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Pam ~~comes down~~ descends the stairs, her t-strap stiletto pumps clicking sharply on the floorboards.

She's wearing a black, high-waisted pencil skirt with a slit up the side, and a clingy, red satin blouse that can only button up so far. Her hair is done up in relaxed victory rolls, blonde tresses falling in neat waves over her shoulders. When she perches on a stool at the bar, she crosses her long, pale, fishnet-stocking clad legs, and orders the latest Bergdorf Goodman catalog to peruse.

She doesn't order anything to drink. She's hungry, but she's not that hungry.

(Well, unless she thinks you're particularly delicious.)

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Ysalwen takes a seat next to her, at some later point in the evening.

(Liranan she's left by the fireplace, napping. He's keeping a weather ear out, though. He likes to know where Ysalwen is.)

"Hello, Pam. You're looking well."

Ysalwen herself is dressed in blue and gold mage robes -- heavy on the blue. Her staff she rests against the Bar, to her right. It makes moving her spine easier, honestly.

Her eyes flick up from her magazine, and her expression remains mostly unchanged at the sight of the elf.

"Thanks. So are you."

Those are nice robes.

"How've you been?"

Small talk. She's doing it.

Ysalwen appreciates her efforts.

"I've been well. Meeting more people here, for what that's worth. There are more magic-users than I'd thought."

Fewer elves, though. (At least she hasn't met any yet.)

Alas.

She flips through the catalog and shrugs a shoulder.

"As long as they don't plan on flinging any magic at me, I am A-O.K. with that. Is it the kind of stuff you're familiar with?"

"Thus far I haven't seen enough to be sure, but in the long run I can almost assume not. Everyone has to ask what the Fade is, and if they do, they've never been there."

Alas.

"And no one's started any magical duels or the like, either, so I can't even tell if the effects are the same."

Pam looks up at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Magical duels? ...What can you do with your magic, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Generally magic isn't designed for dueling, but someone here summons the elements to play a game of some kind. They call it bending, but it sounds like some of what I do. I -- don't think the magic I use would let me play nicely."

Her mouth twists in a crooked smile.

"I can cause earthquakes, and petrify people. I can summon firestorms, lightning storms, and blizzards. I can drain life, or pull energy from the remains of the dead. I can cast hexes. I'm also pretty handy in close-quarters combat, which surprises some people."

Being an Arcane Warrior is a thing.

"Basically, if you want buildings destroyed or a squad delayed permanently -- I'm your girl."

A pause.

"What kind of magic does your world have?"

Pam's eyebrow stays raised.

"Wow," she drawls, after a long pause. "Remind me not to piss you off."

She flips a few pages of her magazine.

"Oh, I dunno -- witchy kind of shit. Recently there was this Maenad who possessed the people of an entire backwoods town. Orgies, cannibalism, sacrifices, that kind of thing, all to bring forth some kind of god that either never comes or doesn't exist. I wasn't there, though. Just heard about it. Sounded really annoying."

"Sounds like Haven, minus the possession. What is it with cults? I swear."

Orgies, sacrifice, orgies of sacrifice, creepy children singing songs, the whole nine yards.

(Okay, maybe fewer orgies. But still. Sacrifice.)

"Humans are so gullible," she says with a sigh and a shake of her head.

Pitying? Disdainful? A little of both.

"I'd mind less if it were just humans."

Ysalwen's mouth twists and her nose wrinkles.

"Oh? What else have you got in your world?"

(She's cute when she wrinkles her nose.)

"Elves, dwarves, and qunari."

Other continents might have other peoples, but she doesn't know.

"The Dalish, who are the 'free' elves that travel around outside of cities -- they feel a little cult-like a lot of the time. Most don't like outsiders, and they're obsessed with the past glories of elvhen culture. Dwarves aren't so bad as that, outside of individuals who may be more or less susceptible to really charismatic idiots."

She'd make a face again, but it's too soon since last time.

"And then there's the Qun, which is so full of weird cultishness that they'll submit themselves for brainwashing if they falter. I don't get it. I will continue not to get it until the end of time, probably. And I'm okay with that."

