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Russiet did her best to put on a brave face, as it was. She may have been hurting, but she would force herself through this training hiding her limp as best she could. She was made for this kind of thing.
Despite the pain, she broke out into a wide smile during the training. She was pretty sure she fooled even the instructor at one point.
Russiet slowly rises to one knee as she is brought back to consciousness, and is a bit taken aback by the helping hand. She accepts it though, standing impassively and faces Egarthis. At their words Russiet nods and when the call comes again to praise Razmir she repeats it with as much zeal as she can muster before returning to her seat. She had not seen or heard the dressing down of Krant, but as she looked to him she (might have) picked up on something to that end.
As they are sent out for training Russiet's posture is rigid. Limping slightly and favoring the side of her body that hadn't been the subject of that first brutal kick. Noting Tamin sidling up alongside her Russiet doesn't turn to acknowledge him, but posture relaxes. "That. Hurt." she acknowledges in a quiet voice.
Russiet actually chuckles at Krant, though she followed with a wince of pain. Feeling her split lip bleed down her chin behind the mask. "I've often walked through the valleys around my hometown." Russiet haltingly explained, "But never... did I know a slug on the hilltop... to think itself so far above me for it." The mask may have hid her features, but her amused tone made it all too obvious she was smiling wide behind it. What more could he do? Knock her unconscious? She slowly tried to stand one more time. Not giving him the satisfaction of submitting to a simple beating.
The young sorceress winced at the kick to her abdomen, air leaving her lungs. She tried to rise to her feet, her pride demanding she not take a beating while prone. "Razmir wants me to be at his side." she responded through gritted teeth, "I am to be a powerful sorceress, his dragon. I will remember this as well, churl. I will teach you what formal means then."
Russiet squirmed atop Krant's shoulder, but didn't speak out as the sermon continued. Her shame burning her cheeks behind her mask. In any other situation she probably would have clawed blood from him. However, she was trying to uphold the illusion that she was desperate to follow Razmir. As he throws her to the dirt she frowns and rises up to a seated position. Brushing the dirt from her uniform and canting her head up to look at he intimidating priest. "I would never choose to disrespect Razmir!" she protested earnestly, "I've been dead on my feet from the work. You've seen me work father! I do not slouch in devoting myself to Razmir!"
Her protest dies down as he cracks his knuckles, but she keeps her chin raised. "What is Razmir's will? How should I be formally punished?" she asked directly. Her masked face showing no fear despite being cowed. There was a dignity in her tone that showed expectation. Quietly, she willed some her of latent arcane energy into her gently closed hands. If this wasn't to be a formal punishment, she might feel the need to challenge Krant.
Russiet briefly considered how the mask could be enchanted. If the priests here had such tools at their disposal it might pay to know their capabilities. Or to swipe some of them.
"Thank you brother." she responds quietly. Finally finding something useful, her brow rose behind her mask. She instinctually went to throw her arms up in celebration, only to knock her head on the table she was under. Wincing in pain and rubbing the back of her hooded head she turned and carefully read over the parchment. She didn't dare take it, so she did her best to quickly memorize what she could. Looking around carefully...
...for anyone watching her, she would try to call Bob out under the table. Giving her familiar a little wave, she tugged her mask up to show an excited smile. Plucking one of his ioun stones, her smile turned rueful. Carefully, she pulled up a sleeve and pressed the most jagged part of the cracked stone to her tender flesh. Cutting her skin so she could make a copy of the information on the parchment. Once that was done, she cleaned the gem with a cantrip and returned the stone to Bob. "Back into hiding sweet one." she bid it. Her familiar soon after evaporating into sand like particles, and then a fine powder that was pulled to her arm. The familiar tattoo returning. Her sleeve back down to conceal her notes, Russiet would rejoin the others. Passing on the details if she could in secrecy.
Maybe it was her earlier discovery being so more entertaining than the ceremony, or just that she was growing tired of acting the fanatic. Whatever the case, Russiet didn't just nod off. She started to slump to the side, and promptly fell out of her chair. Making a surprised sound as she was woken by the floor!
