(1909) By the Fireplace

[Reed Mills]

Reed gives Circe a nod and a watery smile when she arrives by the hearth, but says nothing. He's only half listening as Markarth spins his life story.

Jesus, keep it yourself... He wants to tell the elemental that no one wants to hear it. That it's dangerous to spread too many details about yourself. But it's none of his business whether ink-boy wants to get himself killed or not. So he keeps his trap shut.

He does, however, give Circe and Abe a wary glance. These are soon-to-be motley mates and he's not going to let them spill their guts for all to see.

"Let's not go crazy with story time," he mutters. Sounding drunker than he actually is.

[Markarth]

"Silence is what they count on, not just the keepers all abusers. Keep it to yourself, don't tell anyone don't show your weakness. But if you keep it in, let it fester it becomes your weakness. A secret others will find to cause you pain, letting it out airing it and seeing it for what it is. That takes the power away, because it's not a secret anymore. Secrets have power, stories...are just stories. And that's what that is...a story. Besides, that boy wasn't me. I'm Markarth, they were someone else."

Markarth wasn't sure he believed his own words, but it was a good story even if you have to tell it to yourself. "Not an evil twin, a clockwork facsimile stuffed with straw and shadow. I wonder, I wonder, I wonder...will it bleed?" Markarth stared at the tip of his weapon, "I hope it will, like I did," Markarth has given a lot, A LOT of thought about what to do to his fetch when he finds it. Some more outlandish then others. "It is the season of fear, why not share our nightmares with one another?"

"And here I thought Liquor loosened lips? No desire to face your fears? Won't force you, horde your horrors chain the screams. But don't feel ashamed, we all feel the eyes at night."

[Circe]

"I could make a joke about hard wood failin' ta stop me in the mornin' but nah," Circe replies to Abraham. The merriment is clearly forced. The topic of Fetches and replacement is one she doesn't enjoy. And what is Abe looking at? Oh. A courtless has joined the party. Well that is fun.

Circe should try to recruit him. If not for Summer then hopefully at least as a fellow skull kicker. "Desire, ya know that is a brand of cologne? And it is one fer," her left hands points across her limited dress at Abraham, "And one nay," right arm crosses as well to make an X, "Ta story time. And me not carin' either way."

Circe visibly winces as Markarth describes his past self as someone else. All Circe needed to do to know this was true for herself was Harden her Mask and look in a mirror. "Aren't we all somebody else?" is the glum question she asks as Markarath is hitting way too close to home. She leans against the railing to look over her shoulder at the alcoholic balcony, "Starting ta wish ya boys went that way instead. Fear got nothin' as a mind killer next ta tequila."

She looks at Markarath with a snort, "Nightmares? Death. Yer past. Monsters. Captivity. Abandonment. Running out of ammo," was her suggestions, "That's pretty much everyone's mutual nightmares right there if ya ask me. Normal kinda fears, not like bein' afraid of chickens or the color pink." Circe sighs, "I got over a lot of shit already," she laughs bitterly, "Poor phrasing there. Never shot anybody fer wearing pink."

As for her own past, "I'd like ta get ta know ya Markarath before I reveal everything," she chuckles, "Odd ta say in this dress. But secrets give power both fer bein' known and bein' hidden. Like the secrets ta my successful business ain't somethin' I'm gonna share with somebody unless they're a partner. Fer now? But sorry Reed, I have learned ta be diplomatic, had ta happen eventually. So. Cliff Notes! A little girl's tale involves stupidity, a wasp stinging somebody's groin, a riot, probable explosions, and a mass jail break. Yaaaay," she throws up jazz hands at her noodle description of her Durance and escape.

[Reed Mills]

The Wizened squints at Markarth as if he can't quite make the elemental out.

Like he's examining some mystery stain on the carpet.

"OK. Whatever you say boss. Just don't say it too loud. Least not around me. They've got ears too."

Damn this oily asshole. Could use that drink now.

"Well. I've got no problem holding my liquor. Or my tongue. Practice makes perfect, you know?" His words fairly drip venom.

With that, Reed looks back to the fire. Ignoring the fuck out the conversation at present.

[Markarth]

Markarth lowered his eyes, and sighs. It was always like this, was isn't? He wished it wasn't, that it wouldn't go that way that he wouldn't do this. Fear, is meant to get under your skin, to make you uncomfortable that's the way it is. But these people didn't deserve it, they had scars the same as he did. The one pointedly ignoring him might have had good reason to hide their's. Markarth, ran a hand down his face and turned on his heel.

"....I'm sorry."

The inkling turned away and walked back into the main room with the rest of the party, it always went this way. The Elemental raised a hand, just the tip of his finger touching the wall leaving a black line behind him as he walked found a corner and plopped himself down in it. Fear is meant to unnerve, to poke, to find what makes you uneasy and make you face it...at least in theory. In practice, these are people with real trauma, who don't deserve to have it pecked at.

How often I forget, not everyone is so eager to bear their scars.

Markarth has left the room.

[Circe]

Despite the depression Circe couldn't help but quip at Abraham's words, "Abe ya have a low opinion of the infinite. I consider an encounter with Burt Reynolds ta be a minimum fer 10% of everything seen," she nods as if this is sage advise. And feels more depressed as she had forgotten to get an autograph from him at the time. Even her ears were drooping, "Should'a got an autograph."

Violence can spoil a dish? What was the next analogy gonna be, ice-cream and revenge? Circe's ears went flush to her skull as she scowled at that, objecting to the argument on principal. She did find herself agreeing more with Reed though, "Like where yer mind is at Reed," her tone fairly matched his, "Marky is makin' me think practicing with liquor is a good idea."

And the oily quill twirler walked away, "Good riddance," she snarks, "That talk was a lot of not fun. So? Booze? Burning that smithy Hollow back? Karaoke? Really anything gotta be an improvement over Marky's topic."

Because a bad solution is still a solution.

[Reed Mills]

Markarth's apology and departure doesn't get a reaction from Reed.

But the Garden Gnome can't help following the elemental with his eyes as he walks away.

Goddamnit.

The guy had been annoying. A little pompous. And too glib about their shared pain. But deep down, the oily autumn courtier was just as broken as the rest of them. Just as sad.

His gaze returns to Abe and Circe. Reed has to admit: there's a certain comfort in their company.

He might even like them.

"Yeah. Let's do that," he replies to Abe. His mood seeming to lighten just a touch.

Because Reed is starting to dry out. And he's not quite ready for that. There's a lot of Coronation left.

"Also, Circe. Quick question. And I'm being serious: are you trying to kill me with that fucking dress?" Because it's like to give the Garden Gnome a heart attack.

He's staring as he asks. Unabashedly.

[Circe]

"Fanculo si", Circe nods in agreement as she rises from the rail with a twist that, well it would have been skirt twirl but that needed more red fabric. Just a lot of blue exposed and not much else as she had turned towards the downward stares, "I think my lips are too dry too. Lets get pissed!"

A fist is raised into the air but Circe pauses mid-stride. "Huh?" She looks to Reed as he asks a question, quirking her right ear as she does so. That little display probably took a few years off. But she laughs, "Oh ho ho ho ho, ya say the sweetest things Reed. Nice ta know I have a killer style," she winks, "And while yer not a target casualties happen in the world of fashion every day. If I really wanted ya dead though I'd tell ya ta remember what everybody was asking about me while I had the cloak on. Theeeeen ask it again."

The smile is evil, no doubt. Though if either of the boys suggest she has a gun under the dress Circe gladly admit she does.