The Importance of Being Earnest (Jaezred & Oziah)
Jul 23, 2021 10:29:49 GMT
BB, Henry (Felix/Sterling), and 2 more like this
Post by Jaezred Vandree on Jul 23, 2021 10:29:49 GMT
After the events of Seaside Amusements...
“Tell me, Lord Jaezred — are there appropriate accommodations in Port Ffirst? I must admit the city is growing on me, and adventurers can be exhausting. I don’t think Fort Ettin is for me anymore.”
“Clearly, The Flourished Hook in New Town. There is no equal. As much as I like Aurelia, Fort Ettin is little more than a glorified dormitory…”
It’s barely past dawn when the two order their martinis but the waitstaff are too professional to raise neither an eyebrow nor an objection.
Oziah takes a small sip and sighs in satisfaction.
“Yes, this will do indeed. You were quite right, my lord Jaezred.”
She rolls her shoulders and settles into the plush sofa.
“I think I’ll be much more comfortable here. Both in terms of accommodation and company. It’s always a relief to find like-minded people.”
Next to her, Jaezred crosses his legs, sitting with one hand resting on his cane and the other holding his own glass. “I’m glad to hear it, my lady. The Hook is host to the Dawnlands’ most distinguished ladies and gentlemen — people who are worthy of your time.” He grins.
Oziah rolls her eyes as she takes another, larger sip of her drink, seemingly needing the strength at the mention of people who she didn’t deem worthy of her time.
“You’ve been at this longer than I, I believe. How on earth do you put up with them? The bards and the barbarians and the…unprofessionalism?”
“Why, I laugh at them,” he says after taking a sip. “Surfacers wear their emotions on their sleeve, hence they’re quick to anger. It amuses me. That, in addition to rewards from the job, makes it worthwhile...sometimes. Other times, it can be quite grating indeed.”
Her lips quirk in a small, cynical smile. In the cold light of dawn shining through the polished glass windows she suddenly looks tired.
“Laughter, you say? Well, perhaps that is the issue then. I don’t laugh much these days.”
He lets the silence settle between them for a moment or two.
“Forgive me for prying, for I know we are not yet well-acquainted, but what is on your ladyship’s mind?”
She looks at him, considering, her blue eyes piercing.
“Only if you’ll forgive me for letting slip far more than is appropriate for a new acquaintance such as this.” She drains the last of her drink and raises a slender hand to the staff for another.
“Revenge is what is on my mind. I think of little else. My inheritance was stolen from me — my title, my wealth, my power. All because I refused to be sold like cattle.”
She pauses as a finely dressed waiter sets another finely-stemmed glass in front of her.
“For a brief moment in my youth I thought I had found freedom, or as close to it as I would get. I also thought I had found love.”
She raises an eyebrow at him, remembering their conversation at the circus.
“He was working for my father, and was more than eager to sell me out. I was young, and more than willing to believe otherwise until I could deny the truth no longer.”
She takes yet another sip and settles herself, gathering up her emotions and putting them back behind safer walls.
“Pardon me, my lord, it seems the night at the circus brought up old memories. I did not mean to spill them all at this table.”
Jaezred has been listening to her in silence, red eyes watching intently the entire time, but giving away no emotion. He finishes his drink and orders two double whiskeys, neat. “Men are wicked,” he murmurs as he raises the new glass to his lips. “Do not apologise, Lady Oziah. It was I who brought it up. This vendetta of yours — is it why you have sought allies within the Witching Court?”
She raises her tumbler in a small toast. “Wicked indeed. And yes, I visited and was offered...lessons. The Lady Belladonna — you may know her? — she has a place amongst them and taught me a thing or two. I’m looking to further my own arcane knowledge now that I’ve been cut off from the source, as it were. But no deals were made, no bargains struck.” Her eyes darken for a moment. “I’ll never be beholden to anyone again.”
The drow has a puzzled look on his face. “Belladonna Thorpe and I are acquainted, yes. But how did you manage to acquire lessons without giving the witches anything in return? Surely you promised them something.”
Oziah gives him a sly smile. “I learned enough to awaken something within me. After that they wanted a deal. I turned them down.”
Jaezred smirks back. “Most excellent. Looks like you cheated the cheaters,” he replies with a chuckle, taking delight in imagining Nicnevin and Imryll’s faces upon being rejected.
She takes another small sip and eyes him curiously.
“You sound like you speak from experience, my lord. Have you had many dealings with the fey and their courts?”
