(Where everybody knows your name!) (Acacia!)

[Anonymous]

Rath curled his inhumanly long fingers around the base of the pewter mug, raked it closer to his chest from across the bar top. This was the third time this week he found himself sitting in the same dimly lit corner of this pub, nursing down bitterly alcoholic drinks until his throat was numb.

The place in question was a shithole. It had humble beginnings - the original owner intent on forging a cabin composed of only the natural resources the Terrin Mountains had to offer, so that he may profit by offer spirits and a night's rest to travelers. But of course he didn't get enough customers to sustain himself - no one in their right mind would be entering Connlaoth into Serendipity, and the Connlaothan people would rather march straight into hell before walking into a country devoted willy nilly to magic.

New management these days, though. They had the mind enough to turn it into a brothel of sorts, not to mention a safe haven for the black market between the two vastly different countries. Everything from smuggled slaves to less than appropriate 'business' negotiations occurred in this only half-constructed wooden shell of a man's once dream. Screams went unnoticed, guaranteed. It was a smart location, too - carefully teetering between borders, neither here nor there.

Rath had found this place entirely by accident, and he couldn't figure what magnetic force was compelling him back time and again to the recesses of the shadiest dealings you could find without having to travel to Zantaric. He was one of the only Serendipity milita to have stepped inside of it's doors. The god damned place didn't even have a name.

He supposed it was because, since he was in the presence of such low lives, this was the only place he felt worthy enough to be a knight. Rath drew the cup to his lips, tossing his neck into profile to down the remains in one quick shot. He tried not to wince at the taste, wiping his mouth on the back of his furred sleeve. "Another. Please."

Yeah, bartender knew the lanky boy donned in the head-to-toe fur cloak was a mageknight. He didn't know his name, but he could see that silver badge playing back candlelight every time the kid shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Sure kid." He bartender replied gruffly, "Listen, I'll give ya whateva ya want, free of charge, if ya keep yer hands off my customers tonight." He filled up another cup and slid it down the countertop with expertise that came with years of tending to a bar, streamlined the drink dead into Rath's outstretched hand. "I got some very important people comin' in."

Rath smiled ruefully. "I don't make promises."

"A-Ay!" The bartender retorted, wiping his grubby hands off with a nearby rag that almost immediately went to drying freshly washed cups; if dipping a cup into murky brown water for a moment counted as 'washing', "That's racist, what ya have. Goin' around my bar, takin' out my customers just fer being Connlaothan! Bodies, I've seen 'em outside."

"My family is Connlaothan." Rath remarked dryly, his voice breathy and perhaps just a little laden with the effects of his drink. A soft euphony of 'tink's resounded from the impact of his claws rapping one by one against the metal body of his cup.

Not once did that headstrong boy turn to look at the bartender when he was talking to him, and it was getting on his nerves. At his last straw, the bartender unveiled what he thought would undo Rath. The guy leaned in with a hushed whisper, "I know yer from tha Serendipity milita! What would they do, knowin' yer here? Lettin' these things happen."

Alcohol drained onto the bar's surface from the holes Rath's claws had punctured into his cup at that very moment. "Fuck you."

[Anonymous]

Jarlath wasn't exactly a regular in this place. Over the years since his escape he'd been inclined to stay as far from the border as his duties allowed, and his employers had been more than willing to let him. To be honest, Eskarne would probably have been less than enthusiastic about this little excursion, though less from fear for Jarlath's safety and more from that honorable streak of hers that didn't like things like recruiting murderers.

She was a good person. Jarlath didn't want to tarnish that with dirty business like this; whatever it took to accomplish their goals would be done by others. Of course, he wasn't quite used to the criminal world himself, but by keeping his mind-sense open he could adjust his behavior if anyone was feeling curious about him, and after only a few minutes he could tell he seemed like he belonged. Now he was listening out for anything that seemed to suit his purposes.

