It was dusk, and it was cold, but the night was filled with a soft breeze that, in Tallulah’s eyes, could make up for almost anything, even the fact that it was getting dark, and Tallulah was still walking . . . in the Dives. The heels of her shoes made a sharp clacking sound on the hard cobble sidewalk, echoing down a street that was empty of any up-right citizen, much less a Seventeen officer. A man and a woman copulated in a doorway to Tallulah’s right, and she had to stifle a derisive comment as she passed. Much good that did her, since she began spewing them seconds later as it started to rain. She pulled her ruby cloak tightly around her shoulders, looping it over her head as she walked, her same-colored eyes searching for a bar to duck into. The only thing within eyesight was a brightly colored building, with an equally bright sign that was impossible to see because of the downpour. She hurriedly stepped inside the building, and was greeted by descending wooden stairs, with a smoky little room at their bottom. The room, as far as she could tell, was populated by only men, and most of them were sipping cups of some drink or another. Spying a rather lonesome and rather unoccupied area, she sat, drawing her drenched red cloak away from her damp white dress, and relaxed into the old, tattered chair that accompanied the much abused table. A man came, and asked her what she would like to drink while lighting the candle on the poor table. Her icy reply was, “A magma, please,” and he scuttled away, leaving her to contemplate the cluttered walls of the small cellar, which were just as brightly colored and eclectic as the outside decor.

The problem with being a lone woman entering amongst a largely male populous is that your entry seldom goes unnoticed. As Tallulah entered, heads and eyes turned her way and took great notice of her damp appearance. Frankly, she looked as cold as the rain, and so most of the men turned back to their poisons of choice. But a group of three men-- two humans and a wick by her sense of their fields, or lack thereof-- huddled their heads together for a moment, nudging each other and pointing her way.

When the bartender made to return, one of the humans rose and met him on his way toward her table, muttering something to him. The tender handed the glass to the human and turned back to his business, while the man brought her drink over to her table, "Magma, eh? Pretty strong for a little lady like yourself."

He sat, turning the low chair backwards as he straddled it, and slid her glass across the table to her, "You're awfully cute to be in on your own, missy."

Behind him, his companions rose and made their way to her table as well. The wick pulled a stool closer to her than was comfortable or socially acceptable; the human leaned in over the small table, "So, lady, what're you doin' in on a fine night such'a this?"

The wick made a grab at her hand, kissing it in a show of mock gentility. He lowered her hand but didn't release it, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. He was leering at her, intent clear in his eyes.

It was clear that either the men were too drunk to notice her field, or too drunk to care. It may have been that they thought that, as they outnumbered her, they could do as they pleased. And they probably could.

((For new readers: what occurs in this thread is not a very good example of the relationship between the galdori and humans, wicks, etc. Do not rely on these occurrences as your standard of behavior.))

Employment. It was so much easier to find in the Harbor, or at least, such was the case for the kind that held any real interest to Artemis. While he had some coin on him, he would need more very soon if he was to survive, and was at this location for that reason entirely- he’d heard this place would be good as any to find work. Drunken men could be easily persuaded to seek the death of their rivals, if they were angry enough, and would pay a fair amount of coin if they were flat out guttered. This, of course, sometimes meant feigning interest in sob stories, or having to decipher what certain slurred words meant, and of course the slight of hand- and a silver tongue- to manipulate the luggers into providing the proper information- and of course, the enticing the proper payment.

Tonight, it seemed there were few who fit that description, leaving him dry- though, perhaps dry was not the best word- they were all varying levels of drunk, and otherwise useless, blubbering sacks of flesh. Perhaps it was the weather that mellowed them- even Artemis felt a certain calm wash over him, when there was a storm. And then entered a pretty albino galdor, whom Artemis expected must hail from Gior, or at least from that particular bloodline, and this piqued his interest- not quite her nationality, rather, that a galdor woman- especially a pretty one such as herself- would be in a place like this alone- and his point was quickly proven by an abundance of slime that quickly resigned itself to prey upon her. Three such slimes, in fact, though they were all one and the same to Artemis.

