The night is still fairly young, and Velvet has once again returned to the Wayhouse. So far it's been the best place to meet people, so she figures that sticking around more will help in that goal. Quietly seated in the kitchen, the tiny elf is at the table with paperwork spread out in front of her. It's pretty easy to tell what they are, however. It looks like a set of rules for the Freehold. Lux gave them to her earlier in the day, and she's finally getting a chance to look over them. Her hair is pushed back behind her ears as she quietly reads, half leaning over the table.
Weaver apparently spent the day at the Wayhouse. The heavy footfalls expected of an ogre echo down the stairs until his presence becomes properly known. He half yawns as a chuckle escapes him at the sight of Velvet reading, and he starts scratching at the back of his neck. The act brings at least a modicum of joy as a slight rumble of a growl catches at the back of his throat. "You doing homework, or is this like deciding on which application you're gonna go with for your assassination apprentice?"
Velvet looks up at the rumbling growl from the dragon, a look of amusement dancing behind her eyes as she studies Weaver. "Do you live here?" she wonders. "Or just hang out here a lot? There are rooms upstairs, right?" She leans back away from the paperwork, running fingers through her hair to shake it loose now that she doesn't have to worry about it being in her face anymore. "Homework. If I'm going to pledge to the Freehold, I want to know exactly what the rules are and what is expected of me. Don't want to pledge only to find out there's a no killing clause or something."
Weaver lets out a laugh before he stifles it, and just nods. "Whatever you say. I kinda like the risk like that." An obvious sentiment from a moon courtier. "It makes life exciting when ya never know when you're gonna die." He moves over to plop down in a chair, and stretches out his legs. "At least for me that's how it's been. That razor's edge of life and death can be just a fucking amazing thrill."
"Doing what I do requires a certain amount of trust from the people that hire me. Being an Oathbreaker would diminish that trust and make it a lot harder for me to find work. As someone who values goods as much as you, I'm sure you can understand how I would hate to damage my source of income like that." Velvet's grin is a little wicked itself. "My work gives me the life and death thrill that I enjoy. Just yesterday I faced down a snarling beast and won. But if he'd gotten close enough, I might not have. That's my kind of adventure."
"Close enough? You can do some of the same stuff I can. I usually don't let something like that get close unless I wanted to," he returns with a smirk. "And it's not just breaking oaths. Some times you just piss off the right kinda person. I still say, though, the best feeling is trying to snatch something and almost getting caught. Heart racing, blood pumping, and it's just so fucking grand!"
There's a little laugh, the lights flickering like candles might but for just a moment. "To be fair, he didn't have a chance to get close enough to touch me before I put him down." Probably not surprising. "But it's been awhile since I've almost gotten caught." Velvet pushes up from her seat, moving towards the fridge to grab a couple of beers. She sets one of them in front of Weaver before settling back into her seat. "So, how did things go the other night? Did you find out why those little fuckers went after your friend?"
His gaze briefly goes to the lights, and then back to Velvet. Weaver corrects, "Not a friend," as he pops the top off of his bottle. He takes a cursory sip of his beer, leaning back in his seat for a moment. "Turns out he now owes me, and thinks that I saved you from him. As repayment he and a few of his other friends will continue Emak's work, and I have you to thank for that. He also knows to keep his mouth shut about our arrangements, and what somehow put Sholi in charge." He then tips the neck of his beer forward, "So cheers to that."
"Hah! Oh yes, of course. I'm sure he's very scary without all of this little friends. Saved me from him indeed." Velvet looks amused as she pops the cap off of her bottle and takes a long swig. She tips the bottle back towards him in a bit of a cheers gesture. "You paid me to do a job, I did the job. I'm glad it worked out for you in the end. Whenever you need a boogeyman, hit me up, I had a blast that night." There's that twisted smile again. "Did he say why they killed Emak?"
Weaver lifts a hand to wobble uncertainly as he takes another swig of his beer. "Something about the crackling hammer demanded it. Fuck if I know what that is, and I'm not too concerned about it right now." He shrugs - an idle, lazy thing from the dragon. "I got what I wanted for the time being, and even got this little clay mask today too. Right now my only concern is what I gonna do tomorrow night, and dealing with some stupid family gala Saturday."
