“So many,” she agrees, watching intently, almost hungrily, as he unhooks the mask. It feels like the unveiling of a secret, and while she already knows there is an eyeball there, she is immensely curious to see if there is anything elseunder there. The mask hides the eyeball, but what does the eye hide?

She isn’t disappointed. Sure, there is the eyeball, which is an unnerving sight, but underneath it… a face. There is a glimmer of interest, of discovery, in her eyes, which he’d notice if he looked. His face is… beautiful, actually. Not at all what she expected ‒ though honestly, what didshe expect? Angled cheekbones, deep-set eyes that mirror her own with their black sclera, and a large sharp nose. His expression is strange ‒ there is an openness and something that could be taken for innocence, except it’s not ‒ like he knows nobody will ever see his face anyway.

But she does. Her heartsight sees through it all. She probably stares too long, too intrigued by this hidden face, but eventually, she shakes her head. “I see.” She can see his feelings, bright and almost garish, about his perceived appearance. She tilts her head a fraction. “Magic. Fascinating,” she says. “It’s only held there by the hand?” (257)

Aleister

Her stare does not surprise him, nor does it bring him discomfort in any way. He’s used to it, the looks. That she doesn’t retreat with instant disgust is more surprising, though he figures Az must’ve been prepared in some way or another.

The face behind the eyeball is tired, in his own way. It hasn’t aged since he got cursed, though Aleister wouldn’t know such. He can still feel it, though even his own memory of what he is supposed to look like is hazy. Dark hair, scarring on his left, he knows that much. The stubble from shaving a few days ago, but not feeling like it every day is getting long again. Not because anyone can see, but because beards bother him. He’s tried to put up with that for a while though.

The eye moves with his own eye movements, and it even seems to reflect his expressions to a degree. Aleister huffs in quiet amusement on her conclusion, moving to take off the eyeball. Without her heartsight, he’d just have moved it off of the hand that carries it, but with it it’s almost as if he takes off a helmet. The eye is it’s own thing too. “Not exactly. It wouldn’t just fall off unless I want it to. It isn’t like my head is detached,” he explains, as she can clearly see, “it just isn’t visible. This eye is a familiar.” He explains, as if that’d make it all make sense. The hand sticks out behind his head like a high collar, almost decorative looking now the eye is removed. “It’s an odd one. Why out of all appearances I got stuck on this one is beyond me as well. Perhaps corruption plays a part, it’s a chaotic beast.” Aleister continues with a shrug, placing the eye back where it sat before. “Does that satisfy your curiosity?” Expecting her to tell him to please put on the dang mask again. (327)

Azcasu

As he removes the eye, Azcasu still looks at his face, and the hand, not the eye he holds like a strange helmet. Sometimes, seeing what others hide fills her with glee, like catching a glimpse of things not meant to be seen ‒ and it’s like that, now. She isn’t sure even Al can see what the eyeball hides, but she can.

“I see,” she repeats, still intently watching, as if trying to remember that face, for whenever he will put the mask back on. Maybe she will still be able to see through it then, who knows, now that she knows it’s there. “It certainly is. I’ve seen equally strange things before, which I assume was corruption as well. New body parts, or swapped ones. Magic is fickle.” 

She nods. “It does. Thank you. I don’t mind it so much, though.” She leans back, sips the last of her wine, still looking at him. “Well, this has been a productive evening. I will be glad to have the spells on the Jug back up.” She’s certain that it won’t be long until they will be sorely needed. (189)

Aleister

For some odd reason he feels as if she is looking straight at him. People usually look through him, but maybe over the years that’d just been the look everyone gives him. Even if eyes cross on accident, it is never the look of actual eye contact. This feels different… But he shakes it off in the same thought. “It is fickle.” Al confirms, the eyeball back in its place, his mask soon following.

“I suppose that makes you the minority. I can tell you a lot of people really dislike it.” He sounds amused through the fake-hurt he put on. He had learned to make use of it. No use in lamenting after all, he couldn’t change it. Not yet. “I’ll be glad to visit, do some networking perhaps.” He loves bars and such for the atmosphere, how easy it is to talk to people. And especially Az’ place he remembers as a comfortable place for it. With the new climate in Faline, it’d be important to make as many connections as he could.

“That said, is there any chance you have contacts with a smith of sorts? I’m thinking of joining forces with an anti-Order jeweller. These days people are less interested in masks, and more in subtle jewellery.” Is he bitter for that? Hm. Not really. Modern problems, modern solutions. And a fair point was to be made how it’d be a lot easier to help people hide with subtle items, as opposed to trying to hand out big masks. (253)

Azcasu

“Their loss, then,” she says with a laugh. And yes... She can still see it, a ghostly after-image of his face, through the eyeball and the mask. She files away that knowledge, another piece of the puzzle that is Aleister.

She blinks, cocks her head slightly. “A smith? I know a few, I suppose… ah.” She’s been thinking of blacksmiths, but if he wants something finer… hm. She purses her lips, hums, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I know of one, actually. They’re a goldsmith, or at least claims to be. I have never seen their work.” A pause. “Ioeth, they’re called. Currently staying here at the Jug. You will probably see them around. An Order mage… or ex-Order, as I’ve understood it.” 

Az has only met them a few times, and spoken with them only once; they had been soft-spoken and unfailingly polite, but her heartsight had picked up on a quite different image, one that equal parts unsettled and intrigued her. Perhaps an ally in the harsher political climate to come… or someone to stay away from. (180)

Aleister

Of course Azcasu knows of one, where his own memory lacks he can always trust on the memory of those with better connections. “Ioeth. They’re staying here? That’s good to know.” That absolutely heightened the chances of him running into them. With his magic, this place was about to become a safe spot for refugees from the order, hidden mages who wanted to stay that way. “Ex-Order, good. Inside knowledge is useful to have.” Ah, now he truly sounded like an anarchist.

“Thank you. I’m sure this’ll end up being beneficial for us both.” No doubt he is going to find himself at the Jug more often. He trusts his own magic above all others; he has a lot less faith in what other places might use to keep themselves away from prying eyes. Aleister has honed his magic for centuries, he knows how to work it.  “And I will contact this Ioeth. Perhaps if our sentiments match, you’ll get to see the results of the collaboration.” A smile behind the mask, even the eye, that only Az will be able to see.

Whatever will happen to Ivras now will keep him awake for the foreseeable future. And he looks forward to it. (203)

Azcasu

She watches him as he comes to his conclusions. Her own thoughts go in a similar direction; perhaps contrary to her cold-hearted reputation, she wonders if there is a way she can help those who will suffer the most under the Archon’s new rule… and if she turns a profit in doing so, all the better. 

“I think so as well,” she says, eyes narrowed in thought. Aleister might become an even more useful connection, now, and perhaps he can help her with other things, as well. She clasps her hands, meets his gaze, and smiles, all teeth. “I certainly hope so.”

When he leaves, she wastes no time; there are many things to prepare and organize. (117)

-fin-