Synopsis: A number of Infernals gather and meet with Green Brass Poet's guest, Azami

Location: Conventicle Malfeasant streets

Recorded: Friday, June 12, 2009

Cast: Green Brass Poet, Azami, Forbidden Blossom, Black Silk Star, Shurya

 

Suddenly, Poet!

In the darkness of The Shadow of All Things, excited by the music of That Which Calls To Shadow, dances a green-haired man. He is beautiful and full of grace, actually GOOD at dancing, and seems to find a rapturous pleasure in it. He does not dally with Erembor like Black Silk Star did, but he does spy her and watch quietly for a moment, before gliding into a spin and coming out of the throng. He exits the throng near Black Silk Star and Manzami, and looks the two over. "Hmm."

A few hours? What could possibly take them a few hou--OH.

 

Azami colours, turning a very interesting rosy shade. "Oh gods," he meeps, very, very quietly. Time for a different strategy! Aza's head snaps up and surveys the people passing them by. What do men do? What do men who she would never consider sleeping with do? Oh god that's most of them! Okay, think! Think! WHAT WOULD LOCKE DO?!

 

And inspiration hits her. The next woman to go by offers it, with her plump bottom.

 

Azami, wearing a young boy's form, draws a deep breath and raises her hand, drawing it back and making a face like she's about to take a bite out of something she /knows/ will be bad for her and probably bite her right in the ass later. Aiiiiimmm...!

Azami sees Green Brass Poet, and stops. Instantly. Mid-smack. Green eyes go up to the prayer strip that suffices for his. "Oh! Er--" Oh shit!

The purple skinned neomah half-turns at the slap, her smile growing. Where-ever she was going, she's gotten distracted. "Well, hello," she whispers huskily. And, as the smacking hand lingers, she pulls closer. "I don't believe we've met..."

 

Star fixes the courtesan with a flat look. "Away," he orders, and the fleshcrafter slinks away. He gives Poet a glance, at Azami's attention. "Oh, Poet. Is he one of your's?" he asks. "A very sweet find."

 

Azami retracts her previous summation. It can get worse. It can always get worse.

 

Poet gives Azami a curious look, intently studying him. The neomah is given no attention, as Star is more than capable of dismissing a passing trollop. "One of mine..? I thought so, from a distance, but no." He purses his lips in a tight frown. "I seem to have misplaced a friend of mine. I'm worried for her safety, she is new to Malfeas, and does not know the dangers present." He suddenly turns to Azami. "Akuma, you will aid me. This woman has short white hair, like yours. She's about your height, about your build, has your same skin tone. Really, the two of you are like opposite sides of the same coin. Find her, please. As I said...I am terribly worried, and I'd have to be Black hearted to let her go." He emphasizes Black.

 

Forbidden Blossom walks along in the wake of the Ebon Dragon. Well, part walk, part dance, as if having delighted in what even most demons find to be terror. Some of the shadows curl towards her, corner things gravitating towards her like worms seeking the rain. But there's no real solace, and some of them shriek and dissapate. She hums to herself, and looks to the small gathering, certainly something of interest to have three Green Sun Princes... and a toy?... there. She moves up with quick strides, looking curious and amused as she slips up, staring amongst the group without immediate introduction.

 

Black Silk Star relaxes in the chair, sighing as the bloody callouses of his feet get rubbed at. At Poet's orders, he rolls his eyes slightly, before nodding. "Best do as he says. You're new prettyboy, but here's one of the the foremost rule- the Peers are to be obeyed." He gives Blossom a wave. A wineglass bearing something fizzy and dark red is brought up to him. "Ahhh..."

"So, Poet. What new friend did you bring by? Anyone special?"

 

Azami stands up quickly, brushing off his loosely buttoned-up silk shirt, hands going to smooth out skirts that (of course) aren't there right now by habit. "I was-- I was only--" His ears go back meekly. "I was curious," he offers. Then remembers the shape he wears and steps back away from the table and turns to brush lightly by Forbidden Blossom. Graceful enough, he slips past her without jostling the woman and dissapears into the crowd, a blush burning in his cheeks. Shit! Shitshitshit!