The feel of the place was repellent. Slavers were doing business outside, the fear and hopelessness of their "merchandise" less disturbing than the boredom felt by the dealers themselves; the back rooms where the official business of the place was conducted reeked of cheap lust and more boredom; the more straightforward shady transactions here in the bar ranged from an almost palatable nervous excitement to a blank loathing of everything. By now he'd had to damp down his awareness in order to pay attention with his ears.

A mageknight wasn't what he'd originally had in mind, but his conversation with the bartender was quite interesting, as was the sudden spike of rage he felt as his profession was brought up. Jarlath tsked as the mageknight broke his cup. "Oh, come on, there's no need to waste perfectly good..." he peered at his own drink and concluded "something."

[Anonymous]

It was no use. The bartender couldn't let anything befall the monochromatic boy, so he would just have to make sure Rath didn't go disappearing anytime tonight. His regular customers were scum - no one would notice or care if they'd went missing. Now a mageknight, especially with such a fixed position in the Serendipity army... /that/ they'd notice.

So he did the only thing he could do! He slapped the dishrag on the table over the mess Rath had just made, and shuffled off to the back to fetch something more... absorbent. The truth was, Rath had wreaked much more havoc on his Connlaothan customers than he did that silly metal cup impaled on his fingers.

The boy in question bristled at the soft 'tsk'ing, eyes as violently silver as mercury flickering to the source of the noise from beneath nightmarish, bladed black hair. It was just a sidelong glance, but it was filled with venom. In this tavern, talking to strangers was like signing a death wish. And it wouldn't be the first time a tough guy approached Rath looking to prove something.

"Wasting it? I'm doing the world a favor." He murmured spitefully, rubbing two of the fingers that had been responsible for gutting the cup together as if to prove his point. Ew. It was sticky. Rath cast his eyes back down to his fingers now, idly marveling over the consistency and properties of the drink staining his fingers. He'd seen what he needed to of Jarlath - just an older man, nothing particularly inhuman about him, but the hues of his features had been so striking and vibrant... Hair like that could belong in Connlaoth /or/ Serendipity. He mulled over the potential allegiance of the man who had dared speak to him, still braced for a fight but remaining carefully quiet.

After all, Rath knew better than to make the first move.

[Anonymous]

Jarlath's expression was a carefully maintained mild friendliness, which in a place like this would usually have been more disturbing than belligerence, out of place as it was... but it was very difficult, at the moment, to find the man at all threatening or worrying. Of course, this was because he'd decided that the mageknight's defensiveness wouldn't do at all and was projecting calm, but you'd have to know about him to know that. Given his practice in subtlety, maybe not even then.

"Yeah, probably so," he agreed, amusement in his voice. Fastidiously, he pushed his own mug a little further away from himself, so as not to be subjected to more of its scent than necessary. "And not for the first time, apparently- I couldn't help hearing your little conversation."

Of course, here, admitting to overhearing things wasn't the best thing you could do for your health, but Jarlath wasn't too worried about offense being taken. Even if the other man did disregard his mellowing influence, well, no matter how seedy the location, actual combat in the main bar did tend to stand out.

[Anonymous]

The man's demeanor was so unintimidating, calm, soothing. Tension ebbed away from his rigid shoulders, the tranquil front Jarlath was radiating beginning to work out the kinks in his tensed frame. The intricacies of the older man's effect on him was hidden beneath the mask of his long, furred cloak, but it was apparent in his face - his eyes losing their fire.

For someone trained on sneaking up on his enemy, Rath should have known better than to let his guard down in front of a stranger. Maybe it was because of the alcohol coursing throughout his system, or the loneliness that made his chest ache something horrible. No, it was something else, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Why did he feel so good? He tongued his lip ring out of habit, twirled the ribbon of silver while he contemplated the intentions of the man beside him.

"And not for the first time, apparently- I couldn't help hearing your little conversation."

