World: Timiro
Scene: Hall of Waters, the palace, Credia. Summer 4282, or thereabouts.
Players: Joaquin = Abby; Peigi = SJ
The splashing music of falling water fills this vast, airy hall with a joyous sound. Fountains wrought of clouded crystal rise out of the creamy marble floor at intervals, their jets and sprays of clear water sparkling in the light that floods down from above. The skylights in the vaulted ceiling are subtly tinted rose and blue, green and gold, so that the soft air seems to shimmer with unseen rainbows. Against the pure ivory stone of the walls, low divans of golden oak are set between cascades of philodendron and fragrant jasmine. High above, an ivory marble balcony runs the length of one wall, though no way up to it is visible.
Though tall, something about this graceful elven woman makes her seem much smaller. Silvery-pale hair is caught back from her face into a thick braid, spilling down her spine to her lower back, and grey eyes watch everything about her from under demurely lowered lashes. She wears a ivory chiton, fashioned of flowing linen and expertly woven with golden threads. The simple garment drapes elegantly from jade pins that catch the soft fabric at her shoulders and is belted at her waist with a braided gold and jade-coloured cord. The dagged hem flares about her calves, and slippers of jade-coloured kid cover her feet. About her bare right bicep is twined a golden armlet inscribed with an image of a white cobra, marking her as the property of the Queen Mother.
Peigi slips into the hall, her slippered footsteps all but silent on the stone floor.
The Hall is dreamlike by moonlight, its fountains running with liquid silver, its white stone luminous as pearl, its shadows deep enough almost to hide the lean figure slouched on the divan by the far wall.
Peigi's sharp eyes penetrate the shadows better than a human's, and she pauses on catching sight of someone here, gaze narrowing a moment.
The figure raises its head unhurriedly, regards her for a minute in silence; and then the light voice of Joaquin Chiaros, ever so slightly slurred, remarks, "Peigi."
Peigi dips into a proper curtsy at the sound of his voice. "Good evening, my Lord. Do I intrude?"
Joaquin waves a hand impatiently. "'S a public place, isn't it?"
Peigi nods at that, and comes further into the hall. "Does my Lord require anything?" she questions.
A brief sardonic laugh escapes him. "Require." He shifts slightly, sitting up fractionally straighter for a moment.
Like coffee, but she would never say that, of course. "Yes, require, my Lord."
That remark elicits a slow grin. "Don't put up wi' much nonsense, do you, Peigi."
Peigi lowers her eyes demurely. "It is not my place to decide what I do, and don't put up with, my Lord."
Again the laugh. "Oh perish the thought." He leans back in an even more perilous slouch, and watches her, still grinning.
Peigi flicks a glance at him through her lashes, lips twisting slightly. "I see we are in fine form this evening, my Lord."
Joaquin covers his face with one hand in comic rue. "You sound like my stepmother. Gods help me."
Peigi can't help but snort at that. "And now you insult me," she dares to retort tartly.
Joaquin raises his head. Amazingly, he's still grinning. "At least you recognize it as an insult."
Peigi shakes her head, moving to stand near the end of the divan. "I have met your stepmother, after all."
"Ah, but so have many people." Joaquin tips his head to one side to look at her. "Peigi, I dare think you are a sharper creature than most of the alleged human beings in this place."
Peigi's lips curl into a somewhat sardonic smile at that. "High praise indeed, my Lord. My Mistress' influence, I am certain."
He studies her for a long minute, his dark face unreadable in the moonlight. "You do despise me, don't you?"
Peigi tilts her head at him. "Why would you think so, my Lord?"
Joaquin waves a hand vaguely. "Besides a logical deduction?" He has a little trouble with 'deduction'. "The look on your face just now."
Peigi sinks down on the end of the divan, braid swinging, and shakes her head. "I do not despise you, no, my Lord."
Joaquin watches her movements, still with that unwavering look of faint amusement. "Then you are even more remarkable than I had thought."
Peigi shakes her head at him again. "Do you think everyone despises you, my Lord? Or only those of my race?"
For some reason he sounds almost indignant. "Everyone certainly ought to. Gods know I--" He pauses, refocuses on her. "Especially those of your race." And he flings one arm wide in a grandiose, self-mocking gesture. The irony in his tone is pronounced. "Am I not a sorry example of mine?"
"Gods know you try?" She fills in in that tart tone. "I see we are feeling sorry for ourself tonight."
Dark eyes fasten on her sharply, as though she's caught him out, but the tone and the look remain mocking. "Peigi! What a tongue you have in your head. And you pass for such a meek little thing."
Peigi ducks her pale head promptly. "Your forgiveness, my Lord. I forget myself." She doesn't sound sorry, though.
Joaquin grins lazily. "Lovely phrase that." 'Phrase' comes out a little fuzzy. "Can you tell me, Peigi, why one always says that when one's been caught in the dreadful misdemeanor of behaving exactly like oneself?"
Peigi eyes him a moment. "So one doesn't find oneself flogged, perhaps?"
He chuckles. "Touche. Never mind."
Peigi smiles, looking rather pleased at winning the point.
Joaquin looks even more amused, and shakes his head slightly.
Peigi tugs lightly on her braid, watching the fountains a moment. "Do you often come here, my Lord?" she asks after a moment.
Joaquin shrugs lightly. "When I have the time..."
Peigi nods at that. "I wasn't expecting anyone this late."
"I see." He regards her a moment longer, thoughtfully.
Peigi returns his gaze from under her lashes. "Do you wish to say something, my Lord?" she questions at his look.
A graceful, if lopsided, shrug answers that, and a mild, "If I did, I would." Very slowly, he lifts a hand, and very gently lifts her chin so that she looks straight at him.
Grey eyes fix on him, surprise showing there. "My Lord?" she murmurs in a questioning tone.
Again the unreadable look and the light, careless tone. "Do you know y'are an uncommonly pretty creature, Peigi? If possible prettier by moonlight than by day."
Peigi blinks at him, flushing faintly. "Shadows suit me better, is all," she demurs.
Joaquin traces a finger lightly along her jaw. "They do," he agrees, still lightly. "They do indeed."
Peigi seems unsure how to handle this sudden turn of events, watching him through her lashes. "Thank you, my Lord," she says softly.
Joaquin sits up a little, without breaking that tenuous contact, his eyes holding hers. "You're quite welcome."
Peigi flushes a bit more. "My Lord... I am rather plain, in truth. There are many lovelier than I."
A moment's pause. Then he lowers his hand, very slowly once again. "'...so turn your unwelcome attentions on one of them, my Lord.'" The tone still doesn't change; only his mouth quirks a little at the corner.
Peigi protests, "I didn't say that, my Lord."
Again he touches her cheek. "Well, I cannot tell with you, Peigi. You sit there looking demure and vaguely puzzled and I cannot tell if you want me to go on, or go away. Or if you even care."
Peigi lowers her head slightly. "It is not my place--" she begins, then smoothes a fold in her chiton. "I do not mind your attention, my Lord. It is much preferable to some."
A queer little laugh escapes him, and he lowers his hand again, this time leaning back against the wall. "There we are, then."
Peigi sighs faintly. "I didn't mean that the way that it sounded, my Lord." She shakes her head, and stands. "I should retire. Morning comes early."
Joaquin watches her stand. Then: "Peigi."
Peigi pauses, unsure if that was a farewell, or not.
Joaquin says nothing more, only studies her in silence for a minute. Then he shakes his head, and waves a hand vaguely. "Good night."
Peigi curtsies to him, gazing back a long moment, then turns to make her way across the hall.