Really? Now I'm even more curious to try it — a flavor from your native star.
[He takes his glass easily, spins it once on the countertop to make the glass rattle aesthetically against the wood of the bar — just for the pleasure of the sound. And then, with smooth confidence, he takes a drink himself.
[He just blinks a minute, still staring at the glass.]
Do you know the feeling, when you taste or smell something you've not thought about in years, and then all of a sudden it brings back a memory as though it were as fresh as yesterday?
[Brow furrowed, he takes up the glass and tastes it again, like he's trying to confirm something. Sets it down again. And then, glances at Ryn before tugging down his coat collar to indicate one of his Archon marks.]
I drank this the night I earned these. A celebration of my achievement, and a bottle straight out of my mentor's personal collection. I've not had the like since.
when thancred indicates the mark, he leans in a little to look at it, curious. some kind of achievement, is it-- well, never let it be said that he doesn't like competence in a man.]
A tattoo? It must be a high achievement, if the mark you earn for it's permanent.
Indeed. 'Tis one of the highest granted, by the most vaunted enclave of scholarly knowledge in the realm. One earns his mark for exceptional contributions to, and mastery of, his particular field of expertise. Not a bad showing for a former street urchin of no particular account.
[But Ryn leans closer, and his irises slide to the corners of his eyes to watch the approach, and he angles his chin just so to open up the column of his neck to the scrutiny, almost like an invitation to look further. Or mayhap to touch.]
How strange to think that two spirits of such vastly different origins would share so similar a taste. ...Let me have a drink out of yours. The mana-infused wine.
Really-? You don't strike me as that much of a scholar.
[that's something interesting, too, leads him to more curiosity about just how he earned those honors. and with the way thancred shifts--
he can read a cue. one hand lifts, gloved fingertips tracing that mark with a light touch. it lingers for just a moment, before he lets his hand drop and slides the glass over.]
Trade me then. I'm curious about your mentor's taste.
[personally i think rule of funny is it should taste the same to you even if it's from someone else's glass, tbh.]
but what's unexpected, maybe, is the fact that even offering the cue, even inviting Ryn's examination — none of that keeps him from shivering, just a little, when the gloved fingertips make contact with his proffered skin.]
I've mastered my art. Practical knowledge is valued just as much as theoretical, in Sharlayan.
[But. They're trading glasses, and that's a better place to put his focus for the moment, so he does.]
[his ears flick, minutely, when he catches that shiver, the corners of his mouth pulling into a little grin-- but it's not something he follows up, attention shifting back to their glasses. ]
What kind of practical art was it, then? Can't just say that without bragging a little more.
[spill, come on.
meanwhile he takes a sip from thancred's drink, with a thoughtful hum.]
Permission to touch your hair. As briefly as you did my neck, just now.
[He takes another drink — still out of Ryn's traded glass, conspicuously — and doesn't notice how it makes him just a little more stupid, a little more desirous to show off for this singular audience of one in particular.]
[by the same token, he agrees a little more easily, taken enough with him to be more interested in seeing where this goes. in having his attention. sure, there's a chance he'd have agreed anyway, but there's definitely a flirtier tone to his voice.]
I've let you before, haven't I? Don't know why you're so doubtful.
Mayhap I like hearing you agree to it, against expectations to the contrary.
[But he gulps another mouthful of the Number Nine, then sets it back on the counter, and gets up from his seat, staying fully within Ryn's line of sight as he starts to walk a meandering path around the interior of the room nearest the bar.
As he weaves his way back, he makes a brief detour to put one of the pillars between himself and Ryn, obscured for not more than a second or two at the pace he's walking —
Except that he doesn't come back out again. Or doesn't seem to, at least.
Not until two fingers and a thumb catch light hold of one of the tendrils dangling close to the nape of Ryn's neck and smoothly drag all the way down to the tip.]
[what in the nether-- he's sure he saw him duck behind that pillar. ryn squints, focused on it as if waiting for him to pop back out...
which has his attention thoroughly elsewhere when thancred touches that tendril.
it speaks to his old training that, instead of startling and falling off his seat, he just gasps and reflexively straightens, ears perked straight up before they slowly begin to settle.]
Taking advantage of expectations is an aspect of the trade. What did you imagine it would prove to be, something all bluster and show?
[He smiles, not moving any further away even when Ryn turns toward him, comfortably invading his space while maintaining his scrupulously — one might almost, at this point, consider it playfully — enforced distance.]
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[BETTER DRINK MORE BEER.]
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[he wants to press, but-- there's enough he prefers not to be pressed on that he stops short of it.]
Well, if there's anything you do need to discuss, you're free to ask.
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[He frowns again, scowling a little as he looks down at himself like there are answers to be found in his coat and body armor.]
Nothing. The way you offered that jest. 'Twas...
[He winces.]
