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Social: Dinner With the Devil

Page history last edited by rgs 14 years, 8 months ago

Exactly what it says.

 

 

Sandy's House. 

 

Darshan has been sent for. A simple missive politely requesting his presence here.

 

Darshan scowls at the letter, and folds it. Takes it out again, and refolds it. He sits atop Srassha outside in the lawn, and...

 

"He refuses to come inside, m'lady," says the servant, coming back. The young lady has bright, red hair in copper locks, and wipes her hands on her pants as she speaks. "He said something about you being uhm...he sort of called you a bad word."

 

Looking nervous, the girl looks about, and clearly, wishes to be somewhere else.

 

"Did he, now? This is excellent news!" Sandy is eminently cheered. She could use some cheer. She even beams at her servant. "Go and tell Mara we have a guest. Ask her to see to him and get him comfortable." She smiles cheerfully. OH yes.

 

She adds, "Tell her it would be a favor to me."

 

So Mara comes out of the door, looking customarily... well, inscrutable. The elven woman pauses outside, apparently somewhat taken aback at the sight of a sith-makar in power armour atop a swiftclaw, but recovers quickly. Stepping out towards him, she sketches a graceful little bow. "May the Sun above shine warmly on our meeting, Child of the Dragons." She sounds very formal. "I am Cilimarathlien Moonbow of the Mythwood, recently sent by the Council to... accompany the Lady Sandielavella. Would you enter, and join us?" She speaks Common with a heavy elven accent, emphasis all wrong and curiously elongated vowels, but she's fluent enough, like someone not taught by a native speaker.

 

Darshan looks down from the swiftclaw, the saddle creaking, creaking. And pauses, after a moment. "You're mrm, a friend of the Lady Serene?" he asks her, because this person seems articulate. Decent. Well-dressed. Well-spoken. This person cannot, utterly cannot, be associated with the she-devil that is the elf of the Darkened Manor. "Svarshan, Sunblade of Father Daeus, and guard to the Lady Madrienne of House Mandara. Svarshan Arimandara in my own tongue, out of Am'shere," and a pause, a quieter one. "And I'm afraid I'm not going in that house. It's cursed."

 

Indeed, Sandy is already putting her plan into motion. The serving staff was previously informed about this. Indeed, they've been busy in the kitchens all day.

 

"I see." She doesn't see, but she's keeping that inscrutable mask of expressionlessness. Those exotic, tilted eyes of hers only make her all the harder to read. "I am not familiar with a Lady Serene, Sunblade, but I do not doubt our meeting would be fortuitous, when it happens." She pauses, and shifts her shoulders a little, the only indication that she might find the situation uncomfortable. "Sandielavella was very emphatic that I invite you in. I believe she has been haranguing the kitchen staff all day. I do not claim to know the lady's mind, but perhaps she wishes for some sort of reconciliation? Some... rumours of antagonism have reached my ears." Those ears, pointy and long as any proper elf's, twitch slightly.

 

The leather creaks when Darshan shifts in it. "M'lady..." he lets go a breath, and looks at her. Something...runs through his head. Something. "Reconciliation? Mrm, then let her know one is willing to go and fetch a good priest, and see the demons driven from her domicile. I will enter with the assistance of one the Holy Fathers, and not before. A vampire used to live within that house, and the lady's behavior to this point...m'lady, please forgive me. I would wish to believe in restitution, mrm, but the lady's vileness is such it colors the sky." And makes Baby Daeus cry.

 

She is still busy. Spending time doing things. Checking on them. Whatever her vile plans is.

 

Mara actually twitches a smile at that. It's a surprisingly sweet little smile, for all the stern Elven -otherness- of her features. "Ah... I cannot say I blame you for being hesitant. I have witnessed some of the lady's... contrariness. It is, in fact, some of the reason why I am here." Her voice lowers somewhat, as she moves a step closer and confides in the Sith-Makar. "The Council has... concerns." And again, in a more normal tone, "I will not further attempt to convince you, save to note that I have quarters in the same house, and... well, I have not noticed any corrupting influences from its walls."

 

Darshan looks at her then, a quiet and a long time, to the point where the silence might stretch into uncomfortable. "Then we will go into the house together," he decides, after a time, and begins to dismount. The leather creaks. "What do you mean by Council?" he asks her. Srassha shudders when his feet touch the dirt, and this done, her rider reaches up to remove the bridle with its single rein.

 

Mara remains still, not moving a hair during the long quiet, hands clasped together in front of her. She looks the very image of the mysterious Elven huntress. "The Council of the Mythwood," she explains as Darshan dismounts. "It is a politically motivated decision, I believe, my presence here. A counterpoint, if you will, to Sandielavella's... unorthodox ways." Not once has she referred to Sandy as 'Sandy'. The artificer must surely hate that.