Russiet was glad to have Bohrs returned, and she lingered near him in a protective manner. Eventually, as the hours dragged on, she would drift away. No danger present and her feeling foolish. She was, however, continuously self amused while they were here. Her disguise was so easy to pull off. She was currently given the very smallest pretense of polishing a mirror, preferring to use a cantrip to do the cleaning for her. Inspecting herself in a mask in robe didn't leave much room for preening, but she could take a moment to appreciate that even as she was it was apparent she was feminine.
She did worry that she was turning all her thoughts inward. Was she being any help at all to the others?
Thankfully the faux wizard in the group wasn't worn down by dusty chores. She did have to keep her adopted father's library in good order after all, and her siblings were not always the cleanest. Russiet pokes around the meeting chamber during her exploration. Letting her magic work to clean before she touches anything. Her slender fingers lazily exploring.
Hearing the others speak she will make her way back to the group. Senrin speaking about something that caught her attention. "What did you notice about the mask and the spell?" she asks. her tone is soft, placid. Not her normally terse or clipped manner of speaking.
Russiet spent her time thinking about a number of things. The proposed divinity and magics of Razmir being one, but she quickly fond herself wondering after her colleagues as well. Truth be told, she had little thought of how she could find the kind of information they were here for. Other than ingratiate herself and wean what practical knowledge she could for their benefit. To top it her attempts to ponder out Razmir's magic left her with questions she simply could not answer. Nothing infuriated her more about magic than a blockage. She used her free time to walk about the temple. Her frustration fading as she examined the expensive tapestries and other fine works of craftsmanship littering the temple. The large silver mask, the carpeting, and then she stopped in her tracks. She suddenly knew how she might uncover information about this cult! She began to look over these finer features in greater detail. These were expensive, and luxury goods were not widely produced. They could be sourced by a discerning eye! ...an eye she did not, in fact, possess. She valued an arcane tome over any jewelry or rug. She wasn't entirely sure why, but she felt somewhat embarrassed about it. You would think someone of draconic blood would have an eye for the finer things. Lacking the ability to act on her idea, she began to search for someone who could tell her more about her surroundings.
Takign Senrin's hand Russiet will spark her favorite cantrip a few times, heating some of her wax and dribbling it on the wound. Trying to seal it closed. "Hold still." she instructed him, "This might hurt." Her current "disguise" held up even as close as the two were. Her hands slender and soft, and a pleasant smell of freshly washed hair escaping the collar of her robes.
Despite her best effort, and scalding him badly. She couldn't seem to get the wax to seal. "Go find Tim." she said as she waved him off, "Don't tell him I did this. Go." Later, she was left scowling behind her mask as she couldn't take notes during the sermon. As it was, she tried to remember the various great deeds of Razmir. Trying to puzzle out how true they might be, and what kind of arcane magics could explain how the deeds were done.
Russiet gave a thin, confident smile at the question. "I'll have that kind of power." she corrects the other woman, "Just you wait and see." During the morning she will look crestfallen at breakfast, behind her mask. She had done some travelling, and "enjoyed" less than stellar fruit rations after some time on the road. When it came time for chores she found tending to weapons and armor the easier task. Thread worked well to shore up padded or leather armor, and a well used cantrip could help to clean and polish.
Russiet allows herself a moment to fantasize. She had been the one to claim of Razmir approaching her in a dream. Promising to elevate her power. "Perhaps I can be a high priestess..." she muses aloud. Selling herself on the fantasy at least in the moment to make her act all the more believable. Looking to Regina she gives her a curious look. "What about the high priestess intimidates you?" she asked. Pointedly rephrasing scared to intimidates.
Mostly what they know about initiates being promoted. Trying to judge if it's more transparent among the order, or if it's behind the door politics by their instructors. If someone would benefit from sucking up more, or diligently following order.
