maskormenacelogs | i'm here to collect your hearts ( OPEN )

[ from here. ]

[ for a few moments, he's silent and thoughtful, elbow on the table, chin resting lightly on the backs of his fingers, pale eyes distant as he considers what he does know of the various versions of thedas he's been presented with just since being here.

at last, he shifts, glancing to solas again and smiling warmly, helplessly fond. ] You and our other friends are pretty constant, anyway. [ 'our', because he has the strangest feeling that solas needs that reminder. they're your friends, too. people they've worked together with, bled together with, suffered and triumphed alongside.

he hums out a small noise, then nods toward a small group of people across the street, phones up as they take photos or video of the two elves. ] --Depends on where you are, really. We're.. famous to some, and it's a lot harder for people like you and I to blend in. [ he hesitates, then amends himself. ] Not, mind you, that I want to hide, because I've never done so before and I don't intend to start, but.. sometimes the attention is exhausting. [ it's worse at home, being the inquisitor and a heathen dalish elf--like ameridan, he likes to remind himself--but at least at home he has distractions. he has work to do, a world to help set to rights, corypheus to defeat. here, there's none of that.

he goes quiet for a few moments, sitting back up, watching solas evenly. .. he's avoided this long enough, because he doesn't really want the answer, but.. he can't keep ignoring it, either.

he takes a breath, lifting his glance to meet solas's, serious and searching. ] .. Solas.. [ he trails off, then, not even entirely certain how to ask. finally, on a single breath: ] --Are you the same as the Sentinels? [ all this time, how much has he hidden? and why? ]

[ these are not small things, these looks, the fondness, the warmth behind a smile of one who solas does not doubt had been his friend in truth. to feel that solas was a friend in kind, no matter the distance he held parts of himself away. solas himself had been ultimately unable to hold back his curiosity and need to engage. it didn't make things easier.

it made them harder, and yet he did not turn away from the path he walked. even this is a strange twist on that lonely, bloody path he's been resigned to walk. not for the joy of it, or the love of his mission, but the whole of himself feeling he must do all he can to bring back what he ended. (not the slavery. the world.)

so he listens without interjections, his face difficult to read past the attentive cant of his head, the way he listens and does not shut himself off or down. he values the words of others when they're not delivered in ignorance aimed to harm. ignorance can be addressed. it can still harm. does still harm. but it isn't irreparable.

in theory.

the inquisitor had driven that home for solas. he remembered. it hadn't been easy, and he doesn't know what he regrets, so much, anymore. but he can be honest. this isn't a game of hiding who he is. not anymore. ]

Not in many ways, but in a select few, yes. I'm not bound in service as they are.

[ To a murdered mistress, and his expression is both ineffably sad, and inevitably contemplative. ]

I am older than they, in the ways difficult to recognise in your time. I'm also something far worse, in the stories of what little of our culture has remained among the Dalish. [ He pauses, tipping his head forward in acknowledgement. ] It's imperfect, but I acknowledge the worth in what they've kept alive over the several millennium since Arlathan's fall.

[ which is not a complete answer. he doesn't intend it to be, not quite yet. his eyes return to mahanon, studying him, considering. ]

I've always been Solas. Far before anything else. Do you truly wish to know what I was under the naming of my enemies?

[ because he asks, he gives the respect of a pause and allowance for one who is a friend of himself, if not the friend solas remembers. because he will say what he is, and who he is; he'll go far enough to explain more of the world that had been, and the one that had come after the veil. because it's an honesty owed, and the way of times here has already become a curiosity and study on its own.

he rests his hands loosely over each other, waiting for mahanon's decision. do you truly wish to know? ]

[ all this time-- all this time, solas has been hiding what he really is. and gods, but he should have realized that he wasn't just any hedge-mage; he'd always seemed older than his apparent years, wiser, hahren in everything but name. his knowledge of the fade, of their people--mahanon's people--and their history, his understanding of magic..

a part of him understands why he'd hide it. after all, look what humans have done to mahanon's people. look what mahanon's people have done to themselves. and in the beginning, how would solas have known that mahanon himself wasn't as close-minded and intolerant and arrogant as some clans he's known? he doesn't blame solas for that. but.. why continue, after everything? why--