 

She does, incidentally, hate it. A lot.

 

A serving girl approaches Mara and Darshan once they're in. 'You're here just on time, sir," she tells Darshan, "Please come to the dining room." And with that, she sees to it to escort them there.

 

"...mrm," he says, and it's a world of thought, that mrmm, and looks at Mara again, thoughtfully, and after a while, looks away. "If it's not too much, m'lady, one would...offer you the services of the Church, regardless, in exorcism or otherwise. The Lady Sandiel is /also/ known to be a vile wreeeeen--" he cuts the words off as the serving girl arrives. "Someone who could be better mannered," he says, solemn, and follows the serving girl with a thoughtful gaze as she begins the escort...even a suspicious one.

 

Also, the smell of roasting meat permeates the household.

 

Mara follows alongside Darshan, as calm and collected as you please. "I am not a follower of the Father, myself," she says, "other than indirectly, through His Son." Gilead. Of course. A wild elf and a huntress, it makes sense. "But it would be an honour." She half-bows, to the side as she walks beside the big Sith-Makar, and somehow manages not to make it look awkward.

 

After a while, Darshan offers his arm, some of Madrienne's training kicking in at last. And as they step further into the house, he starts to look...well, distracted. And sniffs the air occasionally, with a faint, What the Fuck? expression building marginally every turn. "Lady Moonbow...has the lady had any recent guests? Of my kind?"

 

The serving girl then begins to lead them both to the dining room. 

 

Which she does. She pushes the doors open where the now repaired dining room lays. The dining table has been arrayed with a white tablecloth and looks in perfect order. Both of them are guided to their seats by the serving girls and an initial appetizer is almost immediately laid out. Am'sherian fish. Spiced heavily. Eels. Slimey, disgusting, *greasy*, fried eels. 

 

"The Lady Sandiel will be along momentarily."

 

"Not that I am aware of," replies Mara, having laid her hand, formally, on that offered arm. "But I am only just arrived, and Sandielavella does not keep a record of her visitors." The expression and growing agitation is noted; she's a perceptive sort. "Is something the matter?"

 

And then they arrive at the dining room, and Mara pauses, peering at the appetiser with a... well, an unreadable expression.

 

"I smell one," comes the distracted reply. The arm supporting Mara's has gone faintly slack, and his expression becomes distracted as he holds out one of the chairs for her. "One...mrm, smells one, m'lady, and I'm unsure why they'd be here. I'm also unsure how the dining room was refitted so quickly. It was destroyed during...one of the Lady's fits of madness." The Council is going to have such a report. "Her divine roomate has been concerned for some time...one...please forgive me. It's just that not days ago, this entire area had been destroyed." Such a report.

 

"The Lady asks that you please entertain her guest until she can join you," says the serving girl to Mara, cheerfully. She then curtseys and scurries over to the dining table and proceeds to pour the mugs of... *some* sort of fermented liquid. It's... very potent smelling. Very.

 

Oh joy. Entertain the guest. Mara does not look overly thrilled at the prospect, though to her credit, she doesn't grimace or comment. "I had no idea," she says, picking up a knife and... poking at the appetiser. It's so greasy. Ew. "It was in this state when I arrived. And, another Child of the Dragon, Sunblade? Present today? That is surprising. I had not heard of any other guests."

 

"No, m'lady. Only...one /smells/ it. Mrm, in the jungle, you cannot see very far, and so--," and the voice is quiet, solemn. Almost...hesitant, though the words are firm when they do form. He sniffs again, and the look becomes distracted, and the look settles on the liquid, that liquid. Some paladins drink. He's one of them.

 

"...I haven't seen that outside of Am'shere in years," and this time, the words are hesitant. And this time, the long pause is uncomfortable. "They make it from fermented eels' eggs, and mix in some of the mangos, one understands. ..." he looks at her. He looks so disquieted.

 

Mara, evidently doggedly determined to keep the atmosphere less oppressive, gives Darshan another of those sweet little smiles. "Perhaps Sandielavella has brought in one of your kind as a... an assistant in the preparation of the meal, so as to put you at ease?" The brew in her mug is lifted, sniffed at... and she sneezes, utterly breaking the unflappable, inscrutable image for a moment before she manages to compose herself again. "Uh, pardon me," she says, grabbing a napkin and dabbing at her nose in a peculiarly ladylike fashion.

 

The servants, of course, check on the meal and make sure everything is according to plan. They're going to wait for the appetizers to be dealt with before they bring int he main course, And still, there is no actual sign of the elf in question.