And just like that, Rath's trust in Jarlath shattered into a million little pieces. He couldn't have been more sobering if he'd yelled 'I'm pregnant' in Rath's face.

Fucking bartender. Rath seethed, exhaling a shaky and exasperated sigh while he dragged his abnormally long fingers through his choppy, iridescent bangs. It was one thing for the bartender to know of his occupation, since Rath had enough dirt on him to to last him into his next lifetime. Now that this stranger had the upper hand on him, he found himself in a very... compromising position. Shit.

His chest constricted, but he remained carefully contained, collected as he sat just beside a man who'd admitted to knowing Rath's dirty little secret. There would be no outward displays of the flurry of emotions welling up inside of him. Just terrible peace as he came to terms with what his next move had to be.

Smoke silver eyes settled on the mangled cup riddled with puncture wounds. He wondered if he'd wind up doing the same to this man's neck.

"Ah, you did? That's unfortunate." he managed in an uninterested voice while his claws went about idly dislodging bits of wood from the countertop, "I suggest you state your business with me quickly, then. Do you realize you've made yourself a risk to me?" Rath paused for a moment to let it sink in, on the off chance the man hadn't /intentionally/ brought this upon them. "It wouldn't be in my best interests-" eyes flickered to Jarlath's face with unsettling calm, "-for me to let you leave this place alive."

[Anonymous]

The sudden rise of mostly fear told Jarlath he maybe should have been a bit more circumspect, but it was only a minor setback. "Actually, it would be," he told the man mildly, holding up his empty hands in that universal gesture of harmlessness. As he spoke, he reached out to damp down the fear- not entirely, it would be strange and inappropriate to feel truly safe here, but down to a more basic level of wariness. "I'm not here to cause problems- no, that's a lie." He smirked slightly. "But I'm not here to cause problems for you, at any rate."

Threaded into the calm, now, was a tiny touch of... interest, intrigue, curiosity, whatever you wanted to call it. Not a lot, but most people had a natural inquisitiveness that would take them from there. "Any killer of Northerners is high on my list of friends to make right now," he added, in an elaborately offhand tone. Let the other man pursue it.

[Anonymous]

That weird feeling again! But this time, it was as if a lion tamer had waltzed right into Rath's head and started whipping down his anxiety. "Ah, no?" He mumbled, taking heed of the man's hands of surrender with an arched eyebrow. To be honest, Rath hadn't expected anyone to try to pick him up for services in this neck of the woods, and definitely not in this rat-infested pub. Though given the setting and the type of transactions that typically occurred here, he wouldn't have to guess hard about the nature of the man's interests...

But mageknights don't do under-the-table gigs. Rath reasoned with himself, but then the curiosity... It was his vice, and the moment it was piqued, there was nothing he nor anyone else could do to deter him from learning more. He clicked his tongue against the back of his fangs, then twisted in his chair to face Jarlath more fully. "Careful, careful." He cooed, leaning in on his elbows, "My hometown Hyoite is the /real/ north, but if you're referring to the bratty country a knotch lower? Well." He grinned wickedly. "You've got my attention."

[Anonymous]

That hadn't been too hard, thought Jarlath, with some satisfaction. He'd been a little concerned about his ability to operate in this unfamiliar environment, but all things considered he'd found and hooked a like-minded individual rather quickly. "I thought I might," he replied, matching Rath's smile as closely as he could in the absence of fangs. "And this isn't even the half of it. Things are finally moving- you'd find out soon enough anyway, but I'm looking for a way to prepare the ground, so to speak. I'm sure you know they have people that could be trouble."

His smile faded at this point, mostly because they were getting down to business, partly because now he was having to try not to think of his sister. She'd made him so ill, long before either of them had known what they were, but he'd been sorry when they'd taken her away. She would have been in their army for decades now. Maybe she was already dead. So maybe this wouldn't end up killing her.

A faint touch of sadness leached from his mind, before he clamped down hard on it.

