( Closed )

[septim]

Date & Time: March 31^st
Location: Coffee shop, afternoon
Characters: Martin Septim and Nathaniel Howe, then Anders
Summary: Brother Martin confesses to his debaucherous youth and highborn adulthood; Anders looks for Pounce
Warnings: Implied debauchery as part of Sanguine's Cult (sex, booze, drugs)

In Tamriel, dark arts such as daedric worship aren't banned. The empire is multi-cultural, it'd be an act of war to officially proclaim a single pantheon as the true gods above all others. Still, the dark arts, such as daedric magic and necromancy, are reviled, the Imperials's enslavement by the daedra-loving Ayleids, the Heartland High Elves, never forgotten or forgiven by the descendants of men in Cyrodiil.

Martin understood why Anders might be wary of magic involving blood, considering its usage as a reagent almost exclusively in the dark arts. However, the Amulet of Kings contained the blood of the Dragon God of Time, Akatosh, who formed the covenant that denied the Ayleids their daedra armies, forever keeping at bay the gates of Oblivion.

Perhaps his position was explained poorly. Surely, if he had offered the historical context, joining his soul and blood with the Amulet of Kings wouldn't appear as abhorrent. Yet Anders seemed so angered, so reviled, that Martin didn't have a chance to explain his position, plus the revelations of Tamriel's fate given by Delphine exhausted Martin mentally and physically.

Hopefully Nathaniel proved more sympathetic, but more important than that, he was due an apology for Martin goading an argument between him and Anders due to his past.

The coffee shop is quiet, mostly empty. Martin sits at a table for two, tucked into a corner away from prying eyes and raised ears. Nursing a cup of latte and a plate of chocolate biscotti, he keeps gazing at the entrance.

Comments

[birdhousesoul]

For his part, Anders isn't likely to offer much more of an apology for what amounts to about three sentences' worth of tetchiness and some silent glowering. That he's apologized at all is somewhat unusual. He glances at the magelight. Hm. "I didn't think of that." It would've been a spell wisp, if Anders cast one, but one dancing light can't be much different from another in the eyes of a cat.

No Pounce is forthcoming, magelight or not. Anders rakes his hand through his hair and makes a frustrated sound. "He gets into small spaces and decides he's perfectly happy there. What I get for raising him in a knapsack."

[septim]

If they're about to rummage through his room, open flames might not be the best idea. Martin snuffs the candles by pinching the flame with his fingers, an easy trick when your pads are coated in ice magic.

Why would anyone raise a cat in a knapsack? No, Martin doesn't have time for this question, bending over as he looks underneath his bed, finding nothing aside from hair and dust motes, a reminder to 'vacuum' the carpet soon.

"Are you sure he isn't somewhere else?" It's not that he's desperate for Anders to leave the room, rather that Pounce tends to announce his presence when Martin's around: figure-eights around his legs, lying on top of his books and meowing, or throwing cylindrical objects such as pencils and then rolling them with his paws across the carpet.

[birdhousesoul]

"I don't know," says Anders, clearly stressed, at that point where he's not sure whether to be annoyed with Pounce for disappearing or really really worried about Pounce's disappearance. "I mean, I looked everywhere in the flat. He shouldn't have been able to get outside —" no open windows, no cat door — "I don't think I left the front door unlatched or anything. Suppose he could have slipped past me without my knowing ... maybe he did get out."

[septim]

"Cats are intelligent. If," Martin stresses the word, "Pounce did get out, it's likely he'll find his way back." Pounce's life is made at the flat: food, shelter and lots of love. Martin can't fathom why the cat wouldn't return.

It doesn't even register in Martin's mind that he's mollifying the anxiety and distress of someone who wasn't as empathetic of his plight. As always, he's too used to putting the feelings of others above his own, an arguable habit ingrained too deeply.

"Maybe we can coax him out with treats, if you have some."