 

"Oh get /back/ here you damn fool," Poet calls into the crowd. "You don't even know where you're going. And put on your normal form, it's a waste to see that dress of yours hidden away." Poet briefly shakes his head, muttering. The man turns and finds a convenient chair--he didn't even notice that his dancing had brought him next to one of the Conventicle's many restaurants, and there's no reason to keep standing, after all.

Also he totally notices Blossom! "Ah. Well, I might as well introduce the two of you to her now, unless she's scampered off completely..."

 

Black Silk Star gives Poet a curious quirk of the eyebrows. "A most curious guest you've invited here," he says dryly. He tests his feet, pulling them away from the harpest to press them against the ground. Hssssss. "Oh? Another guest of yours, or...?

 

Forbidden Blossom looks past to the young boy. "Hm?", she says, but her interest is mild and quickly dissipates. She looks back to the three, and curtsies with a gentle smile. "A pleasure, but..." She looks back to the crowd. "Your guest, then? I thought it was a lady, but... I admit I didn't get such a good look during the play." She touches her lips with a finger, "I was preoccupied, of course.", she adds with a shrug.

 

Black Silk Star curses under his breath, before shrugging. "I missed the performance? Damnation. Well," he says reflectively. "At least I've time to get new shoes. And then to seek out Erembor anew." He turns his attention more fully to Blossom. "I'm sorry, how thoughtless of me. Black Silk Star, at your service."

 

Slinking back into view, a young woman of, yes, much the same hieght as the young boy emerges from the strange crowd, brushing her wavy hair out of her eyes. It's Azami. She doesn't look at any of them precisely. Fidgeting instead with the buttons of the silk shirt she wears, now less comfortably. Somewhere she found a skirt to wrap low about her hips, tied to one side with the laces swinging as she moves. One smooth leg therefore shows as she walks meekly back. Amid the lurid spectacle of Malfeas it is no remarkable thing, but for the bold silver tattoos that trace her skin and her bare feet (the sandals no longer fit). As damnably honest as she is, this was probably the best she could do in pretending she was not the boy of a few minutes ago. With a costume change, no-one recognizes the hero, right? Right? Somehow, she has a sinking feeling that Dreamer's basic directions on how to be a storybook hero are falling short in places.

"Your performance was flawless," Poet tells Blossom with a gentle smile, bowing his head. "Easily the greatest rendition of that piece I've seen. If you're ever struck by the urge to do another one, let me know, I'd love to--" Ah, Azami has returned. Slowly, Poet turns his head to look at her, lips shifting into a wry grin. "I am endlessly surprised by how efficient some of the akuma are," he states, the absolute soul of imitated sincerity.

He rises to his feet and takes a step forward, tossing an arm out to grab at Azami's hand and pull her closer to the group. He always makes sure to stay close to her, and force as much physical contact as he can, for his own reasons. "Let me introduce you to two of my peers. This is Black Silk Star," he says, gesturing to Star, "And Forbidden Blossom." He indicates her. "And this," he says, indicating the gorgeous, silvery, grossly uncomfortable Lunar, "is my guest, Azami."

Black Silk Star gives Azami a flat look. "We've met," he replies, shortly.

 

Azami colours, and obviously tries to yank her hand away, but Poet grabs it before it quite escapes. She squirms. "...'llo, Black Silk Star," she says, sounding like she might be wishing she had a burrowing form for just this occaision so as to be able to sink into the ground. "It is nice to meet you miss," she says to Forbidden Blossom.

 

Forbidden Blossom looks to Star, and smiles, saying airly, "Forbidden Blossom. Were you at my conclave of induction? I'm afraid I don't recall. My head was filled with shadows, then." She doesn't wait for the answer, through, smiling at the flattery. "Why, thank you. Though it's a bit easy playing for an audience like that..." She steps towards

 

Azami, looking closely at her, slipping into her private space without hesitation. "This is your guest? Azami, then." She then looks back to Poet. "But why is she dressed so shabbily? It won't do."

Azami looks up at Forbidden Blossom in the manner of someone who is fairly certain that the words 'this won't do' are quite possibly Foriegn for 'lets eat her with a nice hollandaise sauce'.

 

Black Silk Star reaches a finger up, to catch one of his yellow-sap tears, holding it above the table. "A most curious guest, Poet," he remarks. "Is she here to meet the Dragon?" He chuckles quietly.