"Crackling hammer? Seems like a dumb reason to do anything. But hobs aren't exactly known for their stunning intelligence, after all." Velvet finishes a good half of her beer before she sets the bottle on the table, pulling out a little clay mask from her purse. "I got one of those, too, today." She puts it right back into her bag before relaxing. "Lots of folks around these parts with impressively high connections to the Wyrd, huh?" She probably means Lux. Brows lift at the mention of a gala. "Hah! That sucks for you. Is your family loaded? I've found it's mostly just rich folks who hold galas just for family."
"I don't know what it means, but if you or anybody you know ever figures that shit give me a ring. I'll pay if it leads somewhere good. Double what I paid you if it's something shiny, too." To that he flashes a wicked, toothy grin. "With family, eh. It's for some kinda charity bullshit I don't even know about. Kids with something. Babies, maybe? Some kinda disease? I'm not at all sure, really. I just gotta fucking go if I wanna keep that side of my life looking normal and to keep money flowing from somewhere that isn't illegal."
"Researching is a part of my work, so I might look into it. If something is telling Hobs to kill each other, it might eventually tell them to start trying to kill us. That would become our problem quick. Might be good to nip it in the bud early." Her eyes shift to green for a moment as Weaver talks about shiny things. "So greedy," Velvet offers without any actual judgment in her tone. His greed could lead to big pay days for her, so it works out for both of them. Her nose crinkles up at the mention of money coming from somewhere that isn't illegal. "I get that. It sucks, but I get it."
"Noted." Weaver finishes off the rest off his beer, and sets the empty bottle down on the table with a contented sigh. "I can't help that I want all the finer things in life along with your things too." He smiles again, wetting his bottom lip with a drag of his tongue. "I was like that before that change, so there's that. As for our problem? I don't know. I can just as easily fit in or hide as needed, but really. What's the worst a hob could do to any of us?"
"Well, I'm rather attached to my things, so you might just have to fight me for them," Velvet offers in a sugary sweet tone with a brilliant smile that doesn't quite match. "Though, like I said, it's never really been about stuff for me. I need some stuff to do my job. I could use with nicer versions of those things, upgrades if you will. Outside of that, the thrill of the job is often better than the financial gain for me." She wouldn't make a good dragon, clearly. "Alone? Most hobs couldn't do much to us alone. But there were twenty-four of him and his friends. Enough hobs can prove fatal to even us."
Weaver nods along, gaze focused on Velvet as she speaks. "Who knows, Velvet. One day I may fight you for them," he says rather flatly. "I'm likely to get my ass torn in half, but you know how I feel about a thrill." He chuckles, and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "We can just make this some official kind of shit, then. I pay you not just for a job, but as an employee. Not solely for me, but it'd be a steady income instead of paying whenever along with whatever you make offing whoever else fucks up out there. The mortal side of shit could be handled by you being new security or some shit." He leans back to roll his shoulders, adding, "That's if you're game."
"I probably wouldn't tear you in half. Smaller pieces are far easier to carry, after all." Velvet's grins is Cheshire cat-like, as she leans against the table with her elbows, propping her chin on folded hands. She studies Weaver as the offer is made, a brow slowly tilting upwards. "I don't do well taking orders," she warns him. "We'll probably have to come up with some guidelines we'll both have to follow. But I think I could work with that. Are you sure that I could pass as your body guard?" She glances down at herself and then over towards him, other brow lifting to meet the first.
"Do I look like I give orders?" Weaver asks with his arms spread wide for a few seconds. "I'm a dragon, not some boar. I bargain." He leaves out the hoarding and the fire. "It'd also mean the occasional trip to these stupid galas, and god knows I could use the company with someone actually like me. And if you can fake using a gun I think you can pass for security."
"You don't, but I like to make sure my bases are covered. No surprises." There's a little snort from the tiny elf as in the time is takes to blink, a large pistol is revealed, spun once before cupped in her palm and pointed upward. Her finger isn't near the trigger, and the safety is on. "I'm even better with guns than I am with knives," she assures. "Better trained sniper than even the military can manage." Another flip of the gun and it vanishes into wherever it had been hiding in the first place. No need for her to fake it, it seems. "Do you want this face, or another one?" she wonders. "Public eye, and all that."