Friend of Sten or no, kadan or no, some things are just too -- if Ysalwen couldn't handle the Circle's degree of oversight, the Qun would definitely drive her to murder.

Pam does appreciate a woman, whatever the species, with a mind of her own.

"So where do you fit in? How come you're not swept up in any of their cultish bullshit?"

"I was raised in the Circle of Magi, which is run by the Chantry. They have templars, who can nullify magic, follow our every move, just to make sure we never step one foot out of line. Our behavior was closely proscribed, as was our use of magic. No interaction between mages and templars was permitted. They were there to kill us, you see, if we misused or lost control of our powers. Or, in some places, just because they don't like us. The rite of Tranquility is another obscenity that is often practiced. No emotions, no feelings, no dreams, no real desires -- just Tranquil obedience to commands."

For a second she looks like she wants to set something on fire.

"So after all that, once I got out -- never again is anyone else ever going to tell me what to do or how to do it."

No one.

"Well, that sounds fucked up."

It isn't true that vampires are completely emotionless. Often their emotions are too intense, and therefore should be curbed in the best interests of all.

"Good for you that you got out of it, but what was the point of all that anyway? Just to keep you under control?"

"And we're back to religion again. Magic was made to serve man, not to rule over him."

She says that like she is quoting something, because she is.

"Andraste, bride of the Maker, said that. Or was said to have said that. Which means the Chantry rules over mages and their magic instead. Because that's the obvious offshoot of that sort of thinking. Unless you're in Tevinter, where mages rule and almost everyone else is a slave. Where's the middle ground, I ask you? Not with the Qunari, who chain and collar their mages, and occasionally sew their mouths shut."

Over by the fireplace, Liranan lifts his head up and whines.

Ysalwen pauses, takes a breath, and uses hand signals to tell the mabari that she's fine.

"Which is to say I'm working on it, and I'm probably not alone in that, but gullible humans are really poorly influenced by fear, and that's one thing I don't know how to change. People are afraid of everything that isn't just like them."

Her smile is crooked as she looks up at Pam.

"You and Eric seemed to think I'd be afraid of you, for instance. Which suggests humans are usually terrified."

Shocker.

Well, Pam has an answer to that.

"Fuck religion. You're better off without it."

It really hasn't done anyone any good. Not in Eric's thousand years, not in her century.

"Humans are weird," she says bluntly. "There are humans who fear us and hate us and want us killed. They've got psycho fanatics who stockpile weapons and stage protests at our places of business because apparently they have nothing better to do. These people are usually very religious and politically conservative and sometimes barely literate. Then there are humans who are fascinated with us and want nothing more than to be fed on by us, and, if they're lucky, have sex with us. It's part of the whole mystique that vampires have been cultivating for centuries. We are dangerous. Some people like danger."

She smiles that predatory smile of hers.

"The only reason we made sure we wouldn't scare you is that here, what with the rules and all, it might be considered a threat to show you what we really are."

"My feelings exactly," Ysalwen says, smiling slightly. "The part about religion, anyway. Though your experience as a vampire sounds strangely similar to how a lot of humans in my world behave around elves. They want to get closer to what we used to be instead of what we are -- the mystique of it, I mean."

She shakes her head, apparently not off-put by Pam's predatory smile.

"Now that's just sad, if the rules call truth a threat. I'd rather know who I'm talking to, and have them know me. I'd say we are both of us less terrifying than a dragon."

Ysalwen pauses a moment, looking Pam over reflectively.

"Or maybe differently terrifying. Still and all, there's something to be said about learning to live with terror."

Namely, it's fun!

"Well, some humans have never seen a real vampire before, so who knows how they'd react? They could go crying to security just because I'd bare my fangs at them with no intention of biting them, and it'd be their word against mine." She shrugs.

"The mystique of elves tends to be a lot more benign in general, though," she adds with a smirk. "But people from different worlds have their own preconceptions. Even about dragons. My world doesn't have them, but we do have werewolves and shapeshifters. Do you have those?"