 

Shadowed Fortune looks at Azami, from beneath the black cowl. "Grew tired of studying monstrances in dusty basements, and walked another trail into the night, then?"

 

Black Silk Star shakes his head slightly at Blossom. "I'm afraid I wasn't. My work in the East has kept me keenly busy. Indeed, even this brief vacation is as much chore as it is delight."

 

"A fault of mine as a host, no doubt," Poet replies guiltily. "I confess the intricacies of a woman's preferences are lost on me. I had something nicer set out, but she must've hated it." He gives Azami a soft look, winking. "Would you assist me, Blossom? I want her to look her best." He then looks toward Star. "Oh...you've met? What a small world!"

 

"Well, we'll have to fix that soon enough.", Forbidden Blossom asides to Star. Then, she turns to just smile genuinely at Azami. Of course, the exact reason might be a little more esoteric. "Of course, we can get something more suitable." She looks over to Poet, and there's a mild snicker. "I can only imagine, dear Poet, but it's also important she be comfortable. As a guest, after all."

 

Its impossible to mistake the jolt that goes through Azami, traveling from her heart out to the tips of her fingers in a sudden snap of startled electricity. Holding on to her hand as Poet is, he doesn't get snapped by it, but the effect is rather like holding onto a bottle full of lightning that's been shaken abrubtly. She stares at Black Silk Star, green eyes widening and lips parting A name half escapes her. She raises her other hand to catch it before it drops from her lips.

 

But that isn't possible! A shiver goes down her back and her pulse quickens. Hurriedly, she looks down, trying to calm herself. Did she really see that?

 

"Don't be so uncomfortable, Aza," chides Poet, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. Oh how he delights in sending her mixed signals. "The city of demons might seem scary, on first glance, but you've nothing to fear from it. Don't be so wound tight!" He clicks his tongue, and then averts his gaze to Blossom, chuckling softly. "As comfortable and beautiful as can be managed, then."

 

Black Silk Star stands, on torn shoes and tattered feet, and begins to walk away. But he's hardly one to pass a cue like that, and half-turns before fading into the crowd. "Yes, Azami. Just remember- here, you're among friends."

 

With which, he's gone. Not melted into the crowd, but simply vanished. It's ever unwise to keep the lady Erembor waiting for another promised dance.

Azami flushes. Foolishness. These visions come and go, and her head swims with the poison air of Malfeas. Or is it the food here? She can't tell. Everything seems so nightmarish. Aza tries to put it from her mind and clears her throat, speaking quietly lest she be rude. "I did not like the dress," she admits, pulling subtly on her hand. Slowly, sneakily increasing the effort that Poet must put into keeping the hated contact with her. Aza does not like being penned. She HATES being touched most of all. "It is embarrassing."

 

Forbidden Blossom sighs, and says to Poet. "Honestly, what have you been doing with her for her to be like this?" She tilts her head, looking to Azami. "I'm sorry if he's made you uncomfortable. He's been known to manage to trouble even me from time to time, I'm afraid." Folding her arms, she gives Poet a look that's something on the edge between exasperated and amused. "But he does have a point."

 

"I don't understand why wearing it embarrasses you," Poet says, holding her hand tighter the more she tries to pull away. "It was made by the finest artisans I could find on short notice to your measurements exactly. The color looks wonderful on you, and it covers you completely--really, Aza, why are you so ashamed of your own self? A woman of your caliber should disdain the eyes that fall upon her, never that which they see."

He shakes his head in exasperation and gazes at Blossom with some amusement, but says nothing.

 

"I do not like people to... look at me," Aza says. "It is like being in a circus." Behind her, just over the wrap-skirt slung low by neccessity, a stubby little lynx tail switches back and forth in aggravation and distress, tipped and black and of the same thick, velvety fur as her ears. "And I -do- disdain! But so much disdain at once is very tiring! Only so much time in the day, can't spend it all glaring and breaking fingers. Won't you let me go? I won't wander off, let go." She grows more and more agitated the longer Poet holds onto her cool hand, finally just shooting a mild glare up at him as she loses her patience. "Its not as if I'll get grabbed up, is it?"

