conjuredskies | Lessons in Advanced Door-Opening [for Amelia Ronsam rogueinladysclothing]

Although Amelia takes note of paying off the elf at the door, she's quickly too distracted to care. The sights, the smells, the sounds... It's like the largest tavern in her home city back on her world. She laughs with happiness as she turns back to Felix once they're a little further inside.

"How did you find this place? It's perfect!" She can't stop smiling. It's too perfect. It feels so much like home.

She stops and takes a deep breath before letting down her hair. After she's undone the tight braids that her hair had been pulled into previously, she quickly pulls it back into a single braid and carefully stows her hair pin. While it would likely be fine with the dancing, she doesn't see any reason to risk its safety.

"Do you need a drink to warm up? Or are you all right with at least one dance before a drink?" That grin is a challenge, Felix. Will you rise to it?

“Imperial luck and a nose for comfort,” he answers with a grin. The occasions he’s been wandering in the Nexus aren’t near as frequent as they ought to be, but when he does… well, even with his adventurous intentions, a hint of the familiar can’t help but draw one in.

He knows that grin and its cousins so well; his own might be one of them, despite the feigned uncertainty. “Well, it wouldn’t be quite right to drink before working up a thirst, would it? I think I can make it through one- no, two dances before I wet my throat.”

He offers her his hand, bowing slightly. He may regret this in a minute, but he can’t possibly back down.

She takes his hand before giving him a small bow of her own. Her grin matches the playfulness in her eyes, but she's not about to wear him out on the first few dances. What a travesty that would be.

Luckily for Felix, their first dance doesn't call for a large amount of movement. There aren't too many dancers in the place who know the steps, but Amelia's happy to take the lead and show them all. Despite the weapons hanging from her belt, she moves around with grace and ease, every movement fluid as she leads the circle of dancers. Being the center of attention doesn't seem to bother her, but she doesn't revel in it either. She leads with easy smiles and laughter - a stark contrast to many of the sides of her Felix has seen today.

When the dance ends, Amelia looks to her legionnaire companion with a grin. "One more? Or are you in need of a drink?"

What in all the worlds has Amelia been doing, hiding away for so long? She may not crave attention, but it’s obvious to Felix that she’s quite at home when she’s leading the dance. Entirely at ease among so many people. She’s almost a different woman, and he wonders what it’s cost to deny herself moments like this…

Not that he has time to dwell on his thoughts. Someday he might actually thank Stratos for all those sword drills – he’s not even out of breath by the time they pause. He even fancies he followed most of the steps. He reminds himself it’ll be even easier once his limbs warm up properly and grins at Amelia.

“One more,” he says. “The ale here is really rather good, but I can’t drag you away from the dance just yet. The others need someone to show them how it should be done.”

Despite her social ineptitude with friends, Amelia excels at leading groups of people. Organizing and ~~manipulating~~ persuading are two of her strengths, and they work well in a setting like this. She can also distance herself from everyone by telling them what they want to hear while not believing a word of it herself. It's an unfortunate talent that she uses often.

"All right, but remember that you asked for this." Her grin only widens as she takes his hand and leads him to the musicians in the corner, explaining what kind of song she wants next with a few well placed notes and beats. With that taken care of, it's back to the dance floor, where she organizes the second dance, which is far more complicated than the first. There's lots of bumping and laughter, and, once everyone is more comfortable with the steps, 'poaching' of partners when one dancer slips into the dance where another should be. Amelia allows herself to be poached out several times, only to sneak back in when no one expects it. The tavern goers can try often, but they can't seem to stop her from getting what she wants.

When the dance finally ends, Amelia smiles over at Felix and nods toward the bar. "Shall we see if this ale holds up to your promises? I'll have you know my eldest brother is a brewer, so I do know a thing or two about ales." It's the oldest sibling's right to pick apart what the younger do, after all.

This dance is much harder to keep up with, but by the end Felix is sure he’s just out of breath from all the laughing and jesting - and thieving in kind, when his partner gets poached.

He’s more than happy to go for a drink once they rejoin one another, and leads the way to the bar. “You’re making me afraid I’ve oversold it, now. Just remember I’ve been in mead country for the last year.”

"To be fair, I'm not the brewer. I've just picked up a few things." She laughs easily. "Though I admit I haven't had much to drink since arriving here, so I'm likely to enjoy it unless is absolute swill." Which is a fantastic way of avoiding saying 'sorry to put so much pressure on you.' It's hardly a surprise she'd avoid saying 'I'm sorry' - she never lived her life to allow for apologies until coming to the Nexus.

“Well, this is the Nexus – I can’t promise there won’t be surprise bubbles,” he teases. His is a very untroubled soul indeed. “But I do hope it passes muster. A shame if we had to choose between our drinks and our dancing.”