He shakes his head. “Only as many as the average adventurer. But I’ve seen enough to make me swear never to make any bargains with them. Nay, they are tricksters of the worst kind and ancient enemies of my people. Why should I be entangled with them?” he asks aloud, though it seems more directed at himself than Oziah.
The aasimar gives him a slow, sharp grin, like a shark that’s smelled blood in the water.
“I do believe it’s my turn to pry, Lord Jaezred. The fey are, as you say, unreliable tricksters — what reason would you have to get in bed with them? Except perhaps to simply...get in bed with them?”
She takes another sip of the whiskey before giving him a look of both grim delight and pity.
“It does make a fool of us all.”
Oziah watches as Jaezred’s face turns very red and very flustered before her. He takes a deep breath, mustering all the power within him to keep his voice steady, before answering, “You misunderstand. It’s nothing like that.” Gods, how he hates the pity in her eyes. “I have befriended one of them and sometimes I question the wisdom of it. That is all.”
For a long moment Oziah says nothing and lets the undeniable truth ring out between them. Her eyes do not soften, but her grin melts away until there’s nothing on her face but cool detachment and a sliver of sympathy.
“I wish you the best of luck and a clear head as you continue this…friendship. Should you ever need an ear or a shoulder, I’ll gladly offer mine.”
“I need no such thing,” he snaps. Oziah raises a pointed eyebrow at him. Realising the rudeness he just displayed, he pauses to cough into a fist. “Apologies, apologies. I...thank you for your offer.”
The shame that the circus temporarily took away from him — the shame he harbours for his "little indiscretion" — is coming back in a rush. Jaezred downs his drink with grim determination, eyes glued to the bottom of the tumbler. “You are a capable warrior with great potential within yourself, and you have the ambition to suit it. You have an ally in me in this crusade of yours, if you are ever in need of one,” he mutters.
Oziah empties her own tumbler and lowers her eyebrow back down.
“Careful, my lord Jaezred. We might make allies of each other. What would people say?”
He gives her a strained smile, but it fades quickly.
She lets out a small sigh that threatens to turn into a yawn.
“It’s been a pleasure. We must do this again. But for now, I believe I shall retire to quarters befitting my station.”
“I should do the same. But one more drink for me, perhaps.” He stands up and bows to her. “Good night, Lady Oziah.”
She inclines her head and rises from the velvet sofa and heads towards the stairs leading up to the lavish rooms of the Flourished Hook, leaving the Lord Jaezred Vandree to his thoughts.
Co-written with Oziah Daybreaker
“Tell me, Lord Jaezred — are there appropriate accommodations in Port Ffirst? I must admit the city is growing on me, and adventurers can be exhausting. I don’t think Fort Ettin is for me anymore.”
“Clearly, The Flourished Hook in New Town. There is no equal. As much as I like Aurelia, Fort Ettin is little more than a glorified dormitory…”
It’s barely past dawn when the two order their martinis but the waitstaff are too professional to raise neither an eyebrow nor an objection.
Oziah takes a small sip and sighs in satisfaction.
“Yes, this will do indeed. You were quite right, my lord Jaezred.”
She rolls her shoulders and settles into the plush sofa.
“I think I’ll be much more comfortable here. Both in terms of accommodation and company. It’s always a relief to find like-minded people.”
Next to her, Jaezred crosses his legs, sitting with one hand resting on his cane and the other holding his own glass. “I’m glad to hear it, my lady. The Hook is host to the Dawnlands’ most distinguished ladies and gentlemen — people who are worthy of your time.” He grins.
Oziah rolls her eyes as she takes another, larger sip of her drink, seemingly needing the strength at the mention of people who she didn’t deem worthy of her time.
“You’ve been at this longer than I, I believe. How on earth do you put up with them? The bards and the barbarians and the…unprofessionalism?”
“Why, I laugh at them,” he says after taking a sip. “Surfacers wear their emotions on their sleeve, hence they’re quick to anger. It amuses me. That, in addition to rewards from the job, makes it worthwhile...sometimes. Other times, it can be quite grating indeed.”
Her lips quirk in a small, cynical smile. In the cold light of dawn shining through the polished glass windows she suddenly looks tired.
“Laughter, you say? Well, perhaps that is the issue then. I don’t laugh much these days.”
He lets the silence settle between them for a moment or two.
“Forgive me for prying, for I know we are not yet well-acquainted, but what is on your ladyship’s mind?”
She looks at him, considering, her blue eyes piercing.
“Only if you’ll forgive me for letting slip far more than is appropriate for a new acquaintance such as this.” She drains the last of her drink and raises a slender hand to the staff for another.