Weaver hums Daisy while watching Velvet's gunplay. His brows lift when the gun disappears, and he lifts a finger to point out, "You said somebody couldn't hide a big ass hammer any old place, but I'm gonna beg to differ now." He smiles for a moment, but then it fades. "As for the face, that really depends. That Lux lady brought up a good point about me, and wondered if the scales was an act or do I even do so. I do it for the eyes," noted with a point to those crimson pits, "but that's because I hated it when they were all white. Public face can probably be whatever you want if you're like me, but I'm curious. Is this the real you?"
"A pistol is far easier to hide than a massive hammer. But I'm sure there's a contract out there that could get the trick done." A low chuckle from Velvet as she leans back enough to cross one leg over the other, arms folding over her chest. "If your interview came after mine, I might have helped put that in her head. My mien shifts on its own sometimes. A mix of my high connection to the Wyrd, my tendency to hide, and the Mirrorskin kith." Velvet's head shakes. "This isn't even close to the real me. It's the me I let people see."
"Noted," Weaver echoes from before. He leans back, arms crossing over his chest as he looks Velvet over. He remains silent during his scrutiny for a few moments longer, but doesn't betray anything beyond curiosity for the moment. "I can control mine, but I imagine it's more than because of my mirroresque features, but that's something for later. I'm still curious, though. What would it take to see you? The real you? I'm not buying or paying, but I haven't been left wondering like this for a while."
It makes a certain sort of sense. She's advanced enough in the Wyrd to have evolved to atleast a third kith, and yet her outward appearance doesn't really give that much away. Besides, she's very pure and white for a double-Darkling. Her eyes linger on his face as she watches him study her, trying to see through the illusion she presents to the world. His question leaves Velvet silent for a little while, clearly putting thought into exactly what it would take. She did show Lux earlier, after all. "A secrecy pledge," she finally offers. "You wouldn't be able to tell, or even hint at, what my actual self looks like. Or risk complete exposure to my potential wrath. It could be a part of our work agreement. I protect your secrets, you protect mine."
Weaver remains silent when her words come. There's narry a bit of movement save the slow rise and fall of his chest, and the accompanying smoke that leaves his nostrils. Eventually he pushes himself up from his seat and moves closer to Velvet. "There is honor among thieves," he says without his trademark smirk. A hand is extended in her direction. "I can agree to that, wrath or otherwise, Velvet."
Velvet doesn't move as Weaver gets closer, though her eyes trail him until stops nearby and offers a hand out in her direction. Slowly, the woman pushes up from her seat and reaches out to take his hand. "May the Wyrd curse us if we betray each others trust," she offers with a nod. It took effort to expose her true mien earlier in the day with Lux, but it's like riding a bike this time around. It's starts from the grip of their hands and starts to spread across Velvet's body. Where before her skin was almost a pure white it now melts away into a shade of purple so deep that borders on black. Black hair falls down her back, tangled around horns that curve out from the side of her head, only to spiral downwards. Two sets of long ears poke out from behind the horns, and her eyes burn a deep crimson pool of light. The light is echoed in runes down the sides of her arms, the marks looking like they were carved into her, hollowed out, and then the light was poured in. Nails are sharp and black, claw-like but just a little too short to actually do damage. Grey marks mar most of the skin that's exposed, old scars, hundreds of them that indicate the horror story that the pretty white flesh from before did well to hide. She is still ethereal in her beauty, but it's a far darker thing now than before.
Initially, there's little in the way for Weaver to reveal save the shift of his eyes from their usual empty red. White fills his sockets until they begin to fade from existence. Their shape is still their, but it's as if looking through dirtied glass. He steps away then, the grip of her hand lingering for a few moments longer as he looks over the true Velvet. "It still isn't tragic, but I really won't ever get back my wings." He reaches at the hem of his shirt, pulls it up to reveal the same scaled flesh covering muscle, and then turns his back to her. "I won my freedom from The Borrower, and had to kill a lot of people to do it." When fully facing away its easy to see what he's referring too. Two scarred nubs above his shoulder blades.