It’s a little crowded around the bar, but one of the bartenders (who might be part elf herself) spots the new customers and nips over to take their orders. Given all the dancing they’re doing, Felix orders an ale he knows, light, refreshing and faintly nutty from what he remembers. He glances at Amelia enquiringly. “I don’t know if you’re willing to trust me…”

She rolls her eyes in response to his teasing. Typical younger brother behavior. Normally it would annoy her, but it's been so long since she's dealt with it that she actually rather likes it. It makes her a little more fond of the legionnaire, or at least cements how much she enjoys his company.

"I trust your judgement," she answers with a smile. It's not exactly the same as trusting him, but it's a big step in the right direction.

Once they have their ales, Amelia leads them to a small, standing-room-only style table. She offers her mug for a toast, and to clink if he'd like. "To new friends sharing the joys of the oldest of traditions. And to meeting every challenge offered." She gives him a small smirk before raising the mug to her lips and taking a swig. It's a nice smooth ale with a faint hint of nuts, which Amelia finds really enjoyable. Don't mind her if all of that ale disappears in such a short period of time...

Felix practically earns his living as The Younger Brother. Wherever he can make it work for him, it’s an easy role to fall into, and Amelia has the wit to make the playful approach fun.

“To opened doors,” he adds with a smile as they clink. (Perhaps not the most politic toast, given her demonic woes, but he doubts she’s aware of that interpretation.) Earning even partial trust is a step forward, a success to savor along with his beer. Not to mention her obvious pleasure in the ale. Perhaps he’ll earn a little more credit, by and by.

“It’s a shame you don’t get out dancing more,” he says while they drink. “You seemed quite at home there, even among strangers.”

Her ale is finished before Felix makes his observation about dancing. She sets the mug aside and leans on the table slightly, giving him a wry smile as she does so. "Strangers don't ask questions. They don't remember the name you gave at the end of an evening of drinking. They don't even care if there's violence involved in your interactions. Strangers care only about themselves. Among them, I can get in and out without really being noticed."

Her attention turns to the dance floor, where one of the other patrons is trying to rouse up some interest in an organized dance. The man lacks any real skill or crowd presence, though, so the suggestion falls flat quickly and he finds himself forced to single out a partner for a dance instead. "I'm more at ease with people who won't remember me when the morning comes," she adds. "It's easier to move through all levels of social standing if no one can recall who I am when I've left their sight."

“I can see the advantages,” he concedes, sipping the remnants of his ale as he listens. “But there are many to being remembered, too. Strangers are less likely to come to your aid when you’re in real trouble. To guard your back in a crowd. To tell you what you truly need to know.”

He nods to the luckless fellow with his new dance partner. “Sometimes one friend is all you need, to get on with.”

"I never expected to need them, because I never expected the world to be so big either. And now that I know it's just a small part of a larger multiverse?" She sighs and turns away from the dance floor, resting her forearms on the table. "This whole fucking place is too big and I'm just trying to find my small corner again."

"I understand. I think everyone has that revelation at some time in their lives - at least if they have some luck. It's rather dizzying. Finding your foothold again, securing a place of your own... that's a sensible way to go about things."

Someday she'll explain fully her intent with that statement, but for now...? Best to let the night be full of revels rather than sadness.

She nods in agreement. "My only problem is that the foothold I want is a place that no one can find. It's as if my world decided I needed a new adventure and sent me here." She sighs dramatically, but it's a cover for the pain. Being stuck here has wreaked absolute havoc on her sense of self and the idea that she might never get home again makes it that much worse.

He really might understand, for all he doesn't want to drag her mood down again. Felix is a man of Tamriel, an Imperial to the bone. He may delight in gallivanting through strange new realms, studying the mysteries and beings from beyond Nirn... but he knows where he belongs. He can't begin to conceive what he'd be without it. Aside from terribly, dangerously upset.

"Perhaps it's fate," he suggests. "Your world may need you here yet. I know that may seem a small hope to cling to, but it's a real possibility. And if not, there are... many ways between the realms, to say the least. Mine, for example, is closed to most beings from outside and yet, even they find the means to influence our world."

She laughs half-heartedly at that. "Everyone wants me to find meaning in being here, wants me to believe that things are happening for a reason. Can't it be that I ended up here as the result of some freak accident and that the reason I can't get home is because there wasn't supposed to be a connection between my world and the Nexus in the first place? Can't I be stuck here for no reason other than 'just because'?"

If she seems upset by his question, he shouldn't take it personally. Things have been difficult for her lately and she's gotten tired of all the optimistic talk about things getting better if only x, y, or z thing would happen.

A soft sigh escapes her and she shuffles one foot against the floor in thought. "Maybe it would be better if I kept my mouth shut. I seem to get a lot of lip from all the optimists here." Being a true pragmatist in a sea of optimists means she's usually being told she's being too hard on herself or taking things the wrong way. It's tiring and she's ready to be done with it.

