Spirits and Wine

The TarRaCe, Evening

Finally. The job had been done. Which means that a dinner could be had that two folks have been dancing around about. However, the pouring rain outside the establishment might have been a mood setter, as things of late has been rather up in the air.

Upon the top floor that oversees the main establishment is the private seating for reservations. A winged egalrin, covered in a rainbow of ribbons and a singular purple silk robe tied closed, carefully makes her way up the stairs, a bottle of wine under an arm as she looks about for the Dragoon.

It was not that difficult to find a glaive wielding, red ribboned and quite ruddy-scaled sith-makar in the more quiet part of the TarRaCe. The polished sharp blade of the glaive by itself was a strong sign - here be Dragoons; or a sith-makar claiming to be one, regardless. Leaning against the wall behind a table set for two, he did carry that uncomfortable, out of place look on him - but when the egalrin, all of that slides away from him.

"Ribbon," Aelwyn smoothly rumbles as he slides onto a stand and with practised ease, bowing his head. Stepping forward, he slides out the chair for her. "Her spot." His tail thumps the seat; the waitering gig was still a work in progress.

Slixvah perks up, her striding forward as her namesake trails behind her. Her visage softens, "Ah, heya Cutie," she intones. Before taking the chair, she rests a hand on his arm for a moment, then takes her seat. "Thanks, hon."

She holds up a corked bottle, swishes it a bit then places it on the table. "I uh, brought some wine. Nothin' fancy, red."

A beat passes, and she cuts through the air. "Sorry about bein' a right dick the other day," she apologizes. "'twas a bit frustrating and I shouldn've lost m'cool."

Aelwyn holds the chair out for her, before he looks towards the bottle. Neatly sliding it away, he gives it a glance over. "Hmmh." He says, thoughtfully. Standing there right next to her, she can see the strap of a dark cloth wrapped around his bicep. Yes, that was once a suit tie. Probably. Letting her apology hang in the air, he leans past her to slide over a glass. With his thumb claw easily moving up to neatly unseat the cork, he quite skilfully pours her a glass.

"Yes, it's red." Aelwyn finally adds with a flash of teeth. Done with a flick of his wrist, the draconian steps over his seat and begins pouring a glass for himself. "This one supposes it was a frustrating night for everyone." He answers her, moving to take a seat by his chair. "Though Ribbon surprised him."

Slixvah can't help but quietly giggle at the sight of the once-tie. She folds her hands in her lap, waiting for the glass before taking it in her hand and giving him a thankful nod along with a raise of the cup. A sip.

"Yeah?" she hums, raising a feathered brow as she crosses a leg over the other. "How so?" she inquires, curious.

Aelwyn takes the wine glass in his hand and raises it - and then promptly remembers his lips didn't quite work around a wine glass. Rumbling, he instead slides his tongue around the rim of the glass and lets bit of the wine seep out onto it, teeth gnawing the smooth surface. "Hmmh." It tasted like wine to him. He fears one of these days he will have to know the difference. Taking a more blunt approach, he knocks back quite a mouthful of it, reaching up with his hand to wipe off the splatters.

"She usually does not let her feathers down like that." The Dragoon says, leaning back on his chair. "Almost as if she was ready to devour me." His tail flicks behind him, while stares at her evenly with his orange slit pupils."

Again, a little amusment of the softskin apparatuses being used for those that it doesn't really work with. Slix was tipping her drink in through the corner of her beak slowly, and much more couthly that her scaled friend.

"I had a lot on my mind, hon," she hums, meeting his gaze almost challengingly. "Like, 'did Aelwyn scout this place out beforehand?' as well as incorrectly assuming I wasn't getting paid despite me doin' it by the book."

It was her turn to pound the wine back, her making a shuddering sound as it hits her stomach all at once before she leans forward, refilling both their glasses. "I ain't always sunshine and rainbows, sugar."

Aelwyn's quills bristle visibly at her veiled accusations - the draconian soon rolling his shoulders in response. His fingers slide the glass closer towards the bottle with the refills - but then he gently grasps the bottom of the bottle she was holding. "This one did not come for her sugar and rainbows, Ribbon, and why would I, when there's more to her than a quirk of the skies?" The Dragoon rumbles, lowly. Yet he keeps his gaze upon her; and it wasn't nearly as friendly as the wine that was ready to heat up their respective bellies.

Claws slowly move towards to grasp her wrist. Tightly. "But this one thinks she considers him low enough to leave her without pay." And that stare of his was just cold.

Where quills bristle, feathers smooth down and press flat. There's that gaze again, calculating. Warm. Yet... appraising. Her hand and wrist being taken stymies her thoughts, her glancing down all but briefly before returning the gesture and gripping his own wrist.

It's a few beats of the heart of the accusation before she opens her beak. "That is a false assumption, sugar," she tuts, squeezing his wrist. "You don't play around with pay. Hence why the first thing out of my beak was an apology after my frustrations simmered down."

Her head turns slightly, a single sky blue eye affixed on him. "Your words are honied and sweet. Yet your actions, however, I've noticed, are anything but," she elaborates dryly. "Calm your fire, Cutie. Else reality is gonna fan it out."