"I had to pay a second price. He wanted my wings in exchange for me walking free. At the time I happily agreed because, fucking hell did I really miss cheeseburgers. But, I do miss it some days. I'll stand on the edge of the roof or a balcony, and wonder if I jump off they'll grow right back." There's a raspy chuckle before he admits, "I actually have tried. Twice. Second time my sister caught me when I jumped, and I had to deal with her thinking I was suicidal. I do want them back, but when I was free the only thing I thought about and wanted was to fit right back and that was how I learned how to easily change my mask over anything else."
"It's only really tragic if you let it be," Velvet offers faintly. When his hand pulls away and he starts to turn, lifting up his shirt to reveal the nubs, she steps in, eyes narrowing faintly. "You did what you had to in order to regain your freedom. Not everyone has the strength for that. You should be proud. All of us have scars. The Lost, I mean. Some are physical like yours and mine." She gestures to pretty much any part of her exposed skin, dark grey scars littered one over the other, hundred of torture marks as far as the eye can see. "Some are emotional, mental. It's how we use them and build from them that count."
"If they grow back naturally, is the bond broken that will keep you from using them?" she wonders, leaning to rest back against the table. "Also, might I suggest doing that in the hedge instead of where normal people might see you and get the wrong idea? I take it that your sister doesn't know what you are?"
"I don't think of them as scars," Weaver says when pulling his shirt back down. "I'm just a greedy bastard that wants them back. The deal was fair, but also want what I see as mine." He shrugs idly despite talking about something as powerful as one of the true fae. "And I think I'd rather have the emotional ones to keep the wings." He chuckles when moving to sit back down. "Draciana doesn't know shit, and if I have my way she'll never know shit. I went with the story of being depressed and had to sit through some psych sessions to move on. The only one in the family that knows is my uncle, and that's because he can see me for what I am." Beat. "Most of what I am anyway."
"I can understand that. It's a shitty price to pay for freedom." When he sits, Velvet moves to settle back down into her seat, downing the rest of her beer in a couple of gulps. As she does, that perfect, almost angelic looking mien once again begins to creep up and across her body, wrapping around her like a glove to once again hide her true mien. They're in a fairly public place, after all, another Lost could walk in. "Draciana? That's a rather fitting name given your draconic nature," she points out before tossing her bottle towards the recycling bin. It sinks in without issue. "Is he one of us, or is he Touched?"
"One of us. More like some kinda witch than like me. And we both were. She was named by my mom, and I was named by dad after some kinda Irish thing that killed dragons. I don't know if they thought it was cute or they just like fucking with us." Weaver's displeasure on the subject is plain to see, and likely one of the few genuine displays of emotion aside from what was seen at the collective. "What I don't get on your end is why hide that you? What did you have to go through?"
Velvet laughs, causing the little light flicker again. "I'm sure that they thought it was cute. Most parents aren't going to fuck their kids over for the rest of their life on purpose. But then, I don't know your parents, so maybe they did." The thought seems to amuse the Darkling. "If something happens at one of these events and I'm expected to play body guard, are you expecting me to protect you, or her?" It seems like an earnest question. Even the most selfish people can be surprising when it comes to their family.
Velvet frowns a little at his question, more in thought than anything else. "Honestly, it's to protect myself. I went through what we all go through, years of endless torture of all varieties. Sometimes by his own hand, sometimes he let his Nightmares play with me. Took years to make me break, and when I did, he made me into his little perfect killing machine. He set me loose in his forest to kill and maim my way through other Taken." She looks down at her hands for a moment, though she can no longer see the deep purple skin or the claws and scars. "The closer my bond grows to the Wyrd, the more I begin to look like him. I don't want to see that, and I doubt anyone else that was taken by him wants to see it either. Also, I killed a lot of people in there. I don't need people coming after me for revenge.
