au week - Faerie-King Yrael

[mogget_cat]

At some point in the evening - you may not even notice - there comes the faint sound of the building shifting, woodwork creaking like the bones of an old ship.


The figure may have been there all along; he may have just appeared; he may still not be there. Not really and truly there. The springs of the tall-backed chair he occupies by the fire did not creak with his weight. No breath of sound from him stirs the air of the bar, and the flickering of his shadow cannot be fully blamed on the firelight.

In any case, eventually one's attention may fall upon the tall, thin figure - slightly too tall, slightly too thin - dressed in early 19th century finery cut of arsenic-green cloth and fine white lace. His hair is white and wild as thistledown, his skin bone-pale, the nails of the fingers lightly clasping a glass of white wine are long and sharp. His cold eyes are as green as his jacket, and watch the dancing flames in the fireplace as though perhaps to seek answers in their midst.


(ooc: AU Week brings us Faerie King!Yrael, styled loosely on the dangerous and fickle Gentleman with the Thistledown Hair from Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke.)

Comments

[witchfinder_general]

Nearby, there is a creature -- man? -- in the shadows, tall, with a dark coat and pale face, waiting.


[[OOC: Harman is a vampire for AU week this year.]]

[mogget_cat]

"For what do you wait, hungry shadow?" asks the being in the tall-backed chair nearer the light, not looking up. "Hoping a morsel will venture too near?"

[witchfinder_general]

"Curiosity," the shadow says, "will kill the cat. Over and over."

[mogget_cat]

"Such trust," he murmurs. "Has your patience served you well in this place? Or has the service here been regrettably slow?"

[witchfinder_general]

"The service," the shadow smiles, "is impeccable."

[mogget_cat]

"As it should be," remarks the figure, with a slight nod, "in any quality establishment. One can't have one's guests go hungry."

[witchfinder_general]

"Not even my kind, which is quite kind of them," the vampire says. "However, the actual fare is a little bland."

[mogget_cat]

The Fae King gazes at the shadow with green eyes. "What spice does the life here lack for you?"

[witchfinder_general]

"The spice of life."

[mogget_cat]

He exhales a faint breath, the barest hint of a laugh. "While what Milliways offers is quality, I will admit there is somewhat of a limited menu, when... dietary restrictions are involved."

[witchfinder_general]

"So I accept the bottle She gives me, or maybe, just maybe, meet a volunteer."

[heatherandsteel]

Quentin didn't expect to find another door while waiting for Toby, so he's having some food when he notices the figure. He tastes the air for magic, because there's something Fae about them. His disguise is down showing his pointed ears, hair the color of bronze and too blue eyes.

He eats the last of his sandwich before approaching, carrying all the certainty of court with him, as its never wise to show weakness. "Good day."

[mogget_cat]

With the assured absolute authority radiating from the still figure in the high-backed chair, he may as well be a king holding court. He turns a hand in a smooth gesture of acknowledgement, each long, fine-boned finger tipped with a long, sharp nail. "Good day to you, squire."

[heatherandsteel]

He hates that he doesn't know who this person is and what court he represents, but doesn't let that show on his face.

Arrogance is a useful mask to hide confusion as are the polite forms. "Quentin of Shadowed Hills. What brings you to Milliways?"

[mogget_cat]

"Quentin," the fae king echoes, turning the sound over in his mouth like tasting a new food. A faint smile touches the corners of those pale lips, but he does not offer a name in return.

"Oh, I have tired of the company of my siblings and kin, and come seeking new... companions," and if there is something ill about his tone, it is not one's imagination. He speaks slowly, pronouncing carefully, each word scraping into place like stones being placed upon one another. "Though one so often only finds mortals here, they are almost of an agreeable sort. Some of them might serve well enough as a diversion."

[heatherandsteel]

His first name holds some of who he is but he knows how to hide his secrets. Quentin shifts his stance to hold his arms behind his back, that allows him to clasp his hands until the knuckles go white. Blind Michael took companions and Quentin still dreams of his stables and being chased. "There are rules here and those who would follow if anyone were to be taken."

He keeps his voice almost light, passing friendly advice, he's a Pureblood Daoine Sidhe, this is a role he can play. And he will to keep whoever this is from stealing anyone from Milliways.

[mogget_cat]

"Taken?" He utters the word as though Quentin's accusation hurt the king's soul, as if such a thing existed. A terrible breach of cordiality. "Never would I stoop so low, little princeling. If any go with me, I assure you, it will be by their own free will, and will involve no trade that would not be entirely agreeable to them. And as nearly all patrons of this establishment know, visiting others' worlds and being invited to other worlds isn't business. It's Milliways."

