Elir and Scorch
"They're going to make mincemeat out of you. You know that, right?"
His tone was joking, relaxed as the rest of him. One hand in a pocket of pale-grey slacks, playing with the soothing weight of a watch-chain and the telltale rumble of keystones. The other smoothed back a head of thick, weighty dreadlocks, sand-brown and tipped in green bands. The human-formed Voidbringer's smile skewed lopsided with amusement.
His companion shrugged. Her hair, distinctly violet, was swept over one shoulder revealing an ear too pointed to be human. Her hands were busied with the messenger bag over one shoulder, both resting conveniently on the strap. "Truculent might be a bit angry."
"Truce is going to be A LOT angry-"
"But I left the Terminal in good hands." She pressed on, firmly - quite ignoring the jibes of present company. "They'll understand. And I don't think anyone will blame me for taking a little while coming back...given everything that's been going on."
The man lifted an eyebrow at his Lady, only to be shushed as she pulled open a nondescript door and entered a dark room. Not that it mattered. Didn't take real words to know what she meant... Their recent reappearance at the Terminal had caused no end of stir. All in all, it looked like things had gone well in their absence, but there were some who did not exactly appreciate their eponymous Lady for taking off in a time of strife - that is, of those who even realized she was gone - and thought even less of her for showing back up again now that things were at peace. That the banner they had once proudly flown had come up...tarnished...didn't help morale.
Scorch knew less of that than he might have liked, and intended to find out more at the nearest opportunity. That would prove easier done when the members of the household that had actually been around for the whole debacle were willing to speak with him.
To that end, their Lady had decided to leave everyone alone for a while. Give everyone time to come to terms with her return, for good or for ill. And Scorch couldn't argue the wisdom of that decision, for all he wished she was taking a more proactive role in things. Maybe action was just his way, though. He had never been a firm hand at diplomacy. Being a great whacking dragon tended to make that kind of thing unnecessary.
The longer he listened in on this mysterious meeting they had been called to, the more unsettled he became. She had fallen into a kind of stillness: the quiet confidence she always exuded when she was believed a plan would come together just right. He had just wanted to come to the festival, indulge in a bit of finery; it would be just like old times, the 'Golden Seraph' and her 'faithful Dragon'. Now he was being dragged along for illicit affairs, and would be better off going back home... But that was completely out of the question. Become someone's boon companion for life, and suddenly you were reminded of it left, right, and center.
He had never minded before, though, and that was not what caused his trepidation now. No, his unease was in the story - the pretext behind what was an apparently easy job. He didn't know anything about this world's underbelly anymore. For that, too, he would need someone willing to explain things to him. And Scorch rapidly felt that he was running out of time, and people, to find out everything he needed to know.
His companion was nonplussed by this, however. Her smile crept back by degrees as she played with the messenger bag's strap, fingers elongating into stark black claws at the tips. Everything would work out just fine, surely...and she could think of no better way to reacquaint herself.
One individual would be none too pleased about having their work interrupted that day with the appearance of a message showing up at his door. The timing of it being quite out of the ordinary, but impossible to ignore once it became clear who had been the one to send it.