 

"I'd grab you up if I found you so, why wouldn't others?" But, remarkably, he acquiesces. His fingers slide away from her, deliberately tickling at her wrist as they pull away, and he does not further restrain her. "A circus, you think? I don't think that's it at all. When you're looked at like that, it's like being on top of the world--and everything below can't help but stare up."

 

"Eyes cannot harm you, though, thankfully.", Blossom says. "But we could certainly debate little qualms like that some other time, can't we? It's not good at all to see you simply troubled." She spreads her hands wide to Poet. "Perhaps we should visit a tailor, then? See she has more fitting thread spun for her?"

 

Azami relaxes somewhat as she's let go. Being given a little bit of space, she listens to the two Infernals talk... then brushes her hair out of her face and gives a grateful sort of smile to Forbidden Blossom. She doesn't seem so bad. "That... sounds nice," she says, straightening from her nervous posture to a more natural one, some of the hunted, anxious tension going from the soft lines of her form. "I would like that very much."

 

"I'll not interrupt the girl's day out," declares Poet, suddenly turning away and beginning to walk. "I leave it to you, Blossom. Don't say too much about me while I'm gone." He lifts two fingers to his head and salutes, before walking down the road, away from the two.

 

Forbidden Blossom raises an eyebrow at Poet, looking a bit surprised, and then adds, "What can be said about, you, Poet?", as if it were a bit of a puzzling question. She then looks to Azami, offering her hand, and then pauses, as if realizing that probably isn't the best idea, looking at her gloved fingers. She gestures, and starts to walk. "So, Azami. What have you been brought here for?"

 

Azami falls into step alongside Forbidden Blossom. Though she is still on edge, its clear she's immensely more comfortable around this seemingly kind person than she is with the Green Brass Poet. That, and she was in the play, wasn't she? "Me?" She steps out of the way of a trundling demon briefly, then catches back up, careful not to step on anything sharp in her bare feet. "I'm uh... well, I'm looking for someone. Poet is helping me." This last sounds a little doubtful.

 

"Who are you looking for?", asks Blossom as she snaps her fingers in the air as she marches towards a causeway. There are things that hop, squealing, child-like insects underfoot, and flying things that could never be mistaken for birds. But coming to a sudden stop is a thing that is mostly spider-legs and perhaps some part fur and something equine at the center. A blood ape, nasty and brutish, glares down before his eyes widen in recognition. "Wherever we want to go.", says the Green Sun Princess, and the creature lowers, the small howdah having breaks in the side walls for entrance. She steps on it first, offering her hand - but more for just help up onto the thing.

 

Azami gapes at the monstrous carriage, but takes Blossom's hand, using it more for balance than anything as she half climbs, half hops up into it. "Someone fell into the desert," she replies. "A few days ago. There was green and red light, I think." Aza looks at Blossom hopefully, green eyes lit from within by that most tenuous of emotions. Whoever it is, it is very important to her. "Did you hear about anything like that?"

 

And the thing rises up, before Blossom says to the driver, "Makarios' little market, if you would." The thing rises and starts to clamber up a building... with the bizarre point in that though the walking motion is far from a smooth ride, the howdah seems to exert its own gravity that keeps it even and balanced. Even though Creation's laws of falling would protest, it seems to be simply an incumbrance to be shoved off here. "I have heard of it, but strange events like that are... usually just weather here. I could look into it, but I've been busy playing in Creation lately."

 

Azami asks the question that has been wieghing on her mind since meeting Forbidden Blossom. Since the play really. She asks it very delicately, not wanting to sound nervous or foolish. "Miss Blossom are you a uh... Are you a Hell-knight?" She asks, not knowing the proper term. "I hope that isn't rude of me to ask."

 

"Like a Deathknight. Not quite." Blossom gestures to the side. "More noble than servant, actually. And there is no rudeness in ignorance." She looks back to Azami, "And you? Chosen of the Moon, then? Or am I jumping to a conclusion?" The thing now moves over buildings, and over in the distance, all the way across the city, there can be heard piping and distant shouts as one of the streets folds in itself, buildings crumpling in as if the land itself was rebelling.

 

Azami swallows, then nods. "Yes, I'm a Lunar... not really the most terrifying of wild barbarians or borderland berserkers." she smirks wrily. "Really, I don't know much of anything about Hell-knights," she says. "No-one does. I am very curious though, and this place, Malfeas! It is so strange! The laws of nature are not the same, and the sun! How strange!" Shaking her head, she looks out the window of the howdah onto the market. "Is this still in the--" she searches for the word. "Convectile?"

