westfallcorndog | Jock vs Nerd Round 2: Lunch Chat Edition

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viatorus

Jock vs Nerd Round 2: Lunch Chat Edition

Harrowheart sits with his phone in his hands debating how to start this. He'd gotten Viatorus's number, and he fully intended to text him, but it wasn't easy. Everyone seemed to like Viatorus so much. They all vouched for him and insisted on his better qualities, but Harrow had been so rude when last they'd met, and he was certain the kid was some kind of anti-undead racist. Most of this felt pointless, but he had to try, if not for himself then for his friends.

It took him far too long to send his eventual text:

Viatorus this is Harrowheart. I looked up you're number. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot last time. Would you like to meet and try again?

He follows it up with a text of his current location. An authentic little Earth diner transplanted into the Nexus, a humble and half-clean place by the name of McDonald's. Flaccid fries and soggy burgers are universal – nay, interdimensional – and fast food joints are only appropriate for the meeting of two magical minds. Plus, there's a big playground.

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"London. The capital city of England, part of the United Kingdom of Great Britain. The Romans who founded it named it Londinium and I am not a mad mind mage," he blurts out, encyclopaedic recitation turning into something he really wanted to make clear. "I-I don't-don't read minds or a-anything like that."

Now it's Harrow's turn to be overwhelmed. He blinks quickly and laughs at Viatorus's trivia barrage and unexpected turn of subject. His mouth twists up as he tries so hard not to smile.

"That's just what a mad mind mage would say, ain't it? Buuuut I figure you can't be a mind controller and be friends with Verity, huh? She knows the truth, so if you tried to control her mind she'd know you were doin' it. Naugus told me your dream stuff is mostly watchin' folks sleep, so I figure voyeurism is as evil as you probably get. And besides, if you were a mindreader..."

With a little laugh he taps his temple. "Ain't a whole lot up here to read.

"But I am curious about it. Your dream-readin', I mean. How would you describe it?"

The laughing, the mouth twisted in an almost-smile. It all makes him incredibly uncomfortable and he frowns down at his tea. Tea doesn't question his honesty.

"It's not reading, it's walking." Important differences, Harrowheart. They mean Very Different things to him. Not that those differences mean anything to anyone who isn't a scholar. But if there's anything Viatorus is going to be pedantic about, it's dreams. "It's between meditation and projection. I step out of my body and go into the dreamlands and walk into dreams."

"I-I only have to be in the same room as someone the first time, if I want to be really sure I'll find their dream. I-I'm not a... a peeping Tom or anything." His cheeks are starting to go red simply at the thought of such a suggestion being true. "I like dreams. I like to help people."

Walking in dreams as Viatorus has described it is very different from reading them, and briefly Harrowheart is surprised.

"So you can enter people's thoughts," he says, "But only when they're asleep."

He nods idly as he chews a fry.

"That's pretty powerful," he admits with one final, serious nod. "But what kinda good can you do with a thing like that? Give folks pleasant thoughts?"

His eyes flicker up to watch Harrowheart for a second but he quick looks down again. That's something everyone has in common with his family. Nobody seems to regard dreams as valuable.

"I-I help them change nightmares into dreams. Help them calm. Help them control their dreams. It gives them an escape. Sometimes they can hear themselves better. That's always important. Always good." His frown deepens and in a nervous motion, he sips at his tea. Only to find it is the worst tea he has ever tasted in his life. He wrinkles up his face and puts the cup back down again, managing not to comment. He's not doing that again.

Harrow lightly cuffs Viatorus on the shoulder. "Man, don't look so down! I wasn't makin' fun, I was just curious. Honest."

He looks around the open building and his gaze lingers a while on the bodyguard. His mouth draws into a thin and thoughtful line as his eyes lose focus and stare through the man. It's a while before he comes back to reality and finds Viatorus again.

"I haven't had a dream in a real long time. I tried. I got a feather from a druid and hung it over my bed, but it wasn't as magic as I pretended it was. Nothin' ever came of it. Sometimes I try to think real hard about stuff before I sleep, but I don't think that gives me dreams either."

He hesitates a moment. It doesn't feel fair to talk business with Viatorus given their relationship. But maybe focusing on something he likes will help cheer him up?

"Have you ever read a dead person's dreams? Are there undead on your Earth?"

Viatorus is happy to let the silence stretch out. It means he isn't saying something silly, and no one is saying anything bad about dreams. Although, when Harrowheart talks about his own experience, Viatorus can't help but be drawn back into the conversation, even meeting the other's gaze. Right until the question of dead people.

"There are. Vampires, ghouls, liches, wraiths and revenants and things... I've never seen them. Only spirits. Ghosts." And he's seen too much of them.

To try and fill the silence, he offers, "One of my relatives is the family Necromancer. He, um... He resurrected a dead bird once to show me. The bird, it... it wasn't right." He rubs his arm, since he isn't going to drink that tea again. "It was like he didn't notice."

