well any man with a microphone can tell you what he loves the most
There is soot on one corner of the fortune-teller’s tent, and a few small holes have eaten black-edged through the fabric, like it’s been caught by stray embers. It’s nothing too out of the ordinary for Denocte; with an abundance of both fire and alcohol and a people quite comfortable with both, the real wonder is that the city hasn’t burned down before.
Perhaps ironically, that’s always been more Solterra’s curse.
August is near to his fill with waiting here, a task that feels uncomfortably like scrounging for information. But it’s a pleasant day, with the late afternoon sunlight slanting down, the air crisp and cool and the trees resplendent in scarlet and gold. Denocte is bustling, thick with foreigners, and he knows many of them, pockets heavy with gold, will find their way to the Scarab’s doors. But there is a wealth of information here, too, easy as autumn-ripe berries to glean - if you knew where to forage for them. The psychic’s tent hasn’t yielded much of worth yet, but he’s spent worse afternoons learning less.
When the murmur of voices from within the canvas grows louder, August straightens and takes a few steps away, flicking his tail at a nonexistent fly. He looks like nothing but another lost soul waiting to have their future revealed as a mare slips from the tent, relief writ clear on her face. For the first time, his curiosity crosses into something more honest than business, but she passes him with nothing more than a glance and the hint of a grin.
Maybe at the end of this he’ll have his own cards read. He grins, too, at the warnings he imagines: trouble with money. Mysterious dark strangers who want something from him. All a standard night’s work at the Scarab.
A raised voice breaks him from his imagining, and the golden stallion looks over his shoulder, cool silver eyes assessing. There is a paint mare who seems to be in the midst of telling off a flock of yearlings; they scatter like sparrows and August raises a brow when he places her. He’d been in the crowd that night, when their unicorn queen named the council and regime; this feels like better fortune by far than waiting for whispers outside a clairvoyant’s tent. When the dark-haired woman begins to walk, each step falling so hard for a moment he imagines he sees sparks spitting up from the cobblestones, he falls in step beside her.
“Happy harvest, Warden. I’m glad to see someone’s keeping the peace.” He’s schooled his expression back to bland affability, but he grins as he jerks his muzzle toward the departing kids. “Morrighan, isn’t it? I’m August. I’ve been meaning to introduce myself.”
we're climbing until we transcend
higher, higher to where the skies end
She is fuming, like a volcano about to erupt. Instead of smoke coming out of her ears, it's coming up from her hooves with every step. Her eyes are wild like the fire churning inside her. Morrighan is still coming down from a tense argument with the Emissary and one of the Champions. As she's walking away, there is a group of kids standing in the middle of the pathway. She yells at them to get the fuck out and they scatter quickly so as to not feel her wrath.
There had been a time where no one really knew her in Denocte. She came to the land on accident by somehow being thrown in through a portal after the War. Her solitude was precious and she didn't trust anyone. However, as it was made clear that she was not going back home, she started to get to know more of the Court. The lands felt familiar and comfortable, possibly even more so than Ourania. Now here she is - Warden of the Night Court.
With her new title came new responsibilities, but it also came with her being more well known. So when the man named August appears and speaks to her, it's not entirely surprising that he knows her name. Morrighan's never seen him before, but there's already something about him that reminds her of an annoying gnat.
"Charmed," she replies sarcastically, looking over as August walks by her side. "Keeping the peace" was one way to put it. "Just trying to make sure the idiots stay in line," she adds, rolling her eyes. There is probably no getting through to Moira and she could care less what rank the woman holds. To mourn a man like Raum in public is the same as putting a large target on your back or a "kick me" sign. There were many things Morrighan could have done (or said), but she had kept back quite a lot.
She can't say that she's seen this man around much and so he likely did not have an important rank in the Court. "And who are you exactly, August? What's your position here?" 'What purpose do you have?' she almost asked. He had not been at the recent meeting or at least not in the forefront. She can't help but feel suspicious, especially if he is the type to just hang back in the shadows.
well any man with a microphone can tell you what he loves the most
Had August been more of a stranger dealing with women of strong opinions and tempers a bit beyond warm, he might have already thought better of this attempt to gather information. The smoke curling from each of the Warden’s steps seems like a pretty good indication of her current mood, and nothing about her reaction suggests his appearance has altered it.
Well, good thing he is a natural at stepping lightly, when he needs to.
“Always a full-time job,” he says, and the crescent-moon grin his mouth shapes then is knowing. He, too, has his hands full nightly with keeping the idiots in line, particularly after they’ve had too much drink, and lost too much money.
