audio; un: cardmaster

[fateality]

Well now. This is all hell of a thing -- ALASTAIR, savin' worlds, temporal bugs full of acid an' whatnot -- but I've got a bit of a conundrum.

I'm a man of many skills, but a cobbler? Oh, far from it. And I've a pair of boots that are a bit in need of a rescue. Suppose I could take what I've been generously given by your very fine organization, but these are a bit near an' dear to my heart.

I don't suppose any of you wondrously talented individuals could help me out? I'd be very much obliged.

Comments

[respired]

Not that, either.

Whatever you spoke, I cannot understand it.

What are they made of?

[fateality]

Pal.

I'll keep it in mind.

Abyssal sea drake hide.

[respired]

No.

Draconic leather, more or less. I am more used to working with other materials, but I can be of service.

[fateality]

I'd be much obliged. What would I owe you for it, chuckles?

[respired]

Don't call me 'chuckles'.

Nothing else.

[fateality]

I think I could do that. What should I call you?

[respired]

Koltira. Koltira Deathweaver.

But Koltira alone will suffice.

[fateality]

Sounds like the name of a man to run away from real fast if I piss him off. [it's supposed to be a joke, but he's inclined to think that's also true]

I go by Twisted Fate. It's a pleasure.

[respired]

You have the right of it.

[ Maybe he's joking in return?? It's the most low-key reaction to his epithet he's ever had, at least, which counts in this stranger's favor. ]

What about your fate is twisted?

[fateality]

Good to know.

Maybe I just like how it sounds. Rolls off the tongue all dramatic and whatnot.

[respired]

As you say. I will not pry.

[ He's not the kind to press someone on their business--at least, not without reason. ]

Bring me the boots when you are able. I will see what I can do.

[ He flicks the video on so that TF can see his face--glowing eyes, long pale hair, faintly bluish skin, pointy ears, etc. He's in the kitchens, drinking. ]

action;

[fateality]

Real polite of you.

I'll be sure to come by.

[The face does startle him, though Twisted Fate is glad that he has the chance to be startled with no one watching. Oh well; there's a skeleton, why not a guy like this?

Eventually, Twisted Fate does arrive, freshly bathed and his signature hat. In a gloved hand, he's holding up a pair of the boots. They smell very much like the sea and rotten fish guts.]

You're a real treat, friend.

[It's drawled, but he's kind enough to send Koltira a text instead: Thank you for your help.]

[respired]

[ The 'other materials' Koltira referenced included metal, wood, and human (as well as inhuman) flesh. He downs the dark swirl of the drink in his hand in one go, sets it on the table, and reaches for the boots. His implacable expression does not shift as the scent reaches him.

He mutters in Thalassian, a lilting tongue that belies his sharp, grim features. His voice, too, sounds oddly young and soft, though it echoes with a haunted scratch. ]

These will require some effort.

[ He glances up at TF, his bright blue eyes narrowing slightly. His jewelry pulses as he replies. ]

If that was an insult, be grateful that I cannot understand your language.

I may need to use lesser leathers to patch the damage, should it prove too severe.

[fateality]

[If the materials in question bother him, Twisted Fate displays no such discomforts. Instead, his eyes are curious, glowing a soft blue as he gazes over Koltira and the items on the table.

Fate allows him to take the boots.

When he sees the text, he laughs softly.]

Ah, a prideful one, are ya?

[Twisted Fate shakes his head and responds: I'd never be so crude to someone who's helping me.

I appreciate it, and I understand. It's easier than getting them replaced, in any case.]

[respired]

[ He runs his fingers over the boots, feeling the breaks in the drake skin, the erosion, the places that need the most attention. He withdraws a few tools from the pouches on his belt, things to smooth and fill and stitch. Some of the damage will require patches, but that can be done later.

He starts with stitching first, his slender fingers working deft and quick.

His long ears prick forward, picking up on the question in Twisted Fate's voice, if not the meaning of what he's said. ]

What are you saying?

[fateality]

[Admittedly, it is fascinating to watch how Koltira works, his fingers elegant and quick. Still, it's at least satisfactory knowing his boots will get the attention they deserve.

He just chuckles at the question.]

Nothing bad. Just observing you.

[respired]

[ His ears twitch, a sign of agitation. He's fixed on the task at hand--once he finishes stitching the one boot, he sets to the other, his pace never breaking in between. Everything about him is controlled and precise, from his movements to his expression. He has a tight jaw, high cheekbones, and a hard, cruel mouth; his features are sharp and his face is altogether more beautiful than handsome, though it's marred by the sallow pallor of undeath. ]

Is that so? And what have you concluded?

[fateality]

[The features are very reminiscent for Twisted Fate, though far be it from him to ever remark upon why. Truly, this man reminds him of those of the Shadow Isles, their origins mixed and bizarre -- mostly horrific. Yet so horridly fascinating. Some imposed terror, and some, like Koltira, were beautiful yet disturbing in his own right with the hint of death in him.

A terrible situation has befallen Koltira. Though it has nothing to do with Twisted Fate, he can observe.]

You seem a man who needs to be distracted. By work.

Not something I can relate to.

[respired]

[ ... well, that's. Accurate, actually. So much so that his lips purse slightly as he keeps on with what he's doing, though he doesn't slow or stop. He does need to be kept busy, right now more than ever, right now when he's in so much pain that it hurts even to turn his head. The noise of life claws at him; he hears the thrumming pulse of everyone near him, feels it like a war drum in his chest. He wants to grasp and choke; he wants to rip and tear.

But he also does not want those things.

So he works, though TF's own warm beating heart is a siren in Koltira's ears. ]

... I am.

Be glad of it.

[fateality]

[Hitting the nail on the head. Twisted Fate raises a brow as he studies Koltira, mildly pleased with himself. He's always had an eye and ear for assessing people, reading into their body language while carefully displaying his own.

He shrugs and muses over the network with interest.]

Glad or what?

I sense there being more to your statement.

[respired]

[ He frowns at the stitching. It's done expertly; he has experience in mending both clothes and bodies (though the latter were not typically alive at the time), but he does not seem content. His head aches.

Best get this out of the way. ]

These will need patching. I will have to take them for a day or so.

I'll leave them by your door when I'm done.

[ He smooths out the drake skin, gently prodding, carefully flattening. ]

Our association will end at that time.

[ For your own good. ]

[fateality]

So matter of fact of you.

Not interested in getting to know little old me?

[He expects the answer is no, and that suits him fine. Perhaps it is just reading between the lines, but Koltira does seem anxious to leave him as soon as he can. That does pique his interest. It isn't personal, so what is it?

He doubts his questions will be answered now, but he he'll see what he can poke and prod.]

I do appreciate your help, aside from that. Not many pairs of these exist.

[respired]

I am not interested in getting to know anyone.

Think nothing of it. I insist.

[ Better that way. Safer.

He stands up, collecting his things, sweeping them into the pouches hanging from his belt. He picks up his sword, resting against the counter top, and returns to his back. He cradles the boots in one arm. Frowns at TF. Well, he'll just speak in Thalassian. Not like this man can understand him, regardless. ]

Al diel shala.

[ Safe travels. ]

[fateality]

Oh, I'll be thinkin' on it as I please, frostbite.

[Twisted Fate keeps his smile, observing the strange dead man as he collects his things and prepares to leave.

The words are foreign to him, and he raises a brow, ever curious.

Well. Despite himself, his interest is indeed piqued.]

Be seeing you.