 

The creature stops, lowering itself over the market as things scamper away. "I'm certain Luna has given you formidable gifts.", she says, as she slips off, offering her hand again. "Green Sun Princes, if you please. And we left the Conventicle Malfeasant some time back. Quite an honor to be brought there by him, for that is where we meet, to discuss matters of importance and for days of celebration and other things besides." Here is not quite as bizarre, easily recognizable as a merchant quarter, with shades of alabaster white contrasting much of the city's brass bones. Though there are demons here, they look less like a gathered mass of madness and more like... merchants. There's even all sorts of haggling and protesting in the Malfean accent of Old Realm, and demons advertising their wares in shouts and song.

 

Azami leans out, grasping the lintels and sticks her head and shoulders eagerly out. Comically, her short stubby lynx-tail poofs out as the Howdah stops and things skitter out of its way. "It looks so much like Stygia!" She exclaims, getting for the first time a good look at the city. When Poet and she arrived before, she was too burned by the sun and stunned by the racous noise to notice anything. "Where is the tailor? Here?" Now that she's out of the Convectile, and away from the possibility of being found by a certain individual so easily, she is excited to see what there is to see, absorbing the sights and sounds and information eagerly.

 

Forbidden Blossom walks after, and points towards a tall, flutish tower capped in green copper. "Come.", she says, simply, before adding, "Stygia? I'd have thought that place... mmm, maybe foolishly, to be... dull? Dead people repeating themselves ever and ever." She grins and adds, "And the tailor is just this way."

Azami follows Blossom, looking around with great interest. "Oh, the dead are much that way," she agrees, growing more chatty. In Old-Realm she is far more talkative and fluent than Rivertongue and her Skytongue accent, thick enough to cut with a knife, does not jar so terribly. "The ones who cannot give up their memories... well, they just walk in circles, yes? Over and over, day by day. But the ones who accept," she spreads her hands illustratively, waxing on a subject in which she is an expert. "They grow. Not like living creatures, but they change. They adapt. Grow stronger. Beneath the surface, Stygia is just as alive as this place--" she looks around, and more slowly adds "Though-- I think I know it better than here, for all the similarities."

 

The brass and strange-glass door to the tailor's shop is pushed open, a gentle tinkling of what one can only assume to be bells announcing it somewhere overhead. In the doorway stands Shurya, dressed in what are decidedly new silks, some dyed a deep crimson and others washed to a pristine white colour. He pauses there, a claw-gloved hand against the door and the other hanging at his side as he regards Azami for a long, thoughtful moment with his yellow-orange feline eyes. The hand at his side is lifted, a clawed finger directed at the Lunar, "What are you doing down here?" An insightful query, no doubt.

"I should go there, someday, but I need to better aquaint myself with those dead things first, and their knights, so dead and so pretty." Blossom comes to a stop, and looks to Azami. "I'm starting to get the idea you're better known down here than I!", she teases. "But then, I suppose that's a fine start of some sort. She's here for proper clothes, Shurya. Something comfortable but suitable for our sort of company."

 

Azami's mouth drops open as Shurya is revealed, standing in the Tailor's shop. "Shurya?!" She exclaims. "What-- How--" Aza stutters unsucsessfully for several seconds, then huffs. "/How many of you bastards do I know/?!" The little No Moon rushes forward and wraps her arms around the slim man and buries her face in his chest. The tousled mop of her newly shortened hair seems very bright against his red silks, coming up only to his shoulders. Muffled, she babbles something incomprehensible in Skytongue, then: "Shurya! He cut my hair!"

 

The pointed finger remains stuck out, over Azami's shoulder when she sneaks in and wraps around him like someone clinging to a barrel in the sea for dear life. The look of mild mistifcation still remains on his face even as she sobs into his brand-new silks, his gaze turning first to Blossom. "Perhaps some tissues too, while you're out and about with her. She seems distraught, seeing as how she's leaking all over my shirt." Pressed this close, Azami can likely feel and hear the thrumming purr within chest.

