I was a little sorry. I like your hair. [ He just gets a little carried away sometimes, okay? Okay, a lot carried away. Valryn brings that out in him. ]
[ Yes, yes. Duty and all of that. Mishal would like him to wear them publically too, but he understands how dangerous that could be for either or both of them. ]
Ooh, bribery? Intriguing. What do you think my patience costs? [ Unless it's a surprise we're talking about...even more exciting. Better be worth the wait. ]
Have I ever disappointed you before? Trust me. I think I have just the thing.
[ In any case, he's true to his word. He's back within the hour, lowering the hood of his cloak as he enters the room. It's not an attempt at stealth. Merely practical. He's not ashamed to walk the streets in his ceremonial vestments, blood red and predictably bearing the outline of the Black Hand, but discretion has its place. ]
[ Well that is hardly fair -- how is Valryn supposed to argue that? Rude, Mishal.
Valryn has cleaned himself up while waiting, because there is just no one else around to do so for him, but it makes it even more of a dramatic scene for Mishal to return to: the prince laid on the bed, shirt removed, the sleeve of his conceivably ruined shirt separated off and tied around his upper arm, to keep the bloody mess at bay. Hasn't bled too terribly, but the cut was deep, that much is certain. ]
Don't take that tone with me, ussta chath... [ There isn't even a bark, much less a bite, in Valryn's own tone. Well, perhaps a nick of a claw, but such is when Valryn plays...!
He moves to sit up, ] You were gone long enough. [ He beckons with a hand for Mishal to come to him, before he can remove his cloak. Valryn intends to entitle himself to the honors, right here from the side of the bed. ] Have fun at the tea party? [ That is a clawed-swipe, and only for the fun of it. ]
[ Mishal admires the picture Valryn makes, artfully draped across the bed, with his wounded arm on display, all of which he's sure is entirely calculated to get his attention. Not that he minds. Get his attention it does. His eyes go a shade of emerald that resembles spellfire as they take the drow prince in. His tells are fairly obvious. He couldn't control the fire inside him if he wanted to, and he doesn't want to with Valryn. He's not ashamed to let the drow see the effect he has on him. In that he's as brutally honest as he is vicious on the battlefield.
He raises an eyebrow as he comes forward, but the smile that lights upon his face is nothing but dark delight. Dropping to one knee beside the bed, he turns his attention to Valryn's arm. ]
As a matter of fact, yes. It was an eventful evening.
[ The freshly drying blood on the sleeves of his robes is enough to attest to that. He smells of ash, incense, and bloodletting. ]
[ But he is prone on the ground where Mishal knocked him sans kneecaps. The black robed man seems to be paralyzed, lips drawn back in a rictus of pain, and Mishal stands above him with an impassive almost bored expression. ]
Of course. I won't be long. I am already on my way.
[ And he's really kind of shit at being stealthy, but without a full suit of armor he manages at least not to be overly conspicuous, and a well tailored cloak hides the hair well enough. True to his word, it doesn't take him long. ]
I'm just outside if you would prefer to leave through the back entrance?
[ Assuming Valryn wants to slip away unnoticed. Mishal would draw much more attention trying to enter.
He stands, arms crossed, at attention, back to the garden wall, steeling himself for an angry drow prince. ]
[ The estate is well is well out in the outskirts of the city, up on a gradually rising hill that rolls up on the horizon line from almost any view from said city, but it also is not a terribly long walk. And Valryn is not quite so high-maintenance as requiring a carriage everywhere.
He's going to need to walk this ire off.
He sees Mishal's message and does not reply, to save himself the time. With his patron's guidance, he silently scales the wall with the touch of nimble hands and feet, spider-like (to no one's surprise). He reaches the other side and climbs most the way down, until about ten feet off the ground, where his fall will make much less sound. He has a hand up, his upright index finger, stained with dry blood, pressed against his lips at Mishal. He then gestures silently, a few hand signals from his home that he has expressed to Mishal in the past, enough that he should recall their meaning: silently -- south east. He intends for the direction toward the family's orchard groves, which, to cross through, leads them in the direction of the city, but offers more cover. Valryn has reason to believe those who tend to it leave by sunset.
The drow does not wait and begins a silent march for, only daring to speak quietly, a chilly tone in his voice, once they have put a comfortable amount of paces between them and the garden wall. ] There will be some dreadful news come tomorrow...