Russiet, while an innate caster, is all too happy to explain that cantrips are the basest form of magic. Of course, she could do so while also showing off how the cantrip worked. Flavoring soup, cleaning stains from clothing, and other mundane tasks. With practice, she would explain, anyone can manage them. Higher spells, such as those that have alluded her, take more drastic measures. Or in her case, the calling of a truly divine god such as Razmir. She was at least being consistent with her story. She didn't want to be too heavy handed though, focusing more on making sure everyone had a better supper.
Russiet kept her mask on as much as possible, though she would use available water to hand bathe and keep her robes exchanged for fresh ones. Likely they would be doing laundry as well, so she may as well benefit from what would be her own work. She joined Tim at the table again, sitting beside him as if she were his handler or guard. Though her face was covered her amusement was evident as she backed up his attempt to persuade them. "I have never seen this man fail to come out ahead after a night of gambling." she explains, "Though it could just be a lucky streak. We are not known to each other long."
Seeing the ongoing conversation Senrin was having, she would pluck out a few of the mealy or overcooked vegetables from her soup. Speaking a few bits of draconic cant and waving her hands, the vegetables would shrivel and evaporate into a powder. One that she would drop into her stew and stir in. Giving it a stronger flavor of carrot, onion, and celery. It did nothing for the quality of the vegetables, but at least they were in a tasty broth now. "Anyone else?" she asked in a melodic tone, "Razmir did not promise to empower me so I could hoard my gifts for myself."
Russiet lingered around Bohrs during his conversations in the mess hall, even sitting near him to provide a sense of having his side if it came to that. She did not speak though, nor nod. When they were shuffled out into the yard she made an inarticulate sound in her throat at the work. She was most skilled as a scribe or tailor, and this work was both outside her skill range and beneath her. She would follow Bohrs again, aiding him and mostly trying to look busy herself.
Russiet dons her garb quietly, and once dressed seems as silent as the grave. She nods as needed, but her mannerisms become reserved. Doing her best to give no tells via body language and quickly become as faceless as she can. When the group is shuffled off to a meal she will carefully pull her mask from her jaw and slip bites up into her mouth. She might have been acting pedantic about the rule to not remove your mask on the first floor, or there may have been more to it. In any case, she was doing her best to embrace her role as a faceless acolyte.
Russiet simply steps onto the first step as if she were planning to walk up the flight of stairs on her way to dinner, but does stop herself short of climbing any higher. Her posture betrayed she was absolutely bored and impatient. She cast a look to either side. Taking in the tapestries once more.
Russiet will sip from her bowl, smile at the new herald and accept her new bowl graciously. Then, when he is out of sight she will casually spit the water out with the grace of a tobacco chewer.
Russiet did not open her eyes from her quiet meditation at the angry return of their jailor. Her only response a wry smile. They had been told to be quiet. So how odd it was that they were being asked questions. If she felt the man's eyes on her she would open her eyes half-lidded with the same smile remaining and her eyes laughing. Then, bring a delicate finger to her lips to express how much the order of silence meant to her.
Russiet continues her meditation. Within the palace of her mind she had plenty to keep herself occupied. Though she was certainly not the intellectual she tried to pass as with her martial and scholarly pursuits, there was no shortage of things to think about. Her biggest struggle was when her thoughts would turn to Nicolette and Calaithes. She couldn't help but briefly grow introspective, but would inevitably cut off that train of thought in favor of thinking about mission related topics. Her actionable item list did eventually run dry though, and so she turned her mind to other things. Her siblings and father. Without her home someone else would need to pour over books for him. Her youngest might be amazed to learn she had actually gone out in public as a girl. She stifled a chuckle at that. Her voice melodic in the moment. Eventually her chin started to dip, and she laid down to nap. Using the robes she had been offered as a wadded pillow.
Russiet does her best to appear impassive, as if this was entirely beneath her as any kind of challenge. Still, she does not speak out against the trial. Wen she is offered the water she will dip her delicate fingertips into the bowl and start to wash her hands outside of it. She then sits cross-legged and begins to meditate. All the while listening and waiting for them to leave. She had no intention to meditate on Razmir for the day, but she could work on her character. Yes, she must recite in her head what mannerisms she would speak with. Work through her backstory front to back so she would not get caught in a lie. Consider in advance how she should react to further trials so she isn't caught off guard and break character.