He follows comfortably at her side, matching his pace to hers, noting with interest the glances others quickly cast their way. Most of them are wary, and quick to to look elsewhere. It seems their new Warden already has a bit of a reputation - but in a court like this one, with the kind of year they’ve had, this hardly strikes August as a negative. Neither does he take her response to his introduction as an insult, though the tone and the words themselves suggest he could. After all, the low profile he keeps in the city is by design.
“I manage an establishment in town.” His smile is as harmlessly light as his words, and he guesses that her interest is low enough in him that she won’t press him for specifics. He is, after all, only another businessman in a city of them. Neither is it disenginius when he colors his tone with concern as the continue past a booth stacked high with rich-hued Indian corn and a dozen kinds of gourd. Everywhere there is conversation and laughter and the signs of a city celebrating; it only makes him wonder more what caused her mood. “This flood of visitors in for the Festival is good for us, of course, but I worry things are still...volatile...and not all of them have merriment in mind. That’s why I thought I’d ask you, Warden, if there’s anything particular my colleagues and I should keep an eye out for.” And August finds he isn’t even pretending.
we're climbing until we transcend
higher, higher to where the skies end
For a moment, there is a feeling of pride that swells through her when she sees others on the sidelines slinking away as she walks forward. It reminds her of how those in her kingdom reacted once she finally gained the power of fire. No one could touch her then, even the strongest of the bullies. Here, she'd love to see anyone try. Even with her magic not being as strong as it used to, she can feel it growing stronger by the day. Soon she'd be able to light a bonfire as tall as the ones in the markets with a blink of an eye.
It's too bad Morrighan can't do that now as it would surely come in handy. She could set Raum's memorial in complete flames just long enough to destroy every last bit of his memory, then snuff it out before it got to the other altars. The thought is wonderful but nothing but a dream at this point.
August explains that he runs an establishment in town, but doesn't explain the name or what they do. It provides little reassurance to her suspicion, so she gives the man a look to portray this. "And what kind of establishment is this, exactly?" the mare asks with impatience in her tone. If he was doing anything stupid or dangerous, she'd like to know so she could put an end to it immediately. Something tells her that the man may not be willing to give such details out easily, but she'd have no problem forcing it out of him if needed.
He also explains how the influx of visitors is good - this fact escapes Morrighan, but simply because she has yet to understand the inner workings of the markets. But it's what the man says towards the end that really grabs her attention. She wonders if he had seen anything from her skirmish with Moira and Boudika (although mostly Moira). News would likely travel fast or their voices had probably carried over the crowd.
"Well, someone made Raum a memorial," she begins, dropping the ball immediately, but not disclosing who she had been dealing with. "Unless you and your colleagues know who did that, it may be too late to catch the asshole responsible. Although-" she stops walking for a moment, her lips pulling into a smirk. "If your 'establishment' consists of spies, I would love to find out who frequents his memorial. Personally, I think anyone who mourns a man like that is a traitor to the Court. If you're willing to find this information out for me, I can work out something for you in return." Morrighan raises a brow, hoping she's speaking the man's language now. "Then, I'd love to destroy the damn memorial once it's provided the information I need."
She isn't even sure if she can trust the man, but this will surely be a test. The mare hadn't even considered such a plan until August had made his offer. Now that it's out there, she can feel a bit of trouble stirring in the air. Only in this case, her reasons are for the greater good of the Court and having such valuable information will give her more to bring to Isra. Surely her queen would not appreciate such bullshit in the Court and having anymore names to give her will be helpful. She already plans to mention what happened with Moira and Boudika, but if there is anyone else...
well any man with a microphone can tell you what he loves the most
He wonders what she’d say if he told her exactly what kind of establishment it was. Surely as Warden she would recognize the name The White Scarab, would put it at once with the pale domes, so out of place among the rest of the city’s architecture, nestled on the crooked street like a doorway beckoning another world. In a way it was - a world of shadows and secrecy, great lies and great wealth.
And in another way it’s no different than any other business.
To her look he pauses, raises his brows as though chastised by her sharp look. “Gambling,” he answers her easily, his own words leisurely, unconcerned with her impatience. Like so many other things, he’s well-practiced at making the Scarab sound utterly unremarkable. “Cards, mostly. Drinks, rooms for let. I’m often amazed at how much our patrons will pay for a little exclusivity and elegance and the illusion of danger. We do comfortably.” August smiles again, warmly (so much of his work is done with a simple curve of his mouth) before turning away to watch a group of miniature dragons tussle and chitter like birds over scraps of sweets in the street. How interesting, to tell a truth that still feels like a lie; he wonders if his explanation will sharpen her interest or dull it.
