(1866-08-15) Peas in a Pod
Peas in a Pod
Summary: Esyld and Lorelei try what passes for 'girl talk'.
Date: Aug 15th
Related: None
Esyld  Lorelei  

Esyld's House, Lonnaire
In scene.
Aout 15th, 1866

Having bid farewell to her brother - and the apparent bane of Lorelei's very existence, judging by the palpable tension while he remained - Esyld returns to her chair at the table, passing a brief 'whew' sort of look toward the slender archer as she moves by. "Well.." Relaxing back in the seat and clasping her hands together on the tabletop, she waits for the quartermaster to take a place opposite, now that she should be free to relax. "..is there any real point in me asking what exactly is going on there?" A faint smile quirks her lips, one brow arching a touch. "I mean.. you were never particularly forthcoming around Jon at the best of times. But.. I get the feeling there's something I've missed, while I was away."

It's likely a stalling tactic, really.. her sibling was easily enough fobbed off with the bare bones of detail regarding the Captain's time in Rovilon. Lorelei was less likely fooled. Esyld would never outright lie to Jonathan.. never. But men like him are unlikely to press further into such ah.. personal affairs. So she simply omitted the details, for the time being. Still, she seems genuinely intrigued in regard to her friend's situation, distraction or not. She reaches for the pitcher, of a mind to refresh their cups.

Ah yes, tension. Esyld doesn't have a bastard sword sharp enough to cut it when both Jonathan and Lorelei are in the room, but it isn't quite that kind of tension. At least, most people wouldn't consider sexual tension to be one and the same with the discomfort one feels at having a rather long rod stuffed uncomfortably far into their rear. Shaking her head as if to snap herself out of whatever reverie she's in, Lore sighs, forcing the air out her nostrils alone while she finally drinks from the cup she'd been offered what seems like ages ago. There's another breath, then another forceful exhale, and finally it seems she's prepared to be a functional member of society again.

Cautiously approaching the table — though why is anyone's guess, as she can see it's just Esyld sitting there now — Lore reaches for the nearest chair, pulls it out, and unceremoniously plops into it. Not a drop of her wine is spilled. With ebon eyes boring into eerie blue ones across from her, the archer finally offers something resembling both an answer and an understanding. "It's likely he desires interactions with me that compare to yours with Corvin." Because titles don't matter to the common folk who don't give a damn.

Good grief, is that what she was nervous about? Esyld suppresses a laugh quite admirably, instead only arching her brows almost into her raven tresses. "My, my, how the tables turn, hm?" Having refilled her cup, she sets the pitcher down between herself and Lorelei, then picks up her wine to dangle a moment between thumb and forefinger. Those glacial eyes meet the others levelly, and with a lack of any discernible reaction beyond amused surprise. Which she tempers, after a few beats, to enquire further. "And what? You don't desire the same?" Her head tilts a little askance, further implying her curiosity. "..or were you worried what I'd think, either way?"

The soft smile she offers now is, hopefully, one of reassurance. "First, it's none of my business.. and second, I am hardly in a position to judge, now am I?" Well, that should dismiss any lingering concerns in that regard. Which means she can press the woman a little further. "So? What do you feel about it?"

She sniffs. "If I worried what you thought, I wouldn't ever douse you with ale," Lorelei opines, rather pointedly, looking into her cup and admiring that nothing spilled. How about that. One hand unclasps with something resembling actual, thought-out effort and rakes itself forcefully though dark, crinkly tresses that, if cared for properly, would likely be gorgeous loose curls. Ah well - that's a dream totally lost on the likes of Lorelei.

"Also," she adds with another sip, "I'm shocked you're asking." The cup thuds softly against the table as she misjudges the distance slightly, looking a little embarrassed about it. "Thought I'd made it clear how I felt about any of…that." Waving a hand dismissively, Lore presses her lips together in a tight, pale line. "For me," she adds, perhaps needlessly. She doesn't look apologetic, at any rate. "What, you thought he'd harm me? You know better there, too." That earns the Captain a warm and coy, but fleeting, grin.