Pulling the pin from her mask, Russiet suddenly becomes very self conscious. Hiding it back where it was, she considers if any of her allies might be able to make use of it. The marshall... hah. Perhaps Bohrs? No. She wouldn't let herself think of the cleric that way. Perhaps the elf? Hmmm. She would like to see if anyone was coming, but she was without a light source. She had put away her torch stone for safekeeping rather than hidden it with Bob. "Can anyone produce light?" she suddenly asked out of the blue.
Russiet did not speak beyond her first soft spoken observation. She had to remind herself of her self-styled identify for this infiltration. She was destined to be here. She was better than the other rabble. At least she had been left with her fine clothing. Pursing her lips, she checked for her mask. Not because of it being valuable, but that she kept it pinned to her hair. That pin could prove valuable in the moment.
Russiet starts to feel around in the dark for a moment before she attempts to call out Bob. If she can manage this, she will affectionately poke and rub at some of his larger floating stones before having him dissipate back into small fragments of dust. The powered remains etching into the same tattoo on her arm. "Interesting." she will note academically before she begins to inspect the bars of her cell. Were they locked? Barred? Was there some mechanism to them? She will drag her fingers across them in the dark to assist her limited vision.
Russiet felt her eyelids growing heavy and frowned slightly. Shifting in her seat to try to keep her focus. As she tried to remain presentable and focus on the cultist leader it quickly became apparent that this wasn't just the itis from dinner kicking it. They had drugged her. She momentarily threw off the veil of slumber with the reflexive panic that came with thinking her gender might be revealed. Of course, then she remembered her current disguise was that of a female. The calm that came at that thought left her slipping off to sleep. Her chin dipping down as she fell asleep sitting up. Her breathing soft and relaxed as she quietly slumbered.
Teloda takes her ease at her table, sitting primly and staring back at the black robed Razmiran leading this procession while she enjoys sipping her drink. Those other followers who would approach her would receive a handshake and a polite smile, but she was clearly focused on the position of power among them.
Russiet took her seat with the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. She had fully intended to set herself apart from the others as part of the act she had thought up. So far it seemed to be working. The looks she was getting didn't hurt either. When the call is made to hail the god Razmir she joins in with the others. Seemingly fervant in her reply of, "All hail the living god."[/b] When it seems the time has come to speak their will she waits until all the others have spoken. Pointedly going last so she could achieve the desired result. "All my life I have been denied my grand birthright as a sorceress." she declared with a sweep of an arm, "My powers have been denied me, have been unnaturally stunted. The great power and nobility of dragons out of my reach!" She did not need to act so hard for this part. Her chagrin at the slow development of her sorceress talent was genuine. Steadying herself, or composing herself in the eyes of her audience, she then continued. "Then I received a dream of the great god Razmir, breaking and turning dragons to his will. Showing them how little their power was compared to his own!" she claimed. Doing her best to look zelous, or perhaps just a tad crazy. "I know he is the one true god of this world! He is my salvation! Only by worshipping him will I be able to be whole! A dragon who serves the living god!" she finished, and when her words were spoken she was left breathless. Panting in excitement and emotion.
Russiet walks to the bar, but looks to an open table at the last moment. "I intend to be far more than a recruit." she says imperiously, "But we all start from the same point. Let us take a table." She gives a look to Bohrs and motions for him to follow her. Stepping through the tavern much as if she owned it.