Perhaps it was the ale, though he’d hardly had enough to be considered intoxicated, or perhaps it was some small smidgen of honor in him, but the slime irritated him, and he felt a strong desire to squash it under his heels. The only problem with this desire would be the aftermath- the woman would want to thank him, no doubt, and would not let him leave until she smothered him properly with her gratitude. He would have no peace. But, perhaps, if he was quick enough, he could make his escape after dealing with the scum. It would be worth the spewing of the words that formulated in his mind as he took in the scene. Yes. These so-called men needed dealing with. Downing the last of his ale, Artemis rose to his feet and crossed the short distance to the group.

“I do apologize, beautiful lady, but do these gentlemen-" The word was icy, and dripping with sarcasm, "-Make a nuisance of themselves?” He made a point to cut the pretentious wick off from the woman, if he could, one foot moving to shove the man’s chair back to get his attention, while simultaneously sliding his sword from its sheath. “Have you ever seen your own intestines, sir?” He smirked, turning the blade in his hand, watching the light reflect off it with predatory glint in his eye, “I have. I must say, it’s one of the most unpleasant experiences I’ve ever suffered through… Now, I have a rather high tolerance for pain, and even I screamed and cried like a little girl the whole night… Point is, gents, I’m not very hesitant about making it a shared experience. If you still possess the desire to bother someone, feel free, but leave this lady out of it, would you?” He did hope they would catch his drift, or at least be drunk enough as not to be a problem should they attack- he wasn’t interested in gutting anyone, at the moment, unless he was getting proper payment for it.

She had been silent throughout this exchange, as was her way. But her silence was cold, and hatred seemed to ooze from its presence. He was touching her. A filthy, inebriated, licentious, idiotic, wick was touching her. And two humans were by her sides, a little too close for comfort. She was boiling. Seething. And so, she took her glass of rather strong liquor, and tossed it back. Slowly, she turned to the wick, and looked him in the eye.

Just as she was about to speak, another wick walked to her table. ‘Oh, goodie,’ she thought, ‘we’re just reeling them in tonight, aren’t we, Lu?’

He was tall and rather imposing, but not overly so and he seemed, oddly enough, determined. He then began making various threats - as well a complements. All of which sounded rather outlandish, but there was something in his mannerism that made her believe that he would dismember these men for the sake of saving her. It was very gallant, but also very stupid. No doubt he was going to expect gratitude, and a fine show of it at that, but he’d also, most likely, expect something more . . . vulgar as well. Over her dead body.

And now he was flashing a sword. Great. The idiot was flashing a sword to three men who were probably armed to the teeth with shiny things of their own, and probably rather willing to use them. Perfect. She cocked an eyebrow at the most Valiant Knight, wondering if he had any idea of what he was doing, or if he was just as drunk as the three who had so invoked this rash display of courageousness. He was finished. Thank the gods. And so she, who had quite forgotten about the wick’s hand on her own said only what seemed necessary. “How brave. Thank you. You may leave.”

She then turned to the wick who was still touching her. “My threats aren’t quite as gruesome as his, nor are they as intimidating.” Here she paused, her glare growing as cold as winter in Hox as she took her hand back and placed it in her lap. “But I will promise you this: If you do not take your friends away from my table, I can assure you that you will never see the light of day again. Do I make myself clear?” Here she smiled a rather bone-chilling smile that was only made colder by the preceding words.

((Just a note, Lu, to avoid confusion, we tend to put thoughts in italics alone rather than in any quotation marks.))



The wick seemed to be the least inebriated of the lot, and he caught on quickly, noting Artemis' move to cut him off. Before Artemis could shove the chair, he rose, a low, aggressive growl escaping him as he did so. He leaned in as Artemis spoke, ignoring the sword, and Artemis was hit with the burning sourness of alcohol on his breath.



The humans rose as well, puffing out their (significantly larger) chests in a show of force. No one but Artemis had yet drawn a weapon, but certain pinches and pulls of their clothes indicated that they were well-armed.

The other men in the tavern had yet to notice the impending scuffle, enraptured as they were in drink and the beginnings of a burlesque show. The bar tender was, unfortunately, somewhere in the back. There was no one to stop them from gutting him if they put their minds to it.



The human nearest her glanced between Tallulah and Artemis, "Oh, sir, it appears the Lady has requested you leave," he knelt down beside her, "Seems we're a bit more suited to your tastes, then, mm?" It was a rhetorical question.



