milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Random walks into the bar, this time heading for a more comfortable seat than the barstool. He pauses only to grab himself a mug of hot chocolate and a blueberry biscotti. His second time in Milliways- come talk to him! He'd love to chat.

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Random smiles, and lets his chin fall onto his folded arms.
"As I said. You're lucky."
Lucky to have something concrete.
"They can't take that from you."
He doesn't add who 'they' might be.

Asmodean smiles. A glimmer in his dark eyes.

"No, they cannot."

He paused.

"And if they did? Then it would no longer be me."

Random straightens, eyes flashing.
"That is quite simply not true. It's not the music that makes the person."
He sounds like he's forgotten that the other man's there, that he's desperately trying to convince himself.

Asmodean gives an almost predatory grin. Something calm and deep in his voice. Like a monster under the waves are his dark eyes.

"Is it?"

He paused.

"For music comes from within."

Random looks slightly panicked.
"But if a man's fingers were to be shattered, then he'd still be himself. If his strings were cut, or his pipe snapped, he'd be no different. If his magic is trapped, then what makes him his own person still remains intact."
He drums his fingers on his knee.
"What's within is still there. No matter that the outlet may be stolen."

Asmodean laughed. An almost cruel smile.

"That is the vehicle for producing the music."

He paused.

"As I mentioned earlier, the music comes from within."

Random leans backwards. He's calmer. Truly, he is.
"Well, I still don't agree with you. It may come from within, but for most, it's not all that's there."
He looks at Asmodean, eyes measuring.
"Perhaps you are not so lucky as I thought."

Asmodean shrugged. His dark eyes still watch Random.

"Perhaps, or perhaps not."

He sighs. Talking to this man is a rather dangerous occupation. He decides to change the topic.
"You said earlier that you know who I am?"

Asmodean's brow furrows. His dark eyes study Random.

"I said nothing of the such."

He scowls, exasperated.
"So you, a bard, are in the habit of calling random passers by by the title of 'Lord'? That seems... out of character for a man of your skills. One would think you'd be a tad more haughty."
He's laughing. You can tell by the way the corner of his mouth twitches.

Asmodean gave an almost sneering smirk.

"True confidence in one's skills precludes the need for overt displays of pride."

He paused.

"I can call them all Lords and Ladies, but the scenario changes when I pluck the strings of a harp."

Random smiles, and inclines his head, acknowledging the point.
"So it would seem."
He straightens his spine.
"Then I've not introduced myself. I'm Random, Prince of Amber."
This last is not said with pride. It's a statement of fact, and rather blunt, actually.

Asmodean gave a slight smile. Again, that calm deference.

"A pleasure making your acquaintance, Lord Random."

Random almost snickers at the inclusion of the 'Lord' in that sentence.
"As I said before, I prefer 'Random.' Formality frustrates me."

Asmodean made a deferential, and graceful (a deadly rather than genteel grace for the observant) gesture.

"My apologies, it is an old habit."

Smoothly
"Accepted."
He leans his chin back on his arms, recognizing the knife-like beauty of someone... dangerous. Certainly more suited to one of his brothers than this seemingly devoted bard.
"And you, Jasin Natael. What would I call you?"

Asmodean chuckled, and shrugged. His dark eyes continue to watch Random. They are unreadable eyes.

"A name is but a label, and a title is nothing to me."

Random smiles.
"My Lord Bard, I know that better than many. But I'm not asking what you think of your name, I'm asking what you'd like me to call you. For it's your choice."

Asmodean shrugged. Exactly what the bard is thinking is unclear.

"You may call me Jasin, if are so inclined."

Random smiles. A straight answer, after only ten minutes of wrangling over one question. Miracles will never cease.
"Thank you, Jasin."
He sighs, tiredly, and muffles a cough with the sleeve of his tunic.

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