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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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."

Harrow's mouth twists up, this time not at all in a smile. It shifts from side to side as he considers what to say.

"I didn't really want payment last time, man. I just... Thought I could get some cool Earth stuff outta y'all, and didn't think I'd get it any other way. I ain't really used to wanting things, and I definitely ain't used to bein' in a place where folks are mostly kind. Especially not to me and my kind. Guess at that moment I figured if I didn't weasel it outta you, I'd never get anything. But deep down, that's not really the kinda person I am. My mom would be ashamed of me if she knew I found my way to a place like this and started actin' like a greedy goblin."

He nudges the jar a fraction of an inch closer to Viatorus, pats the lid, and returns his hands to his own side of the table.

"It's yours for free, one hundred percent. I mean, it ain't much. No seeds or roots or nothin', just enough for a tea or two, but I figured it was only right to give you some to try. And if you like it, or wanna study it more? I can try and get a version you can grow."

He smiles softly, hesitantly, and waits with folded hands for Viatorus's response.

The admission gets a soft frown from the scholar. It's more disapproving than annoyed, and his gaze doesn't linger long on the death knight, soon returning to the strange plant before him.

Again, he reaches out, this time with both hands, pulling it closer with the slight bending of his fingers. "Thank you," he says quietly.

His frown deepens and smooths, his voice stays soft as he confesses, "I... I don't know if... I... It will take a bit of time for me to get used to you... being... um, undead. That's... That's not a normal thing in my world. The undead are usually cursed, or evil, they're not... nice. I-I'm sorry if I'm rude to you."

Harrow chuckles in a poor attempt to conceal his discomfort. "I, uh. Appreciate the honesty, I guess. And, y'know... You and I? We don't gotta be friends, exactly. But it'd be nice if we could get along at least a little bit. Your friends are my friends now. We're bound to bump into each other."

"I got a question, though. About cursed folks. On Earth, do most folks bring curses on themselves? Or are they mostly victims? 'Cause I'm surprised to hear a person like you who wants to help folks might hold it against someone who's cursed if it ain't their fault. Which... Ain't to say anything about whether or not my situation is my fault. Just a question, 's'all."

"We have some of both. People whose souls rotted from their evil deeds, people who were raised against their will..." His hands come together so that his fingers can intertwine, fidgeting. "It's... I don't mean to, but... Cursed people... They... They bring darkness with them. Sometimes it's not much at all. Sometimes it's just for them. Sometimes... Sometimes they attract it, and I... I can't... I can't risk that."

His breathing has hastened a notch and his hands tremble very slightly, but it's all hard to tell with it behind his twitching.

Harrowheart's eyebrows lower slowly, half in disapproval and half in curiosity. He tilts his head just slightly and watches Viatorus from the corners of his eyes.

"What do you mean? Dark magic, what... You're... Susceptible to it? You absorb it somehow? Or... Are you drawn to it?"

He leans back in his chair and raises his head to see him from a different angle. "You afraid you'll turn into a nightmare walker?"

Viatorus stares at him in much the same way he did when Harrowheart was making guesses about his sister. After a moment, he frowns a little. "There's no such thing as a nightmarewalker. Dreamwalking includes nightmares. Nightmares are a kind of dream."

"It... It doesn't matter. Let's not talk about it."

Nightmares are dreams Viatorus says. V, you pedantic little nerd. You're lucky you're so cute. Harrow actually gets a little laugh out of the description of the differences. And not a mean-spirited laugh, either! V caught him fair and square and he's willing to concede he's been educated.

Not verbally, of course, but it's implied.

He plays up an air of ultra-casualness and turns to the side, draping his arm over the back of his chair and crossing one leg over the other. He looks out the window and with a mischievous hint of a smile says, "If it ain't about corruption, I'm just gonna go ahead and assume that dark things wanna devour your magic. Considerin' how far folks go to protect ya, I figure you must be a pret-ty tasty little breather mage."

Harrowheart must know by now that Viatorus won't find humor in that. Or... maybe he honestly believes one of these times V will laugh at his undead anti-humor? Diplomacy must be his dump stat.

One of his hands waves toward the uneaten food he's ordered. With a scoff and a smile he laughs, "Better than this stuff, anyway! Do people on Earth actually eat this food?"

There might be something in the fact that he doesn't argue, doesn't correct. In fact, he doesn't say anything at all for a while, choosing instead to frown. Hard.

Every time he thinks he's discovered that Harrowheart is secretly a well meaning zombie... he manages to say something to ensure Viatorus doubts that. Viatorus doesn't like doubting people, or assuming the worst. But then, he's never had to reconcile with an undead being before.

"Yes." A pause before he adds, "I don't know why."

The kid's clammed up again. Harrow's eyebrows twitch as he focuses on keeping a neutral expression while he stares out the window. He's got to brace himself for V's expression before he turns back to see him. Aaaaand...

Yep. He's frowning. Harrow frowns in kind, but only for a second. He forces a small smile and shakes his head.

"Okay, so... Since you're new to all'a this? Free-willed undead like makin' jokes. But not the normal kinda jokes. We like... Y'know... Morbid stuff? We tease each other like that. We tease our breather friends like that. It's how we connect with each other and how we invite the livin' into our unlives. Then we expect them to make some jokes back at us eventually. Either we laugh 'cause it's good, or we groan 'cause it's bad, but really either way it's good. Y'know?

"Or... Maybe you don't like jokes? But I bet you do. I bet you've got some a-mage-ing jokes yourself. I mean, come on, Viatorus! I'm sure you can conjure up somethin' witty! I'm sure your humor'll be charming!"

Viatorus, you are always free to leave. Leave this terrible man. Listen to the evil pouring out of that mouth. Your ears do not have to take this.

Harrowheart's lesson on undead humour troubles Viatorus more, at first. The creases in his brow deepen, distress peeking through. Jokes were hard enough to work with without them being of a distasteful calibre.

But then, much to his own surprise, Viatorus finds the corner of his mouth tugging into a small smile on hearing those terrible, terrible puns. If he hadn't been frowning so hard a moment ago, his smile might be wider. Instead, it's small, weak, and he ducks his head shyly. "I'm... I'm not very good at making jokes."

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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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Viatorus and the Mystery of his Wight Guilt

It isn't assumed V feels chronic guilt/anxiety yet? XD

Viatorus deserves better than this torment. Us, though? We deserve a bad laugh.

Sounds about right ^^

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If V learns his humour from Harrowheart, there will have to be apologies made