[Anonymous]

Rath hadn't the faintest clue about what Jarlath was talking about. But the assumptions that could be made were dangerous, and this was certainly foreign territory they were treading on. After all, he /was/ impling he wanted something done about the Connlaothans.. and even their Mordecai. But Rath wasn't scared. After all, if the Connlaothans wanted to paint him and his entire family evil, even when they'd been Connlaothan nobility... Well, he'd hate to make liars out of them. Idly scuffing the floor with the metals of his boot, he pondered what goal this single man could possibly hope to achieve.

But Rath had been a wise choice for Jarlath to make to fulfill these desires. It was hard to find someone as fearless and who had as little regard for their own life as this boy.

"Everybody has a weakness." He countered, but his face didn't falter - it just split further, deviant and malicious, "Even their precious Mordecai. Yet," Rath leaned back again, as if shaken clean of the whole prospect of this, broken from the spell, "I'm a mageknight. You already knew that, didn't you? If I were to take out even one Mordecai for you, that'd either be declaring war or... begging for abandonment from the Serendipity military. How could I possibly be of assistance to you?"

[Anonymous]

"Well, only if they caught you at it. At first we'd obviously want to be quiet about the whole thing," said Jarlath, in the tone of one to whom this was so obvious that the question came as a surprise. "If you've got any like-minded friends that are less official, I'd be interested in meeting them too. But before too long, secrecy could well cease to be an issue." He smirked, not quite as viciously as his new friend but close. "I've spoken to some people."

And your Lord Knight Commander was creepy and blank and didn't listen to a cursed word I said, even though I've been there and he hasn't, he added silently. But the anger was old now and didn't need much effort to suppress, not when Rath was coming along so nicely. The sudden retreat into caution didn't bother Jarlath; the boy had been interested on his own and wouldn't really walk away now unless something went badly wrong.

[Anonymous]

Rath laughed low and dark, charmed by the way Jarlath's mind worked. "Only if they caught me? Very clever." He cooed, tapping a finger against his lower lip as if he were mulling over the decision to align himself. In truth, he'd already decided. "You know, if I had the type of friends you were looking for, I'd never set them up on a suicide mission like this." Rath unleashed a wild grin, teasing in the way he carried on, "But what's /your/ purpose? What do you get out of this, Mister..."

He'd trail off, leaving the sentence hang open for Jarlath to pick up. After all, Rath wouldn't indulge himself in any sort of business without obtaining some sort of name from the guy. He didn't figure calling him 'old man' would go over very well, and 'ginger' was even more unlikely.

[Anonymous]

The dissembling was perfectly understandable, and might even have fooled someone who wasn't Jarlath and couldn't all but taste the boy's eagerness. He hesitated a moment over the question of his name, but- it wouldn't matter, really. He wasn't anyone very important, or at least not recognizable; at most it would be recognizable as Connlaothian, and that should be all the reason anyone would need to figure they knew why he'd want to burn it all down.

"Jarlath." He smiled, in the manner of one accepting teasing in good humor. "You know, I don't think of this as suicidal. If I did, I wouldn't be talking to you." That was perfectly true, actually, if mainly because a mageknight would raise questions that a nameless nobody of a ruffian wouldn't. "And honestly, kid- they're Mordecai. I need a reason to want them dead?"

[Anonymous]

Rath recoiled as if Jarlath were a hot iron he'd just touched - sure, it glowed beautifully and radiated warmth, but there had to be a catch... that sharp, mutilating pain that you couldn't predict until you'd already been burned by it.

Well, Rath had been burned before. And the fact that Jarlath's name was Connlaothan  was far from comforting - it only raised more questions. Shouldn't he know how hard it is for a magic user to infiltrate that country? His mind wrapped around his true intentions, for he was not at /all/ satisfied by Jarlath's response.