'something far worse', he says, in the stories the dalish tell. something far worse. he'd been named something other than solas by his enemies, and cole's conversations with solas suddenly weave through his thoughts. all this time, had he been telling them what solas was? the idea of it, the very notion had been so impossible, so--

his glance falls to where the pendant the other elf wears would lie-- beneath the armor, perhaps, if he still wears it at all. in all the time he'd known solas, it had never been removed; the jawbone of an animal, long, with a predator's teeth.

maybe he no longer needs to wear it, now.

his heart pounds in his ears, breath feeling short, eyes blurring. (it's not possible.) slowly, he reaches into his pocket, and withdraws the little carved wooden charm he keeps, setting it onto the table between them. for a few moments, his fingers tremble around the figure, but he releases it and withdraws again.

against the metal and glass sits a small, stylized wolf, and mahanon's glance lifts to meet solas's. for the space of several heartbeats, there's nothing, his stare nearly blank with shock and fear and--despite it all--love and loyalty. ]

You're not what I would have imagined. [ to his credit, there's only the faintest tremble in his voice. he takes a careful breath, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. he knows solas. he knows solas. and wolf or not, he's still-- he's still himself.

when he opens his eyes again, the fear has gone, replaced instead by steady determination. ] .. Tell me the truth. [ about the stories. about mahanon's ancestors. about solas and why he'd become the wolf. ]

[ it is always worse when the people one cares about are the ones you know you're diametrically opposed to; he's seen a look much like the one mahanon sends his way now in the recent, immediate past. not the same, and not with mythal's markings curving over their brow, but that same mix of impossible emotion that makes it difficult to breathe.

sorrow. strange how a man he does and does not know can evoke the same reaction, the same pull from deep within his chest. solas pushes down on it, eyes falling to the carved wolf where it stands on the table. his lasting legacy. the one misremembered as much as anything of their history has been.

how much he minds is a matter of personal debate when weighed against the greater losses of the People in the fight for their freedom from those who would be gods. ]

No, I don't imagine I am. [ as was always part of the point, and the truth behind so much of what was left in broken pieces of a time thousands of years gone. ] There is no singular truth, and this is no place for that conversation. I imagine you have many questions... [ and ah, how that makes him pause, for a moment curling his lips up in a humour he's not sure he entirely feels. he said this not so long ago. said it to someone standing in the same sort of place as mahanon, but not a world displaced. said as much to his friend before giving them what he could of "the truth." as much as he could offer. ] ... and I'll answer what I may, in a place less overflowing with... people.

[ humans. celebrants. everything. a place less crowded and less of a reminder of just what he cannot stand; a world that's even more tranquil than theirs was in his waking. it's unsettling, much as he feels his connection to magic resides within himself, and truly, only there. ]

[ his jaw unclenches at the promise, and mahanon gives a small, short nod. ] I'm holding you to that, Solas. [ he doesn't really understand what's happened in the two years between them, or why the other man had come forward as-- as fen'harel. gods! he can hardly even think it, can barely put the thought of the dread wolf and solas in the same space. solas is the bogeyman they warn children about. behave, or the great wolf will steal you away!

be good, for fen'harel's teeth are sharp.

he glances to his small wolf totem, then back up to meet the other man's eyes. unexpectedly, his mouth quirks, tired, the faintest flicker of amusement nearly lost in the turmoil. ] .. I actually started keeping a figure of the Wolf-- [ of you ] --on me when I was a boy, for protection. My Keeper thought it an odd choice, but.. the stories aren't always terrible. In them, he-- [ he falters, corrects himself: ] --you sometimes reward those who're clever or wise, and I hoped to be both eventually. I suppose in the end, it wasn't for nothing, after all. You did protect me, standing at my back and at my side through things many would have walked away from. [ he picks up the little figure, then tucks it back into his pocket. ] Whatever your reasons, that means a great deal to me.

[ practical, mahanon sets everything aside for the moment, taking a breath and nodding toward solas and his armor. ]

You can't keep wearing that here. You'll get enough attention already because you're an elf, but if you dress like you belong here, most people won't look closer just in passing.

