Participants:

Fenris_icon.gif Taril_icon.gif

Scene Title Not From Around Here
Synopsis Awkward conversation in Hightown
Location Central Hightown
Date Harvestmere 19, 9:31 Dragon
Watch For Pies
Logger Fenris

Sometimes, a man just needed space to think, without the heavy shadow of Darktown, or the roar of the Pit, or the subtle, wild noises out on Sundermount. The wilderness had never been a place particularly hospitable to Fenris. He'd made do on many an occasion, but cities made more sense. He was trained better for them. People were awful, but he knew their rhythm. The rhythm of the forest was something else entirely, and while you could always trust an animal to be an animal, he didn't care for it near as much as this. Sitting up on a ledge, watching people mill in the early darkness of the autumn. The streetlamps cast long swathes of light over damp stone, still wet from Autumn rain. Fenris, though, up on his low perch of a median, doesn't seem to care about the damp. A bottle sits beside him, but he is not nursing it like once he used to make a nightly occurance. No, the white haired elf is just watching, eyes of sylvan green keen on passerby. How many of them notice him, though, even with shock white hair and lyrium tattoo, in the shadow of the median, is up for debate. Sharp, metal gauntlets make the simple action of his drumming his fingers upon his own thigh look much frightening than is intended, though, and the large blade set beside him… Odd place for this guy to choose for a sit down.

You know how there's always that one person who notices things you'd rather they didn't? Well, that's Taril. This time he's gone out without the cub that's usually by his side and apparently talked his sister out of having her wolf follow him. This means he's perfectly free to roam the rooftops and garden walls. It also means he spots Fenris easily and drops to the ledge without announcing himself. "Didn't think I'd see you up here."

It is good that it is honestly not that easy to make Fenris jump. Taril's sudden arrival gets little more than a huff from Fenris, and he lifts his bottle. A long pull from the bottle, which seems to be full of wine and not anything stronger, is what works as Taril's initial greeting. Then, Fenris shifts, pulling his legs up and crossing them. "Why is that?" He asks, eyes flicking to Taril for a brief moment before returning to his watching.

Taril shrugs. "I just figured you wouldn't want to be up here, that's all. In Hightown." He finally clarifies before considering the other elf for a moment. Some sort of decision is reached that leads to him sitting down. The bag he carries is placed in the space provided by his feet being drawn toward his body without his legs crossing. "Too many shems with more money than sense. Here." A small wrapped thing smelling of apples and cinnamon is offered over.

Fenris blinks, raises a brow. "Hightown is the place that makes sense." Fenris says, his only explanation. Honestly, he's a weird fuck sometimes. Especially for an elf. It very much seems as though he's going to just go back to his people watching. That smell though… His ears perk, a small motion, easy to miss for those who aren't elves. But Fenris hasn't spent much of his life among his own race, and learning to quell those little tell tale motions has been something he has missed. So his interest is evident, and he turns to look at the wrapped item, taking it with an even countenance.

Taril may be missing a lot of the social graces you'd expect from someone from a clan that deals with humans so regularly, but he's going to not mention that motion yet. "This place? Have you listened to them talk? They never say what they mean." Likely not surprising from someone so direct. "At least a wolf means he's going to attack when he growls." He busies himself with wrapping the things he's gathered in cloth, all of it looking like useless weeds and moss. "Elves where you're from. They spend most of their time living in human spaces?"

Again, Fenris blinks. Slowly unwrapping this thing that smells like apples and cinnamon, there is a frown that says his interest in the smell of apples might be only thing keeping Taril from being snapped at. "You could say that." Fenris says, growling just a little under the words. "And it isn't what they say, it's what they do. They say nothing of what they mean, but they always do exactly what they want." The wealthy were, more or less, all the same in that respect. There's a long pause then, before, "You have not had many interactions with wolves, have you?"

"Only with two kinds." Taril thinks it over. "Maybe three. Smart hunters stay away from them unless they don't have a choice." He seems to turn that information over for a few seconds, and when this elf puts that much thought into his words, you know something's up. "It's just that… I've noticed things. You're good at keeping things from showing on your face, for the most part. That's a really human thing. But your hair is short and you don't seem to notice your ears at all." He finally finishes his task and settles the packages into the bag again, sending more of that apple scent into the air. "I traded for a few. Figured I'd take them to the clinic before I make more soap."

"Well, with every wolf I have ever known, a growl is a warning, not a declaration of war." Fenris answers, dry and serious for something that really ought to be more conversational than this, "If they mean to kill you, you will not hear them." Then, though, Fenris goes still. Those ears, the very same that he pays no mind to, drop that fraction of an inch that means displeasure. For a moment, just a moment, it looks like he might offer some explanation for that. Then hard lines set in Fenris' face and instead he starts in on something different. "I am headed back that way. I could bring them for you." Dry, simple, anything other than talking about his damn hair and ears and… Whatever Taril's point was supposed to be there.

Taril pulls the basket that the pies are in from the bag and makes sure the ties are closed. "I didn't mean any insult. I just thought I should say something. Anyone who knows our body language well enough will see it. Every little thing gives them an advantage. Especially if they know you." He hands the basket over. "Let him know I'll bring soap tomorrow? Lemons are getting hard to come by but I think I may be able to get enough to last a while." Once his own bag is closed he finally looks over at Fenris. "We don't get along really well. Maybe we won't ever, but if something happened to you? Anders'd be hurt."

At all of this, Fenris just sighs. Heavy, long, and touched with the notes of bone deep exhaustion, it hangs in the air before him, clouded in the autumn chill. "You do not understand." Fenris says, though he takes up the basket in the next movement, "I hope you never have to." And then he's slipping from the median, basket in one hand, wine bottle in the other. "I will tell him."

"Probably not." Taril agrees as he stands to begin making his way out of Hightown via the upper route. "I still thought it was important to tell you. But since you seem to like that scent so much, I'll put some of it into the soap." That's his way of making amends. Be glad he's not going the route of 'dead nug placed somewhere inconvenient'.

"I do not think Anders needs his entire Clinic smelling of apples." Fenris says over his shoulder, but does not break his stride. It seems he's gotten himself of a mind to leave. Immediately. No haste, but he doesn't care for parting words either. No, he's just slipping down toward Lowtown.


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