Felix blinks, taken a little aback. But he stops watching the tavern around them and focuses entirely on Amelia’s face, listens quietly while she airs her thoughts and hurt. He waits until she’s finished before smiling slightly, an expression that’s half sympathy and half apology. It’s always awkward to have your attempt at comfort go sideways, but he can’t exactly blame her for being sick of assurances. And at least she didn’t just ~~smack him~~ tell him to shut his mouth.

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to join the chorus. I suppose few people would want to tell you it’s hopeless. Or that you should stop looking for a path home.” He swills the dregs of his ale, lifting a hand to signal a server for refills. “And from my perspective… perhaps it’s easier for me to believe that some greater power has a hand in every matter here. It's my natural assumption, you might say."

The fact that she didn't yell at him means at least some small part of her therapy is sticking. She'll take all the progress she can get.

"No, I didn't--" She hesitates and runs a hand over her face while debating her next words carefully. "What you're saying makes sense. I forget that other worlds look at things so differently sometimes." She sighs and hangs her head, pushing her mug aside despite the fact that he's called for a refill. The last thing she wants is to be overcome by that awful feelings of drunkenness in public. "Sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you. That wasn't fair to you. Forgive me."

"Already forgotten," he assures her. "Besides, it is easy to sink into platitudes when speaking of troubling things. It's fair to chide me for that. I'm not certain I could be so... composed in your position."

He's quick to forgive as a rule, but it's all the easier because she apologized on her own.

"There are always bad days," she admits, "but others are better. Today... today is a better day." She offers him a small smile and thanks the elven bartender when she switches out their empty mugs for full ones. Not that she's excited about more alcohol, but at least the ale hits a hell of a lot softer than wine does.

"Could you... tell me more about it? Your world, that is. I'm very curious to know how much like mine it really is." They've spoken about it generally in the past, but now she wants to know more. Anything to keep the topic off of herself and her world for a little while.

“Hmm.” It’s a question that needs a little thought.

“In some ways, I suppose they’re not so alike,” he admits. “Tamriel is a great continent, divided between many different inhabitants. Humans, elves, cat and lizard-folk all have their own lands, but the greater number of them live together in the Empire. Especially in my home province, of course: Cyrodiil is the heart of the Empire, and there are probably as many people from other races as there are Imperials like me.” He grins, quite proud of his people’s cosmopolitan ways. It's their hat.

“Magic is also relatively commonplace, of course. At least in Cyrodiil. Most people aren’t really mages - I mean, they don’t train for it – but lots of them can work at least some small spells. Some races practice it almost as easily as breathing. And then there are many beasts that use magic, as well. But those are just the obvious differences. We have our noble families too, though they answer to the Emperor. There aren’t any electrical gadgets in everyone’s pockets, no… phones or miniature timepieces.”

"No pocketwatches?" Amelia's obviously surprised about that one. Even Kairn, as far behind in technology as it is, has clocks of various sizes. She's even kept the one she brought from her world lovingly repaired so she'll always know what time it is back home. "I... find that hard to believe, actually."

With the shock out of the way, she'll address the rest of what he said. "Perhaps it's not so different as you might think. My world is, mostly, one large continent as well, though it's only divided into two nations. A third nation does exist, but it occupies a large group of islands south of the main continent and I'm afraid my knowledge of it is very limited. The other nations, however, are each ruled by their own king and have nobles that are loyal to them. In my country, major cities that aren't the capital, like the one I come from, are ruled over by a Duke, who has nobles under him. There's no emperor uniting all of the nations, but they get along peacefully." Or they do now, at least. But no need to delve that far into history tonight.

She pauses to take a sip of her ale. "As for magic, well... you know about that already."

"We have other ways of keeping time if anyone really needs to mark it so closely." Felix shrugs, clearly doubting how common that need is. "And in cities - at least in Cyrodiil - the chapel bells ring the hours for everyone."

He thinks over what she's saying before observing, "Your system sounds something like our provinces with their kings and nobles. In Cyrodiil the cities and surrounding counties are governed by counts and countesses on behalf of the emperor. Otherwise the nobles don't hold direct power, except in whatever position the Empire chooses to grant them. Civil ones, mostly. There aren't many hereditary posts any more... well, officially. I'm sure you know how that can be."

"But... what happens if you need to meet someone in a different city at a certain day and time and they don't have a clock tower? How would you keep track of time for that?" Because being late doesn't seem like much of an option with some people.

"Nobility is passed from one generation to the next in my world, unless a lord or lady falls out of favor and needs to be replaced." She shrugs lightly at that, as if that's simply a normal thing. "Or, as in the case of my family, there's extenuating circumstances to make them noble. That's much more rare, though." So how did she manage it, hm?

She cracks a small smile between sips of her ale. "So similar and yet so different. I never would have expected that, even if I should have."

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conjuredskies - 2016-04-16 17:59 (UTC) - Expand

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rogueinladysclothing - 2016-04-16 22:51 (UTC) - Expand