[ he doesn't set aside everything that mahanon has said. no, he keeps it well in mind, up to and including his story about what he made of the Wolf that Solas's past deeds had been distilled down into. a protector and the destroyer. a juxtaposition forgotten much like the rest had been, self-styled gods carried forward in memory as bastardizations of themselves.

better ones, in ways, than the actuality.

you did protect me, standing at my back and at my side through things many would have walked away from. solas is all too aware how he'd been the catalyst behind the crux allowing many of those events to have gone forward. not all, but it was hardly to his benefit to turn a blind eye to a situation he, too, was unable to control on his own. that he had wanted to help the inquisitor he knew, for their sake and not simply his objectives, is a motivation he can guess he arrived at in more than one set of circumstances.

bittersweet, and if he had ever called mahanon a friend, then solas knows he'd meant it, too. excusing nothing. explaining a great deal more.

thus it is that he stands, coffee (decaf, actually, but that's nothing he mentions either way) in hand, heading toward the nice little area he'd noted where people left their plates and cups and all other such accouterments. it's a small, deliberate act. playing the part is as much observing surroundings as anything else, and solas knew how to do that.

but he isn't an idiot. shifting his attention to mahanon, he inclines his head, accepting a truth that he knows must be valid, regardless of the odd costumes of those parading around outside today. ]

I'm open to suggestions.

[ a more weighted statement than anyone observing from the outside might perceive. solas simply lets it settle in the space between them. ]

[ the bar they'd settled on is in heropa; easy to find, friendly to imports, and popular without being too crowded or noisy. plus, apparently the drinks are great, so there's that. they'd agreed to meet just outside, so mahanon's leaning against the wall of the building, fidgeting with his ponytail and weirdly high-strung and nervous despite himself.

he think it has to do with the conversation with bull that had led to this meeting, and what they'd ended up discussing, but he's trying not to worry about it. whatever happens, they're still friends, after all, and he's still excited to introduce bel and bull to one another. bel actually reminds him a little of some of the chargers, so his conversations with them had been weirdly nostalgic.

huffing at his own stupid nerves, he pushes up off the wall, going up on his toes to peer down the sidewalk to see if he can spot one of them yet. ]

[Bel turns the corner just a minute or two early. They are dressed in that particular songbird bright colors of someone who either enjoys being noticed, or refuses to let themself be politely ignored. The vivid green, v-neck blouse is almost-but not quite- a little too fancy for the cut jeans, or, likewise the polished dress shoes. The mix put it right on level for the bar.

In their own sphere, Bel was approaching it with a simple, hopeful anticipation. It's been years since there's been an easy click like this, and nearly a decade before that. It was a goddamn breath of fresh air, is what it was. They didn't hold a lot of expectation for anything but a friendship and a like mindset, given what little they knew, but the company was worth getting a little fancy for, in their estimation.

They cut a catlike smile, waving. Mahanon was, if nothing else, wonderfully easy to spot in a crowd.]

I hope I didn't keep you waiting.

[If the other two are dressed up, Bull is... well. Not. Not even remotely. Those pants stand out like neon signs -- his usual lack of shirt allowed, if only because this bar is used to ImPorts.]

[He's bustling into the bar, waving to a few people, and mostly scanning for the boss. After... what they ended up talking about, he's wondering where things stand. But that's not really a thought for right now. That's a thought for another time.]

[Maybe a long, long time from now.]

[He spots him eventually, talking to someone else. Must be the person Lavellan wanted to introduce him to. Not that remarkable, by Bull's opinion. Cute though.]

Hey! Boss! How's it going?

[ mahanon finds himself grinning in response to the smile and wave, and trots up to meet bel, peering up at them appreciatively. the mercenary cleans up nicely, as the saying goes, and he's surprised by how glad he is to see them. it's not as if mahanon isn't normally friendly, after all, and he has plenty of acquaintances here, but.. well, he'd tentatively say that he thinks bel is going to be an actual friend-- and not counting those from thedas, that's sort of rare for him here. ]

Not at all, [ he reassures them with a brief, bright laugh. ] I haven't been here long, myself. I-- [ and then he hears the familiar booming voice, and if his expression was bright before, now he's lighting up like a christmas tree, ears going abruptly pink at the points as he turns to spot the qunari. ] Bull! [ he's shocked into a laugh at the sight of the outrageous pants, but goes up on his toes anyway as bull comes closer, reaching up to urge him down for a quick, slightly flustered kiss. (not for the first time, mahanon wishes there wasn't such a disparity in their sizes.) greeting given, he glances between the two, pale eyes warm and pleased. ]

Bel, this is the Iron Bull. As you can see, he doesn't believe in shirts. [ he gently bumps his hip into bull, lips quirking teasingly. ] Bull, this is Bel, from the Nexus. They own a star-ship!