Looking down now, he regards the notably shorter-haired Azami. "Well. Who is 'he', and why are you down here? This is no place for furry bakers, no not at all. There there," he pauses to pat her head a bit here, "no sniffling; big girls don't cry." He lowers the hand that had been held aloft since he pointed with it, administering a quick pinch to Azami's backside.

 

Forbidden Blossom blinks, staring. "Well, I do think it'd nice to hear how you to meet, but..." She looks aside, sliding her fingers through her locks. "You know how Poet is, I imagine.", she adds with a sharp flick of a gesture. She walks after, adding, "And your shirt makes a fine enough tissue, I think.", with an impish grin.

 

Azami draws back a little, not quite relinquishing Shurya but wiping at her eyes with her own sleeve guiltily. The purring under her ear is quite possibly the only soothing thing to happen for weeks. "Sorry," she sniffles. "Just--khha!" She jumps, ears tilting back, and turns a glare up at Shurya that could curdle milk if it weren't rather ruined by the tears still glistening before she wipes it away. "I'm not sorry about your shirt," she says, vengefully. "Blossom, you know Shurya? He is the annoyying jerk who comes to my bakery and tries to eat me out of house and home." Despite her harsh tone, its clear she's relieved to see him. A familiar face in this terrible place is nothing to be sneezed at, even if it's pinchy and an asshole. She seems ready to let the one slide for once in her life. "It's horrible. We have the same hair-cut." Feeling her much-shortened hair, she shakes her head gently to set the soft white locks to spill around her face in wavy chaos. "My braid is gone. It doesn't feel right. And-- and his house is full of naked Neomah!" How /scandalous!/

 

Shurya is apparently entertained by the fact that even after the pinch, Azami has not relinquished her hold on him. A soft little laugh escapes him, and he glances back up to Blossom, lifting his shoulders in a gentle shrug, "Well, it's not like I paid for it anyway. If I had, I would be much more perturbed about the missus here using it like a handerchief. If she blows her nose in it, however, there will be trouble." This is spoken as much to Azami as it is to Blossom.

 

"Here for clothes then? A good decision, she looks a tad scruffy at the moment doesn't she." A clawed fingertip is directed down at Azami before he reaches down and places his hands upon her waist. "Into the store we go," is all he offers by way of explanation before idly lifting Azami up and placing her over his shoulder, turning about carefully so as to not swing her head into the frame. A quick step the side frees up the doorway, his unoccupied hand motioning to it as he looks to Blossom, "After you."

 

"We've met, though obviously not well enough.", Blossom says, and turns about, adding, "Neomah are, generally, naked. They are about the weaving of flesh between things, after all." She licks her lips for a moment in recent memory, and then tilts her chin as she waves a hand. "Oh, no, I trust your fashion sense better than I do mine, Shurya. Can you get her taken care of?" She steps back, bowing slightly. "I have to see my master at the Ten Shadows Academy while I'm here." A mischievious look. "Though Poet will want her back before long. I don't know how long that is, though... I imagine you two can ponder that little thing."

 

Shurya reaches up, patting Azami in a would-be comforting way upon the back of the leg. "If you are sure you cannot stay, I will see to it in your stead. She will look like a queen when we are finished here today, I assure you. I will also see that she is delivered back to Green Brass Poet afterwards." Taking hold of one of Azami's legs he shakes it a bit, rattling her on her tenuous perch that is his shoulder, "We'll have a grand time, won't we Azami? Of course we will." He does not wait for her answer, and a bow - as best as he can manage without dumping Azami on the ground - is offered to Blossom, "Do be well, I'm sure we'll meet again soon enough."

 

Rather miraculously, Aza puts up with this. It is questionable whether this is due to her relief to see the psychopath, or a certain quality of 'what can I do about it really?' that motivates this attitude. Really, it's probably the purring. Purring is audial crack to Aza. With a long-sufferring look of patience she tries to wave to Blossom, then gets a little disoriented when Shurya turns. "Guaah--" humans are not, after all, sacks of potatoes. Aza does not approve of spatial distortion! "It was good to meet you, miss Blossom," she says, looking a little dizzy. "Thank-you!"

 

Forbidden Blossom waves, giving an curtesy quickly, and laughs a little. "You're welcome. Do feel welcome here, and I hope you find who you seek." She steps away, and then turns about, quickly wisking around a corner.