He grins, then. His teeth, the color of old bone, are very sharp. The king is very familiar with those lovely, vague, nigh-unenforceable rules written by some well-meaning soul.

[heatherandsteel]

The 'princeling' is unexpected and Quentin draws blood as his nails go into his palm. Oddly the teeth aren't frightening instead they remind him of the Luidaeg and that even the powerful have their own rules they must follow.

He said too much and needs to treat this noble much more carefully. "I understand and mortals are always curious."

[mogget_cat]

"They are, aren't they?" Despite being said with a tone of fondness that perhaps a human might use towards a clever pet, the words are not comforting.

"But inviting them to... satisfy that curiosity is not business, young Quentin," the king shifts in his chair, and the walls of the building creak faintly. "Business would be utilizing what one finds here to alter the landscape elsewhere."

And he is not talking physical landscape.

"Like finding a young squire errant from kingdoms far from my own, who was..." the king smiles again, inhaling the scent of blood, "curious."

[heatherandsteel]

If Toby were here, she would be getting angry which helps Quentin, because he knows he shouldn't get angry. He doesn't know enough about what this noble can do.

That comment about landscape is disturbing but he can't let his fears be obvious and won't rise to the curious bait. "Here we are far from all kingdoms. As you have your kingdom to watch over."

[mogget_cat]

The king blinks those too-green eyes, slowly, like an unimpressed cat.

"My kingdom prospers, never you fear for it," he intones, dryly amused.

"What of yours? Oh -" he pauses, touching fingertips to his lips as though having accidentally misspoken. "Do forgive. It's not yours. Not yet."

Spoken with a hint of if you survive that long.

[heatherandsteel]

Quentin rolls his eyes because really, he's being threatened. Clearly he's spent too much time with Toby because that's an almost polite threat and makes this noble a little less scary.

He's in no hurry to take up those duties, he knows he has more to learn. "I wondered with all the creaking how it was doing."

Behind his back, he loosens his grip, the blood on his palms dry as the small marks have healed. If this noble wants to assume they know what he wants, then Quentin will return with what he's learned from Toby. Sometimes its useful to be a brat.

[mogget_cat]

Oh, not threatened. Lightly teased. It's much more enjoyable.

The pale figure looks at the little fae child who, far from home and his betters, is forgetting his manners.

"This place is not my kingdom," he says, with as close to a speaking-to-a-toddler-voice as he deigns to feign, which isn't terribly close.

[heatherandsteel]

Quentin nods, stretching his hands to keep them from cramping. "No, you've just brought your sound effects to Milliways."

[mogget_cat]

The pale king brings his finely-boned hand up, curving long fingers to rest his chin upon them, the attention of his green gaze resting fixedly on Quentin like a weight.

"What do they teach you of diplomacy and manners in those backwards lands? Or do they? I cannot, at the moment, tell."

[heatherandsteel]

He meets that gaze without altering his stance or composure. If they're going in the polite route then he'll find a way to make it work. This is tricky but he'd rather this noble be distracted with him than take on one of the many mortals in Milliways.

"Diplomacy does depend on knowing something of who you talk to. What is the name of your kingdom? I'll add it to my knowledge and speak of it to others."

[mogget_cat]

"No," though the word scrapes like a stone door being shut, the tone is almost gentle.

A lesson, then, for what may one day be a king, because the child is at least making an effort.

"It is firstly one's own responsibility to determine what their names, and thus their kingdom, are worth. All others will take their cues from you. You say much of how you value such things when you give them freely away, opening doors a king should defend. With diligence and skill, even a mortal slave without a name of his own can learn these things, and rise to power."

[heatherandsteel]

"I understand. Have you known such a mortal?"

He does, its a different custom than he's used to where names provide power but not everything. And in the world of the courts he knows, being announced and known is important. That's not the case for this noble, so he'll ask questions.

[mogget_cat]

"I have," he answers, watching the boy. "And I am wondering whether it is some lack of diligence on the part of your teachers or merely a difference in worlds, that you have not."

"What lands are those from which you come, Quentin?"

[heatherandsteel]

"A difference in worlds." Quentin's answers promptly because mortal slaves haven't ever been a part of any court he knows. "Those in the Mists."