[Mahanon had given a little bit of what to expect with Iron Bull. He'd described the man as being tall, grey skinned and having the horns of a dragon. It really didn't prepare one for the reality.

They had, in their own mind, pictured tall being on the human scale of things, and the horns being more in the line of the small, sculpted growths of bone that you see coming out of Jackson's Whole body shapers and experimental geneticists. Not a walking mountain in the most incredible pants they'd ever seen.

It was not until the small, affectionate kiss in a greeting, that Bel realized where the feeling of some flattering familiarity came from. So this is how Miles and Taura look from the casual outside glance.

It is only after a moment of gaping that they pull themselves together, holding out a hand in greeting to Iron Bull.]

One of the Dendarii Free Mercenary Fleet issue ships. I've heard good things about you, one being kicking around the same line of work.

[Well then. Kissing on arrival. Something he'll have to get used to, but not in a bad way. He hums a bit, into it, and slings a massive arm around Lavellan's waist. It's like holding a broomstick, geez, boss.]

Nope. Hide the other perfectly good rack of mine.

[Somehow, the Iron Bull manages to wink. It's hard, with one eye. But he has years of practice. His free hand is extended forward, missing fingertips here and there, arm seamed with scars.]

[Taking the human's hand so casually, shaking it firmly, without squeezing. No need for that kind of posturing. Not until he feels this person out. Then again, he's not really the kind of guy to care about that sort of thing, regardless.]

Starship, huh? Damn, I wish I could see that crap. [His grin is sharp, but friendly.] Mercenaries and kicking go together pretty well, eh?

I lead the Chargers.

[ look, bull, it's not his fault modern elves are kinda dainty. (you can probably blame solas.) his ears definitely go hot at the arm around his waist, but he seems pleased by it anyway. even if he wasn't sort of kind of dating??? bull??? he's a tactile person by nature. which he proves after the introductions by shifting to curl an arm with bel's, gently bullying both taller figures toward an empty table. ]

He works for me, [ he confides with a grin toward the human. ] Back home, that is. It's how we met. [ he gives the qunari a brief, fond glance, releasing bel to drop lightly into a chair, tucking a booted foot beneath himself. ] Hiring the Chargers was one of the best decisions I've maybe ever made. [ bull alone is worth his weight in gold, just from a purely professional perspective. krem and the others know what they're doing, and they've been a huge asset.

and, well, of course mahanon isn't exactly unbiased where bull is concerned. ] --Speaking of work, though.. what kind of job did this government give you, Bel?

[The scars were.. alarming. In the age of synth skin and the fact that most space battles ended in far more instant deaths than survivable injuries, that Bel spent a little bit longer than was strictly polite looking in a strange fascination... It is broken as Mahanon curls an arm around the two of them and guides them onward.

That was a pleasant surprise. Betans were so very, very casually and culturally tactile and the rest of the Nexus was so very not, that one doesn't really know how much they've missed it until it happens.]

God, I wish I could show you. I'm already missing her.

[They drape themselves into a chair across from them.]

Delivery service. [Bel answers with a laugh.] The pay is awful, but when you can teleport the tips are amazing.

[He will absolutely blame Solas. Blaming Solas is an easy thing to do, after all. The pause and the Look are noted. It's sort of an unusual reaction -- most people are more taken aback by the horns than by him offering a hand. But then Lavellan is guiding them along and he files the thought away for later.]

Hah! That's what I like to hear about my boys. [He gives the slender waist a squeeze before adding:] What's it like, anyway? Flying around the stars and crap?

[A snort.] I don't think they think very hard when they hand out jobs.

Probably not, [ mahanon agrees with bull's comment with a grin. ] They have me working at a tea shop. After managing the Inquisition, it wasn't particularly difficult, but it's certainly been an adjustment.