 

"The lady would never...consider it," the sith'makar says, in undertones. "...though, mrm, what exactly /is/ this Council? I'm unfamiliar with--" and he nods her direction. Her ears. Elf. And the cup is lifted, sniffed...though his judgment, perhaps, could be better. The excuse must be offered, an excuse, and that is he's distracted. And so, he drinks.

 

Mara, for her part, delicately shears a bite off the eel and... tries a taste. Just a small bit. "It is a, ah, traditional political body. The rulers of the Elven nation of Mythwood, if you will. They oversee many important functions, such as the governing of laws, relations with the other Elven nations and non-Elves, and some traditional rites and ceremonies."

 

He sniffs the air again, faintly, though it's obvious coming from the tin-can exterior, like a quiet rush of air. "One...mrm, sees. I wasn't aware she was a citizen," he tells her, and nudges at his plate. THe appetizer disappears, after a moment, though he leans forward just slightly, before he'd picked it up, with that same, slow inhalation. And it could be an appreciation, a deep inhalation to take the spices into his lungs. 

But it's more as though he's sniffing for poison.

 

The servants wait on them both. Hand and foot, you see. One need but ask and they'll see to it, if they can. A little extra salt? It's there!

 

By the end of the appetizer, Darshan's drained the entire cup. He pushes the second away, staring glumly at it for too long a moment before looking towards Mara. "Perhaps something's happened to our hostess?" he suggests, which is his way of saying, 'we should move, or she will summon the drunken Korite army.' And stands, his chair scraping back as he does so.

 

The appetiser goes down, if not exactly quickly. A few sips of the brew go along with it, if only for show so as not to disappoint their host. The elf is so polite. Sandy could learn a lesson! She does, however, remain seated when Darshan rises. "I am starting to have some concerns, myself." A servant is flagged down. "Do you know where the Lady Sandielavella is, and when she will be joining us?"

 

Darshan, by contrast, of course, remains standing, his back going faintly rigid underneath the armor. "One has my doubts," he murmurs, looking down. "M'lady...forgive, but the behavior of the Lady Sandiel...avella in the past has done nothing to ...it does not reassure me," he says, at length, the words polite but firm. "One...understands it may be rude to seek her out, but...for your own safety, please entertain my own concern." Here, he drops a hand on the back of her chair and if a paladin could look concerned, this one does. The movement, even, is protective. "I will, at least, remain standing for the moment. It is possible she is having one of her tempers."

 

He adds, "And I may need to respond."

 

Once the SLIMY HAGFISHES OF DEATH have been slurped down, Sandy comes strolling through the dining room doors, followed by several servants. They are bringing the main course, of course! 

The sheet covering shows spots of grease stains where what it rests on is soaking through. Indeed, before long, they peel away the sheet to reveal a banquet fit for an Am'sherian King! It's plates full of roasted meat. *Greasy* roasted meet. Foods so covered in grease that one need but smell it and feel their arteries hardening. Some sort of roasted, small am'sherian dinosaur has been practically soaked in the stuff. 

 

And, beside it, is a roasted pig. And bacon. 

 

This is not a vegetarian meal. Oh no.

 

Mara ... looks vaguely ill. Ghostly pale as she is, somehow she manages to blanch visibly on seeing the meal laid out, whatever remnant of colour was in her cheeks draining out. "... Sandielavella..." she begins, weakly.

 

Queasy elf is queasy.

 

Darshan takes a long, long look at the meat, which smells so good. His eyes are faintly glazed, and he rubs at his chin. Grimaces, as though steeling himself. "M'lady..." it comes out hoarse. He clears his throat. He tries again, gaze fixing on the she-devil for too long a moment, as though asking the gods, privately, for their aid, as though asking them for a look into the devil's own soul.

 

And that is exactly what he's doing.

 

"What sense of...no, you have no guilt, you have no shame. What is /this/?" He gestures almost hurriedly to the meal, as though unable to look at it. And maybe he can't...it smells /good/. "Have you finally started going to /Church/, you--" he glances at Mara, "--you." He makes a hurried replacement, and forgets whatever he'd been going to add. He's looking at the second elf, now. Perhaps he's now convinced Sandy's poisoned her.

 

"Why, Darshan. At Lady Mara's encouragement here, I have merely attempted to turn over a new leaf," says Sandy with a trace of sardonic humor to her tone. Because there's no leaves here. At all. "She suggested I attempted to make amends towards those I have slighted and thus I am following her excellent advice. I thought that by treating you to a slice of your homeland, you might forgive all those terrible tresspasses I have comitted against you." A smile is directed at Mara. 