[ Valryn is not easy to read, but Mishal has been by his side long enough to know when things aren't right with him. A single nod is his response to the prince's orders before he follows him, as silently as he can manage, in the orchards. The vegetation provides cover for them, but it also provides cover for any potential attackers, and Mishal doesn't like it. He likes his opponents out in the open where he can see them, and he tenses noticeably beside Valryn, but says nothing. He trusts the drow to pick the right course of action. Moving unseen is much more his forte, so the genasi defers to his judgement. And he's careful, as well, to not set any of the trees on fire while they walk. ]
You're angry. [ It's stating the obvious, but it seems wise to to him to lay all the cards on the table where he can see them. Mishal's voice is low and harsh like the crackle of flames, but calm. Perhaps Valryn will choose to elaborate. Perhaps not. This is Mishal's way of inviting it should he wish. And if his prince turns his anger on him, he can handle that too. He has to come down from his rage one way or another. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
https://bakerstreet.dreamwidth.org/5161742.html?thread=2279410190#cmt2279410190
[ Yes, yes. Duty and all of that. Mishal would like him to wear them publically too, but he understands how dangerous that could be for either or both of them. ]
Don't worry. I'll give you more.
https://bakerstreet.dreamwidth.org/5161742.html?thread=2279519246#cmt2279519246
[ Let's be real.He's going to give it to him either way, but if this is the game they're playing now. ]
no subject
Ooh, bribery? Intriguing. What do you think my patience costs? [ Unless it's a surprise we're talking about...even more exciting. Better be worth the wait. ]
no subject
[ In any case, he's true to his word. He's back within the hour, lowering the hood of his cloak as he enters the room. It's not an attempt at stealth. Merely practical. He's not ashamed to walk the streets in his ceremonial vestments, blood red and predictably bearing the outline of the Black Hand, but discretion has its place. ]
Really. I was hardly gone that long.
no subject
Valryn has cleaned himself up while waiting, because there is just no one else around to do so for him, but it makes it even more of a dramatic scene for Mishal to return to: the prince laid on the bed, shirt removed, the sleeve of his conceivably ruined shirt separated off and tied around his upper arm, to keep the bloody mess at bay. Hasn't bled too terribly, but the cut was deep, that much is certain. ]
Don't take that tone with me, ussta chath... [ There isn't even a bark, much less a bite, in Valryn's own tone. Well, perhaps a nick of a claw, but such is when Valryn plays...!
He moves to sit up, ] You were gone long enough. [ He beckons with a hand for Mishal to come to him, before he can remove his cloak. Valryn intends to entitle himself to the honors, right here from the side of the bed. ] Have fun at the tea party? [ That is a clawed-swipe, and only for the fun of it. ]
no subject
He raises an eyebrow as he comes forward, but the smile that lights upon his face is nothing but dark delight. Dropping to one knee beside the bed, he turns his attention to Valryn's arm. ]
As a matter of fact, yes. It was an eventful evening.
[ The freshly drying blood on the sleeves of his robes is enough to attest to that. He smells of ash, incense, and bloodletting. ]
And I see you found your own entertainment.
https://bakerstreet.dreamwidth.org/5191578.html?thread=2291873946#cmt2291873946
As you wish it. He's not quite bleeding out yet.
[ But he is prone on the ground where Mishal knocked him sans kneecaps. The black robed man seems to be paralyzed, lips drawn back in a rictus of pain, and Mishal stands above him with an impassive almost bored expression. ]
https://bakerstreet.dreamwidth.org/5191578.html?thread=2291877530#cmt2291877530
[ And he's really kind of shit at being stealthy, but without a full suit of armor he manages at least not to be overly conspicuous, and a well tailored cloak hides the hair well enough. True to his word, it doesn't take him long. ]
I'm just outside if you would prefer to leave through the back entrance?
[ Assuming Valryn wants to slip away unnoticed. Mishal would draw much more attention trying to enter.
He stands, arms crossed, at attention, back to the garden wall, steeling himself for an angry drow prince. ]
no subject
He's going to need to walk this ire off.
He sees Mishal's message and does not reply, to save himself the time. With his patron's guidance, he silently scales the wall with the touch of nimble hands and feet, spider-like (to no one's surprise). He reaches the other side and climbs most the way down, until about ten feet off the ground, where his fall will make much less sound. He has a hand up, his upright index finger, stained with dry blood, pressed against his lips at Mishal. He then gestures silently, a few hand signals from his home that he has expressed to Mishal in the past, enough that he should recall their meaning: silently -- south east. He intends for the direction toward the family's orchard groves, which, to cross through, leads them in the direction of the city, but offers more cover. Valryn has reason to believe those who tend to it leave by sunset.
The drow does not wait and begins a silent march for, only daring to speak quietly, a chilly tone in his voice, once they have put a comfortable amount of paces between them and the garden wall. ] There will be some dreadful news come tomorrow...
no subject
And he's careful, as well, to not set any of the trees on fire while they walk.]You're angry. [ It's stating the obvious, but it seems wise to to him to lay all the cards on the table where he can see them. Mishal's voice is low and harsh like the crackle of flames, but calm. Perhaps Valryn will choose to elaborate. Perhaps not. This is Mishal's way of inviting it should he wish. And if his prince turns his anger on him, he can handle that too. He has to come down from his rage one way or another. ]
What happened?