In Ne’Haer, among his social circle, Pash had once been
that guy everyone wanted to come to their party. It wasn’t necessarily through any particular effort of his own, although the Biqaj played well the thin line between entertaining and entertainment. Over the arcs, as he sailed farther and farther away from home, every time he came back and fell into the familiar rhythms of things, especially as his musical talents grew, this never changed. That said, being so far from everything familiar meant that Pash was rather surprised to be invited to anything at all on Scalvoris Island, especially something formal and mysterious.
Faldrass, though? That was exciting.
Because the invitation had been personal and had included Kali’rial, the seafaring minstrel couldn’t say no, despite just how all things that seemed interesting had tended to turn out—adventures were, quite clearly, a double-edged sword.
Taking someone else’s boat instead of his own? Well, that almost ended everything before it began. It was incredibly difficult to trust someone else to sail them anywhere, let alone to know that he had no out in case of emergency, well none unless he wanted to steal. Somehow, he managed to contain his displeasure at leaving
The Muse at the docks, though he brought his lute and his daggers and his fully-supplied rucksack and did not at all dress fancy for the trip, if only because he had plenty of previous experiences of just how expectations went around Scalvoris island. Surely, the volcanic resort island was no exception.
As they approached the stone tower, the tall Biqaj found the structure impressive and curious enough to warrant a visit, whoever this Smoochingpuff, Snugglemuffin, Smooglenuff was that seemed to have taken notice of Kali’rial and himself and whoever else he decided to invite to dinner. He indeed took the dark-haired Sev’ryn’s hand as the driver led them,
“Must be lonely.” Pash smirked and whispered back, biased toward his small, floating space and the endless sea he had access to instead of some giant castle to call home.
The darkness caused him some pause, not simply because of the stark contrast to the light of two suns outside, but also because darkness just felt suspicious in general. He’d been trapped in the dark enough already for a few more seasons, thank you very much. While the interior was decidedly cooler than it had been outside, as his lagoon blue gaze took in what he could see of the place, he’d bet every last nel the whole tower would be even more impressive if it had been lit beautifully with sunlight and decorated to compliment the glow. Oh well.
Pash watched everyone: their faces, their mannerisms, and listened to the tones of their voices. Winston and the maid were very different people, both clearly needing to get out more. He offered them smiles and greetings, but didn’t quite find them encouraging introductions to the character of the man who’d invited them. The seafaring minstrel kept his hands on the lithe huntress with him, both protectively around the strange maid and also to keep himself from touching all the unusual, expensive things. While he understood greed, and he’d strummed the threads of that feeling and more through Empathy in the tapestries of others, Pash himself had never found himself lusting after wealth or things. His desires were too often for people, feelings, experiences, and so the pleasure found in filling some giant empty space with fancy things was quite lost on his somewhat physical and very immediate sensibilities.
Still, all his concerns were slightly set aside once they were taken to their room. It was just as opulent as the rest of the tower they’d seen so far, but it was theirs for the moment once the doors closed and Pash was free to be as curious as he wished. So, yes, he touched things and stared at things and looked to see if there were any clues in the art work or the decor about who this Snoggleface was and what made him so eerily interested in his person and of such noble importance. He found a place to set down his things and explored the wardrobe with Kali, and between the two of them managed to determine whose outfit was whose—his had far too many buttons and way more articles than hers, but the blue velvet of what looked to be the jacket was a very pleasing shade that was not unlike the farthest depths of the Orm’del sea. It would do.
Of course, he also had to leap on the bed and make a show of how comfortable it was in the most ridiculous and coy way possible, though it was just for a laugh, mostly. The whole place was ridiculous and the two of them clearly would have rather been outdoors somewhere else, but at least they had each other to deal with it all together. There was no way the rest of the evening would go so well or be so private, so the salty bard wanted to enjoy a few moments of not-chaos, even if the chaos was going to come with food. Hopefully, the food wasn’t deadly or still alive or something worse he couldn’t imagine at the moment while briefly enjoying the fluffiness of someone else’s very fancy bed.