 

"Wouldn't you agree, Lady Mara? Now, let us share in this meal that my servants have slaved over. Please, Darshan, take your pick of these meats. They came highly reccomended by those in the know."

 

Mara watches Sandy take a seat, and... well. If not for the fact that her expression is still carefully neutral, the slight narrowing of those slanted eyes might be taken as someone glaring daggers. She does, however, shake her head a little in Darshan's direction as though to say that she's all right.

 

But all that grease. It's like her arteries are constricting around her heart just by -looking- at it.

 

"What a marvellous idea," she croaks.

 

Darshan stares at her. He stares at her, then looks quickly at Mara, and back again. "Lady Sandiel," he says firmly, slowly. "You have thrown me off towers. You have frozen me in lakes. You've wrecked my armor, taken it to yourself to destroy my dreams, built rifts between myself and my household, POISONED the MINDS OF CHILDREN, and YOU EXPECT ONE DINNER WILL TAKE CARE OF IT??!" he's roaring, now. Except roaring means inhaling the--he looks dizzy, and glares at her. He moves to stand behind the poor, queasy elf's chair. "To see you visiting the priests..." he looks down at Mara. Frowns. And buries his face in his hands, rubs at his muzzle. "M'lady Moonbow...I. Forgive me. I...this...," he says, simply. Gestures, almost helplessly, at the meal. "It is a pleasant gesture, but..."

 

"No, of course not," says Sandy, cheerfully to Darsham, "I expect no such thing. But, despite your dramatics, I expect that one dinner will help build a bridge over that rift. Now, may we eat?" She lifts her eyebrows, looking a little aggrieved by his words. Shocked, even!

 

Calm, calm. Think pleasant thoughts. Mara blanks out her expression entirely, and glances up at Darshan behind her, then over to Sandy. "Perhaps," she suggests diplomatically, "the Sunblade would be more appeased by, say, a visit to the Temple?" Anything to escape that horrible, horrible grease. "To show the sincerity of your intention to repair relations between yourselves. I do agree, a well prepared meal is a pleasant gesture, but perhaps not quite sufficient for one so aggrieved."

 

He looks towards their host, then. "Dramatics. You're right. I...forgive my sudden behavior, Lady Moonbow. Perhaps..." he pauses, and then takes a step towards his chair. Grips the back of it, and--slowly, drops down into it. Armor and all. The armor...well. It creaks, as joints are wont to creak. "Yes, a visit to the Temple would be most welcome. One could use it, myself," he says, and the words are almost easy, this time.

 

"Certainly. I have no trouble with a visit to the Temple of Daeus," says Sandy, smoothly, too easily agreeing to this. "It has been some time since I attended services or met with the Highfather Samuel." She drums her fingers against the table, nodding towards Darshan, "Your meal awaits, you know." She's going to refocus him on the food. That delicious, delicious food.

 

Mara has, while talking, subtly shifted her chair away from the table, so that now, when Sandy tries to refocus the attention on the food, it becomes clear that, well, she's sitting rather far from the table at this point. Goodness, maybe the food doesn't agree with her. "Yes... the meal..." she croaks, again, looking a little green around the gills.

 

He looks at her. Looks at her, and then looks to Mara. And, carefully, begins to eat. It takes the greatest, greatest of willpowers, to keep it an even pace. And after a while, perhaps, pieces might have disappeared from Mara's plate as well. He might have noticed. For now, he keeps to a state of dumbfounded silence. Suspicion. Surely. She's up to...something?

 

But exactly what it is goes right over his head.

 

It is the most comfortable meal. Ever.

 

Nope. Sandy seems to be up to nothing at all. Rather, she leans back and slides a bit over to Mara. "Mara, aren't you hungry?" She asks, with wide eyed, innocent eyes as Darshan chows down.

 

Mara is so, SO not hungry. But she picks at her food, and eats, a little, so as not to seem rude. And only barely, BARELY, suppresses a shudder at every vein-clogging, grease-dripping bite. The vegetables, what little there are of them to accompany the meal, are more satisfying, apparently. Even though for some reason, they too seem to have been cooked with grease. Which she carefully scrapes off with a knife. There's a wobbly, jelly-like little heap of it on her plate. She tries not to look at it. "I, ah..." She's so going to get Sandy for this. "I ate just recently."

 

After a while...after a while the paladin can't take much more. And were his stomach not full, he'd have gotten up and left. That's what he tells himself. He /would/ have. But his stomach is too full. Eventually, he settles into the chair, with a puzzled look. And, squinting at them both. Occasionally. His senses are practically screaming at him. 

 

...if only he could tell /why/.

 

Darshan goes OOC.

 

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