ioduanlogs | [EVENT] Moon and Mirrors (Welcome Mingle Log)

[EVENT] Moon and Mirrors (Welcome Mingle Log)

Characters: ALL
Date: January 15
Location: At the Dreaming Bridge and all over Aifaran!
Situation: A large influx of Dreamfolk arrive in time for one of the Lunar Festivals, and they're all invited!
Warnings/Rating: N/A

A surprising amount of Dreamfolk have arrived within a short time frame - a peculiarity remarked upon by a number of Aifaran's residents. It is unusual in that it coincides with a lunar festival, one which only happens every fifty or so years.

Newcomers will find the streets packed with all sorts of people, stalls of fried and sugared foods, carnivalesque games and rides, and all other manner of things to do. Merchants are very keen to get their wares out there, and the stipend given may just burn a hole in your pocket when you see what's for sale.

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"I may as well be twiddling my thumbs."

The Fool gives his head a curious turn and near-smiles. "That is one option," he agrees, and takes another slow step down the street (toe first, like one accustomed to dance, or walking in shoes without soles). It seems, for the moment, he assumes that Devin will follow him.

"There is a child who has gone missing," he says, and turns to look at his new acquaintance as they wend their way together through the festival. "I would like to find her."

Perhaps it is not saving the world from being devoured by a demon, it is implied, but it might be a place for them both to start.

Only this long, and his strange companion apparently has the measure of him already. Great. Devin's getting rusty.

Then again, the one thing he's never been good at pretending is that he doesn't care about what happens to people. He rearranges his features carefully to something more neutral as he follows the Fool, watching his steps with detached curiosity. This man was really very odd.

"Yes, I heard about that," Devin replies, a shade wary of the proposal if only because of what it may reveal about him. Then again, he'd had to announce he was a vampire to the Dreaming Bridge staff, so it's not exactly a closely-held secret. "I have some skill with tracking, but it has limits where magic is involved. Particularly magic I'm unfamiliar with." This answer is not, however, a no. Merely a disclaimer.

A disclaimer that is duly noted. The Fool dips his head in a conceding nod, but doesn't stop walking, weaving with ease through those who continue to enjoy the festival's delights. A paper lantern come loose from a child's hand and caught on the wind is quickly captured and returned to the grabbing little fingers, along with a wink, before the Fool turns to address Devin again.

"My magic is... borrowed," he says, and sounds almost wistful as he says it, like he discusses a gift given to him by someone long gone. Distractedly, he twists his gloved hand in the grasp of the other. "But perhaps--if you would be willing to try--we could consider combining our efforts."

Quite a bold suggestion, given they don't know each other. The Fool has not even given his name. Nevertheless, he arches his eyebrows, offering up a closed-mouth smile. "Better to attempt a thing and fail, than to wash one's hands of a thing entirely, don't you think?"

There is an ease about the Fool as he moves through the festival and interacts with strangers that Devin does not precisely envy, but certainly notes that he lacks. The vampire's natural grace meant he could navigate a crowd like smoke, yet that skill was not a tactic to engage with people but to avoid notice. Here and now, his hands are shoved in his pockets and tension frames his shoulders. Why is it so much harder to feign being someone else now?

Devin knows the answer, and chooses not to dwell on it. "There are worse ventures to spend time on," he says by way of agreement, and takes a moment to determine where they are in relation to the disappearances at the funhouse. A distraction is distraction, even if it comes with company. "What manner of magic did you borrow?"

At that the Fool pauses and looks to his gloved hand, pensive. He quickly considers the rush of people around them, then steps off to the side of the road and beckons Devin after him.

"A brush with greatness, you could say," he tells him, still possessing that fond, wistful note in his voice. He removes his glove carefully to reveal his fingers, which don't look particularly out of the ordinary until it becomes clear that two of them possess strange marks of silver on them, as though he'd dipped his fingers in mercury or some other extremely precious metal. He is careful not to let it touch anything.

"A great king in my home world dipped his arms within a river of pure Skill magic," he explains quietly, "knowing it would kill him. He used his Skill-covered arms to carve a stone dragon into which he imbued his soul, so that he might fly to save his country against invaders. By chance, I brushed my fingers across his arm, and..." There he grows quiet, as though trying to articulate this peculiar gift is like trying to describe colour to someone who has never had chance to see it.

"Here," he begins, and removes the wooden bauble from his robes. He shows his fingers to Devin again, then gently smooths the silvered fingers over the wood grain. Soon, a shape begins to form from the wood; a bird, or perhaps a fish. The Fool's eyes have gone distant. "I could tell you much of the tree that this was once a part of--where it grew, where its roots extended. The warmth of sunlight." Abruptly, he draws his fingers away, and his eyes grow clear again.

He coughs, suddenly abashed. "...Perhaps, if I can lay my fingers against a place where the girl was before she vanished.." He trails off, looking hopeful.

Devin has questions, but he waits for the Fool to explain. Something approaching fascination rises in him as the wood changes shape; to have that level of connection to anything is simultaneously enviable and terrifying. There's a quality of storytelling in how the Fool speaks, too, Devin's noticing.