"Crystal, Golly Dearest," the human brushed a finger down her jawbone as he spoke mere inches away from her face. He grabbed her chin in a vice-like pinch and planted a kiss on her mouth, and, to a degree, in.

At the same moment the wick whipped out a foot-long blade in one great swing, nicking Artemis' shirt and abs in the process. It wasn't deep, but it was first blood. He took a step back to take a fighting stance, and the other human (the one unoccupied with Tallulah's mouth) pulled out a pair of daggers from within his sleeves, spinning them with an agility surprising for his level of inebriation.

Well. It was obvious she most certainly was not going to smother him with her gratitude- quite the opposite; she didn’t even seem remotely grateful. It was all good and well, of course, because he had not wanted such attentions to begin with. However, there was something in her manner that intrigued him. Certainly she must have been strong, or at least thought herself to be- strong of spirit, certainly, and he could respect that. He thought, perhaps, she didn’t even need the help- that she might just be able to handle herself. And yet, all this taken into account, the manner of her sharp, icy dismissal irked him.

He had gone out of his way, and well out of his comfort zone, to even bother with helping her, and here she was, dismissing him as if he were some underappreciated slave! And then there was the obvious challenge from the other men.



These men were obviously idiots. Idiots with poor hygiene, no morals to speak of, and only one interest- and it was also obvious that, whether the woman knew it or not, she would be needing at least a little help. Disgusted by the man's display of 'affection', Artemis barely noticed as the other wick whipped out a blade of his own, managing to draw first blood- these idiots were armed. Growling in frustration, Artemis turned his attention away from the woman as the two men who weren’t molesting her advanced- surely she could take care of one man while he took care of the others.

Slinging his blade once, he stepped into a fighting stance, bringing the hilt of the blade down in an attempt to smash in the wick’s face, circling around as he did so to keep both wick and dual-bladed human in his sights- he wouldn’t want to be stabbed in the back while he was distracted. If the hit connected, he would be sure to make a stab at the human- he would have the advantage over the human at this distance, in that his blade was longer and he had the reach- but he would have to keep both wick and human at a distance in order to maintain this advantage.

She shuddered at the contact, not the least bit interested in where that finger had been. She was ready to cast a spell - the words were forming on her lips, when suddenly there was something rather bad-smelling in their place.



Tallulah's first reaction was shock, then disgust, and then an overwhelming anger at both the man on her mouth and the two advancing on the Knight. He may have been rather stupid, but he was trying to help her. Her pale hand balled into a tight fist, which she sent hurtling towards the disgusting man's face, hopefully dislodging him from her lips.

The wick flinched away from Artemis, and instead of catching the hilt in his face, it smashed into his collarbone. He let out a cry as the slender bone snapped under the force, his right arm going limp with the pain. He dropped his blade.

The human reacted instantly, and lunged at Artemis, blades flying. He had no form; his earlier dexterity appeared to have been for show, and not an indication of actual skill. But still, two blades in the drunkard's hands posed a very real threat to Artemis' well-being.

--

Tallulah's fist connected solidly with the side of the human's head. His face snapped away from hers, and his head careened sideways into the table. He bounced off the edge and collapsed into the floor.

--

The bartender came out of a door behind the bar carrying a rack of glasses. His eyes widened as he quickly noticed the disturbance. He tossed the rack up on the counter and ran back through the door. It was unclear if he was running away or running for help.

He had intended only to incapacitate the wick, and it didn't necessarily matter how he managed it- when the man fell to his knees in pain as the weak collar bone snapped, tearing the cluster of sensitive nerves beneath, Artemis smirked, more satisfied with this outcome than he would have been with the initial blow he had been intending on the man's face- this would teach him quite the lesson, and leave him in quite a bit of pain for some time.

Then there was the human. His form was terrible and Artemis had a feeling it wasn't just from the ale; the man's blades were just for show, it seemed, and he had obviously never really had any real experience wielding them. Still, Artemis realized the wild slashing could be dangerous if he wasn't careful. Watching for an opening, Artemis stepped in, sending the flat of his blade toward his opponent's skull, hoping to knock him out.