The sith-makar doesn't react when his wrist gets grabbed - his eyes still carried a coldness that didn't quite match his fiery visage. It is her other words, that slowly make a little bit of that fire return to them. "Hmmh." He responds, slowly sliding his hand down along her wrist. "Reality may try, but only fire shall respond."

A slowly spreading, toothy grin splits his cheeks apart, and he tilts his head. With his hand sliding around, he lightly raises her fingers between them. "Hot scales and honey do not mix well, this one has noticed. Should I leave the wine and speak in that spirit they serve in the Ox?" He rumbles, tail swaying slowly behind him, coiling around the back of his chair. "It has a far more," He clicks his teeth and flicks his tongue out, "Direct and bodily taste."

Slix lays her arm there, letting the actions unfold on their own accord as his hand slides about. She's still appraising. Still... watching. Waiting. For... something.

She makes a clicking sound in her throat, picking up her glass after making sure hers and his were topped off as she takes another sip. "Spirit served in the Ox is brash, foul, and leaves a bad taste in one's mouth."

She lulls her head over towards him finally, directly. "How about I be blunt like a dry red wine, yeah?" she starts. "You're fun. You clearly have fun. But I cannot help but notice, Aelwyn."

She leans forward, propping her head up on the back of her hand as her half drunk glass swirls around lazily. "... you're incredibly selfish," she bluntly states, gauging his reaction.

The ever so proud Dragoon had been so lost in his own dance; that he had forgotten to watch for the skies. Looking at her after she speaks those words, he rumbles out. "Hmmh, this one sometimes feels the same about the wine they call expensive." He lowers her hand back down, easing it back down before retreating his touch. "A troupe of a one man, Ribbon. What else would she have me be?" He asks from her, claws tapping away at the table's surface. "What I ask, is what I give, and what I am given, I will return."

Having lost the taste for the wine, he moves his glass out of the way; onto the nearby table. "A fair barter. Yet this one suspects she made the observation for a reason."

Her hand is gently released, and it retreats to cup around her glass with both now. Slix has drifted to the side; her other elbow propping her up. Watching his glass move to a different table, then up to his ribbons, down back to him. "A troupe of one man should harbor many talents, yet all you do is dance."

The egalrin slams back her wine once more, thuds it against the table, and shoves it out of the way. "I'll be straight with'cha," she finally says, getting tired of dancing around. "Watchin' ya practice writing told me a lot about'cha. I don't care that ya ain't good at it. But the lack of ownin' up to ya faults rubbed me the wrong way."

Two fingers tap on the table. "Secondly, just a bit ago, you actin' like that when ya slighted? Your fire get ya hot headed too? That's a red flag tellin' me you need ta clean up your act, mister one man troupe, 'cause whatever you dancin' ain't workin'."

It's all said with the cadence and factualness of one having all the cards in their hand. Calm. Collected. Lack of venom. Perhaps a bit of a wariness.

There's a quiet, slow inhale of breath as the egalrin prepares herself - and then launches herself onto him, card by card. His orange eyes keep returning their gaze on her - but unlike before, there was very little of that sudden coldness in his face; or even of that fire she was speaking of She may have been laying down all the cards, but instead of looking down at them, he leans forward and looks at her. "Yes, all I do is dance." He tells her with a low and rumbling, but equally collected voice. "Not read or write like Spellreader, not skulk and hide like the Shade, or hold the blade like Silver," He rumbles.

His two claws tap straight next to Slixvah's hand. "This one could have told Spellreader no. This one could have let Ribbon slip in blind. This one could hide behind when others do the fighting, because all this one is, is a dancer."

There's a pause, and then he tilts his head, and he slowly exhales, sliding his hand over his snout. "Face is all this one has." He rumbles he slides his claws across the scales, dragging the sharp fingertips across every crevice. "Face and a dance."

Slix put a few of her cards down. Not all of them, of course, she's a smart bird. Whatever edge those cards held were deliberate and careful. Surgical. And she reserves them so she didn't completely eviscerate him.

She listens. Though, the last bit of words makes a feathered brow quirk upwards. Surprise. "Huh. Color me impressed. You have the stones to admit it, and sure as heck makes ya far less shallow. Is that why you're so wrapped up with gold? Is that proof of your worth?"

She folds her hands over one another on the table. "Don't take this the wrong way, Flutter. This is good. I'm glad ya said this. 'cause it tells me ya got empathy. And I was 'fraid ya weren't gonna have any," she intones, expression softening.

"Gold?" Aelwyn asks, and then lets out an impatient 'hmmh'. "It is unfortunate Ribbon thinks so lowly of me." He throws back at her, rumbling as he leans back on his chair. His fingers tap away at the wooden surface once, and twice, and then finally they snap shut. "The way I see the world is different, Ribbon. Not hidden under games."

Someone appears from the stairs towarsd their table. Detects the mood of the discussion, and quietly backs away. Maybe in a bit, if there are any survivors, the waiter decides.

"Her words may sound gentle, Ribbon, but they feel like blades, trying to gauge my price." The sith-makar lets out another hmmh, rolling his shoulders, quills alike. "So here is the offer. She stays; and the wine shall be the arbiter of worth. Or," He gestures at the rest of the TarRaCae, "She can make a posting at the Adventurer's."

-to be continued ...-