"I see," he begins after a moment. "So, you're something of a walking forensics laboratory. Interesting." The vampire is aware that this is a gross oversimplification. "That's a lot of area to cover, so it's probably best to be systematic about it. A grid sweep, maybe, so you don't accidentally go over the same spot twice; unless you have a range beyond the exact thing you touch." A full board of wood, for example, or any other complete piece. That could have overwhelming implications for touching the ground.

He pauses, glancing at the marks. "This king of yours - you must have been close. To be allowed any kind of physical contact with a monarch is rare, at least in my world." Especially given the relative era in history Devin thinks is comparable to the civilization the Fool describes.

"A... what?" The Fool gives Devin a puzzled look at his assessment of his abilities, but he doesn't pause to ask for clarification as his new companion continues on. He has a very straight forward, matter-of-fact way of assessing their circumstances--and is quick to identify the limits of his abilities.

At that, the Fool grimaces and gives his head a shake. "No," he confesses sadly. "As I said, what little Skill I possess, I came by it by chance." Or fate, he could say, but whether Devin would hold to the concept of a future beyond his control is, the Fool suspects, a subject for another time.

And then that last question--or a statement, worded as a question, and the Fool goes still. For a moment he appears almost perplexed; then he smiles, all whimsy, and gives his head an odd little shake. "No, in point of fact--I barely knew King Verity at all," he replies with arched eyebrows, thinking back into a past that is, apparently further away than his youthful appearance might suggest. "I served his father, the late King Shrewd, until his murder."

Another pause, and the Fool looks down to his fingers again, with tenderness in his eyes. "It was Verity's nephew I loved. Fitz. I followed him beyond the Mountain Kingdom to find Verity. I think I would have followed him anywhere."

There he grows quiet again; what a thing to share with a stranger. He sighs and puts another smile on his face. "Ah, but that is the past. Here--I've made another friend since arriving here, one who might be able to aid us in finding the missing girl. Shall I contact him?" An abrupt change of subject.

As it happens, Devin and fate have an exceptionally complicated relationship.

While the Fool's answer is revealing, his body language is infinitely more intriguing. The Fool is open with both his words and his gestures, and the fact that he does not disguise the affection for Fitz is completely alien to Devin. With long practice, the vampire keeps his expression impassive, though a subtle edge of tension pulls at the corners of his mouth. He's thankful for the question, since it allows him to ostensibly ignore what else the Fool has shared.

"We aren't friends." It's a statement of fact, and just barely laced with discomfort. They don't even know each other's names. He shrugs. "Acquaintances at best. If you think this person can help without getting in the way, fine, but we may as well get started in the meantime."

"We aren't friends."

A curious smile answers that, more accepting than mocking. The Fool dips his head in acquiescence. "As you like," he replies, gives another gesture with his hand, and adds, "I believe my additional acquaintance might be of help to us, yes. I shall contact him."

And he turns, yimo fetched out of one scarlet pocket, to type a message to X with painstaking slowness. (Evidently, he still struggles some with this technology.) "In the meantime," he says as he does so, "you may call me the Fool. How should I address you?"

When he looks up to regard Devin expectantly, it's plain that he's being perfectly serious about his own name.

Over the decades and the self-imposed distance Devin places on himself, he has largely forgotten what friendship even looked like. The ready acceptance of his refusal is met blankly, and he's not sure if he'd rather the Fool take offense or not.

The vampire almost offers to help with the yimo, but his hands remain resolutely in his pockets. An eyebrow arches at his companion's chosen 'name'. "That sounds more like a title than a name," the Englishman remarks. He shakes off the impulse to give a pseudonym, and his gaze goes to the ground. "Devin Parker."

Perhaps the Fool derives some minor delight from confounding Devin, or perhaps he does just accept such things with ease. (Likely a bit of both. He did smile, after all.)

"Aren't all names titles of some kind?" he replies almost cheekily, then taps a bit more on his yimo. With the message sent, he slips it back into the folds of his cloak and then extends out a hand towards Devin. "Friend or no, I'm glad to meet you, Devin." And he sounds like he means it.

A grimace flickers across Devin's face, barely there before he reins it back to impassivity. The urge to turn heel and vanish into the crowd rises, whispering nastily about the way he is ignoring his own rules. But he's stuck here, isn't he? Keeliai had shown Devin that there was nowhere he could run that people he met would not find him.

"They can be," he allows, offering a stiff handshake and withdrawing again. His own name carried a title and power in it that Devin had almost chosen to abandon, but it gave him too much of an edge to set aside. A cold smile emerges. "You may wish you hadn't, someday." He gestures back to the street for them to continue walking. "Shall we?"

"You may wish you hadn't, some day."

It's those words at the cold smile that follows that brings a certain stillness about the Fool that is hard to identify. Looking back at Devin, he isn't afraid; but there's a somber quality to his gaze, his expression, and he nods once. "You may be right," he replies quietly. But that doesn't stop him from falling into step at Devin's side and accompanying him back into the streets of Aifaran.

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[EVENT] Moon and Mirrors (Welcome Mingle Log)

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