Well, this conversation was seriously going south. He needed to get the damn corpse out of the room, and these pompous buffoons were more concerned about social etiquette and their daughters scandalous rendez-vous with men, than anything else. Though, he had to wonder if they truly didn't know what their daughter did at night.
So once the conversation had somehow made it's way back to him, Jarrett only had one thought in mind.
Fire.
He had taken a moment to procure a piece of glass shard that had come from Lord Beirne's fallen wine glass from earlier, and tucked it away into his hand, letting it slice open a wound. Here, he could feel the familiar glow of magic as he smeared the blood all over the glass shard, then dropped it upon the floor.
It was at this exact moment Lord Beirne denied him his daughter's hand in marriage.
"Oh, I didn't come here to ask for permission," Jarrett stated simply, then whispered a few things (which probably seemed as if he were muttering under his breath, almost mocking the man, Lord Beirne) but in truth, he was reciting the incantation to release the magic of the blood flame as discretely as he could.
And the glass took to flame, but it seemed no one was noticing it, but that's because the damn thing was not catching flames onto anything (well, except for itself). Jarrett chanced a glance down. The glass was still burning off his blood that was smeared on it, but it was too far away from the throw rug's tassels to catch it on fire.
Jarrett furrowed his brow and kicked the damn thing, and it clattered, but just a few inches too short of the rug.
Sighing, his green eyes looked up into the angered face of Lord Beirne.
"I beg your pardon?" Lord Beirne began, looking completely flabbergasted and pissed.
"Yeah, I er.." and here, Jarrett smoothed back his black hair from his face, taking a few steps backwards and using an arm, which he now hooked around Owl's shoulder, to make it appear as if he was trying to stand protectively near his 'fiance', when in truth, he just used it as a clever and deceptive means to step even closer to the damn flaming piece of glass (which thankfully,no one had even noticed yet) as he gave it a quick kick. Finally, it landed upon the dry tassels of the rug and began to smoke. But even then, no one noticed...
yet.
Giving a smile that revealed his teeth, Jarrett simply shrugged.
"Yes, we do thing differently from where I'm from. You see, the man simply asks the woman if she wants to be his wife, and well, she said 'yes'." The blood mage and assassin wrapped his arms a bit more closely around Einin's shoulder and drew her in, their cheeks nearly pressing together. "You see, my family believes if it's love, then it's meant to be." ANd he turned towards Owl and gave her the worst possible, fake grin ever to make his case. It seemed, however, Lord Beirne wasn't buying it as he began to growl. But then someone finally noticed the smoke, as Lady Beirne gave a gasp.
"Do you smell smoke?" and then her eyes went wide as suddenly, the coat tails of Jarrett's clothing took to flames. Jarrett's eyes went wide as he realized a foil to his plan!
He had been standing far too close to the growing flames..
Lady Beirne gasped and exclaimed with a point as her other hand clasped over her lips.
"FIRE!"
Damn fire, why couldn't it just stay on the rug?
"Yes.. a fire.." Jarrett said smoothly, but other wise seeming unperturbed that his coat was in flames, which were now crawling up the back side of it, biting at his ass.
"I suggest you all warn the other guests before you too, catch on flames," Jarrett spoke, almost mockingly through a forced grin, but then he paused, feeling the flames finally biting into his skin. "Well, excuse me a moment.. I must.." and before he finished his sentence, he wriggled off his wine-colored jacket as fast as humanly possible, then tossed it down onto the ground. But instead of stomping it out, he kicked the jacket closer to where Figleo Bakk was sleeping.
"Gods, there's a fire man! Let's get out of here!" Lord Beirne shouted as the severity of the situation began to take it's toll. BY now, the whole forefront of the rug was crackling and roaring into a foot high line of flames, which were quickly moving across it and towards the curtains, which instantly took flame as well, and black smoke began to gather at the tops of the ceiling.
The site of fire made Lady Beirne faint, and Jarrett found himself inadvertently catching the woman in his arms. THe assassin blinked, fighting the urge to shake his head at the humility of this situation, for it really was quite silly if one were to consider what was actually all going on here.
"Here, why don't you take your wife," Jarrett said, none too delicately shoving her into Lord Beirne's arms, then to Owl he said, "And you help him as well," and he put an extra emphasis on a grip upon her shoulder that indicated he wanted her the hell out of there.
"And I will see to it that Figleo Bakk gets out." And he gave Owl a look, just a subtle one, that seemed almost threatening, or demanding, that she better get her ass out of there too (lest she ACTUALLY see him get angry), before he moved to get Figleo but paused to look back at the family. Were they all nuts!? Why weren't they leaving? They all seemed to be standing there like lumps of coal (which wouldn't be good if they were ACTUALLY lumps of coal...)
So he barked out the words, "GO!" THen pressed it even more with an added, "NOW!" and it was only then Lord Beirne rushed out with Lady Beirne in arms.
And out onto the dance floor he shouted, "Fire! There's a fire in the study!" and instantly the dancing and music stopped.
At the sounds of the music halting, Jarrett knew he didn't have much time. He had to get rid of the damn corpse...
Stepping through the flames, Jarrett was sweating something fierce and wiped at his brow. This was beyond frustrating, and to top it off, at one point he had to pat down a fire that had latched onto his leg (which he swore through his teeth at since that fire was damn hot. Cursed hell flame magics). By the time he had gotten to Figelo's side, he was rolling up his ivory colored sleeves and loosening his black cravate around his neck while shaking his head at the dead corpse.
"You'd better be worth the gold that was on your head, Figleo," he muttered, and moved forward, scooping up the corpse.