“Revenge is what is on my mind. I think of little else. My inheritance was stolen from me — my title, my wealth, my power. All because I refused to be sold like cattle.”
She pauses as a finely dressed waiter sets another finely-stemmed glass in front of her.
“For a brief moment in my youth I thought I had found freedom, or as close to it as I would get. I also thought I had found love.”
She raises an eyebrow at him, remembering their conversation at the circus.
“He was working for my father, and was more than eager to sell me out. I was young, and more than willing to believe otherwise until I could deny the truth no longer.”
She takes yet another sip and settles herself, gathering up her emotions and putting them back behind safer walls.
“Pardon me, my lord, it seems the night at the circus brought up old memories. I did not mean to spill them all at this table.”
Jaezred has been listening to her in silence, red eyes watching intently the entire time, but giving away no emotion. He finishes his drink and orders two double whiskeys, neat. “Men are wicked,” he murmurs as he raises the new glass to his lips. “Do not apologise, Lady Oziah. It was I who brought it up. This vendetta of yours — is it why you have sought allies within the Witching Court?”
She raises her tumbler in a small toast. “Wicked indeed. And yes, I visited and was offered...lessons. The Lady Belladonna — you may know her? — she has a place amongst them and taught me a thing or two. I’m looking to further my own arcane knowledge now that I’ve been cut off from the source, as it were. But no deals were made, no bargains struck.” Her eyes darken for a moment. “I’ll never be beholden to anyone again.”
The drow has a puzzled look on his face. “Belladonna Thorpe and I are acquainted, yes. But how did you manage to acquire lessons without giving the witches anything in return? Surely you promised them something.”
Oziah gives him a sly smile. “I learned enough to awaken something within me. After that they wanted a deal. I turned them down.”
Jaezred smirks back. “Most excellent. Looks like you cheated the cheaters,” he replies with a chuckle, taking delight in imagining Nicnevin and Imryll’s faces upon being rejected.
She takes another small sip and eyes him curiously.
“You sound like you speak from experience, my lord. Have you had many dealings with the fey and their courts?”
He shakes his head. “Only as many as the average adventurer. But I’ve seen enough to make me swear never to make any bargains with them. Nay, they are tricksters of the worst kind and ancient enemies of my people. Why should I be entangled with them?” he asks aloud, though it seems more directed at himself than Oziah.
The aasimar gives him a slow, sharp grin, like a shark that’s smelled blood in the water.
“I do believe it’s my turn to pry, Lord Jaezred. The fey are, as you say, unreliable tricksters — what reason would you have to get in bed with them? Except perhaps to simply...get in bed with them?”
She takes another sip of the whiskey before giving him a look of both grim delight and pity.
“It does make a fool of us all.”
Oziah watches as Jaezred’s face turns very red and very flustered before her. He takes a deep breath, mustering all the power within him to keep his voice steady, before answering, “You misunderstand. It’s nothing like that.” Gods, how he hates the pity in her eyes. “I have befriended one of them and sometimes I question the wisdom of it. That is all.”
For a long moment Oziah says nothing and lets the undeniable truth ring out between them. Her eyes do not soften, but her grin melts away until there’s nothing on her face but cool detachment and a sliver of sympathy.
“I wish you the best of luck and a clear head as you continue this…friendship. Should you ever need an ear or a shoulder, I’ll gladly offer mine.”
“I need no such thing,” he snaps. Oziah raises a pointed eyebrow at him. Realising the rudeness he just displayed, he pauses to cough into a fist. “Apologies, apologies. I...thank you for your offer.”
The shame that the circus temporarily took away from him — the shame he harbours for his "little indiscretion" — is coming back in a rush. Jaezred downs his drink with grim determination, eyes glued to the bottom of the tumbler. “You are a capable warrior with great potential within yourself, and you have the ambition to suit it. You have an ally in me in this crusade of yours, if you are ever in need of one,” he mutters.
Oziah empties her own tumbler and lowers her eyebrow back down.
“Careful, my lord Jaezred. We might make allies of each other. What would people say?”
He gives her a strained smile, but it fades quickly.
She lets out a small sigh that threatens to turn into a yawn.
“It’s been a pleasure. We must do this again. But for now, I believe I shall retire to quarters befitting my station.”
“I should do the same. But one more drink for me, perhaps.” He stands up and bows to her. “Good night, Lady Oziah.”
She inclines her head and rises from the velvet sofa and heads towards the stairs leading up to the lavish rooms of the Flourished Hook, leaving the Lord Jaezred Vandree to his thoughts.
Co-written with Oziah Daybreaker