Ah, well, at least for now there was a bath.
Volcano-heated, most likely, just like the lovely hot springs of the resort elsewhere on Faldrass. Pash was more than willing to assist with any and all undressing, bathing, distracting, or what all he could get away with, though he was capable of just enough self control and plenty of humor to keep their time limitations in mind. Washing was still the point in the end, and once done and dry there was nothing else but to get dressed, to conquer layers and buttons and lines.
It was obvious that Kali had her own wardrobe struggles, and truth be told even if the tall Biqaj had offered to help the results would not have been at all successful either because he had no idea how any of that fabric (or lack thereof) was going to work or because it would have simply become too distracting in the first place. With a chagrined sort of laugh, they left themselves to their own dressing. Pash chose to tie back the top layers of his sun-kissed long hair into a ponytail that served to keep all of his hair away from his ears and also out of his face, which he kept unshaven but decidedly much trimmer now that it was Saun—barely more than trials-old stubble.
Pash had never lived a life that required too much fuss or status or any level of fanciness other than showing up in at least pants by choice, and even the simple, crisp outfit he wore for Cally’s was more respectful than it was formal. He’d never really mingled with nobility—or if he had, it had been brief. So, he’d never had the need to dress far above his perceived station for anything in his life, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious or that he couldn't rise to the occasion. Quite the opposite, he was instead fascinated, calloused fingers enjoying the fabric contrasts and feeling the weight of the expensive weaves. His mother was a weaver of fabric herself, after all, and Pash had spent any time he wasn’t at the shipyard near her looms as a boy. The ivory pants were silk and flowing, falling in a way that was surprisingly comfortable. His shirt was long and lighter than it looked, but that made up for the heavier, tighter cut of the silk-lined velvet jacket, with all its gold buttons. The lack of a collar was clearly a kindness, but the fact that everything fit in a way that felt tailored to his person, that didn’t hug his broad shoulders too tightly or limit his movements despite the well-sewn lines was suspicious and strange. While he was willing to wear what he was given, he hoped it was a genuine gift from a stranger who clearly knew far too much about his hemlines and not some wardrobe trap of doom.
The shoes were actually quite soft and pliable, lightweight and admittedly comfortable, despite his normal objections to wearing anything so confining. For the first time in arcs, possibly his lifetime, he didn't mind making the compromise to wear nice footwear. The belt was a sash of woven golden fabric, and Pash himself debated whether or not to set the pair of his masterwork tamo daggers in their fancy sheath just so in the belt or to leave them far from reach in this room. He didn’t like either idea because he didn’t want to be rude but he also didn’t want to have regrets. So he left them out, aware he could defend himself without them.
And then they were both dressed and could stare at each other and argue with wide eyes and sly grins who looked more amazing all without accidentally talking each other back out of the clothes they’d fussed so much to put on. It was. Well. Challenging. Pash’s grin stupid and his eyes violet with excited distraction, the dark-haired Sev’ryn looking like a creature from another world, one far out of his reach and expectation. Oh, what a little change to the outside did for a moment, though it was a relief to know that all the lovely things on the inside were the same. Granted, Kali’s dress was more implied than present, the entire piece made to accentuate all the right places and yet leave just the minimum of mystery—
his mystery, and hopefully he wouldn’t have to spend the rest of the night defending just that from anyone who might mistake otherwise.
“Um,” The seafaring minstrel was usually really, really good with making words happen, but he found he had to pause, deciding first to take her hands (to keep his from getting himself in trouble) and to kiss her (though there was no getting that out of his system anytime soon), before he was at all capable of stringing some syllables together in a way that at all sounded coherent and sane,
“Y’ look amazin’, qua’ma, an’ I have no idea what we’re doin’ here, but so long ’s we don’ end up havin’ t’ hack our way outta here with dinner plates an’ a candlestick, Immortals, it’s totally worth all th’ trouble for this view.”
