[Azriel] Just Another Day

Posted this as a sort of IC explanation for the next scene.
Characters: Azriel, Verayes

Grumbling a few words of thanks for the man, Izella tries to stand up but groggily falls back to the ground. "Is it finished?" She asks him. "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help."


"I reckon so" Verayes answers, placing another hand on the woman's stomach. "Easy, still got some healing to do, but hopefully it be enough to get you to the inn or where ever you be staying at" he adds, chanting another spell and bathing the woman once more in magical light. "What be your name anyway?" he inquires as he slowly rises to his feet, exhaustion on his face, while he extends a hand out to the woman to grab.


Footsteps echo down the alley, not at all seeming hurried or spurred on by anything beyond normal circumstance; preceding them is a dim shadow cast by the streetlamps beyond the mouth of the alley, that of a man's silhouette. "Eh...."

Azriel emerges from the darkness just beyond where the Knight and Verayes were, his hands shoved in his pockets and long hair tied in a messy knot at his nape. The cuts that he'd sported earlier are gone, and his coat traded for another, shorter jacket; in short he bore little to no sign of their earlier encounter. He angles a disbelieving look at the pair before him, scratching the back of his head. "You didn't run like I suggested earlier, I see..."


"Izella...Dal'Seray," she responds softly, before noticing that the boy from earlier had returned. "Yours?"

The young woman gingerly tries to stand, taking the tanned man's hand and proceeding to lean on him for support.

"I had to get my rifle," she sighs, turning towards Azriel. "Other than that, I thought that more help had come. Who would have known that it was only one person, with rather flashy spells."

Realizing what she had just said, Izella turns towards the other young man and offers a tiny smile. "No offense, Mister."


"Flashy? I be doubting that, I reckon I ain't be making no animals in the sky with me magics, but they be keeping us alive anyway" he responds with a snort. "Janyoac be my name. You'll be all right" he adds, giving Izella a firm squeeze on her shoulder.


"Well, Miss Dal'Seray," Azriel comments, sliding a discreet glance at Verayes, "A gun's certainly not worth a single life. I'm sure you'd agree if it's your life at stake, no?"

Even as he speaks the young man slants another look down the alley. "Wonder if that guy still has my deliveries. Err...looks like you two had quite a fight, from the looks of it. I usually just escape, it's often not worth staying to make a stand and fight them off. They just keep multiplying."


Izella stays silent for a moment and gathers her things from the ground. She starts to walk off in the direction of the main street. "As much as I'd love to argue with you on the nuances of proper weapon care and how hard it is go get a customized rifle from ShinRa's weapon division, I do think I've stayed long enough. If we meet again, I'd like to hear about the magicite."

She raises a hand and waves goodbye, not caring to look backwards before she disappears into the nearest corner.


"Hmph....I take she's met you before eh? Didn't fall to her liking? Ah well" he comments outloud to the other man as he shrugs his shoulders and yawns. "Be needing some beer in me then some sleep, I think" he muses as he begins to walk in the other direction.


"Women have particular tastes," the other returns dryly, sauntering down the alley a few paces behind the half Al-bhed. "Not that I really would care - she seems a little reckless." Lacing his hands together behind his head, he pauses at the house that he'd stopped at earlier, rapping on the doorframe. "Hey, old man! I've returned for my deliveries, mind handing the box over?"


"Particular tastes? That what they calls it here? We be calling it moody and fickleness back where I be from, ah well" he replies with a laugh, before stopping and wincing, placing a hand on his side as he does so. "Damn Heartless...still be sore, damn mortality, always getting in the way" Verayes mutters.


Craning his head back to eye Verayes oddly, Azriel merely waits, unspeaking, for the frightened customer to show up at the door with the box of potions. "Here you are," the latter quavers as soon as the potion-maker takes the box, almost shoving a couple of gil into the youth's outstretched hand. "Whoever that lady was with you, she took a few bottles, don't know which. So don't charge me for them."

Azriel's half-voiced protest is cut off rather abruptly as the man shuts the door in his face. Sighing and raking a hand through the hair that had escaped his ponytail, he shifts the box to get a more comfortable hold, closing its flaps. "It's a shorter route this way," he calls to the other mage. "And...I'm not sure if I have anything here with me, but if you can spare a few gil, I usually can mix something up in a few minutes."


