Post by Joliette Thorne on Jul 27, 2007 8:26:01 GMT -5
Tenebrae’s small hand pushes against the rough door's splintered surface, gritting her teeth at the tell-tale creak of rusted hinge. Sure, she was expected; her natural caution not something easily left behind, however pleasant the company waiting.
Curtice offers accommodative smile upon the woman’s arrival, promptly cutting course in true manner as he presents appendage in unison. Atop weathered palms, crosshatching the miniscule canyons of natural crafted skin, lies the extended form of sheathed scimitar, though be that veiled at most. Faint outline visible through layer of gingerly wrapped glaucous silks, only aspect presented a steel sphere upon stem protruding from base of hilt, whereby the veils are bound with simple sting, in complex knot. With bright smile, he poses selective sermon, “Hello there, lovely. Gotcha a little pressie. Not quite the original,” he pauses, mischievous expression coming to features, “I treated it a bit rough, so figured to be gettin’ ye a new one. Kindness to kindness, after all.”
Tenebrae 's peridot gaze is directed briefly toward the silk-wrapped offering, though quickly raised in the familiar appraising sweep, upward of the man's form to meet his own eyes as the weapon held in extended hand is grasped in one of her own. "You're too kind, then. It were just a little bit of steel... But thanks." Rose-hued lips purse in smirk of subtle nature. "Haven't you done well for yourself, then. Been out finding buried treasure?"
Curtice allows hands to flow in harmony through the void of air between proxime to the woman and that of his chest, folding neatly that biceps veil digits behind notable physical obstruction. Pose altered from militaristic tenacity from the initial offering, knee juts at slight that weight is consolidated upon single support, relaxing pose as does depiction of disposition, “By the by, lot o’ pretty toys and trinkets left to rot and rust, duty to economy to salvage ‘em.”
Tenebrae, though as lovely - perhaps more so - than any of the more useless creatures that drape themselves about the tavern, is nevertheless sharp as a tack, the man's hasty removal of his hands from her view not unnoticed. A slight and curious cant of head, rather than a direct glance, is all that might signal her attention to the detail. Scimitar unwrapped deftly, the knotwork as fine as any she'd seen; for she did admire the art, obscure to many. The blade, slipped neatly into jewelled sheath, leaving her hand to cross against the slender pale arm opposite, a gesture of... could it be? The predatory little vampiress did not generally allow self-consciousness to present itself in her well-ordered but very small repertoire of emotions. This one made her nervous, and she was uneasy with it. At his words, the burr of his voice quite musical, she notes, she offers a disarming smile. "Lucky you, then."
Curtice observes her own motion and reaction with as much meticulous observational appraisal as her own, the young man running a continuing diagnostic of near any in company though bestowal of emotion through the language riddled in the obscure patterns and designs intelligible to the discerning and shrewd. Nonetheless allowing his subconscious routines of analysis to dominate his own countenance, the rogue cants head in pleasant manner as a grin almost definable as naive takes hold to tawny complexion, orbs whey punctuated by irises azure holding a reticently sagacious glimmer, voice as soft as subtle shift to weight that sets him against wall, “Lucky bein’ I’m only man I know of can get to ‘em, yeah. How’s things holdin’ with yerself?”
Tenebrae 's narrowed eyes and puckered brow, intended to convey an air of considered thought, precede the line of questioning. "Are the treasures that well-hidden, then? You must have a nose for it..." The smile returns as rapidly as it had faded. "I fare well, sweet. As well as might be expected. Though I fear I shall die of tedium long before any of the daft rogues I've fought of late become adept enough to come back for my head. Yourself?"
Curtice adopts again a mien akin to her own before inceptive repose, judicious narrow to eye taken before it fades in cascade of jovial warmth, “Not bein’ how well they be hid, it’s more that not many folks can get there is all.” Lips part at centre as they curl at edge, flash of pearl enamel exhibited as dimples furrow cheek, “Glad to be hearin’ it, lovely. Been ‘avin’ trouble with the commonfolks? Me own.. well... nothin’ worth talkin’ on, I’m s’posin’. Got a King to make me a sword though.” Pseudo-facetious wink dominates single eye, before returning to state of normality with twin, “Must ‘av’ a way with me words.”