Russiet scoffed at Bohr's suggestion, but after a second she tilted her head and looked at him a second time. "That makes me your barber then?" she mused, "Well, fine enough. Leaves more time for my own disguise then." Taking one of the room basin's and her grooming kit she set some of her dye next to it and checked the edge on her scissors. "Well take a seat then if you trust me." she gestured. Inviting Bohrs for a bit of a shearing. If he did as told she would take his head in her hands from behind. The start to pull his hair outward and begin cutting. Truth be told she wasn't being the most careful she had ever been. She planned to cut his hair short enough that she could feel the length out. First she focused on the desired length across the top of his head, before cutting down either side to a shorter length. Leaving Bohrs with a chopped fade. "The shave you can do yourself, but first I want to rub some of this in." she noted as she brought out a short tipped, stiff bristled brush and dipped it in some water. She then started to wet his hair and beard in streaks, rewetting the brush and then agitating it in the dye. Making it foam a whitish gray. "Hold still for this part." she instructed him. Before starting to apply it into the wet streaks to dye some gray in. In what might have been a third of an hour she had changed the shape of his hair, the overall texture of it, and made him look years older.
Her work done, she then looked expectantly to Bohrs. Waiting for him to trim his beard and then expecting privacy to do her own transformation. Which amusing, involved removing tape, dressing down, and then fixing all the work she had carefully put in that morning. It was an involved process. That took a rather lengthy period of time, but when Russiet emerged again she was immaculate. She wore a thin ivy colored chemise under her tunic in place of her normal tan shirt. Allowing her modest bust to press out the top of her figure and give her a slender hourglass look. Her tunic strap and belt were loosened to sit lower and better highlight her hips. Her trousers were tucked smartly into her high boots, letting them hug to her thighs. Her hair had been wrapped in the back and set into a layered braid that showed off the almost spun copper look of her hair. Her jeweled mask set cocked up on the opposite side of her forehead to better catch the light and show off her wealth. Finally, she nervously polished the copper weave on her tunic so it also shined. Then, stepping out of the room, she immediately turned about and went back to her mirror. Brushing and tidying her eyebrows to be neat and feminine. Coming back out with some red in her cheeks she smiled to Bohr. "Well, shall we then?" she asked.
"Very well..." Russiet acknowledged as she eyed Bohr's tattoo and mulled over the idea of renting a room. She did not know how long she would need it for, and only the more expensive option had any measure of security. "I will take a standard room this time." she explained as she palmed a pair of coins to Puglass. After that she motion to Bohrs to follow her and led him to their room. "I will have to see about leaving some of my possessions somewhere safe..." she began, "Perhaps with the local armory? I simply do not trust individuals, and a room with a lockbox would be almost as expensive for a week as letting the cult have at my belongings." She then pulled out her disguise kit. Opening it up and drawing out makeups, facial putty, tapes, and other small bobs and bits. Then, she looked up at Bohrs with a sinister smile. "So tell me Bohrs..." she practically purred, "What should I turn you into?"
To Calaithes or Nicolette it would have just seemed another flippant joke from Russiet, but Bohrs had been more discerning into trying to get a handle on his true nature. In this moment he would sense there was more to the joke. Some genuine amusement coming to the effeminate and handsome lad. Something beyond just the thought of cross dressing. As if there was a deeper layer of humor there. When they get back to the inn Russiet will question the bartender/inkeeper. "If the rooms haven't been made up for the next guest, could we make use of them for a while? For coin of course." Russiet asked, "We have need of another moment of private conversation. Also, I'm sorry if I am being too direct here after you were so kind earlier, but could we secure some of our belongings for a while?"
Russiet chuckles at Bohrs enthusiasm for his newfound story. "I like it." she admits, "Perhaps you were freed from those pirates we took in. It could certainly explain you not having many belongings on you when we show up." She considers a comment that one of their new companions made and gives the cleric a wry smile. "Should I try and disguise myself as a woman?" she asked, "It would be a lark to see the look on Senrin's face."
Russiet looked to Emerald with a curious expression, her lips carefully pursed. But at the mention that they were safe from scrying, and thinking the woman of faith fairly trustworthy as far as their cause went, she relented and nodded to Bohrs. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to talk here." she explained, "I thought about what disguise we could work out together. I was thinking of passing myself off as a failed sorceress. One who has received visions of Razmir and has desperately traveled here to join his cult. Believing he is my only hope to come into my power. You could be a traveler who helped me along the way that also wanted to join. One who helped me at sea." As she spoke she carefully watched the tattoo being made, leaning in close to the both of them.