Because he hates Mordecai. Was that it? Despite Connlaothan's being the equivalent to Nazis, and their Mordecai being walking methods of torture, he couldn't possibly expect that to be enough reason for one boy to risk taking on the country for these... whims of his! Rath was fearless, but he wasn't an idiot. "Because I'm ranked? Of course you wouldn't." He uttered quietly, testing the tips of his fangs with his tongue in idle thought, "As much as I'd love to thin out the Mordecai population for you, old man..." The last part he sneered, a retort to being referred to as a kid, "and as much as I've been dreaming about standing in a pool of their blood; there's nothing in this for me. You want to kill Mordecai just because they're the bad guys? What am I? Your super hero?"

Rath swept forward with quicksilver speed, completely out of his seat with one hand braced against the bar until he was hovering a nice, ominous proximity over Jarlath's body. There was a ghost of a smile on his lips, but that was all the expression available that wasn't masked by the slant of his pitch black hair at this angle. "I've never heard of you before, Jarlath..." He whispered since regular speech would be too loud at this distance from his face, "But you're talking some heavy business. Tell me..." Rath's peeked up inquiringly with eyes like slivers of mercury through his dark hair, "What will you give me in return for the head of a Mordecai?"

If only Rath knew what Jarlath's underlying powers were, he would have steered away from him from the very beginning. The power of manipulation, especially mental manipulation, was a dangerous thing. Most people had to perfect the skill, but it came naturally to Jarlath. And Rath had thought housing parasitic demonic magic inside of his body was risky... Dealing with a man with that ability was a whole different shade of trouble.

((He's just testing him to see if he'll flinch or something. xD If you want to add in that Jarlath moved away as soon as Rath moved in, then he would have just remained standing where he was now. But the same dialogue and everything. Mmk? ))

[Anonymous]

There was something viscerally frightening about cramped space, hidden eyes, large powerful men, and fangs, and Jarlath actually started, especially with it coming so closely on the heels of the mood change that he really hadn't seen it coming. But he rallied, breathing deeply for a moment to regain his own emotional equilibrium before moving forward. This was going to have to be intense, and he couldn't have his own nervousness interfering with his control.

Then he laughed, beginning with a low chuckle and rising to something really, intensely amused. That was always off-putting coming from someone who should be at a disadvantage, and he reinforced that, planting first doubt then worry then the first chilly edge of fear in the other man's mind. "I've never heard of you, either," he said sharply. "I didn't come looking for you, so I don't need to keep you. I came looking for murderers, and this place is full to bursting with them." Let him worry about what Jarlath might do to keep this a secret; in truth he himself wasn't at all sure, but he could make sure the fear was there.

His vicious glare- not feigned at all, now that he'd had a moment to think about it he was very annoyed about the boy turning on him- subsided a little, into a mocking smile. "I also don't have to give you anything, and you know it. Every time someone kills a Mordecai, you will have a dead Mordecai, and that's its own reward." As he spoke he planted the vengeful rage of an exile allowed to brood on the bitterness for decades, when even in the beginning he'd been furious enough to shatter minds.

That part was easy. As with any creative undertaking, it's often best to use what you know.

[Anonymous]

(( Sorry about the big post! I'm sleepy rambling. xD ))

Rath did something like a double-take, tilting his neck up to spill the black locks from his face and glimpse Jarlath just in time to catch that... eerie laugh. It didn't look right coming from the redhead, and didn't suit the situation one bit. He'd been so deeply enchanted, so under the impression that Jarlath was a kind and unimposing soul, that he hadn't been able to predict this type of reaction at all. Brows furrowed down over his narrowed eyes, pensive in trying to decode the behavior. If only he'd had a better grip on the older man's character... But there was less time to ponder on that, for the bout of laughter was becoming disturbing. So unexpected in Jarlath's front...

Like finding a smoking gun in a children's room.

Was I being tricked from the start? The doubt was an unnecessary addition - he had quite enough of that already, but the other emotions came over him as quickly as flipping the pages of a book. Rath was fretting as he pushed off his grip on the countertop and used the momentum to backpedal two good, wide steps. By the time the back of his steel-lined boot connected with the leg of his barstool,  panic was already welling up in his throat from his twisting gut. He would have paled if he could, but his already ghastly complexion made it of little significance.

