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[sidhe_king]

There is in the bar, one faerie--well, there's likely more than one, but one is making himself known this evening--dressed in more or less modern gentlemen's attire as he balances his chair back on two legs. The accoutrements that go with said attire are strewn on the table in a swath of blacks: hat, gloves, cane, and jacket have all been unceremoniously ditched, leaving him in shirtsleeves and a half-unbuttoned waistcoat, looking thoroughly rakish.

He's whistling a faint tune and as he looks about the bar for someone to play a nice trick on; he won't be too obnoxious about it, but the narration apologizes in advance for his antics.

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[ostro_goth]

Teja is sitting in a corner, brooding.

Bad things are afoot, and one of his axes is missing, also.

[sidhe_king]

Finvarra appears content with his song, but when his gaze lands on Teja he smiles, blinking and letting a tiny fairylight hover in front of the Goth's face.

He's still working on fining down the whittled bird whistle he's been doing for the past little while, now putting some contours on it and getting the grain smooth.

[ostro_goth]

Slightly startled, Teja bats at the light in a gesture that resembles those of his cats.

[sidhe_king]

Fin makes the light float around his hands like a balloon on water, never quite able to catch it. Eventually it disperses rather surprisingly with a sharp crack, sparks landing on Teja's clothes and hair, though they don't burn.

[ostro_goth]

Teja looks around, seeking the source of that astounding magic.

[sidhe_king]

Fin isn't hard to spot in his state of all black and more formal clothing style than most, and he's still grinning as he follows the magic's progress. Each spark turns into a tiny moth, reforming into the original ball before fading into a wisp of smoke.

Fin just laughs.

[ostro_goth]

"Greetings," Teja says, nodding to the fae.

[sidhe_king]

"Greetings, little king," he chuckles. "Do the fairlyights confuse you, lad?"

[ostro_goth]

"Why would you insist I am little?" Teja says. "My people were shrunk to sadly small numbers when I ruled them, but that should not reflect on me."

Pause.

"And I was not expecting them. I was expecting more infected patrons, or somebody sneaking about with my missing axe."

[sunbaked_baker]

There's a little girl with copper-colored hair coming in from outside. She has a purple Michaelmas daisy in her hand, twirling it as she hums to herself.

Though, it's not truly a flower, or it doesn't want to be. Originally it was the leaf of an oak tree.

[sidhe_king]

He sees her and the flower, and can tell in a sense that it's glamored from another kind of plant; he doesn't see the harm in changing the appearance just a bit.

There's a gentle grin from the sidhe king and slowly, the flower's petals lighten until it's bleached white in her hands.

[sunbaked_baker]

Not glamored, not truly. Those are beyond the little sorceress, at this point. This flower has been physically changed, transmuted, but still remembers what it is supposed to be.

The girl hums to herself, proud of herself for being able to transmute even though the sun had technically set, even though it was still mostly light outside. She smiles down at the aster... but nearly drops it in surprise upon finding all the petals white instead of purple.

She didn't do that!

[sidhe_king]

There's a light-as-air chuckle from the figure in black, blue eyes alight with mischief as he watches the girl discover the change of her flower. He's not being incredibly obvious about the fact that he's doing the magic, but the grin he has would be a dead giveaway were Rae to look over and see it.

Children are enchanting to him.

[sunbaked_baker]

Rae looks around immediately, trying to find who did it. What if it's a sorcerer who knows her dad? She knew she shouldn't have practiced here.

...It's that grinning fellow. The one in black who looks faintly familiarish. Rae eyes him, warily.

"Did you do that?"

[sidhe_king]

"Aye, I did," he admits freely, spreading his hands with unabashed amusement. "Shall I change it back to purple? Or perhaps blue, or pink. Blue, even."

The flower flicks between these colors as he lists them, despite his gaze being affixed more on her than the blossom. Eventually, from the pale sky-blue it ends on, the color bleeds back into the original purple. "I hope I haven't offended."

[sunbaked_baker]

She sees the flower change in the corner of her vision, and breaks off gazing at him to glance at the flower. The girl's eyes widen as she quickly looks back at him. How...?

"I can't change something without actually touching it," she says, awe and surprise and curiosity mixed in her tone. "And it's not that easy for me. I have to concentrate to make it go."

Nowhere near that easy. Right now, at least.

[sidhe_king]

"Well. I'd dare say I've a bit more practice at it than you, lass. Leastways right now," Fin says, letting his chair fall back soundlessly to all four feet so he can watch the girl.

"T'is easy once you've got the hang of it, like...well, like riding a horse." Bicycles are awkward contraptions for him still.

[777thdegree.livejournal.com]

Balthazar, for once, is entirely innocent.

He's just sitting there, with his cinnamon roll, and his Encantus, reading and enjoying a tasty snack.

It's not always his fault.

[sidhe_king]

Finvarra might argue the 'entirely' portion of this statement, but for now he's not going to.

For now, he's just going to sit back and enjoy the bar.

Pay no attention to the sounds of heavy breathing coming from behind you, Balthazar. Or to the spectral scent of dog, the strange smell of impending rain.

[777thdegree.livejournal.com]

"If you get my book wet," Balthazar notes in a conversational tone, as he teases off a piece of the cinnamon roll, "I will be most... irritated."

Also, inclined to plasma-bolt the fairy into the middle of next week. But that's a given.

[sidhe_king]

"An' why should I get your book wet?" he asks, equally conversational. There might be a very large black doglike shape over his shoulder if Balthazar turns around.

[777thdegree.livejournal.com]

There's a very large black doglike shape breathing down his neck. His imagination can fill in the details.

"Large dogs tend to slobber." This warning could also be phrased as 'keep your spit off my stuff', but Balthazar is polite! Sorta.

[sidhe_king]

"Aye, do they? Thank goodness I've never done that as a dog."

There really is no dog; it's a hallucination, albeit induced. But the reaction is less than amusing for Finvarra; he'd been hoping for something more noticeable.

[777thdegree.livejournal.com]

He lived with two young apprentices, while being one himself, all under the care of a supremely inventive master sorcerer. Phantoms at one's back have been done to death.

Veronica had been particularly good at bone-chilling ghosts, something that fit in quite well in the castle keep.

"That I find difficult to believe." Balthazar snorts delicately.

[sidhe_king]

"I should like to demonstrate, but I confess I'm not much in the mood for a hound form today," he says lazily.

"You do not start easily, sorcerer. I almost admire that."