"All young women start out with the same, detached opinion of 'all that'." replies Esyld, smoothly. Though she does pause, silently conceding that she is not, as yet, wearing her drink. Progress. "Or do you imagine yourself above such things?" A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips, not entirely dissimilar to the usual expression of the aforementioned Wraith. "I did, too. It happens, when the time is right. And there's no shame in it. Certainly not if it should take the form of my brother. Though, I'll admit.. I can't quite see him as the dashing, romantic type." Another pause, for consideration. "Truth be told, I can't imagine him even professing such inclinations. But I'm his sister. He may as well be a monk, for all the thought I give his private affairs." Well, at least one of them has some sense of boundaries.

"I most certainly did not think he would harm you. It was his wellbeing I was concerned about." The Captain takes a sip of wine, then lowers her own cup to the table, with considerably less impact, and wraps both hands about it, still watching Lorelei. Of course the quartermaster cares about her opinion. But she's not going to argue that point, when she's already secure in the knowledge. "Well, so be it. Just know that, should you find your feelings on the matter changing, I shan't think less of you for it. How could I?" That unsettling gaze drifts downward, unthinkingly reflecting her friend as she, too, regards her drink in silence. When she does speak again, it's in a still quieter tone than her usual throaty timbre. "..you're.. going to ask me things now, aren't you.." Never let it be said that they don't know one another far too well.

Exceptionally well, but perhaps not as well in all aspects as they default in thinking. Onyx eyes flash for a moment, with whatever nerve that'd been stepped upon finding its way seamlessly back into place before she speaks again. Her voice comes to her quickly, and her tone is serious. "A tool. And nothing more." There's resignation in her features as she looks at the wine with newfound distaste, choosing instead now to lean back in her chair. "..a tool I've employed in desperation and shan't again." So so serious. Esyld's little explanation on the birds and the bees goes largely unremarked upon at present.

He was fine; of course, she could see that when he was here just a short while before. As prodding and as much a bulldog as ever, Jon needed no explanation nor any defense. With so few words to spare, why would Lore waste them on such a scenario? More questions are asked, and each is met with an apathetic shrug - until the last one, of course. "Just one, for now," the archer concedes, not moving from her recline and pulling her arms up to fold across her chest. "D'you know how much trouble this'll bring?" Beat. "Well, two." Hm? "How many scars?" An asshole like that doesn't survive that long without getting the snot kicked out of him, and the face she's making now, slight smirk and all, betray such an understanding.

While Esyld might not be making use of this little revelation to torment her friend - who, let's face it, doesn't always give her an easy time of things - it's probably a safe assumption that poor Jon will be very sorry if he makes for the moral high ground in these matters again. The cheek! Admonishing her like a child, when he has designs on her quartermaster! These thoughts are, wisely, kept to herself. And soothed with another sip of wine, as the silence stretches out. Unlike the occasions when she's expected to be all etiquette and charm, this companionable quiet with Lorelei is no issue whatsoever. A pleasant change, in fact. It gives one time to really think on their answers. Especially with such life or death matters as 'how many scars does the Wraith Commander have?'..

Though she doesn't seem exactly bothered by that first question, the Captain does follow suit in setting her cup notably aside, settling to the matter without further distraction. Folding her arms on the edge of the table, she studies the woman across from her calmly. "Why. Other than the apparent displeasure of my brother.. what actual harm can come of it, save perhaps to my pride? Really, Lore. I'm asking you honestly. There's no enormous difference in station, neither of us are bound by the constraints of trueborn nobility.. his father's family is no enemy of mine. So what?"

Taking the measure of that smirk - and the fact that the quartermaster doesn't seem unduly perturbed either - the black-clad Fox chances a sly one in kind. "..lots. I was rather too ah… preoccupied to count. Perhaps next time."

