Post-Battle Interlude

[rememberettersberg]

As the last of the zombies disperse, dust fading in the chill air, so too does Thomas' mood, the manic good humour that had kept him going all day. Every part of his body hurts, the solid ache of extended exertion, and he knows that he must look as awful as he feels. A mirror reveals the grim reflection of a past age; Captain Nightingale, awash with blood and mud, clothes torn to rags and skin caked with grime.

He strips without thinking much of it, dives into the freezing shock of the lake's still depths, and swims until his aches turn into leaden exhaustion. A part of him, as always when near open water, reaches out in search of its spirit but encounters only dank emptiness. Usually this would bother him, but tonight it feels right, apt.

There's a towel on the shore when he emerges, one he didn't leave there, and he wonders at the mansion all over again. Hordes of undead by day, the comfort of a fresh and fluffy towel at night. His lakeside office glows with warm light and the promise of fresh tea. He trudges towards it without conscious thought, mind half a century away.

Not primarily an open post, but he'll talk if anyone turns up.

Comments

[involuntaryturncoat]

A pitched battle with what are to all appearances walking corpses is not exactly a time one expects an invitation to tea and conversation, but Asmodean had received one nonetheless.

He'd seen the notices, of course, but had been noncommittal about attending. So of course the first time he actually risks channeling in public, he was stumbled upon by the very one who placed them. He attributes it primarily to curiosity, as any other potential motivation escapes him. Well, he's explained the One Power enough while here, even if it's only rarely been in connection with himself. Some things, though, he's done hiding.

He gives it a bit of time after the tumult has died down before arriving and knocking on the door to the cabin.

[rememberettersberg]

"Come in." It's been long enough that Nightingale has pulled himself together somewhat, though the steaming pot of tea at the corner of his desk is still richly fragrant with whisky. "Ah, Jasin. Or Asmodean, wasn't it? How was the rest of your day?"

[involuntaryturncoat]

His voice shades slightly wry for a moment. "I think it's safe to say it was significantly less eventful than the start. It was... quite the finishing touch to the week, I think."

[rememberettersberg]

"Mm, quite. The other day's shenanigans were even more horrifying, if anything." Nightingale pours himself a tea and raises an eyebrow in question, gesturing to a second empty cup. "You were most impressive out there today. I'm glad I ran into you."

[involuntaryturncoat]

"I would go through today a thousand times before the other day even once more." He nods toward the empty cup. "Thank you. It was far from what I expected from my morning, but I'm pleased my efforts helped nonetheless."

[rememberettersberg]

He pours another cup. "My apologies for putting you on the spot at such an unlikely moment. When I put out my notices, I thought I'd encountered all the practitioners one mansion could feasibly hold, but I find myself stumbling across more and more. It's fascinating."

[involuntaryturncoat]

Asmodean shakes his head. "You hardly need apologize; I can certainly understand the urge. I've been circumspect about my abilities for several reasons up until now, but I was hardly going to stand to the side in this particular case."

[rememberettersberg]

"Circumspect, yes. Is that also the reason you go by more than one name?" Nightingale's tone is mild and curious.

[involuntaryturncoat]

He pauses, considering. "I would say yes, but there are multiple reasons for each, so I'll say that there's overlap in them. Largely, though, it was caution in case certain people¹ from my own world arrived for whom my ability or name or either would cause conflict. I'm somewhat less concerned about that now²."

¹ i.e., nearly everyone.
² Pay no attention to the Sadmas behind the curtain, or the irony lever.

[rememberettersberg]

"Is magic forbidden, then, in your world?" He sips his tea. "It seems to have been so for many of the practitioners who've ended up here."

[involuntaryturncoat]

"No and yes," Asmodean says with a shrug. "To fully explain is a story that goes back several thousand years. I'm not opposed to telling it, if you would indulge such a tale." He has a sip of his own. "Or I could defer to an already long day and say simply that women who can channel in many ways pull the strings of the world, while men who do are hunted down and severed from the ability as soon as possible after it manifests. It was not always so, but there are entirely valid reasons for it now."

[rememberettersberg]

"I'll gladly hear your tale another time, if you'd care to meet again. It sounds worthy of the telling."

[involuntaryturncoat]

"The end of the Age of Legends and the Breaking of the World? It's a tale bards have feasted on for generations." He huffs out a breath that would almost be amused if he could quite manage to get there. "I would be happy to tell it."

[rememberettersberg]

"That's quite the moniker." Nightingale really wants to know, but the day has been excruciatingly long. "Something that will require an extended afternoon in a room with a fully-stocked bar, I suspect." He smiles. "Eventually I'll be asking you all kinds of irritating questions about how your powers work, believe me."

[involuntaryturncoat]

A wry smile crosses his face. "Generations of feasting bards do make for impressive names. But yes, I'll take that extended afternoon to tell it whenever you wish. And the same for the irritating questions."