Which is technically true but not as detailed as it might be. He wonders what the Queen would think of this noble. They'd probably either get along or try to take the other one down.

[mogget_cat]

The king spreads his his hand, gesturing towards Quentin. "And do mortals never find their way to this Kingdom in the Mists, that you find it strange they could take a place among one's court, and feel so strongly about them not being taken?"

[heatherandsteel]

"Not often, but changelings are a part of the court and are more likely to rise unexpectedly. There was a Fae who was known for stealing mortals."

Toby has done that. Blind Michael had his own awful way of doing everything.

[mogget_cat]

"Only one?" How odd.

"Then again, not all mortals who come to our lands have to be taken. That curiosity of theirs often leads them to stumble through unaccompanied."

[heatherandsteel]

"Times have changed. Yes, but our illusions are strong and they don't get very far."

He's not going to go into detail about how he once attended a mortal school. Quentin has a feeling this noble wouldn't understand that.

[mogget_cat]

The king looks almost pitying, if such a feeling ever reached what one might call his heart.

"More and more, young Quentin, it sounds like I would be doing your lands a favor by taking them for my own."

[heatherandsteel]

Quentin's eyebrows go up, because that would only end in blood.

"I think you would find the lands well defended."

heheheh

[4th_survived]

The figure at the grand piano was dressed in a yellow and white, jeweled gown that would've been oldfashioned even by the 19th century. The instrument was different than what she was used to, but that doesn't stop her from playing a jaunty tune and enjoying herself from it.

There was something else about the woman, more than her outdated but still fine clothes; the tingle of magic in her, not an enchantment of sort, but a sort of scent or glow about her. Not fae origin, but one who had spent enough time Underground, that by all accounts it was her home.

She stopped playing when she recognized the shift in the room, looking around to find the newcomer.

ooc: Have an AU Anne of The underground; she's lived with the Fae queen of the realm since a young girl and was all but adopted by her.

Re: heheheh

[mogget_cat]

Eyes that had been shut come open as her gaze finds him, showing irises of too-bright summer green, their focus fixed upon her like a weight.

"Why stop, dear lady?" asks the figure in the high-backed chair, only the pale lips moving. The voice is cold, distant, each word scraping into place like a stone being set into a wall. He does not raise his voice, yet has no trouble being heard. "This dreary place can only be improved by the lightness you offer."

Re: heheheh

[4th_survived]

She smiled when she saw him, but for recognizing what he was, as the compliment. He wasn't a member or even visitor of her Queen, but she knew one of the Fae when she felt one, and having had been cut off from that Side for so long, even a Stranger was welcomed.

Instead of answering, she bowed her head towards him, then turned to continue playing the song. If the song was light and cheery before, her mood seemed to almost liven up the song even more, and she played on till the end of the piece.

Re: heheheh

[mogget_cat]

As the piece ends, the tall, regal figure rises to his feet, and politely applauds, gratified.

sorry for the delay, dealing with sinuses

[4th_survived]

She stood up after him and returned the gesture with a curtsy. Though she had trained in the lute and the harp, she had only started to learn how to play the harpsichord and piano, and so to draw such attention was something she had missed.

"You flatter me with your audience, sire," Having spent over a decade in Faerie, her german accent was still prevalent, but it has mellowed and softened."It has been long since I played in public."

Atleast, not since her marriage, when she usually kept to her rooms with only her ladies to play for.

[forgottenmotley]

The Fool is himself (mostly because the mun has been too busy and brain dead to think of any sort of AU) as he meanders through the bar. It's been a while and he doesn't quite really notice the changes. People are people, are they not? And if they change their shape and who they were, why not? He did sometimes.

The green catches his eyes. It's almost the same color as his own suit and style as well, he notices as he gets closer; though his own clothes are much more ragged and covered in brightly colored patches. And then the man looks familiar, but he can't quite place why.

"Have we seen each other before?" He asked, leaning lightly on his cane. "I would think you borrowed a coat of mine if we had... but I've one coat so it couldn't be that."

[mogget_cat]

The pale figure turns its head slightly to look at the Fool.

"No, I don't believe we have," the king intones, solemnly, his voice like the scraping of stone upon stone.

[forgottenmotley]

"That's all good and well. I'd hate to accuse a stranger of stealing my coat," he said, his voice light as a bell and with a foreign accent. No particular place... just from somewhere else.

"But so we shan't be strangers," he continued, he doffed his hat and gave a slight bow. "I am the Fool. Sometimes, I'm called Alexander."