'Sorry' might not even be the word to describe the sort of pain Lorelei would inflict upon any other such person who deemed she was worthy of romantic pursuit. Let's hope Jon isn't into that sort of thing and is actually really into the moral high ground at all times. It's good that knights use chivalry, because Lorelei doesn't. It's a hand difference to have. The expressions on her Captain's face aren't lost on her, though, and Lore's shaking her head as she watches Esyld process all she's saying across the table. Tsk, tsk. Certainly this was somewhat expected?

"So what? So, I fear you don't know all he's capable of. I don't know how dangerous he is." Not that she's an expert on such matters per se, but that obviously won't stop this archer from offering her two cents. Or maybe it's more like twenty-seven cents on this particular man and this particular issue. "You know," she adds, sitting upright and reaching for her cup again, visibly much more relaxed now, "pay closer attention next time. That ought to tell you just what he could do to you." Trust is, evidently, a rare commodity Lorelei has very little of and doesn't gamble with.

Is that downward cast of blue eyes a mark of concession.. or concealment? Biting gently on her lower lip, Esyld studies the aged surface of the table intently, mulling over the 'concerns' of her companion. How much is safe to say, to lay those questions to rest, and how much must be kept from her? It doesn't rest well with the Captain, keeping things from Lorelei. But she has to. In the end, she trusts herself to say only a little, though perchance with enough quiet conviction that they both might be convinced. "..I know very well how dangerous he is. And suffice to say, I would not wish him as an enemy." That, in itself, is a rare admission. Someone the mercenary might actually not believe she could defeat, if it came down to it? That can't bode well.

"If he wished me harm.. why would he do this? There are far simpler methods. I find the removal of a limb or even digit is warning enough. Oh.." She leans back abruptly, raising both hands to rub at her face. "..it's hard to explain. You'll.." As her palms drift downward, lingering with fingertips briefly upon her lips, the t'Maren by blood eyes Lore, speaking again only when her fists settle in her lap. "..you'll just have to trust me. Bad enough that my brother will likely want to punch him in the throat when he finds out.. and he will.. I can't stand the weight of your disapproval, too."

It's compelling, even concerning that Esyld is admitting he could tear her to pieces, and not in a way she'd find remotely pleasurable. When Lorelei looks across the table, charcoal eyes dark both in color and expression, she looks as though she'd rather be boring holes in her companion's skull rather than buy what she's trying to sell. Nope. Especially given the way in which she's expressing herself, it's evident that's not even the whole tip of the iceberg. But what can she do? She could glare at her with a vast degree of seriousness, or she could be Jon. And she's not Jon, so with stoic silence she sips at her wine again, regarding her friend over the rim.

"Throat?" Now that makes Lorelei laugh, and loudly. It's a strange sound not often heard from her, and it seems to echo off her ribs and the rafters of the small cottage alike as she shakes her head again. Thankfully, there's so little wine left that nothing spills as the cup's jarred side to side. "Hey may not now, but that's never a guarantee." Read: if you see her taking extra practice at those dummies in the yard with a rather large sword, it's not just for touching up her biceps.

"Alright.. the throat isn't the most likely place he'll aim, given the chance." Esyld does relent to a soft chuckle, the rare laughter rousing similar amusement. But there's several good reasons she wants to avoid conflict between Corvin and her brother. She's not convinced her brother would win, for one. The rest, she voices aloud, once the brief respite of merriment subsides. "Nothing is guaranteed, no. But, regardless of all else, he is a Wraith, and the Duke's son. It's not going to help House t'Maren in the slightest to provoke him, as Jon will wish to.. and it doesn't become the Black Foxes to target him any further than the good-natured teasing that already exists between our respective organisations." Stealing a glance upward, she finds herself meeting and holding Lorelei's gaze again; as usual unflinching from the trace of 'glare' still lingering.