The human's sweeping blades were still something of which to be wary. When Artemis side-stepped the man, he received a stinging swipe at his ribs. The man jerked at the impending force of Artemis' sword, avoiding a full blow, but receiving a slice across his forehead. His alcohol-filled veins let loose a heavy bloodflow, running into his eyes.

He lunged again at Artemis, his blades pointed directly at his gut.

--

The bartender came rushing out of the back, bearing a hefty bucket of something.

Tallulah muttered a melee of curses under her breath, the string of words something heard from sailors and humans, but rarely from supposed ladies of high society. She flexed her hand lightly, making sure nothing was broken, and then turned to the wick who had so graciously 'saved' her. He was dealing with another human and a wick, and seemed to be having a bit of fun in the process.



The stream of curses started again, but this time they were a tad more audible than the last. Tallulah stood, and glanced at the Knight, who was attempting to dodge the two (albeit poorly handled) daggers. She looked to the stairs and then back at him, wanting to leave before the bartender came back with reinforcements, if he came back at all. She sighed, damning what little conscience she had, and leaned against the frame of the steps, waiting for him to finish bashing the human's head in. Tallulah Arabella Anatine, if you go to prison over this wick . . . remember: It was all his fault.



She would've done something. Really, she would've, but she was curious to see what happened. And so she waited, hands on hips, relieved that the barman hadn't gone in search of anyone else, and very interested in what the he thought he could possibly do with a bucket.

Artemis barely flinched as the blade cut his ribs, though it did sting a bit, too intent on taking out the nuisance to worry about his wounds quite yet. As the blades came slashing towards his gut, he moved to dodge to the side, his blade swinging down in an attempt to guide the enemy's blades away from him, his fist clenched to send a solid punch into the man's throat- something that would surely crush his windpipe if it connected.

Artemis' blade knocked the drunken human's blades out of the way-- well out of the way. The man tripped over himself as his momentum was altered, and Artemis' fist was deflected into his shoulder.

The barman arrived, hefted the enormous bucket, and flung a solid douse of ice-cold water over the male quartet, "Cool off!"

He leaned over and poked the wick in the shoulder, earning a wince and a cry, "Get your buddies and get out! No fightin'"

He planted his fists on his hips as he watched the men sheepishly, drunkenly collect themselves and stumble up and out.

He turned to Artemis, "You, sir, are treading a fine line. Put your weapons away and make sure they stay that way," he bowed his head to the other patrons, "My apologies."

He gave Artemis a parting look that spoke volumes and turned to stalk back to the bar.

When the cold, drunk, and badly beaten men passed her, she almost smiled at their dejected appearance. Almost. Instead, she turned to her "savior," slender hands on slender hips, slanted eyes narrowed slightly. She then quirked her pale brow, her words as cold as the water that was skirting her feet. "Thank you. " The sarcasm in her voice could have filled a bucket. As she sat back down at her chair, she stared up at him expectantly, her face the perfect picture of silent mockery. From a hidden pocket in her red cloak, she pulled a few coins, and set them on the table. "I would've been lost, had you not stepped in when you did." She then folded her white hands across her lap with deliberate slowness, a small, slightly arrogant, and completely self-confident smirk forming on her perfectly pale lips. Maybe now, she thought, he'll leave.

It would not be too out of place to assume Artemis had been having a spot of fun, dealing with the slime- even if they weren't exactly what one would call worthy opponents, their skill with the blade about as great as their skill of wooing unwilling women. Though, when he was doused with icy water, the fun stopped abruptly.

Sullenly sliding the blade back into it's sheath, Artemis flicked his hands out, in a rather pathetic, halfhearted attempt to rid himself of some of the water. The way his wet, white shirt clung to his slender frame made him look a tad pitiful, and it wasn't helped by the bout of shivering the cold brought about. It was not unlike looking at an over-fluffed, usually dignified cat being thrown into a tub, only to realize it was nothing but skin and bone underneath all along. "Well. That was certainly not one of my pleasanter experiences..." He grumbled irritably, wringing his shirt out to the best of his ability- it really didn't make much of a difference, as he was still soaked to the bone. Never mind that he was wounded, slightly- that didn’t bother him so much, as it was nothing serious.