[ as has life in general here. not that he's complaining. after all, this is a break. he wouldn't have this thing with bull at home, and he wouldn't have met bel, and hawke would be-- well. he doesn't want to think about it. ]

It's odd. [ he folds an arm over the one around his waist, fingers curling against the back of the scarred hand. his other arm comes up to the table, elbow against the top and chin in his palm. ] People have brought other large things and animals here, so why not a spaceship? In fact, I heard recently that there was a dragon. [ he glances to bull, brows arching. ] --Did you see it? [ because if anyone has a supernatural sense for where one can find dragons, it'd probably be the iron bull. ]

A dragon. [They missed a goddamn dragon. Bel's timing is so awful they could spit.] Yes... If anyone can afford to feed a dragon, I could fuel my bloody ship. I suppose my luck isn't that strong...

As for what it's like... Not as much visiting new worlds or exploring as one grows up thinking it is. [Bel grins at that.] About 95% absolute boredom. You spend the time in transit, training, or studying for that 5% of pure adrenaline and terror.

[Bull just. Laughs. He laughs loud and long, throwing his head back. People are turning their heads. But that doesn't stop him.] Oh. Did I ever see it.

[Which means yes. Yes he did. He saw it and he fought it. And it was great. As far as Iron Bull is concerned. His teeth show, bared and sharper than a human's. Even though he'd probably been to see a healer afterward.]

They put me on as someone's... mascot. It's not bad though -- means I get to use this place's gym.

[He lifts his free hand, to signal for drinks.] Sounds about right. They got giants where you're from?

[ mahanon grins, then glances at bel, jerking a thumb toward bull. ] --He has this thing about dragons, if you haven't sorted that out yet for yourself. [ he shifts, reaching up to thunk his fist lightly in the center of bull's chest. ] Next time give me a call or something. I don't want to lose my edge here, you know.

[ anyway-- he's a little sad that space isn't as thrilling as it seems like it would be. it doesn't seem all that different from being at skyhold, though. mahanon spends a lot of his time training or studying-- or traveling to his next destination on the endless quest to fight corypheus and fix all the stupid shit that's happened in thedas. ]

I asked Miles about that, [ he comments to the question of giants. ] The Nexus doesn't have anything like that. No darkspawn or archdemons, either. [ he hums out a little noise as he peers at bel, head tilting faintly. ] It's a little funny, I suppose, that there only seems to be humans where you're from, but we have so many races crammed onto one planet.

As he says, the closest you might find are ah... altered humans. [How to explain genetic engineering? Well, vague, for now.]

It is possible to make new races... though by the sound of it, it's not much better than a world packed with humans.

I hit it on the nose with an axe. It was great. [And yes, he does seem incredibly proud of that little tidbit of information, even if it hadn't toppled the monster, it had been pretty goddamn amazing. At least, in the Iron Bull's opinion.] Next time, sure. Wasn't really thinking about calling anyone at the time.

[He'd just been thinking of fighting dragons. One dragon, in particular.]

What's that like, anyway? Just humans wandering around. No elves, no dwarves... just humans.

No, no one really gets along at home, [ mahanon agrees with a wry quirk of his mouth. ] Some groups get along better than others. Humans are.. human. Speaking as a Dalish elf, we're an arrogant lot considering that we're nearly extinct.

[ that's a little dramatic, but hey, if you can't make fun of yourself and your people..

he straightens as the server comes to get their order--just a beer for him, thanks--then turns back to the other two. ] --Must be like a bigger version of this place.. sort of.

Sort of. [Bel picks a wine that sits on that fence between dry and sweet.]

Nearly extinct ... and - good lord, please forgive the pronunciation I'm about to butcher, surely, what about the qunari? Have you a more significant majority?

Humans are humans divided up into a whole lot of little groups that always want to kill each other. [He shakes his head, leaning on an elbow.]

[Only to laugh, loudly.] More than the Dalish, but uh. Qunari's not just a people. Like me. Anybody could be Qunari if they converted to the Qun.

Complicated shit.

Complicated, [ mahanon agrees with a small sigh, shifting closer in his seat to lean into bull's side. ] That's certainly one way to put it. It's a very attractive option for former slaves, particularly of the elvhen sort. You have to have a certain mindset for the Qun, I think.