"No one ever believes the people with sharp teeth." Ysalwen doesn't sigh, just shakes her head.

"We have them both, though I'm never sure if the definitions cross over very well. Are your shapeshifters mages, too?"

"That should be printed on a shirt," Pam reamarks wryly.

"Our shifters are just people who turn into animals, that's all. Pretty secretive loner types. One shifter I know about runs a restaurant." She shrugs. "Nothing particularly mage-like about weres either. They roam in packs and like to drink and fight a lot. Oh, and they stink."

"The werewolves I met were that way because of a curse. It was -- difficult, but not impossible to resolve. They're human again now."

Quest 1 on the long, long road to killing the Archdemon. Ah, memories.

"Shapeshifters, however, are mages. It's an old skill, one that isn't taught by the Circle. A friend of mine showed me how to do it, but I haven't the talent. Giant spiders that shoot poison are very handy to have around in combat, though, if you ever wonder. Also, bereskarn."

She pauses for a moment, thinking something over.

"Is the shifter you know any good at running a restaurant?"

Edited 2015-01-04 20:29 (UTC)

"Shifters and weres aren't cursed, but bred and born, as far as I know, and not made, like vampires. Althoug-- I'll take your word for it about the spiders."

At her question, she shrugs.

"He's been at it for a while. People seem to like his place. He doesn't care much for vampires, though, but that's okay, I don't care much for shifters."

"Again with the 'no one likes the ones with the pointy teeth'?"

Ysalwen doesn't laugh.

"I suppose it's better not to be what you are because of a curse, not that an accident of birth is much better. Choice would be a fine thing."

If you squint, vampires are kind of lucky that way.

Moist is drinking a well doctored Irish coffee, the name doesn't mean much but the alcohol's good in one of his comfortable tweed suits.

Pam is hard to miss and her catalog is rather shiny too, he lifts his glass to her, "Evening."

At the greeting, Pam looks up from the catalog with a slow blink of her long, thick eyelashes. She takes the human in with an equally slow look up and down, from his head to his toes (inside and out), and back up again, meeting his eyes.

"Hi," she drawls.

He's well put together even though its not his spiffiest suit and he returns the long look over, she has class, "Hello, see anything you like?"

That gets a rare chuckle out of her. Good going, human.

"I could ask you the same thing, sweetheart."

"Yes, I do, better than other nights. What about you?"

She gives him another once-over, listening to his heartbeat, zeroing in on his pulsepoint just above his shirt collar.

"Mm, you might do," she says teasingly.

"Thank you and what might I do for?" He smirks, leaning against the counter.

She closes her magazine and sets it aside. Leaning toward him, she looks him in the eyes and smiles. It's a deadly serious, seductive smile.

"A midnight snack."

The way she leans and her look have him slowly leaning back as he doesn't trust predatory smiles here, "Oh?"

He's come across demons, vampires and they don't look like he expects them to, its not fair.

She can smell his wariness, his instinct to run. So she puts on her most pleasant face, turns on her deep Southern charm.

"What's the matter, sweetheart? Did I scare you?"

"No, I was just wondering what you meant by a snack,"

Moist is a very good conman and he makes his voice light though he doesn't change where he's sitting.

"Oh, I don't joke around, sweetheart," she purrs. "When I said a snack, I meant a snack. I could order a glass of blood from the bar, but--" She sighs. "--it just isn't the same as getting it fresh."

Not even the best liars can keep their heartbeats from pounding, keep their blood from rushing through their veins.

"I see, then you'll have to find another one. I've never wanted to be anyone's snack,"

He takes a long drink before standing up to leave.

"Oh, you're no fun," she says with a pout, turning back to her catalog, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs.

"I'd make it worth your while, but you're probably smart to run away. The smart ones always do."

"I grew up around vampires and I'm no one's food,"

Then he gives her a nod, politeness is important before he turns to leave.

She arches an eyebrow at him as he leaves.

"Toodles, sweetheart."

And she contemplates buying a particular pair of Manolo Blahnik pumps.

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