Russiet sighs and looks through the book while Bohrs is sorting out his tattoo. Though she would ultimately pass on getting any ink done. She carefully keeps an eye out as things progress, worried that someone from the cult might be watching them even here.
Russiet waves her hand, angling her wrist around as Bob apparates. The tattoo flaking away like chipping paint, turning to dust, and then solidifying into his normal form. "I've been thinking of filling it out a bit more. What can you offer?" she asks softly while trying to keep her amusement hidden.
Russiet will fall in quietly behind Bohrs. "I think we should go back to the inn after this." she explains, "I want to take some time to think out our backstories. If you would be for it." Before they enter the temple she quietly dons her mask. Flanking him quietly in her fine clothes.
Russiet was immediately suspicious of her idea being shot down. Her head already filled with insecure and paranoid thoughts, she found herself scrutinizing Aromina. Surely her reasoning that it would be easier to investigate the speaker than an entire secretive cult was corrent.
As Tamin handed over his blade Russiet protectively clutched at the clasp of her dueling sword. Not foolish enough to put her hand to the blade itself, but not by much. "I think Teloda would be the better choice. My proper name is often fumbled by the dim witted." Russiet explained. Pointedly trying to ignore Calaithes and Nicolette as they made their exit from their overall duty in favor of more individual ones. "As to not knowing each other, I am not the friendliest to newcomers. It would be better to work if we came as a group... with a properly rehearsed story. Otherwise I might prove a liability." she explained with carefully chosen words. The sting to her pride showing. She did give a wry smile at Senrin's comment of his age. Compared to a dragon, he was but a babe. "I have very little magic." Russiet admitted, "But I can provide simple armor of force and enhancements. My skill is primarily with a blade and shield. Both of which I can replace..." She gives a look to Bohr as he contemplates a tattoo. Would she regret it if she helped him with another purchase? She considered where her purchases had put her current funds...
"My disguise is necessary for my peace of mind. Russiet admitted, "I'm just being honest about the fact I have it so I'm not suspect." There was an amused huff at Senrin's comment about disguising oneself as a girl. Russiet looks about as the speaker finished. "Perhaps it would better serve us to start with the mayor. she reasoned, "If the Razmiran faithful have something on him, or are using some other means of coercion it could implicate them without trying our luck at the temple."
Russiet listened carefully. As a cornered person would to any chance of escape. The haze of alcohol being sweat out in the anxiety of the moment. "One of us..." Russiet said with force behind her words to interject, "Is capable at infiltration. I could pass myself off as almost anything with my skill at disguises. A skill I could provide to the rest of the group as well, though I have no means to pass on talent making the disguise work." She let a pregnant pause hang before she abruptly decided to explain herself. "I disguise myself daily. It's rather old hat." she added.
Russiet was having a hell of a time making herself presentary. The booze still making her world a haze. She kept silent as much as possible, making a point to offer a faint and forced smile to the woman who offered them seats at the lodge. But then it was quickly up to meet their point of contact in the city. As Calaithes explained she frowned. She had neither first hand knowledge of the incident in the tomb, but now that captain from the previous incident was here. She cast a look over this agent, an unusual elf. This was the only one she did not know.
It did occur to her that she might be forced out of the group. If the newcomers were to join, or if there was to be more people discrediting her. Ugh, was this day going to get even worse?
Russiet briefly noticed Bohrs looking her over and quickly raised a hand to her temple. First covering the side of her face, and then checking to make sure her tape and disguise was still set in place. It certainly was, but she knew it wasn't as fool proof as a piece of armor.
"M'not drunk." Russiet doggedly grumbles. Sliding the ale over and only spilling some of it on the way. Picking her head up properly she lifts the ale and starts to drink, but has to stop a few gulps in as it wasn't sitting right. Setting it down on the bar and taking a few steadying breaths. It took her a while, but she finished it. Only to look at the last remaining ale like it was an ogre at the end of a gauntlet. "Hmmm thish, hmm tat." she grumbled, "Why ya hmmmm..." Her mask had slipped for a moment, and she let out a deep sigh at the realization. "...mmmm, bread and coffee." she agreed.