Weaver nods silently. His other scars may have healed all well and good, but he admits, "I can understand. I see some of what happened and that place, and I'll admit I'm not terrified of it. I stopped that when I was there because it was still better than dealing with that other bitch." Venom drips into his every word until he clears his throat. "Anyway, I appreciate your honesty with me and you sharing all this. I hate to admit it, but I think I kinda get why people care so much about trust."
"Were you Taken twice? Or were you traded?" Having heard Weaver mention atleast two Keepers, it has Velvet curious. "The Diva is 'the other bitch', right? The one you asked me if I was Taken by. I should probably get to know the local Gentry lore while I'm here." Her ankles hook under the table, pushes beneath her chair as she leans forward. "Trust is important, especially if we're going to be working together. If you can't trust, then you can only ever work alone. It's just not viable."
"I trust that money works, and it's only failed me once." Weaver pauses. He shakes his head to that. "No, twice. Anyway, you're right. The Diva is that other bitch. I was traded because I refused to do things the way it wanted, and I'd rather die that give that rat bastard, over-dramatic piece of shit what it wants." He pulls out his hand, and starts counting down. "I can't stand that bitch: I'd kill her myself if I could. I hate the fuckheads that fucking took me, and I've only found two of them so far and if I can find the other two I'm gonna kill them along with any others I can get my fucking claws on. And I hate any and ever asshole that escaped from it, because fuck them too!" As his anger swells his heart races and his mantle flares. No longer does his shadow play at portraying various parts of the dragon, but instead shows it in fully display. He puts on the act of calming down quickly after he's done speaking. His breathing slows, and he tugs at and straightens out his shirt. However, that shadow is still silently roaring about. "Trust is a luxury, though, and I hope this doesn't surprise. I'm hard-pressed to expend my luxuries easily."
"Money only works if the person you're dealing with has the same love of it as you do. If they have little regard for that sort of thing, you'll be hard pressed to succeed." Velvet leans back in her seat, watching as Weaver suddenly begins to fume and rant. Her eyes move to the shadow, watching with interest. Interesting. "I am always down for slaughtering Loyalists and Privateers," she says, not bringing up the fact that his shadow is still betraying his mood. "Let me know if you need help with that. That's always free of charge. But I have to ask why you hate the escapees of The Diva's land. They don't have any more control over who they were taken by than you did." Her head tilts. "As for trust being a luxury, that's what the pledge is for. To help solidify that."
"I appreciate that, Velvet." He finally gives a smile again, something pleasant and at least slightly less predatory than the norm. "I honestly couldn't tell you why I hate them. I just do. Envy, I guess. They got away when I couldn't. They weren't-" Weaver's words end in muddied mumbling that ends in a shrug. "I don't know. I don't really do that introspective bullshit. My turn for a question, though. About you. The real you. Do you ever just drop it all when you're alone, or keep up the pale thing even when you're at the house or with people important to you?"
"You don't have to finish the sentence, I can piece together what you mean. I may not understand it, but I get it," Velvet assures with a slow nod. He doesn't have to get too deep into the emotions, she's pretty good at reading them. When he says it's her turn, she makes a sweeping gesture with her hand, inviting the questions. "No. Not usually. It's instinct at this point. When I'm asleep, I imagine it fades in and out, but like I mentioned before, it does a lot of stuff on it's own sometimes. Before I showed Lux earlier in the day, I don't think I've actually seen myself or showed it to anyone else in, well, years." She shrugs. "It helps that I have no people that are important to me."
"I was gonna ask the obvious, but I remembered. Orphan and all of that." Weaver gives a shrug of his own then. "I have my sister, my parents, and my things. I can't be all of me with my family, but I can be close to it. Minus the whole lusting after gold and clawing bits. You ever turned into somebody just to fuck with 'em?" Beat. "Literally and figuratively?"
"That, and the nature of my work tends to put a lot of people off. It requires weird hours, secrets, coming home covered in blood. The people who have tried to get close to me before have had to struggle with trying to balance that against their own morals and beliefs." Velvet doesn't seem terribly bothered by it, just offering a little shrug. "Oh, I've turned into other people to fuck with them so many times. It knocks them off their game so easily. Startlingly easily, actually." She looks amused for a moment. "Literally? As in wore their face to fuck them? Once or twice." Her smirk turns to a grin.