"I know it's rich coming from me. But what I need is for my brother to keep his temper in check. If I'm putting myself in danger here then.. that is my choice." That much is spoken quite firmly. The choice, it seems, has already been made. Was likely made before they returned to Lonnaire, if one cared to dwell on it. "I'm not foolish enough to try and change your opinion, Lore. You're entitled to it. But I'll also not be willingly turned from the course I've taken. Even if all that happens is he eventually tires of me and moves on to someone new, the worst harm there, as I said, is my pride. And if I turn up dead in a ditch somewhere? You know whose door to kick in. So everyone's happy." Hmm. Time for another gulp of wine. She reaches for the cup and brings it to her lips. Aside from obvious, pertinent details, what is she hiding? Is she.. surely she's not afraid? Of what, being made a fool of?

Afraid? Now that in itself is a frightening thought. For the entire time Lorelei's been in the employ of the Black Fox Company, Esyld has never once been afraid. Or, if she has, she hasn't dared to show it. Is it suddenly cold in here? She can't suppress that shiver that works its way down her spine, but she can reach her hand back and rub at the back of her neck as it itches as a result. Shoot. Well, we're here now, aren't we? If Esyld's past the point of no return and Lorelei is as bound to her as she makes it out to be, they're here together, a couple of peas in a potentially dangerous pod. At least it's cozy with the two of them there, and, if the way she softly looks across the table at Sid is any indication, Lore wouldn't have it any other way.

There's a certain look of pride, then, that masks the affection, taking its place as mutual respect is reinforced despite it all. This, this is why she's still here. No judgment. Respect. It's almost divine, truly, and Lorelei looks as giddy as she could possibly be (which isn't saying too much, after all) as she leans forward to rest her elbows on the table. "So, what to do with Jon?" Her next question is asked seriously, but there's no hiding this new grin. "I can't attend a wedding if he's on a rampage."

"He'll puzzle it out in due course.. neither Corvin nor I see any particular reason to hide, though obviously there's no need to flaunt, either. People take lovers all the time, what makes us so special? Nothing." Hmm. If Esyld was afraid of being bested only in terms of violence.. she'd simply never put herself in the position for it to happen, at least not in public. But if it comes to - ugh - feelings, it might be understandable why she's a little unsure of herself, beneath it all. If anyone's going to grasp that, it's her present company. Anyway, back on track. "Even if he doesn't know for sure, he'll think he does and that's reason enough, by his reasoning, to seek to change my mind. Or intervene more directly. He hasn't said anything to my father, thus far.. though honestly, I think if I explained, the old man likely wouldn't give a fig. I'm a bastard after all. There's the testament to his fidelity." The words are uttered without bitterness, being a mere afterthought as she muses aloud.

"As for how to handle him.. I'm not quite sure. He'll likely be kept busy, in the coming weeks, with functions and gatherings, in the festivities for the wedding. A good chance to grease palms and 'make new friends'." Yeah, because Jon's a beautiful social butterfly.. "So, hopefully it will escape his notice for now. Bah, why am I worrying so much over this.." More wine. Wine good. Brother bad.

Why, indeed? Screwing her features up in a frown, Lorelei regards Esyld affectionately, but also with uncertainty. There's nothing to disagree with here, but then, there's also nothing she can think of to say that'd be reassuring. Or can she? OR, here's a thought: maybe she can actually have a conversation. Perish the thought. Clearly uncomfortable with the idea of asking instead of just automatically knowing what's going on, Lore rakes both hands through her hair, grabs a fistfull at the nape of her neck, and looks plaintively forward once more. "Yes, why? Nothing makes me this uncomfortable." Or ready to kill. Or plotting to protect. You know, take your pick.

The idea of what she'll have to do to keep either Jon at bay or Corvin away if necessary - still both legitimate threats - is weighing on her and giving her a greater sense of purpose at the moment, though the answers she's seeking aren't totally apparent yet. Unthreading one hand, she grabs the wine bottle and refills her cup. Maybe there's something to learn from emulating her superiors?

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