Her sarcasm only served to add insult to injury- especially since he’d almost forgotten about her, somewhere between the excitement of the ‘battle’ and being doused in freezing water. Almost. Slowly, rigidly, he turned to face her, eyes cold as the water that soaked him, one brow cocked. She wasn’t grateful in the slightest- certainly not a typical damsel in distress, and while he liked that he wouldn’t have to disentangle anyone from his person, glad he wouldn’t have to waste time telling her he simply was not interested as he made a slow retreat out into the rain to get away from the attention, he was quite miffed that she was so incredibly unappreciative.



“I beg your pardon?” His lips twitched, “Am I to assume you desired that little kiss? Did you honestly enjoy that man's rotten tongue exploring the inner regions of your mouth?” He smirked, “From where I stand, had I not intervened they would have done far worse.” One last shiver, and he was able to stand perfectly still, almost as if he had never been doused with ice water, though it still very obviously soaked him through, steadily dripping from his hair and chin, as if mocking him.

She was silent. Completely quiet. While she looked calm enough, inside, she was railing. The reminder of that appalling kiss made her shudder, and sit up all the straighter, her back as rigid as a board. His words lost their meaning, as she took in - for the first time - his disheveled appearance.

He was soaked, and shivering. In fact, he looked rather much like a whice that had been stripped of it's feathers. She brought an ivory hand to cover her smile as she began to giggle uncontrollably. The sound of her laughter was light, and clean, and bubbling - perhaps the only warm thing about her present persona.

When her girlish giggling subsided, and the smile faded, she looked up at him, her expression as incredulous as ever. "You really think that I would have not been able to handle myself?" Here she paused, and her expression grew as cold as it had been before. "You are sadly mistaken. Had it not been for you, those men would've never got it into their thick skulls that I wanted them around."

She stood, cloak and dress falling in a most appealing way around her tall frame. She leaned across the table, her white face set in an expression of hauter. "Despite what you may think, I have had to deal with their types before." She leaned back and looked him up and down, smirking. "The outcome was the same, if not a little drier."

Her laughter would have been downright cute, had she not been laughing at him. As it was, she was already proving to be quite the irritation, the laugh only serving to infuriate him, though he managed to keep his expression flat, uncaring. "My fault, was it? I should think it's far from my fault that they were imbeciles who could not for the life of them decipher the definition of such a simple utterance as 'no,' nor am I to blame for their utter lack of the concept of personal space." He rolled his eyes, "That said, I require a drink." He ignored the money she had previously set on the table, digging out a few coins of his own and settling down across from her- it didn't look like he would be leaving anytime soon, "I couldn't care less if my manner offends you, so any protesting on your part will promptly be met with callous rejoinders."

He then waved the waiter over, "I'll take two magmas," He smirked at Tallula, "Seeing as my companion here didn't get the chance to finish hers." He paused, his icy gaze meeting the galdor's "Unless you wish to leave?" While even Artemis wasn't entirely sure why he was treating this lady to a drink- if she accepted- he was quite intrigued by her manner, and driven by an unusual desire to see what made the woman tick.

She glared at him in stony silence, seeing the validity of his point, but not willing to admit defeat.



"Oh, really? I thought only imbeciles couldn't decipher the definition of such a simple utterance as 'no.'" She quirked an eyebrow at him, using his on words against him, something she was famous - or infamous, rather - for doing.

He was insane. Insane and stupid beyond belief. But the way he suggested that she would be the one to leave in such a polite manner made her want to slap him. So she sat down, the squishy chair sinking comfortably around her. The stark contrast between where she sat and what she looked like was almost artistic, in a strange sort of way. Her clean white dress lay in folds over the tattered chair, and her thin form seemed almost childlike in the overstuffed girth on which she sat. She leaned on a torn arm of her seat, and began biting her nails, a small habit that she had picked up ages ago, and then stopped, placing her hands in her lap. Oh, bollocks. He's going to think I'm nervous. To disprove this, she stared into his blue-grey eyes for a seemingly endless moment, the challenge and unashamed stubbornness plain on her own face.

Although he was pleasant enough to look at, something about him irked her. She wanted to wipe that grin off his lips, and possibly shove his shiny little sword through his irritating vocal chords. He was her polar opposite - except for maybe his skin, which, in the flickering light of a dozen candles, looked almost as pale as her own. She was still studying him when the drinks came and she took her own in her small hands, cupping it to her as she drew her feet up onto the chair and neatly tucked them under her, red shoes sticking out infinitesimally.

