05-12-2020, 02:53 PM
Seven’s manner was infectious, and she laughed. There seemed an edge of calculation to Ephraim’s sharper smile, as though he laid barbs in his words, but she could not see them. Business was rarely smooth sailing, and she did not linger on what she supposed the history between the two men to be. “And which of those do you consider best suited to your personal aptitude, Eph? I might add a few more to the list, but not while I’m still sober.”
She winked and Ephraim grinned at her, drained his glass, and spread his arms. “I am of course a master of all three, dear Zhenya.” And then raised his hand to once more flag the bar staff, presumably to dispense with civility now introductions had been made, and ask for a bottle to share. Or several, by the satisfied gleam in his eye.
“None was taken,” she told Seven. Had he been closer, she might have touched the curve of his arm to reassure the point, but it was opposite her he sat. Racists and bigots walked all veins of society, but she was no longer a child to take such wounds as a personal fault -- nor find them when they were not there, as she once had. The armour of her skin thickened over the years to shining silver plate, as did her ambitions to forge what the Custody insisted to be her greatest flaw and instead make her greatest weapon. His question had not been any of those things in any case; just honest inquiry, and none could be faulted for that.
She leaned with interest to the produced trinket, and was first to pluck it curious from the table. “So you’ll make me guess?” she teased, just as Ephraim laughed and insisted “Absolutely not guilty” like a reflex.
It was quite charming, and exquisite in detail for so small a thing. Something about it pulled in her chest, softening her smile into fondness, and she found her attention drawn up to Seven, holding on to his gaze a moment like she was not sure which of them was the true puzzle. The passions of another had ignited in her a love of mythology that lasted far beyond the relationship, but this was not of an era she had any real degree of interest in. It looked real enough to her, despite the promise of its deceptive appearance
A whisper of seiðr delved just below the surface upon her next glance down. Given the feelings stirred she had half expected to feel some resonance back, but there was nothing. She ran her thumb over the arc of the boar’s wing, pensive, until the spell was broken by a silent vibration at her wrist. The building issued security measures of its own, and Seven would not have made it beyond the lobby without passing through them, but she preferred her own assurances.
She handed the tiny boar to Ephraim, a little reluctantly. The man gave it barely more than a cursory glance before he chucked it irreverently back to Seven.
“Then your expertise is in forgeries?” Ephraim had promised an interesting skillset, but it did not seem to be of a natural alliance to her work. Truthfully nor did it seem the sort of thing to be of interest to Ephraim, professionally or privately. She had seen the inside of his apartment, and it spared no love for old things, even ones of value. So she found it surprising, but also curious. “How did you know this piece is not what was claimed?”
She winked and Ephraim grinned at her, drained his glass, and spread his arms. “I am of course a master of all three, dear Zhenya.” And then raised his hand to once more flag the bar staff, presumably to dispense with civility now introductions had been made, and ask for a bottle to share. Or several, by the satisfied gleam in his eye.
“None was taken,” she told Seven. Had he been closer, she might have touched the curve of his arm to reassure the point, but it was opposite her he sat. Racists and bigots walked all veins of society, but she was no longer a child to take such wounds as a personal fault -- nor find them when they were not there, as she once had. The armour of her skin thickened over the years to shining silver plate, as did her ambitions to forge what the Custody insisted to be her greatest flaw and instead make her greatest weapon. His question had not been any of those things in any case; just honest inquiry, and none could be faulted for that.
She leaned with interest to the produced trinket, and was first to pluck it curious from the table. “So you’ll make me guess?” she teased, just as Ephraim laughed and insisted “Absolutely not guilty” like a reflex.
It was quite charming, and exquisite in detail for so small a thing. Something about it pulled in her chest, softening her smile into fondness, and she found her attention drawn up to Seven, holding on to his gaze a moment like she was not sure which of them was the true puzzle. The passions of another had ignited in her a love of mythology that lasted far beyond the relationship, but this was not of an era she had any real degree of interest in. It looked real enough to her, despite the promise of its deceptive appearance
A whisper of seiðr delved just below the surface upon her next glance down. Given the feelings stirred she had half expected to feel some resonance back, but there was nothing. She ran her thumb over the arc of the boar’s wing, pensive, until the spell was broken by a silent vibration at her wrist. The building issued security measures of its own, and Seven would not have made it beyond the lobby without passing through them, but she preferred her own assurances.
She handed the tiny boar to Ephraim, a little reluctantly. The man gave it barely more than a cursory glance before he chucked it irreverently back to Seven.
“Then your expertise is in forgeries?” Ephraim had promised an interesting skillset, but it did not seem to be of a natural alliance to her work. Truthfully nor did it seem the sort of thing to be of interest to Ephraim, professionally or privately. She had seen the inside of his apartment, and it spared no love for old things, even ones of value. So she found it surprising, but also curious. “How did you know this piece is not what was claimed?”