— nostalgic.
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[it is, at least, a feeling he's familiar with.]
Another drink?
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[hmm. he observes their options, for a moment.]
Number Nine sounds more interesting, if you ask me.
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[he'll obtain two of them, then, sliding one to thancred and taking a quick sip from his own--
after which his ears both perk, glowing eyes widening behind his glasses.]
How-- I know this flavor.
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[He takes his glass easily, spins it once on the countertop to make the glass rattle aesthetically against the wood of the bar — just for the pleasure of the sound. And then, with smooth confidence, he takes a drink himself.
And likewise startles.]
...Uncanny. I could swear this was —
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[his ears flick, as he looks between their glasses.]
It tastes exactly like the Suntouched estate special reserve, to me, but I'd honestly be surprised if you'd ever had mana-infused wines.
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Do you know the feeling, when you taste or smell something you've not thought about in years, and then all of a sudden it brings back a memory as though it were as fresh as yesterday?
[Brow furrowed, he takes up the glass and tastes it again, like he's trying to confirm something. Sets it down again. And then, glances at Ryn before tugging down his coat collar to indicate one of his Archon marks.]
I drank this the night I earned these. A celebration of my achievement, and a bottle straight out of my mentor's personal collection. I've not had the like since.
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[that winery doesn't produce anything, anymore.
when thancred indicates the mark, he leans in a little to look at it, curious. some kind of achievement, is it-- well, never let it be said that he doesn't like competence in a man.]
A tattoo? It must be a high achievement, if the mark you earn for it's permanent.
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[But Ryn leans closer, and his irises slide to the corners of his eyes to watch the approach, and he angles his chin just so to open up the column of his neck to the scrutiny, almost like an invitation to look further. Or mayhap to touch.]
How strange to think that two spirits of such vastly different origins would share so similar a taste. ...Let me have a drink out of yours. The mana-infused wine.
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[that's something interesting, too, leads him to more curiosity about just how he earned those honors. and with the way thancred shifts--
he can read a cue. one hand lifts, gloved fingertips tracing that mark with a light touch. it lingers for just a moment, before he lets his hand drop and slides the glass over.]
Trade me then. I'm curious about your mentor's taste.
[personally i think rule of funny is it should taste the same to you even if it's from someone else's glass, tbh.]
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but what's unexpected, maybe, is the fact that even offering the cue, even inviting Ryn's examination — none of that keeps him from shivering, just a little, when the gloved fingertips make contact with his proffered skin.]
I've mastered my art. Practical knowledge is valued just as much as theoretical, in Sharlayan.
[But. They're trading glasses, and that's a better place to put his focus for the moment, so he does.]
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What kind of practical art was it, then? Can't just say that without bragging a little more.
[spill, come on.
meanwhile he takes a sip from thancred's drink, with a thoughtful hum.]
-wait, this tastes exactly the same.
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[He frowns, though, and tests Ryn's drink himself.]
...As is this. So either we've a startling coincidence on our hands, or...
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[very interesting, though, that it's the same no matter what... he likes this drink more and more.
but of course, he has to ask-]
What condition?
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[He takes another drink — still out of Ryn's traded glass, conspicuously — and doesn't notice how it makes him just a little more stupid, a little more desirous to show off for this singular audience of one in particular.]
May I?
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I've let you before, haven't I? Don't know why you're so doubtful.
Go ahead.
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[But he gulps another mouthful of the Number Nine, then sets it back on the counter, and gets up from his seat, staying fully within Ryn's line of sight as he starts to walk a meandering path around the interior of the room nearest the bar.
As he weaves his way back, he makes a brief detour to put one of the pillars between himself and Ryn, obscured for not more than a second or two at the pace he's walking —
Except that he doesn't come back out again. Or doesn't seem to, at least.
Not until two fingers and a thumb catch light hold of one of the tendrils dangling close to the nape of Ryn's neck and smoothly drag all the way down to the tip.]
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which has his attention thoroughly elsewhere when thancred touches that tendril.
it speaks to his old training that, instead of startling and falling off his seat, he just gasps and reflexively straightens, ears perked straight up before they slowly begin to settle.]
How by the Void did you-?!
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[Comes the voice from right near Ryn's ear, though from enough of a distance that even the wash of his breath doesn't touch him.]
And marks like these aren't won easily, as you've now seen for yourself.
[...Heh.]
Or mayhap, as you've now not seen for yourself.
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[but he sounds genuinely amused, turning to face him once more; the tendril thancred's caught doesn't wiggle away, curling idly around his fingers.]
Stealth then? I'll be honest, that's not what I was expecting from you.
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[He smiles, not moving any further away even when Ryn turns toward him, comfortably invading his space while maintaining his scrupulously — one might almost, at this point, consider it playfully — enforced distance.]
Because I seem like the type?
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