She began running her finger around the cup of her drink, a few white strands of hair falling over her face as she tilted her head to look in the glass for no reason in particular. "Well? What do you want? You couldn't have ordered me a drink for nothing." She glanced up as she said this, tucking the loose hairs behind her ivory ear. As she looked him in the eye, the mocking tone was still in her voice, but was accompanied by a bit of intrigue.

He raised a thin, calculating brow, seemingly unfazed by her insinuation, and let out a light, barely audible chuckle, "Ah, but who's saying no? You seemed quite content to take me up on my challenge." A smirk pulled at one corner of his lips, crooked, and perhaps charming in its own way. He took his own ale appreciatively when it arrived, but didn't drink it, yet, resigning himself to stare into its depths for a good while, his mind buzzing. She certainly hadn't failed to disappoint- her wit could, quite possibly, match his own, and her manner of using his own words against him would keep him on his toes- how exciting.



"You seem to have the delusion that you're important enough for me to want something from you..." His smirk grew subtly wider, "Perhaps it is that galdori blood coursing through your veins that makes you so pretentious... Or perhaps you secretly thrive on the attention of the sex-driven slime such as prior witnessed? Or is it something else?" He raised the same brow, the same calculating look in his eye, some puzzlement behind it. "No doubt you think you're attractive. I've seen better, myself..." Though, despite this, he couldn't help but admit, if only in thought, that she was quite attractive, in her own way, though not so much physically as the passive he had not so long ago come across, similar in her cold personality, and perhaps that was one thing that served as a draw to him.

But there was something more, and her ability to disguise this was possibly what possessed him to poke, to prod- to learn. If he could get under her skin, however dangerous he knew that could possibly be, he could learn a great deal about her- possibly more than she would want him to know. It elated him- it was like a game. And the best part was that she could leave any time she wanted, but he didn't think she would give in easily- he might draw her in so far she would forget entirely that quitting was always an option. Deep down, he hoped he was right. Games were far more fun when one could get something out of them.

She smiled into her glass, and took a sip of the strong liquid. Magma had certainly earned its name - the drink burned its way into her stomach, where it settled in a warm glow. "Want? No. You need. Need a challenge. Need something you can't have. " She raised an eyebrow at his next words. "You are one to talk of pretension. You, no doubt, think that it's some subconscious attraction to you that makes me stay. I could leave, and then where would you be? Just another unnamed face in a sea of weary minds." She placed a finger to her full lips, muttering the phrase over again. She set her mostly full cup down, and began to dig in the folds of her cloak, obviously searching for something. After a moment, she drew a fountain pen and a small pad of paper from her cape, her left hand scribbling quickly as another small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "As for thriving - in a city such as this, that is a nearly impossible feat. It may be something else, but it may not. That is something you'll never know." Her hasty scribbles came to a stop, and she met his eyes once more. "Attractiveness is relative to a person's tastes. Yours, obviously, are very poor." She tucked the pen and paper away, her hands moving with all of the effortless grace and regal authority of a panther. "Being an artist, I would hope mine would be rather fair, and you, kind sir, would've been slightly attractive, if your personality hadn't gotten in the way."

She looked at him from under a thick frame of white eyelashes. Her vision was blurred slightly, so he almost looked as if he had a halo. Smiling inwardly at the irony of this, she took her cup again, and sighed softly. He was interesting, she must admit, and despite what she said, he was very attractive. In an odd, rugged, unwashed, intelligent, sort of way. He was trying to rile her. Trying to make her forget that this game was hers. That she could leave. That she was the deciding factor of this equation - and he was doing a damn good job. She was intrigued by him. The way he would smile as he insulted her was infuriating, and made her think that he wanted her to go. But then when he looked at her, there seemed to be something in his eyes that said, "stay." She wanted to unlock him, take him apart, and examine all of the pieces. So stay she did, hoping that one of the pieces would accidentally spill from his moth and into her hands. "So, are you usually this vexing, or am I just the lucky girl?"