That's not very pleasant to remember. It's probably rude too. So Viatorus tries to fidget with the plastic lid in front of him instead. "M-My patron god is the Greek god Morpheus. H-He's the god of dreams, and... and his father is Hypnos, god of sleep. Hypnos' brother is Thanatos, the god of death. They live in the Underworld." Well that was a meaningless ramble. He makes an attempt to bring it back. "S-So there's a connection there. I guess."

Harrow runs his fingers along the edge of the table as he listens to Viatorus. He keeps his eyes on the table and the yet-uneaten food. Now and then his eyebrows twitch with his thoughts, and it's another long while before he speaks.

"I don't think little animals should be undead. It ain't fair to them. They don't understand it, and they can't control themselves, and they don't know how to escape it if they wanted to. It ain't fair to little animals to turn 'em undead."

Oh no. The conversation has become dreadfully unfortunate.

Just loudly enough to be heard by Viatorus he says, "Sorry I been kinda a dick to you, man." He clears his throat. "I figured you for some kinda undead racist after you wouldn't shake my hand, so I went outta my way to be rude. That ain't fair, and it ain't right, and I'm sorry."

He sits back and begins rubbing his arm again.

"I don't like death. I don't like violence or pain. I-I know it's part of life. Nature. Light and dark. The balance of everything. But..." It scares him. He's not allowed to admit that things scare him. The Archon would disapprove. His uncle would disapprove. So he settles on, "Dark things have never been kind to me. A-And I'm not... I'm not very good with people. I probably didn't help things."

He goes very, very quiet. "Is... Is that why you lied to me? When you said I could be honest with you, and then..."

Harrow's hands press hard against his own eyes. He roughly scrubs at his face, pulling and stretching his features until his hands finally slide down and rest beneath the table. With a heavy sigh, he nods.

"I forgot I did that to you. That was... Pretty fucked up. 'Scuse my language."

He clears his throat again.

"Pretty fucked up."

His nostrils flare and he takes in a deep breath of air.

"Looks like I pretty much confirmed all your worryin' about dark things and people. Can I make it up to you? Is there somethin' I could do? A favor you need, or... Anything?'

He flinches at the cursing, but he does that with all swearing, just ask Verity. It annoys her no end.

"No. No, nothing. It's fine." It's not, but he can use white lies on Harrowheart. There's a brief pause before he starts up, "Or, actually. Just... Just don't hate my sister for what she said. She's... protective. And, if she issues you a challenge, decline it. Yes, that... that's something you could do."

"A challenge?" He leans forward with his eyes wide and his wrists braced against the edge of the table. "What kinda challenge?..."

Oh. Oh no. He's interested. The chances of him declining this hypothetical challenge are waning by the second.

"A... A challenge," he repeats, more cautiously this time. He hesitates, not sure whether or not he should explain. "In my family we have a tradition of magical duels, or challenges, that can be invoked. To resolve disputes or bring resolution to an issue. What kind of challenge depends on the mage. I'd never issue the challenges that Isidor does. And sometimes she invokes them when she feels she's been given a reason to. Protective, as I said."

Pause. "... You... You will say no, won't you? If she makes one."

Harrow's nostrils flare. He looks to Viatorus's bodyguard and back again, and with great reluctance he nods.

"I will not accept her challenge. No matter how hard it is, I won't accept her challenge."

He scoots his chair a little closer to the table and immediately follows up asking, "Now you gotta tell me why. Do you think she'd cream me? Or you think I'd wreck her? Who'd win, man? I mean, just off the top of your head. I know you don't know me too good, but just guess."

Viatorus blinks rapidly a couple of times at the questioning. The eagerness, too, catches him out.

"Um. She... She would." His cheeks start going red again and he mumbles, "Something else might end up like your hands. Your... knees, or... something." He speaks a bit louder then. "One of our cousins is... is very... hm... rude. Isidor's issued lots of challenges to her. Last time her patron got a dislocated shoulder, and Isidor was going easy on him."

Harrow scoffs. He crosses his arms and exhales through his nose. "You oughta just said I'd win, 'cause now I wanna find out for real. What kinda magic's she got? Let me guess..."

His floating hands rub at his temples as he makes a great show of imagining something. "I'm seeing... Blinking? She blinks, right? And she's got a... A rapier. That's the kinda sword a nimble, lovely, rich lady like your sister would use, huh? She teleports around and cuts people up with her rapier, and she always sticks her landings."

He crosses his arms and folds his hands on the table, and he smiles. It isn't his intention to be patronizing, not at all, but how can you follow something like that up with a smile and not look disingenuous?

"Oh." He'd forgotten that in some cases people are expected to lie. 'Too much' time spent with Verity, clearly. "Sorry."

Viatorus just... stares as Harrowheart makes his guesses. They couldn't be further from the reality. 'Nimble' is not a word he'd use to describe someone who uses force lined punches to send men three times her size flying across the room. He blinks at the death knight.

After a second to process that, his eyes slide away while he forms his response. "Um. No. She... Um... She... dances. She's quick and strong. Her reactions are very fast, and she mostly uses arcane, fire or earth magic. She wouldn't summon any weapons to a challenge. If she did, she uses an axe. She says it's more versatile and, uh, powerful."