It was as if he was expecting Jarlath to do something terrible to him. Fear was so... foreign to Rath. Hell, he could hear his own heartbeat swift and loud in his ears, felt it rapping against his chest. The emotion itself felt like ice in his veins and rendered him practically immobile - all he could do was sit back down in his chair and take in every word that Jarlath spoke like he were pitching rocks at him. And it was like that to, since the lot of his words were punctuated by such an brutally unreserved glare. He wasn't terrified, of course - he was only feeling the beginnings of fear, still laced with uncertainty, but it was still horribly uncomfortable.

Long fingers pulled the hem of his cloak tighter against his chest. There was no dampening of this emotion to be had, so he merely turned to face the countertop with eyes pitched down to the floor. Sought for solace in the darkness the scant lighting allowed, but the truth was, fear was still prickling beneath his skin. "I'm not a murderer." He said softly, as if he'd forced his vocal chords to work, "I'm just... doing the world a favor."

And then rage! Nothing burned brighter in Rath's heart than vengeance, and it was an emotion he readily responded to. They were... well acquainted. After all, Rath had been beaten half to death when he'd had the misfortune of traveling through the wrong district on Connlaoth. His resentment, derived from being the bastard child of ex-Connlaoth nobility doomed to spend the rest of the bloodline in the frozen hellhole of Hyoite, bled into the rage Jarlath had influenced. "Well, then. Can I keep the Mordecai, at least? I'll stuff 'em, put them in my foyer in intimidating positions." Rath's upper lip was twitching up every so often in a rampant need to snarl at someone, and his claws made idle work of dismantling the iron cup he'd gutted earlier. Anything to quell his anger, as it was growing all on it's own.

[Anonymous]

That was much better; Jarlath tried to keep as much smugness as he could out of his smile and his tone of voice. "I don't think that will be a problem," he said. Disgusting, perhaps, but he wasn't going to be living in the man's house where he'd have to look at the things, after all.

He got to his feet then, and surveyed his... well, "new friend" was probably still the best phrasing... carefully, with eyes and mind. Under other circumstances, the degree of fury he seemed to have stirred up would be disquieting, but as far as Jarlath was concerned no amount of hate was excessive here. Then again, the man didn't seem inclined (or able, perhaps?) to wait to express his violence, so the conversation had probably gone on long enough.

Jarlath bowed, slightly, and said: "Do the world all the favors you can."

[Anonymous]

What was happening to him? Why was he feeling this way, blurring through emotions so effortlessly? Usually, Rath had a decent hand of control on his own mind and his actions, but it felt as if something else were... imposing their feelings upon him. Not that Rath would question it, of course - blissfully unaware that the shadow magic housed within him only rejected other types of physical magic, and didn't protect him from the manipulation of psychic powers. At least he'd managed to make a joke amongst his rage, demonstrating that he had at least /some/ influence ... since Rath didn't even have a foyer.

But now Jarlath was up and leaving? Rath turned his gaze back to the older man, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I still have questions." He pressed himself to his feet, well intent on following this man to the door and perhaps beyond if he refused to grant Rath the information he needed to fulfill this death spree he'd just been willed to perform. "You said you spoke to people. What does that mean? Will these killings become official matters? And how will you know that the Mordecai who die are my victims? That they died for you."

The mageknight observed Jarlath with new scrutiny, crossing his arms over his chest. "Will I ever see you again?"

[Anonymous]

Jarlath sighed, wishing vaguely that he'd just gone for one of the uncaring mercenary types that were all around them. It shouldn't have been surprising that a patriot was harder to manage than some random criminal, but since he couldn't make the man forget, he would just have to deal with this inquisitiveness. Trying to drain it would only leave him more confused later.