Artemis sat quietly through her words, his expression unchanging for the most part as she made an analysis of her own. When she was finished, there was silence, and then, slowly, his expression changed, both brows rising, lips twisting into a bemused smirk, his eyes glinting with an emotion that was impossible to read. Throughout her little monologue, he had gone through a number of emotions, namely a mix irritation and puzzlement, and had stifled each one to the point that it would not show through in his face. Now that she was done, despite the prior irritation, a certain, inexplicable glee was beginning to bubble up in his gut- not only was she able to keep up with him, she was scoring a few points of her own; he might actually have to put forth some effort in this round. Then, after a mildly uncomfortable silence, he spoke in an even, slightly mocking tone that masked the multitude of emotions perfectly.

"I think, my lovely acquaintance, that it is an inability, on your part, to pass up a challenge that makes you stay. I think that, perhaps you have your own inquiries for which you seek an answer, which, I must warn you, won't be so easily enticed from these lips..." He tilted his head, very slightly, to the right, his silver eyes flicking over her once, before settling again to confidently meet her own, "As for your feeble attempt at insulting my tastes, it is such a shame you feel that way. Did I say you were unattractive to me, physically? Quite the contrary. I said I have seen better, but haven't we all? Congratulations on serving only to insult yourself."

There was, again, silence as he ventured his first sip of the Magma, eyes closing to savor the pleasant burn that worked its way down and spread out from his stomach, all the way down to the tips of his toes. He had almost completely forgotten, at this point, that he was still sopping wet. “As for my personality, did I not say that I don’t particularly care if my manner offends?” He grinned- and it looked to belong to a ravenous bander, down to the glint of his teeth behind his lips, “Lastly, I would hate to give you the false pretense that you are special. I’m always like this, and I don’t necessarily give a damn.” There was yet another pause, not quite as long as the last, almost as if he had hesitated, though the confident air about him might suggest otherwise, “What of you? You’re no flower, yourself- more like brambles in the winter.” He assumed that was a good enough analogy- he would have called her a cactus, but that would imply there was warmth somewhere about her, and she seemed too cold for that. Brambles were about as prickly as any cactus, and though their blossoms would die out well before the winter months, the thorns would last. “Would it be too audacious to assume I’m just lucky, or do you treat everyone this way?” And so it was that he used her own words against her. It was surprisingly satisfying.

The silence almost seemed like one of defeat. She began to feel disappointed that her amusement with this man was coming to an end, but he was still smirking. She supposed that was a good sign, but then again, one could never know. He was interesting, all right. His manner confused her. He was so relaxed. So comfortable in himself. And yet he seemed like a Piikii in the way he looked like he was waiting for the next surprise, the next thing interesting enough to pass him from one place on to the next. Oh, this was going to be fun.



Tallulah felt something tight curl itself in the pit of her stomach, and as she took another sip of magma, she rolled his words over and over in her head. It seemed he was going to give her quite a bit to think about. He was assertive about his thoughts and eloquent as well. His tongue was as sharp as his blade, something that excited, as well as puzzled her. He was as smart as, and more quick-witted than, most of her graduated schoolmates, and he was far more interesting.

His brief attention to her love of challenges did not surprise her. They were the same in this way - she could tell he loved the thrill of the chase, as did she. If we have any more in common, she thought, I might just bash my Gallant Knight's head in.

He talked about enticing things from lips, a phrase which could’ve been taken any number of ways. She thought about the meanings behind his choice of words, and then dismissed the thought. Well, she tried. Sadly enough, it decided to crawl into the back of her mind, and root itself there, taking hold rather firmly in the fertile soil of her imagination.

When he glanced over her, she felt herself shift slightly, not used to being appraised so lightly. Something about that quick glance made her feel more vulnerable than anything else he could’ve done. It was intriguing, to say the least.

She waited for him to finish his own speech, and when he did, she was not the least bit disappointed. There was something to his smile that made her feel like she was a mouse in the eyes of a cat – something to be toyed with and then slowly dismembered and eaten on a whim. This was also new to her, as she wasn’t normally in the mouse’s position, and was hardly ever enthralled in someone who looked at her so openly, and with such intensity.

“Ah, but you contradict yourself, sir. If you were making an attempt to complement me, I believe it has been undone. But, as you know, even thorns serve their purpose. I am no flower, that I will willingly admit. And I still believe that you have poor taste – unless you enjoy winter, and find the challenge of thorns exhilarating.”

