Getting Reacquainted (open)

[weiss]

Weiss was getting old, even by faerie standards, and it seemed that some of the technological deficiency that many older humans possessed had some carry-over with fae, because he was currently standing on the outskirts of downtown at large looking positively bedazzled.

"I live in a nice, quiet, country home for a few centuries, using pretty well the same tools we've had for the entirety of history, and then I poke my head out into 'civilization' to find this?" he muttered, not exactly quietly. Luckily, he was in his human form and wearing a large chapeau, but he still dressed, talked, and carried himself like he was very out of place.

At least the majority of the people in the area seemed to be passing him off as simply a crazy person, and didn't start asking questions about what it's like to be immortal. That could cause problems, especially since Weiss didn't seem to care too much about whether or not he gave away what exactly he was.

"All I desire is a pint of good ale, is that so much to ask?"

One of the more helpful random passersby pointed at a nearby sign that read, "The Cave". Weiss did not understand why he could want to drink in a cave, or why something that was clearly a building was called a cave, and the look on his face showed this.

"What on earth is that establishment? A vampiric coven? They weren't quite so open with these things, last I checked."

[cal]

Outside of the bar, sitting in the lotus position, was someone studying his navel. Well, that's what it looked like anyway, but it was rather hard to tell, what with this person's usual demeanor and attitude. In the end, we'll have to leave the description at appearances, and hope that satisfies.

"A pint?" repeated Cal. He looked up, past the man he didn't know. "Tis the simple things we miss most. The comfort of a warm fire an' a stout ale to keep us warm."

He sighed nostalgically, shaking his head. "Alas, some things have gone the way of the dodo. Along with human decency an' good fashion sense. My friend," he looked at Weiss now, "you sit, well, I sit, you stand, outside Masonville's, an' what a friendly name that is, main club. One of the best places to get a drink, if you don't upset the proprietress, who's ornery an' horny, in about equal measure."

Cal chuckled, leaning his head back against the wall of the building. His eyes closed, and he continued speaking. "Still, chances are a pint awaits you inside, or a quart. Or a gallon. Whichever is truly your measure, cat."

[weiss]

Something about Cal's voice attracted the attention of Weiss, unlike the incredulous whisperings of the crowd that parted around him. Perhaps it was because the words were clearly directed at Weiss, and unlike the hushed words of the others in the area, Weiss was meant to hear them. Or perhaps Weiss was just inherently sensitive to the voice of another fae, especially in an area so crowded with humans. Or maybe it was simply that Cal, an above average fae at the very least, had a tone that simply commanded attention.

Whatever the case may have been, Cal immediately had Weiss' attention, and he listened attentively to what the other fae had to say. His words rang with a truth only someone of great age, great wisdom, and perhaps great measures of insanity, could possibly have crafted.

"I recognize your voice, stranger, and the way you carry yourself. Would I be correct in assuming that you are the much spoken of and occasionally celebrated Calcus, of the Nightwinds? Royal consort to Minerva Corrigan (may her wings never lose their lustre)?" Luckily for the fae race, most of the crowd dismissed this all as crazytalk, and the blessing about the wings was muttered in an undertone, as per habit, and would thus go more or less unheard anyway.

Weiss strode closer to the man, moving gracefully through the crowd as if it simply wasn't there.

"Whatever the case may be, would you grant me permission to sit with you awhile? Some things in life cast the want of a pint out of mind faster than the rain pelts the ground in a mighty storm."

Weiss was dressed relatively in-period, fortunately, but his demeanour was clearly that of an ancient. Even as he walked, a hand was held on the pommel of a sword that was not there; a difference he had not yet adjusted to in this new society. Why they cared to much about weapons was beyond him; did they expect everyone to defend themselves with their fists, like a ruffian?

"And perhaps afterward, we could both partake of a pint, or a quart, or a gallon."

[cal]

Blinking, Cal looked up at the man, clearly surprised. So, Cal had become known enough to be pegged on the street? Was that a success or a failure? Probably, like most things, a mix of both. Just enough to make him feel uncomfortable.

"Calcus of the Corrigans, may they breed b**ches an' bast**ds," he offered, waving his hand, "I abandoned my old self a while ago, shed like a skin that's unnecessary for moving forward. I assure you, it's hardly worth the effort to carrying things unneeded."

Sighing again, Cal rolled his eyes and resumed the lotus position.

"By all means, sit. It is not in me to deny another man his sedentary position. I must inform you though, I am a creature of random happenstance, naturally. I rarely know what I will do next," he creaked open an eye and smirked up at Weiss, "you dance with fickleness."

He then giggled slightly, bringing one hand up to block the sounds. "As for drinking, I do little. Less, with my current funds. Still, I suppose I could entertain you for some while, o' winged cat."