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The museum had to be the most pretentious excuse for a gala the mage Arik had ever heard of, not a single noble in the beautiful halls of stone and artifact all meticulously labeled by the royal collage, not a one of them had any interest in the opening, or in a single artifact in the room. Though to be fair neither did the elven man himself could have cared less for chipped pieces of pottery as he wandered the crowd, adopting every air of high elven serenity, arcane wisdom, and the exoticness of an outlander, putting it all together to make himself one of the most talked about person in the room after only an hour of mingling.
Tall and built like a willow with pointed ears the faint tan of his skin and waving strawberry locks around Arik's shoulders all spoke of an elf who in youth must have been as handsome as some of the paints housed, but now, appearing to be in his mid 40s, with the strawberry and gold fading from his tied back locks, and lines marking many seasons of frowns around his lips, it was clear he had seen his share of the world.
Though the well fitted mages robes that billowed about him would convince many he had seen worlds beyond count, oh how Arik only wished that to be true as he adopted a relaxed smile and began to wander towards the main podium where a man in college gown was speaking, surrounded by several other men in fine atire or scholars robes also, ceremoniously uncorking a bottle of some ancient looking draft, said to have been preserved through time by the magics of the Atalian empire long ago.
Arik only scoffed in amusement and wondered if they really thought mages saved bottles of mead with wards to last the centuries as he found a somewhat out of the way nook between marble pillars to watch the proceedings, his eyes scanning the crowd for anyone if interest to him, he was tired of playing a the part and brushing all the right elbows.
"Ah yes, Mother, it is a fairly aged brew. I am honestly more of a fan of newer bottles, but the mead tastes good nonetheless," laughed Chardon as he took a sip from his mug. Inside, he wanted to curse the vile woman's name. Ataylia's death was supposed to be taking a tole on him, so his loving wife's family was helping him with his grief by taking him to this museum gathering. Wonderful.
Chardon's roaming eyes caught a mysterious looking elf leaning in the corner of the room. Their eyes met for a moment before Chardon turned back to his family.
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Arik's eyes had been scanning the room in lazy circles, like buzzards over a desert that didnt really expect to find anything, but what did catch his eye brought a smile to the mages face as he studied the young man surrounded by what must have been family judging by the age gap.
He wondered if he ought to save the other from the fate of being stuck at a bar with parents, something in the strangers gaze even if for a flash hadnt spoken of wealth. It wasnt like finding a diamond in the middle of a desert, it was like finding a rock in the middle of a pile of diamonds, which had piqued the elf because if nothing ells, he liked misplaced things and people as he started to cross the room before he had even realized he was. The man was short, looked Atalian he suspected, but the thrum of inheirent magic around the other clued the elven mage in to that more than looks as he drew closer, able to hear snippets of conversation now.
"They say young men like fresh wines because they know before long they will be aged themselves, but I must admit, I do like a bottle of autumn mead when it can be had." Arik responded, hoping to ease himself in to the conversation as he leaned against the bar.
Chardon didn't turn his head, instead looking down at the mead swirling in his glass. "I am a fan of Honeyside myself," he said, before turning to the other man. His large blue eyes shown as he looked at the elf. Magic seemed to course through the aged man's veins as he studied him up and down.
"Chardon," he stated, stretching out his hand, conjuring up a small breeze to go with it.
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Arik bowed gracfully to the other and teasingly took the Atalian mans hand to kiss, half for his own amusment just to see how the other would react. Pulling away he smiled charmingly and answered in a voice that held only the faintest hints of an implacable accent. "Arik, at your service." He replied as he stepped back in to his own space and summoned the bar tender with an offhanded gesture and pressed coins to him for a bottle of good mead. "Honeyside, not bad taste at all, though I must ask, what brings you here, academic interest, I doubt it was for the mead?" He pressed, looking at the woman beside Chardon and suspecting she likely had something to do with it.
Chardon chuckled to himself and looked down into his glass again. "Hmmm... I have such an interest in ancient Atalian artifacts. My people's history goes back such a long way," he said, taking a sip of his drink.
He leaned in closer to this alluring elf. "No, the lovely group over there is my clan. Or rather, my wife's. Demavand bless her soul..." he scoffed, the disdain clear in his voice. The dead woman could rot, for all he cared. She was rotting now, anyway, so Chardon couldn't curse her name that way anymore.
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Sorry im a little late replying, got a little hectic and kept replying to PM RPs and forgot my poor forum babies. *pets* ))
Arik let out a soft laugh and glanced conspiratorially towards the in-laws, and prehaps more then a bit to the way Chardon's lips closed over the rim of his glass, making the elven mage wonder if prehaps he would succumb to sins of the flesh tonight. "No love lost then my widower?" He remarked with a cat like smile. "Prehaps I could help you come to terms with this terrible loss... I'm told I'm very good at helping one to forget their grief. That is, if I may be so forward." Arik finished formally, though his tone of voice made it all to clear his intent, prehaps it was the alcohol in his system, but the thought of a night with the Atalian sounded just what he needed then.
Chardon raised an eyebrow before sipping his drink again. "Love lost? I danced for joy the day she died," he coughed. Turning his head to look at the alluring elf, he nearly purred, "I do go both ways, you know."
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Arik let out a soft laugh of amusement and offered the other his hand as he rose from the bar stool. "Then care to accompany me, if all formalities are settled then, m'lord?" He asked with a smirk, deciding he very much liked Chardon if for nothing ells then the amusement of his responses. "Prehaps we can do a different dance, or quite the same dance, depending on how you celebrated your wifes passing."
Chardon reached out to grasp the elf's hand. "Hmm, I can think of a different kind of dance to do," he said seductively. "Why don't you take me back to your place and show an Atalian a good time?" he whispered.
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Arik made a pleased sound at Chardon's quest, leading the other away from the bar with ease. "Oh I can promise just as much dancing and a far better time then this place, don't worry about that my Chardon." He replied in a low purr, beforeproceeded to do just as requested and take the other fromt his excuse for a party, leading the Atalian through the crowded halls and out the back exist and through the town with as much speed as could be mustered with the mage brushing his lips over the others neck, and letting his hands wander the entire trip.
Chardon had to bite his lip to keep from moaning aloud as the elf suckled on the skin of his neck. A warm hand groping his ass made the Atalian giggle. "Hmmm, I guess I have it going on down there, eh?" he whispered, nibbling on Arik's ear. He wasn't sure if they'd even make back to the elf's place at this point.
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Arik was hardly standing straight by the time the pair of the, did manage to make it to his room at the tavern, and if a few pieces of clothing were lost on the way there, then the mage hardly cared, not so long as Chardon was missing equally as many. Though as they stumbled to the bed Arik was able to find one unopened bottle of rum for them, with the rum and scent of sex allready in the air, it was no surprise the evening quickly began to blurr.
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