Tenebrae coughs, palm raised to cover visual evidence of the small laugh the sound had masked. "The King of Venturil, by any chance? Aye, we've met." She cannot quite still the glimmer of amusement that graces her eyes. "He's not terribly fond of me, I fear. He must like your way with words a great deal more than my own." A deepening of breath, and once more the pleasantries are asserted. "I've heard he makes a good weapon, though. Might I see it?" Slender ebon brow, raised delicately, begs the question.
Curtice takes perspicacious look to eye as he notes upon her thread, though retains still a friendly manner as he makes word, “See, that’s a thing I learned about these parts. Make a friend, and ye already got yerself hundred foes on principle.” He raises brows as grin remains, inquisitive tone communicated by raise to pitch upon drop of final syllable, “Hopin’ speakin’ with ye aint gonna land me in no heck now.” Slight roll of shoulders comes before next, “Then again, I’m thinkin’ that might rightly be same fer ye.” Finishing his sermon, thoughts now lie to her query and desire, left no reason to deny her cessation, gesturing to the magnificent scabbard and hilt kept to tow at his waist, “There she be, Demersus.”
Tenebrae blithely ignores the bulk of his speech, her fascination with the finely wrought and azure-kissed outer accoutrements of the blade serving as excuse enough. A low sound of appreciation courses from her lips, slight waist bent slightly to offer closer inspection. A pale forefinger extends, tracing the intricacies of the work in the air an inch above its surface. "It's.. beautiful." Said breathily, but with uncommon sincerity. Hand retracted, posture returning to the upright, she raises a hand to stroke the hilt of her own weapon, an almost erotic gesture. She turns her back to Curtice, neck craning to keep her eyes firmly fixed on him, to reveal the rest of the long sheath that hangs diagonally from right shoulder to opposite hip, its decoration of similar though plainer design. "Vaentril... it was a gift. Of the same make, I believe." Swivelling on heel to face him again, she offers awry half-smile. "The one who bore it first was much taller than myself."
Curtice reverts to spewing technicality as her attentions seem captured at the display of enthralled evaluation, “Be a fine one, no doubt. Asked fer somethin’ light, so I’ll be up fer movin’ it in the water easy enough. And, seems sturdy enough, but to date all I tested on is beasts. Not doubtin’ the calibre, mind.” As her own presented, his inspection heralds to one of figure initially, unable, as nature composed, to hamper reflex, flicker of torchlight casting ambient haze to his face as he manages to wean appraisal to the inanimate. Scrutiny of inspection to blade in place upheld, as not desiring to appear of linear disposition, he bobs head as grin unfeigned is set in endeavour to veil underlying ardor, “Tis a beauty unto its own, lovely, that’s fer sure.” Pose upon wall shifted that shoulder kisses wood, his forefront facing her own, posture stiffens slightly as legs brace so angle does not result in him inescapably sliding to lie if no course was taken, “Seems to be fittin’ ye well enough, gifts like that ne’er forgotten.”
Tenebrae 's puzzlement at Curtice's reasoning for his blade's slight weight is obvious, her intense guardedness of expression becoming somewhat more relaxed, though this slippage is not apparent to the vampiress herself. "Under water? I recall you being fond of a swim..." She grins, having reasoned out the source of his treasure, if not entirely his means of obtaining it from such depths in which a wreck of sufficient wealth might be found. His appreciation of her own sword seems enthusiastic indeed, her discriminatory faculties noting an almost lustful tone, though the gaze be mild enough. Her glance is to the the bloodstained floor, in a moment of remembrance. "No, not forgotten, no less than the one who gave it me."
Curtice cocks head to rest with shoulder upon the smooth, or appearing such in dim light, surface of the office walls, decrepit state leading to the lingering miasma of noxious scents emanating from the eviscerated remains of a most unfortunate fellow. Grin remains lathered upon youthful features as he poses remark in innocent riposte, “Ye remember rightly, lovely, very fond of the activ’ty.” In much the way her own attuned state took notation upon his examinations, that held by the man carries to the shift within her presentation of comportment, prose posed with subtle undertones, in parity with jocular wink, “someone special, I’m guessin’.”
Tenebrae 's reply is curt in response to the perceived implication imbued in the other's expression. "He were a fine warrior. He fought me well, and taught me much." Her posture stiffens, in preparation for her departure. "I must be away, pet. Things to see, people to do, you know how it is..." Half-turned to the doorway already, she pauses a moment. "Assumption, you know, is bit like plum pudding. A little is food for the soul - but too much is never a good thing."