[ you really have to give up the idea of individuality, which.. was really bull's problem in the end. he'd placed his men and the inquisition over his orders, and gods, he's so glad. he hates it for bull, of course, because he knows that being tal-vashoth weighs on him--or at least weighs on the bull mahanon knows back home--but watching him here with the kids he looks out for.. he couldn't have that under the qun.

he clears his throat, realizing he's dangerously close to maudlin thoughts, lifting his glance to bel again with a brighter smile. ] Anyway, Bel, I wanted to ask you if you'd spoken to the other people from the Nexus that're here. I don't know if you know any of them, but.. [ well, it's generally a good thing having people from home around, right? ]

[There's illumination and some bright eyed curiosity at the light discussion of the Qun.. but they let themselves be moved along as well.]

Mostly the Admiral. [There's a certain note of fondness there, almost a glow.] There seem to be quite a collection of people from Barrayar. Which, absolutely is well and good, I'm glad they have each other. But I'll be keeping my own company for a while.

"Certain mindset" is one way to put it.

[But they're not going to talk about that right now. That edges too close to uncomfortable territory. Territory that means he's going to talk about himself and the Qun. Or him and being ex-Qunari.]

[He leans back as they talk about these Nexus things. Sure, he's listening, paying attention. But the drinks are also here, so he'll busy himself passing them around for a minute.]

Oh? Not interested in running into old friends?

[ he'd picked a spot to meet in heropa, mostly because that's the city cassandra lives in, and she hasn't really been here long enough to be too familiar with the others yet. not unless she's done a lot more exploring than he would expect from her, anyway.

mahanon is pretty easy to spot just outside the front of the mall, hair in a ponytail and in a light sweater and jeans and ankle-boots. when he sees cassandra, his expression lights up as it always does, and he lifts a hand in a short wave. ]

Just as a warning, [ he says as she approaches, amusement flickering into pale eyes, ] it's going to be crowded. But you can get everything you need to in places like this, so it shouldn't be a long trip. And you don't have to have anything tailored here.

( Even Mahanon's ever-infectious enthusiasm cannot cheer Cassandra up on this day, not with their task looming over her like a dark and ominous shadow. Well, perhaps that is somewhat dramatic, but Cassandra hates acquiring new clothes, but even she can admit that the time has come.

At least she's not wearing all of armour today? She's trying, Mahanon, she's trying so hard.

A ready quip about how people usually get themselves our of her way dies on her lips at Mahanon's last assertion. )

What do you mean, there are no tailors? How does everyone find garments that fit?

[ mahanon appreciates that she's trying, and that's why he's going to make this as painless as possible for her. --for him, too, actually, considering how much he dislikes trying to find clothing here.

he hums a laugh, pushing the door open, and holding it open for her to follow him inside. ]

They make lots of the same thing in different sizes, so it's not that difficult to find things to wear if you're within a certain range. [ he gestures to himself as he moves them toward a likely-looking store, ignoring the usual stares and photos. ] It can be a little tricky for me, since I'm smallish by human men's standards, but I find things in the ladies' section sometimes.

( Her lips purse as she follows Mahanon through the opened door, eyes looking past him to examine the array of stores. Suddenly, she is glad she did not attempt this task alone. There are so many. )

That seems needlessly wasteful. ( But then again: ) I suppose they must have some machine which magically replicates clothing as well. ( Close enough?? )

How does anyone find what they are looking for in a place like this without becoming lost for days?

I suppose there are so many people in this world that making things in bulk is the easiest way to provide.

[ close enough!! mahanon's taken to watching 'how things are made' shows to teach himself about how this world works, honestly, and even those don't always answer his questions. after all, they generally take for granted that their audience is familiar with a certain level of technology.. which mahanon is not. he's getting better, but a lot of it's still pretty mysterious.

he shrugs slightly at the question, frowning thoughtfully. ] I suppose you just have to.. know what stores carry what you're looking for. After a while, you get a good idea of it, anyway, and probably people that grow up here learn from childhood.

I suppose it is much like anything else in that regard. ( Still, Mahanon's explanation seems to do little to alleviate Cassandra's unease, easily visible through the swing of her arms. )

Where will we go first?