"I guess I'm lucky, then." Weaver laughs at the thought, and moves on to the next part of that statement. "And the only things I believe in are myself, the worth of whatever I see in front of me, and that there really is no greater feeling that feeling of gold as it cools from whatever mold it was melted in." That last one seems to have Weaver almost giddy until another laugh bubbles up and he has to stop for a moment. "All this time I thought it was just me. It was funny at first, but it's gotten weird a few times. Messing with their heads, though, that's a whole other bag of fun. My favorite way is to look just like them, and if that doesn't spook 'em enough use a few illusions of them too. I'd say the best was this guy that had a heart attack when I came for him in his bedroom like that."
"I don't know about that. Feeling the last couple beats of a man's still warm heart in your hands is absolutely worth its weight in gold. If you ask me, anyway. I'm fairly certain that cooling gold fresh from a mold would likely scald my skin from my bones." Velvet notes the giddiness, a little laugh rising up to meet his. "Your glee is adorable," she notes. "Am I the first other Mirrorskin that you've met? Or just the first one that also likes to dabble in the finer arts of fuckery." She leans back in the seat, a brow arching. "Wit, when you came for him, or when you -came- for him. Because that's two very different visuals in my head."
"We're changelings, and there's magic for just about everything from a way to change your hair to turning feet into fucking fins. But,-" Weaver lifts a hand, a hint of that growl just below the surface - the same as at the collective. "Please don't call me adorable, either. And, no. I've met one other, and she thought it cute turn into my sister from time to time. I hope this doesn't surprise you, but this doesn't last too long. As for the visual you can work with whatevr works so long as it doesn't involve ballet tights."
"Yeah, I can't promise not to call you adorable again. But I can promise not to do it to your face?" Velvet's smirk remains, the amusement of it all dancing deep in her eyes. "I can promise, however, that unless it's requested of me for a job, I will not turn myself into any of your family members. That seems like it'd be a violation of trust, which would defeat the purpose of working together and pledging, and yadda yadda." She waves a hand, but pauses, lifting a finger in the air. "Oh. Now it definitely involves ballet tights."
Weaver groans loudly and painfully at that. All of it really. He leans forward to set it his face in his hands, and let out a sigh. "Please don't let this be a mistake." He sits back up, leaning back to give a long stare in Velvet's direction. "Since you told me so much about shit for you growing up, I can tell you this. My parents made us do a lot of shit we hated growing up. Track, raquetball, boat-racing, and worst was ballet. Yes, all the stretching and movement helped, but fucking Christ."
"I'm going to put my money on this being a huge mistake. But I'd double down that it will also be hilarious, and lucrative. So it's really whether or not you can handle the crazy for the right pay out or not." Lashes flutter briefly as Velvet offers Weaver a dazzling smile. She looks so innocent and angelic, a little flash of light appearing just above her head in halo shape. If vanishes in another flash, gone just as quickly. Her expression shifts to that of a child on Christmas morning. "Ballet," she repeats, lips twitching as she tries to keep from all out cheshire cat grinning. "I guess I'll see those wicked dance moves at one of your family galas."
The angelic display does break up his anger for just a brief moment. It's gone almost as instantly when she's smiling, though. Weaver sighs, eyes almsot rolling into the back of his head as he leans back in his seat. "No, you won't. I made it a point to destroy every tape, every photograph, and my only regret is that I haven't found a way to erase the memories of everyone involved. And, what? You're a gambling woman?"
The full range of emotions seems to just egg Velvet on. She likes drawing it out of people and Weaver is so raw and open to it. "I've been known to make a few wagers in my life, yes. Besides, I'm betting on this venture of ours working out well for the both of us, mistake or not. So yes, I'd say that I gamble." Her eyes have shifted to a strange shade of blue as she watches him lean back and roll his eyes. "All I have to do is look someone in the eyes and get them thinking about you dancing, and I'll be able to grab onto those thoughts. I don't need a video or picture."