"Powerful..." Harrow repeats in a whisper. "And she likes axes, too?..."

One of his hands cups his cheek and lines up with his wrist so that he can support the weight of his head on one bent arm. He stares out the window thoughtfully while his free hand quietly drums its fingers against the table.

He must be a man of many thoughts to spend so long gazing out the window. His daze breaks with an eventual sigh, but rather than turn his head back to Viatorus he only shifts his eyes.

"I shouldn't'a been such a jerk to her. I oughta apologize to her, too, don'tcha think? You think I could... Have her number?"

Viatorus doesn't understand what this reaction is. What is Harrowheart thinking about for so long? It sort of reminds him of sitting in his father's office, waiting for the man to finish up something important which, compared to talking to him, covered a lot of things. The uncertainty and the memory this brings to mind gets him to shift uncomfortably in his seat until Harrowheart is finished thinking.

The request seems like a bad idea for so many reasons. He doesn't quite trust Isidor not to tear Harrowheart limb from limb in an expertly crafted verbal scolding. That is, not unless he gets to talk to her first and establish some rules for her. "Maybe... I... I think it might be better if I get her to contact you. If you're sure. She... She can be very sharp." Pause. "Very bristly."

Harrow scratches at his sideburn as he nods along worriedly. "I noticed. I – I mean, I don't hold it against her! I'm sure she's got good reasons to be bristly. Like the fact that I was a rude jerk. It'll just be... It'll be a good exercise in me keepin' my cool and actin' kinder to folks I wouldn't normally appreciate, right?"

He smiles, or rather he tries to. Suddenly he's not feeling so confident in himself.

"Y'know, she yelled at me before, and that wasn't so bad. I mean, it was a little bad, but I unlived. Maybe she'd feel better if she could just yell at me one more time? Get some revenge outta her system? I think I'm ready for it."

He opens his mouth as if to say something more, but he's struck by a sudden realization. After a brief pause he quietly and hesitantly asks, "She doesn't get bristly like that with you, does she?..."

Edited 2016-01-06 02:17 (UTC)

"I think she thinks you're a threat. Or a potential threat. That's why she broke her calm. And, I don't know if that will work. I guess you can try?"

Again, he doesn't understand what Harrowheart is thinking. His brow knots in a confused frown. "No. I'm her brother. I mean, sometimes we argue a little bit, but siblings do that. She's like that with outsiders, with strangers."

"She thinks I'm a threat?" Harrow rubs his chin. On one hand, that's almost a compliment, isn't it? Acknowledgement of his potential skill by an allegedly powerful mage is nothing to sneeze at. On the other hand, being a threat to people you want to befriend is the opposite of good in any way at all.

"Does she have a bodyguard of her own? Or, y'know, just any old someone who watches out for her? Girlfriend, boyfriend, magical rock golem to smash folks who bother her?"

His eyes flicker toward Viatorus's bodyguard. What's that guy up to, anyway?

The guard is totally not picking his teeth because that would be bad and reflect poorly on his employer...

Viatorus shakes his head. "She's trained to guard me, so she doesn't need anyone. Though part of our business is security, so she's not undefended at home, really. But you're an undead death knight mage who was wearing axes when you said... all those things that you said, so... sh-she probably does think you're a threat, yes. Uh. Sorry."

Harrow laughs uncomfortably. "My axes! N-no, naw, I didn't mean anything by havin' 'em. I gotta keep 'em with me. They're part of me just like magic's part of you. They got, uh..."

He glances down below the table where he's keeping his satchel. Presumably, his axes must be inside.

"My soul's bound to 'em. I can't not have 'em around. But I can work on my attitude. A-and maybe bring somethin' pleasant, so she knows I ain't out to get any of ya. And – Oh! That reminds me!"

He dips down below the table and rummages through the flaps of the satchel until he comes up with a small mason jar sealed tightly to protect a few rootless stalks of a plant. It's a flowery thing with petals like lavender and leaves like dandelion greens. His hands hover it over toward Viatorus and set it down next to his tea.

"Dreamfoil. The flower I mentioned when we met. Brew the petals like tea, drink it, and go to sleep. It'll give ya vivid dreams, sometimes ones you can control. Never have used it myself. Just heard it gives a person good ideas, if they don't mind gamblin' on a wild trip. I figured since you seemed interested in it last time..."

He shrugs one shoulder. Either Viatorus will want it or he won't.

"Soul bound..." He wonders just what that entails, what the parameters of that are. Does it work as a phylactery? Did he do it or the Lich King? A flood of questions start coming to mind, but he stays quiet. It's a good thing. He's not so terrified that curiosity has vanished, anymore.

Then the dreamfoil appears. A hand reaches out and hovers beside the glass walls of the jar, then it pulls away. Viatorus' eyes lift to look at Harrowheart uncertainly. "Are you... Are you sure? You... You wanted payment for it last time. I-I don't have anything with me to give you."

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Now is the time to use the power of lies, V.

But he lies worse than he introduces himself!

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