But it’s his own interest that’s caught when she speaks again, and he twists a slim golden ear toward her, for once making no effort to school the distaste on his features into something else. August had no love for Raum, and only pity for Solterra. He knew Raum had been invited to the Scarab, but to his knowledge the visit had never come to fruition; the island had intervened. And for that, at least, August is grateful to the gods.
At the way she bites out colleagues the golden man gives Morrighan his full attention, stopping when she does, something dark uncoiling in him at the implication of her tone and the smirk unwinding on her piebald lips. “We’re as glad as anyone to see the man dead,” he says, and for the first time there is a glimmer of steel beneath his words, something hard and cold as the ring in his nose. But it vanishes again as he weighs her words - and the look she gives him, more measuring than he would have expected from someone so clearly hot-headed.
Maybe their Warden didn’t wear all her thoughts as clearly as the flames that licked at her footsteps.
“I admit, Warden, that I’m a little curious myself.” His gaze slides past her, back to where she’d been walking from, the too-long row of altars he’d visited the evening before. After the fires, only one man had been caught - but three had been started. And though Raum was well and truly dead, neither his ideas nor what followers they’d garnered were. “I’ll see what I can find.”
Normally he’d consider it poor business to wait on his end of the bargain - but for a favor from the Warden of Denocte, he’s willing to gamble.
we're climbing until we transcend
higher, higher to where the skies end
When the man explains what his establishment is, Morrighan doesn't bother holding in her yawn. The activities of the horses here are still beyond her. Maybe someday she'll come to understand more things, but for now they provide little interest to her. "Sounds boring," is all she replies with, though it'll be amusing if August is shocked by this response. She could always give the place a visit and maybe it won't be so bad, but she also knew the general idea of gambling. Even though she didn't use her money often, she also understands it can buy necessities here. She didn't need to lose it all at once.
The mare is pleased to hear that August also doesn't like Raum. Of course, he'd be a fool to think otherwise. Was there really anything stopping him from lying to her just to stay on her good side? Perhaps the task she's giving him will act as a test for all. She smiles.
"Good," she replies, giving him a nod. Maybe since she didn't spend her money much, she could dig into some of her stash and give him a good reward if he ends up succeeding. Everyone here liked money and their strange economy made it into a ruler.
"Report to me as soon as you find out anything and I can tell Isra," she adds, following his gaze back to the altars. Raum's still stuck out like a sore thumb and the desire to set it ablaze still tugged at her mind. No, not yet. Let it be bait for those deemed untrustworthy.
"And what ever happened to Abel? The one we caught during the market fires?" she decides to ask him, although he may not even know anything. The bay stallion would be one person of interest in this mystery since he is already known to have ties with Raum. After his capture, he was imprisoned and should've been banished, but he could still be out there. He'd be a fool to sneak in and set up something so elaborate, but once a minion, always a minion.
well any man with a microphone can tell you what he loves the most
When she yawns, when she replies with an utter lack of decorum that he finds almost charming, August’s smile slips a little wider. He didn’t think that if she knew the true currency of the Scarab she would find it so dull. He also doesn’t think the gambling den would be visited by the Warden any time soon, and that could only be a good thing. Not all their patrons shared the same viewpoints on Raum, and that would be far from the only thing Morrighan would find disagreeable about their little establishment.
“I will.” He has learned in his brief time with her there’s no need to elaborate. In fact, when she says nothing else for a moment, he begins to amble forward, assuming their conversation ended. Her voice catches him and he turns at once, though it takes a blink of his silver eyes to place the man she asks about. August had never heard the name spoken.
“I have no idea,” he says, and thinks better of asking her whether that isn’t something the Warden should know. With a last glance at the paint, August dips his head before turning away again. “Good afternoon, Warden.”
The truth was, August hadn’t even wondered about the stallion, or what fate might have befallen him. And even now, as he moves down the street and toward the harbor, he only wonders what that says about himself.
we're climbing until we transcend
higher, higher to where the skies end
August agrees to her request and Morrighan can only hope that he will take it as seriously as she is. She's never asked anyone to complete such a task before, usually preferring to figure things out herself. However, he seemed to have some connections that could potentially prove useful. Time will tell though if he can be trusted. If he values his money so much, he'd be smart to follow through.
He begins to walk away, then turns back when she asks him about Abel. As she figured, he has no idea, but maybe now he'll have the name in his head in case it comes up. Maybe Morrighan will start there on her own and see what comes of it.
When he says his goodbye, she simply nods and walks off in another direction. She's sick of these markets and needs to take a breather. Hopefully far, far away from anywhere that Moira is.