Russiet was staring at the third drink, slumped forward nearly to the bar as Bohrs spoke to her. His story made sense, and she bitterly wished it didn't. It meant she had to own up to her own half of the problem. Her muddled mind not providing her much in the way of assigning most of the blame to the rest of the party. She has a similar problem with the honey gold drink before her. It looked appealing, and smelled sweet. She even really liked apples. But her head was already fogged. Well, that was the idea, wasn't it? She pulled herself up to sitting and took the glass, trying to regain some of her good posture. Ultimately she had to settle for not spilling any of her drink as she downed it. She had to choke down the last few mouthfuls to actually stomach it all in one draw, refusing to sip anything as unsavory as booze. Though the sharpness of the drinks stayed with her stomach, and the back of her throat. "I think ya learned sumthin fer him." she remarked with a wry smile. Unsure if she was reverting to her normal way of speaking or just starting to slur her words. Having worked through the worst of it, she only had her ales left. She was keeping a thousand yard stare at those two drinks. Trying to focus the increasingly blurred world around her. She smoothed her hand across the bar to one. Using the assist so she could keep her hand on the same horizontal plane as the mug. [b]"Yer nice Bohrs." she reasoned as she struggled to slip her delicate fingers around the handle.
Russiet watches the bartender work with a sense of apprehension. Had she already lost control of the situation? She took a deep gulp, adjusted her clothing, and started to twist her first drink between her thumb and fingers. She then took a pull and made a sour face. If she was being honest, she had barely ever drank before. "I just wanted to ensure my secret was safe." Russiet remarked, "Document if more drinking would help Nicolette. Try to get her to see it as less of a traumatic thing." After a long moment staring into the dribble remaining in her glass her gaze grew distant. "I was a little curious if my blood would taste better." she explained, "I have draconic blood." She held out a hand, already the fingertips feeling slightly number, and used prestidigitation to cause a few multi-hued sparks to pop from her fingertips. "But I'm not much of a sorcerer." she continued with regret, "So is my blood really that special, or am I just a distant draconic mutt? I, well that's not the reason I gave Nicolette. It's like pulling teeth just to get her to listen to something I say for her benefit, let alone for my own." Realizing he conversation had slipped into bringing the object of her ire into her mind she frowned and took her next drink. Anyway, that's the situation." she ruefully remarked, "Front to back, top to bottom. I may not be the nicest at times, but I've only ever tried to help this group succeed. Being ambushed like that, pair of ingrates." Into her second cup and she was already muttering. Her eyelids low.
Russiet lifted a hand from the bar, waving Bohrs to join her. "Refusing to drink with a cleric of the lucky drunk would probably sour the drink as well." she astutely noted, "By all means, join me Bohrs." Her words were muted by the fact she remained face down at the bar. Waiting on her first drink and not feeling safe to show her face just yet. After a long moment there came an exhale and a sniff before she would wipe her eyes on the wrist of her sleeve and sit back up properly. Casting a sidelong glance to him. Though she said nothing.
I was very much looking forward to responding to Bohrs. Something about a cleric of the lucky drunk asking if they can join someone for a drink is amusing. Guess I'll pick that up on the 22nd. o/
Russiet pushed the drink aside. "I will need a real drink." she remarked with a measured patience, "Perhaps several. I have just wasted an indescribable amount of effort, and I wish to not be sober enough to think about it." Giving a thought to her words, and frowning anew, Russiet would then smile politely and continue. "It would please me greatly if you could oblige me, good sir. I am not well versed in alcohol, but I trust your judgement and my coin purse." she stated. Reaching for a few gold coins and setting them down on the bar. She grimaced at the gold. Starting to do the math on how much she had spent just trying to aid the group. Perhaps endear herself to them. Tears welled in the sides of her eyes and she lowered her head to the wood to wait for her drink. Feeling so very stupid for thinking she could trust those idiots. |