"Potions? How about drinks?" he questions with waggling eyebrows as he grins and moves to follow the other, trotting for a bit to catch up. "What's your name, boy?" he asks suddenly, upon reaching the other's side and keeping in pace.


"My own wine." Sparing Verayes a wry look at being called 'boy', the youth shrugs as best he can with the box in his arms, the contents clinking faintly. "Azriel. I've never seen you in this town before. Her, as well. Which isn't all that unusual, considering how often people get dumped through the portals or just find their way here."

They emerge into the main street, the glow of the lamps bright in comparison to the murky confines of the alleyway. Without paying any particular attention to where they were going, as if he'd walked this route many times over, Azriel wends his way down the street and turns a corner, keeping a reasonable pace. "Few who're acquainted with how this town is wander the streets this late. Were you looking for something?"


"Not really, just bored, last call at the tavern, needed some time to get the liquor down before taking a big nap, you know?" Verayes says as he glances around, ambient light catching his own eyes. He rubs at them, wincing as he allows his watery blue eyes to grow accustomed to the newfound light. "Wine? Eh...maybe during dinner, I suppose. Be nice to have a taste anyway, just don't hope it be making me fly or what have you."


Snorting, Azriel turns into a nearby, narrow stairwell beside a closed shopfront, ascending the flight of stairs to a narrow landing. "You're in luck if you happen to have a hangover. I work as the local druggist." He shoves a hand into his pocket to withdraw his keys, having a little trouble opening the door set into the wall. "Just don't finish the stock of wine I have. There's not much of it, you know. And...just a warning, don't go touching any of the bottles or any of the implements you see in here." With a snick the door opens, and the young man precedes Verayes into the second-floor apartment, not waiting for him to follow. "Close the door will you?"



Laughing, Verayes complies by closing the door lazily with a lift of his hand as he walks in and glances around, eyes curiously studying the room. "I don't get hangovers, but thanks for the kind thought. Ah I won't drink it all, I promise, I gots restraints, you know...I think" he say the last part a bit more quieter, as if questioning himself.


Although dim at first the interior turns out to be more spacious than one might imagine from outside, with potted plants on every possible surface within but for the floor. More plants rest in tripods and racks, as well as flowers, roots and leaves hung to dry, the air filled with a distinctly herbal smell. A pile of treatises and books covers almost the entire surface of the nearest table, its edges filled to overflowing with bags of dried herbs and various clear jars. The sofa is strewn with magazines, a longcoat tossed carelessly atop them; Azriel nearly trips over one sleeve that had slipped to the floor before he catches himself. "Excuse the mess," he says blithely, setting the box on the floor just before the sofa and moving off in the direction of what presumably is the kitchen.


Wrinkling his nose, Verayes weaves through the mess in the room. "Eh...looks pretty clean to me, I reckon" he comments with a grin. "Interesting smells, so you grow and make your potions then? Eh...sounds like fair trade to me" he adds, shifting a bit before making room on a chair to sit down upon.


"Heh, sure it is," Azriel responds from the kitchen. A few clanging noises emanate from that direction, and he reemerges a moment later, carrying a winebottle in one hand and a bottle of juice in the other. "No glasses, but I'm sure you don't mind," he mutters, handing the wine to his guest. "I didn't expect company."

With that he unstoppers the juice bottle and takes a sip, moving off to clear some of the clutter from the table. "Just don't put that thing on the table, I might just mix it in with the rest." Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he sets about pulling small bags of herbs and crystals from various jars and placing them beside a worn stone mortar and pestle. "Where are you from anyway?"


"Spira" comes the gruff answer. Verayes leans back on the chair, causing wood to creak as he extends his legs and rests his heels on the magazine-laden sofa. "You?" he adds, taking the bottle with a polite nod. Tilting the wine bottle he causes the contents inside to swirl and then abruptly, consumes it all in one gulp. "Sweet...could be aged more, but good for eating."


Measuring out a few pinches of an herb into the mortar, Azriel pauses to open another packet and unstopper a bottle. "Gaia. Or what people now call Gaia 9." He tips the glass bottle, letting a trickle of liquid drip into the mortar. An acrid cloud of smoke rises from the mixture, causing him to cough a little. "I settled here because there's no shortage of people. And you don't have to linger and watch the rest of your world get destroyed." From the casual manner in which he approached the subject it might be thought he'd spoken of it many a time before. "I'll move somewhere else when this town gets overrun. Gaia 6 maybe. I hear the Imperials drove the Heartless from their capital, but well. Only a matter of time..."