Her hair had fallen into her eyes again, so she set her drink aside and swept it back, pulling her waist-length hair to rest on one shoulder, while exposing the creamy skin of the other. She undid her cape with one hand, while gathering her drink again, this time setting it on the arm of her battered chair, her pose the picture of graceful ease.

“No, you are not lucky. As you despise me so thoroughly, you are being forced to deal with my company until you are dry, or it stops raining.” She smiled at him again, this one warmer than the others, adding a bit of light to her face and a gleam to her eyes that was rarely seen by most, much less total strangers.

“Do you have a name, oh Gallant Knight?” She hadn’t meant to use this term out loud, but there it was, and she could not damage her pride by regretting it.

He was again enthralled, silently listening to the way she quickly, confidently countered each of his words. While he felt that he had struck a chord, somewhere, he also could not be completely sure; she was not so impulsive as the passive had been, and because of this she was not so obvious. This detail only served to make her that much more entertaining. He had to pay attention with her, to pick up on the subtle changes in her field, her stance, the barely noticeable quirks in her eyes or twitches of the lips- anything to give him some hint of what might be going on in her mind.

And then she finished her ramblings, and ended with yet another question- one which took him by surprise, not so much in its intent as in the manner in which it had been presented. "Gallant Knight" she had called him, and to this his brows shot up in bewilderment before quickly regained control of himself and his expression was once again a mask. "Gallant knight?" He laughed, a quick, hoarse sound, rather like a cough, far from the charming chuckle he'd used earlier- the irony of said title was truly amusing to him, "Really? That's a new one- certainly nothing that's ever been attributed to me!" He settled back into his seat, again relaxed, as if the outburst had never happened, "While I congratulate you on your originality, is it not commonplace to give one’s own name, before inquiring after that of one’s company?" He glanced at the empty shot glass before him and cocked an eyebrow- they would be needing more ale soon, he felt. Upon ordering another round, he met her gaze steadily; he usually wouldn’t care about learning the name of someone so random; names were for employers and targets- and had once been for friends. They were not for the strangers one met in a bar. But this woman- the galdor who so enraptured him- was the exception. He waited, expectantly, hoping she would oblige, while trying to keep an air of indifference. And perhaps it was only through years of practice that he pulled it off so well.

And so she saw his other side. He had a rather nice laugh - less irritating than the chuckle, by far. His exclamation only served to pull her in further, the appealing curve of his lips in a smile that was genuine stuck inside her mind. She quirked a delicate eyebrow at his shocked expression, her lips twitching as he regained his aloof composure. She looked away from him, and to her glass, realizing that it was almost full, and his was nearly empty. The fact that he could hold a drink, and hold a conversation made her smirk broaden. This, in her eyes, was an amazing feat for a man, since most of the ones she knew usually turned into slobbering idiots.

"Well, I am anything but common. But, if you insist . . ." She raised her glass to her lips, and downed the rest in a single gulp. It burned like fire, but she was used to the heat, and set the empty cup down on the ragged table. She was about to tell her name, the one her mother had given her, to a complete stranger. Oh, well. "My name is Tallulah. Tallulah Arabella Anatine." She looked down at her pristine hand, which rested against the dilapidated wood. She glanced up at him through her pale lashes, a smirk playing at her full lips. "Doesn't quite fit, does it?"

Tallulah. Tallulah Arabella Anatine. He barely had time to savor the name that was both as beautiful, and as unique as his company, when she spoke again- and gave him pause. Doesn't quite fit...? What was she playing at? It was obviously a trap. Yes, or no, there was bound to be some way she could ensnare him with such a simple question as that- and as if to confirm this suspicion, there was her smirk, right in plain view. She didn't even try to hide it. It was certainly well played; she knew she had him. Or so she thought.

"How can you possibly expect me to answer such an inquiry when you have shown me only one aspect of your being?" Even he was surprised at the ease at which these words- this assessment- flowed from his lips, "Perhaps the name isn't befitting of the icy brambles you've shown me... but who knows what lies beyond this visage?" He smirked, quite pleased with himself, leaning back slightly as the waiter brought them another round of Magma, "And as you have so kindly humored me, Lady Tallulah Arabella Anatine, it is only fitting that I reciprocate the deed. I go by Artemis Diotrephes."