Weaver lets out another sigh. "That's a fair point. I can do the same so of course you can too." He takes a deep breath, and lets out another smoky sigh. "I could also just as easily do the same with you." He drops his hands into his lap, eyes slowly shifting hues with every passing second and his voice drops lower. "Look into those ever-changing eyes, and just focus for a few, short seconds."
Velvet leans forward, her eyes quickly moving to match the pace of his own, eventually falling into synch, almost predictive after she finds anything close to a pattern. She folds her arms on the table in front of her, locking gaze with him without concern for having him telepathically linking into her mind. "The difference between us is that I don't have anything that I am ashamed of," she murmurs with a hint of a smile at the very corners of her lips. "But if you are also... Grey? I think that's what Lux called it. That means that we can telepathically communicate, which will make working together quite a bit easier."
"No, I'm not a color," Weaver points out as his eyes settle on blue. "I'm rather thankful I can't do that, and I'll be praying that you can't. And you may not have anything to be ashamed of, but you have something to hide. Most people do." He speaks rather matter of factly. Smug even. "What would I actually find if I could probe your head like that?"
Her colors halt to match his blue, her hands lifting to prop up her chin as she continues to lock eyes with him. "Oh, I very much can. Through eye contact or touch." She pouts for a second when he says he actually can't do it. That would have made things so much easier on the job. "I hide a great many things," she admits, knowing that she doesn't hide them for shame, but for the sake of ease. "I imagine my mind is a mess to anyone that isn't me. Every murder, every heist. All the faces I've worn. Lots of dirty thoughts, of course. The list goes on. Why, what would you hope to find?"
"I don't hope for much, really." He pulls himself closer to the table, laying a hand in front of him. "Aside from more wealth, of course. Maybe eggs benedict in the morning, but not much else. But, I do find you interesting and I wonder what I would find. How many bodies have you left behind? How many faces? How many scars? A stray thought about why and what each of those radiant colors mean when they change with the literal blink of the eye."
"Such a simple man, you just wants eggs and the rest of the world on a platter. They're good goals." Velvet laughs, creating another candle-like flicker of light. "I lost count of how many I have killed, to be perfectly honest. If I rewind my memory, I could count them all, but it would take a lot of time. I mean, I've only been here a week and I've already killed twenty four." That's one more than she killed for him, which means she's gotten into atleast one other fight. "Maybe some day I'll let you count the scars, but I'm going to bet that you'll grow tired of counting long before you run out of them." They did cover a lot of her skin. Her head tilts at that last bit, expression softening for half a second. Her eyes fade to a lavender and then back to blue. "Depends on if I'm doing it on purpose or not. When I'm not, they tend to reflect my thoughts."
"I am a simple man that just wants a few simple things." His eyes remain blue for a short while longer before shifting steadily and slowly to white. "You may be right. I could get bored. I get bored with a lot of shit. A lot of shit. Trust me." He chuckles, leaning to the side as a yawn slips out. "But I did say I find you interesting, so who knows. Maybe one day if I count them all I'll even reward you with your own personal dance recital."
"Now that's a damn good way to incentivize people. Well me specifically. What'll it take to get you to do it in the ballet tights, too?" Velvet's grin is wicked, but clearly playful. Her hands move from under her chin and raise, palms forward. "Never mind, I don't wanna push my luck. I'll take what I can get." She drops her hands to the table, watching his eyes shift back to white. "Did you want me to play security for the gala you're having Saturday night? If so, I need to know what the dress code expectation is going to be so I can plan."
Weaver chuckles, gaze briefly going down as he tries to fight back a light. "There was a point where the dragon became associated with the devil in Europe, and for some times the two were synonomous." He shrugs and lets out another laugh, a playful thing. "But maybe it's just a bunch of bullshit I learned from boarding school. The gala's going to formal. The usual bullshit you might see on television. I guess that's the one upside about losing the wings. I don't have to worry about fitting into a tux."
"Well, when Lux saw my true mien, the first word out of her mouth was demonic. So I kind of get what you mean by that. Us devils have to stick together, yeah? Though, I didn't know dragons were associated with the devil. I always just saw them as fantasty lore kind of stuff. But I went to public school when I bothered to go to school. So what do I know." Velvet glances down over herself at the mention of formal. "Well, I'll have to figure out something that's dressy but still makes me look professional. That's going to be a neat trick."
