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milliways_bar2005-06-30 02:43 am
prince-arithon.livejournal.com) wrote in milliways_bar2005-06-30 02:43 am
Snark. In poetic Paravian.
Arithon is in the bar.
He doesn't have his coat. He's also not wearing jeans. Trews, people. He's got trews on. Which is a stage somewhere between heavy hose and trousers. Fairly shapeless, really.
Actually, he looks remarkably like he could walk out the door any second and be right back at home in normal-for-Paravia clothing.
This is unlikely at this point in time. Just. He could.
He has his lyranthe. He takes requests, provided they are Paravian or Johnny Cash.
He doesn't have his coat. He's also not wearing jeans. Trews, people. He's got trews on. Which is a stage somewhere between heavy hose and trousers. Fairly shapeless, really.
Actually, he looks remarkably like he could walk out the door any second and be right back at home in normal-for-Paravia clothing.
This is unlikely at this point in time. Just. He could.
He has his lyranthe. He takes requests, provided they are Paravian or Johnny Cash.
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Ignoring people is something of an art-form, for Arithon.
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She murmurs her order, and a tall dark glass appears in front of her.
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Arithon simply happens to be a very private little bastard, and tends not to approach others.
Commentary on Jolt and Coffee will cause death. Or binding-into-things. Don't ask. Don't look in his memories. Never speak of it.A shifting of small, delicate hands and he pulls a shimmer of music out of his lyranthe. Just a scale, but even a scale can be melody.
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After a sip of her drink, she glances at the man. Watching for a moment.
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He is also approximately five foot, two inches. Dark, in both the "my people have dark skin" and the "on top of aforementioned, I spend as much time as I can in the sun" ways.
He wears quite a bit of green.
And the eyes half-hidden under slightly lowered lashes are a vibrant green seen only from high fantasy worlds.
Not to mention the fact that Arithon? Is perfectly capable of ignoring a lot of things that people "wouldn't dare" ignore.
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Weth an
Wyr'weth anka an.
Tash ris
An weth anka anithael
Anka anithael an?
Hal theire ka
Adeais seth."
His voice is pure, and soft. Not in the mode of "quiet", but in the meaning of soft which is gentle. A baritone which can be perfected farther....but only just. He is not so good as Yrael, but better than any human has right to be at his apparent age.
The song means something, something for the cold, dead woman who watches him. It is dark, slightly threatening, and it knows far too much. The words are crafted for her, 'though she doesn't know the language.
The bard leans against the back of his chair, casually, one booted foot propped on the edge of another chair.
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Dead? You can say that. Cold? Nothing could be further from the truth... she drinks her drink, and listens to the song.
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"I do not appreciate being watched. It could even be said that it tends to make me more of an e'brand ahelas than I am naturally. My good Lord Ostium would not be pleased were I to return to my standard mood so soon.
Speak, theire, or remove yourself from me."
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"I apologize for inconveniencing you, sire." Her voice is soft, wispy, with a slight hint of slavic accent.
And she moves away. After the threatening-like song and the upset tone, she decides to not tempt fate...
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"Sire is not a term I choose to use. My kingdoms are far from here, and well gone. I am Arithon s'Ffalenn, Tier's'Ffalenn, Master of Shadows, Crown Prince of Karthan and Rathain, Bane of Desh-theire, and sorcerer."
He only uses all of them when he's really annoyed.
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Perfectly neutral and polite, is her tone.
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He says it without obvious distaste. After all, his non-genocidal blond semi-brother is also dead. For that matter, so is the husband of said non-genocidal blond semi-brother who is the person that Arithon actually adopted as brother. They're just different forms of dead.
The whole thing could give Arithon a complex, but he's chosen to more-or-less ignore it. Unless Lysaer comes back, in which case the dead probably have a slight edge.
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Hands tucked into opposite sleeves, she answers...
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Is the answer, slightly stiff;
"It may be a similar world, but not the same."
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No, she will not escalate an argument. Her apologies were already rejected twice.
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Arithon has the social skills of a grumpy hedgehog.
He bows, again, and takes his seat once more.
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