Right.. here. [ he stops out front of a store that looks simple enough. there don't appear to be any immediate sign of glitter or gems on the rears of their trousers, anyway, which is the first sign of good taste in this world as far as mahanon is concerned.

he steps in, smiling at the breathless greeting from the clerk, and then guides the two of them to the ladies' section, where there's an amazing array of clothing on racks and shelves, in every imaginable colour and pattern. ]

.. This is the part I hate. [ looking through all of this crap takes forever. ]

[ there is definitely a small, familiarish elf coming into the lucky cat café today, and he has a bundle of colourful fabric held at his side as he approaches the counter. it's pretty dead at the moment, and honestly, that's what mahanon had been counting on when he'd chosen this time. he doesn't know the schedules of everyone that works here or anything, but he made the best guess he could. ]

Hello, [ he greets, and peers around the person at the counter, then up at them again with a swift, charming smile. ] If Gregor is in, could you please let him know that there's someone here to see him? If he isn't, ah.. I think.. any of the Vor? I'll just-- [ a vague gesture to one of the tables, and he steps away from the counter to go place his bundle on said table to wait. ]

[ Despite having been here a while, it's not all that common for most people to refer to them as they're used to being referred to, with Vor as a class and a social group. Gregor's ears prick-- literally-- from the back room, from where he'd been lounging on his break as a cat, avoiding customers, and he smoothly transitions back to human and ducks out into the front of the house. ]

Mahanon? [ he says with slight surprise. ] I'm here. What did you need me for?

[ mahanon perks up, smiling up at the taller man as he approaches. ] Gregor, hello. [ he hefts the fabric-tied bundle to draw attention to it, then picks apart the knots. inside, there's a wide-mouthed jar with what looks like a bright red, gently-glowing liquid. next to it is a metal container, neatly labeled in english with instructions. ]

I'm sorry to bother you at work, but I thought it might be a good idea to drop this off with you. And.. [ he trails off, then shrugs lightly. ] Well, it's been a while since I've spoken with you, so I thought it might be nice to see you while I was at it.

[ he picks up the jar, offering it out, a nail tapping briefly against the glass. ] It's for Miles. I don't know if you've seen the other one I make for him, but.. this one's stronger, so I don't want him to take it without someone there to watch him and make sure it doesn't affect him differently.

[ It's a baffling package to receive at first, just by appearances, but his uncertain confusion fades as Mahanon explains. ]

You're not bothering me, [ he assures him, carefully reaching out to take the jar and examine it in fascination. Real magic, of a sort that seems more accessible to him than the mysterious results that just happen when healing is applied. But Gregor is alive to the potential repercussions of Miles taking something like this and for all his curiosity is listening with laser precision. ]

I was aware he was using it, but I don't know the details. Would you mind going over it for me? I trust him, but... [ Ruefully, ] Not so much with himself.

Of course, [ he agrees with a reassuring smile. ] And honestly, that's why I came to you first with this one. He's lovely, of course, but gods know he seems to be reckless with his own body. [ he understands why, but that doesn't mean mahanon won't take the steps to keep him from harming himself when miles himself doesn't always.

he leans his hip against the table, then taps the jar again, brows lifting. ] A full dose of this one is a little over a tablespoon for someone of his size and weight, so it should last a while. The first time he takes it, though, don't let him have more than.. say, a quarter-teaspoon? And just have him hold it on his tongue that first time, then spit it out. He should notice the effects without it actually harming him if he has a reaction. [ not that mahanon's ever known anyone to have a reaction to elfroot and its associated medicines, and so far miles has done well on it, but that doesn't mean mahanon wants to risk it. ] Provided it works for him the same way it works for everyone else, it should help speed his healing a fair amount, and of course it's an excellent painkiller.

[ he picks up the tin, then, shaking it gently with another smile. ] --This is just dried elfroot tea, for minor ailments. Headaches, joint-aches, cuts and bruises. That sort of thing. I made enough for you, too.

[ Mahanon evidently does know Miles, from that description. He gives a wry smile in agreement, though it fades as his instructions go on, Gregor taking on a serious cast that indicates he's instilling the information into his memory. ]

You can't take too many precautions with Miles's allergies, [ he sighs. ] Thank you, Mahanon. [ He eyes the tin. ] Should I assume it tastes awful, or is it something like chamomile?

i'm here to collect your hearts ( OPEN )

( SOLAS )

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( BULL & BEL )

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SORRY FOR THE DELAY, this week has been hell on wheels

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( BEST SEEKER )

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( HIS IMPERIAL MEOWJESTY )

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