As she talks about outfitting a pair of long, twisting horns sprout from Weaver's head - larger than the usual sort he has up there. "You have two options really and if you don't have anything. You go to a tailor and get a fit, or you can simply buy what you want. The money for something like that isn't too much, and, frankly- Wait. What do you mean trick?"
Velvet's fingers twitch for a moment. She wants to reach out and pet the horns. But he wasn't a fan of being poked the other day, so she keeps her hands to herself. "Not a trick like you're thinking. It was just a play on words. Neat trick trying to come up with something all classy, but doesn't look like me in a suit. Not that I couldn't pull off a suit, but they aren't my favorite. My senses are heightened sometimes, and I prefer fabrics that are gentle. Like silk."
"Silk, huh?" Now that's a bit different. "I can, at least, make my own clothes on a whim. I learned it's not perfect." His mantle flares breifly and the jacket and jeans are gone for a proper tuxedo. He stands as if modelling it. His eyes flick upward for a moment, and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. With the snap of a finger he pops a halo of light over his head, although its crimson as it burns faintly above. "The problem is an old one, and has to do with an emperor and his new clothes. Let's just say it wasn't fun explaining that to my parents, and having to go to rehab for what they thought was a coke problem that may have been getting out of hand."
"Well, a good disguise is easy enough to mock up. But there's something to be said to going to the store and actually buying a gown. Trying them on, making all the other ladies in the store terribly jealous at how good I look in them. Hearing their wicked little thoughts about how I should die in a fire. It's all a lot of fun." Standing up from her chair, Velvet starts to walk towards Weaver, moving around him in slow, prowling motions, like a cat stalking prey. Her dagger-sharp heel click with each little step. Really she is just checking out the tux. "It suits you," she finally offers with a nod.
"As a demon I don't particularly think you'd die in a fire," he jests. "I gotta say it is nice to meet someone else that understands the beauty of a good disguese. Be it with some makeup and the right outfit, or-" He cuts himself off, and with a wave of a hand both tux and he are gone until it all shifts into a facsimile of Velvet. He stretches his arms high, or as as high as they can go at a lower height. "While I'll admit I do enjoy dressing nicely I've never been a fan of tuxedos. Restricting and just far too cliche." Then back to his regular form and with a shiver he says, "I do wanna hear about some of the things you might pick up at the gala, though. It'll either be funny, or, who knows." He turns to her, smiling wickedly. "You may find more than you bargained for."
"I have no invulnerability to flames, alas. Maybe in time." Velvet laugh rings as she's suddenly face to face with herself, not something that has happened before. She studies herself for as long as Weaver stays like that, bobbing her head in approval. "You know, that would be a fantastic way to help me try on more clothes at one. I'm going to have to remember that and drag you shopping some day. I agree about the restrictiveness though. That's why I like my clothing with a little flexibility." Which is why that skirt of hers has a slit clean up to her mid hip. Plenty of space to move. "I have yet to get more than I've bargained for, so that would be delightful," she rumbles, chin lifting as she grins up at him.
"I won't deny that I'm jealous of that, but I've learned to work in suit pants and jeans. Which I guess means I should be happy that I lost that tail ages ago." Weaver stops for a second to look at his backside to guarantee that, and looks back to Velvet with a grin. "I used to know a guy with that attitude too. Can't say I miss him, though." He pauses on reflection of that, and is quick to add, "He's not dead or anything. He just had this really nasally voice, and would never shut the fuck up on some outtings." He then offers his hand to her, scales and all. "To money and danger."
"Shame, it'd be a much better story if he were dead." Velvet shrugs, that look of amusement still on her face. "No tail, for sure," she promises him as he glances back at himself. But then a hand is thrust out towards her, so Velvet reaches out to take it giving it a firm squeeze. "To danger and money," she states, putting them in her own preferred order. With that, she tugs her hand back and reaches to grab purse and Freehold papers. "I have a gala to prepare for. So if you'll excuse me, I need to start shopping. I will see you soon." Her fingers waggle as she heads out from the kitchen and into the night.
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