"Honestly, I don't give a shit if I know who killed them or why," he said bluntly, "or if they just slipped and fell in a cursed shower. I don't care about anything but them being dead, and neither should you. Which is why I don't have any particular plans to come looking for you again, no."

Then his annoyed expression softened a bit as a pleasanter thought came to him. Why be so cagey about this part? Even if the man was a gossip, people might as well get used to the idea. "And as to your other question- of course. They've been raiding across our borders long enough. Getting rid of these annoying individuals will make things easier. Eventually, of course- there's a lot of politics to get through first, but that's not really my problem."

Now Jarlath was positively smiling, not an affected smirk meant to intimidate but the expression of someone contemplating good things to come. A thoughtful person might have found that even more worrying, given its context.

[Anonymous]

Indeed, a patriot would be more difficult to manage than your typical run-of-the-mill murderer, but Rath was perhaps the only person willing to offer these services for free. After all, what mage in his right mind would attempt to assassinate a whole slew of Mordecai... for nothing?

At least for Rath, there was the satisfaction of protecting his kin. He could do it for the innocents of Serendipity, and for the name of his family... if he'd cared enough. He might've done it out of respect for Jarlath, who would have been a like-minded fellow... but Rath needed to find him worthy of it.

And Jarlath wasn't making it easy. "Heh. 'Annoying individuals'." He echoed, rolling his eyes at the older man's apparent happiness, "Well, this isn't my problem, either. You're asking for a lot considering you're giving less than nothing in return. Maybe I'll consider taking out a Mordecai for you. When it's convenient for me. A younger one, maybe a small boy who has only just discovered his powers? Trying to make mom and dad proud, eh? And I'll slit his throat, just for you." Rath leaned in, determined to wipe that smile off of his face, "If anyone catches me in the act, I could inform them that a 'Jarlath' of Serendipity requested it of me as a mageknight." If he wished to retort, Rath wasn't letting him. He carried on as quickly as he let that point sink in, both eyes darting back and forth between Jarlath's. One clawed hand came up to caress the badge from beneath the folds of his cloak, the silver pendant characteristic of the Serendipity army. It shimmered like a diamond in the gloom. "But I wouldn't. I'm not a coward; I would never hide behind others to save face. Unlike you."

Rath stepped even closer, voice pitched low to avoid the attention of any idle ears. He wasn't attempting to be intimidating - though his spooky visage could be deemed naturally so -, but only trying to keep this conversation more intimate. He knew he would be treading on secrets the moment he uttered: "I won't tell anyone what you've asked of me if you can tell me who it was you spoke to. Depending on who agreed with this, I would gladly grant you your wish."

(( >.< So much for hitting it off over a beer... ))

[Anonymous]

If the younger man had wanted to upset Jarlath, he'd succeeded much better than he could possibly have expected. As soon as kids were mentioned, the blood drained from the steward's face along with every trace of enjoyment, and he hardly even registered that he'd been threatened or called a coward. You had to be an evil bastard to think of that.

(He knew what being a coward felt like, and it wasn't like this. It was more like cowering in the root cellar because Feren and Kar, who he'd known all his life, were hunting for him because he'd stopped being sick. When the door opened, he'd done the only thing he could and shared that fear. A week later they were both still gibbering and drooling and he'd known he couldn't stay.)

Jarlath usually kept his mind shielded, because it was so inconvenient to always have to feel everyone else's fleeting feelings and worse to have them feeling his, but it did crack sometimes and that happened now, flooding the room with horror, grief and guilt. When the sound of sobbing drifted over to where they stood, he knew what had happened, but--

Well, screw it. He'd be finding someone else after all anyway, there was no way he was going to continue to deal with this... person. He might as well make his displeasure known, so he pressed hard and viciously into Rath's mind with as much sadness and self-loathing as he could manage. Jarlath didn't care anymore whether he knew it wasn't natural; manipulation wasn't the point now, he just wanted to see him crumble.