He shoots a glance over his shoulder at the man lounging on the chair. "You're not working for anyone, are you?" he asks brusquely.


"Nay, I ain't work for no one right now" he answers, taking another swig of the wine, licking up beads of the liquid after. His eyes fall upon Azriel and his workings, amusement filling them as he watches the smoke rise. "Interesting line of work, I be telling ya."


"Not if it's what you do every day," answers the druggist with trace of humour, sprinkling the contents of the paper packet into the mortar; with that he picks up the pestle and proceeds to crush the ingredients of the potion into a fine paste, adding more of the essence in the bottle to gradually dilute it. "It becomes rather dull, but I suppose it's a way to get by. If you ...aren't working...eh, kind of hard to live anywhere, isn't it?" He smirks at Verayes, tapping the end of the pestle on the lip of the mortar and laying it aside on a small dish. "What is it you do anyway?"


"Survive, get by...whatever you wanna call it" he answers, nursing the bottle of wine. "Mmm, I get by, sleeping where I can, which is good enough for me, I ain't be needing silks or velvets" he adds with a grunt. Verayes pauses and takes another long drink for the bottle, finally emptying it.


With a shrug, Azriel picks up the mortar, pouring its contents into two prepared bottles with a practised hand and stoppering them with a pair of corks. "I guess. I just like having enough to live comfortably, know what I mean? I don't want to have to be scraping the bottom of the barrel. Used to happen quite often when I was younger since I was pretty careless back then. I've learned my lesson." Angling a shrewd eye at Verayes, the youth holds up one bottle. "Speaking of which, I have two healing potions. Stronger than usual. Have enough for both or do you want just one?"


Verayes laughs, rubbing his wine-filled stomach as he shakes his head. "I don't need any, Azriel, I can take care of myself just fine, it be that girl who can't. Keep them for her, she gots a nice rifle, she'd be able to pay it" he comments rubbing his nose absently as he does so.


"She doesn't really look the type to ask for help," replies Azriel, setting the bottle down on the table and making half-hearted attempts to clean up the mess from his efforts. "Either that or she just doesn't like me that much, as you said." He slips the bottles into the tattered box beside the sofa. "And that reminds me that she still owes me for the two other potions that I mixed...nevermind the fact that she delayed me when I was making those deliveries." Grumbling, he picks up the box, stowing it beneath the table. "Some women are just trouble."


"Sometimes...okay...all the time, but sometimes they have their merits" he answers with a laugh. Slipping the bottle onto the ground carefully, Verayes regards Azriel once more. "How much do your potions go for anyway? Just wondering...and ain't the item shop your competition eh?"


Stretching an arm comfortably behind his head, the young mage raises an eyebrow at Vandre. "Depends on the potion of course. Some people want a cure-all. That costs more, of course. Potions for specific afflictions are less expensive. Things to cure momentarily blindness or silence. I've mixed potions since I was young, so..."

Waving a hand vaguely at the floor, he clears a seat for himself at the table. "If you noticed I live just above them. I supply them with most of what they're selling. In return, I live here free of rent and get a percentage of their earnings. It's a good deal."


A loud snoring comes from Verayes. His tanned eyelids are closed as he remains slumped on his chair with a small trail of drool trickling down his chin. His chest rises and lowers with the snoring, as he's evidently gone asleep.


"What the..." Muttering to himself, Azriel stands up, raising a hand as if to shake Verayes, though he hesitates, apparently changing his mind. "Some people really push their luck...I hope I don't end up regretting this." Slinging his coat over his shoulder he stalks off down a side hallway, letting the man sleep in his chair.

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<OOC> Verayes says, "I dunno how to continue the RP...aside from manshmex XD"
<OOC> Azriel says, "............"
<OOC> Azriel whimpers
<OOC> Azriel says, "sob Azriel is a virgin in that respect *hides*"
<OOC> Azriel says, "Verayes = scary >.>"
<OOC> Verayes says, "sob"
<OOC> Verayes bashes the wine bottle over Azriel's head and drags the unconscious druggist out back. The bed can be heard creaking and rocking as the entire floor shudders!
<OOC> Verayes says, "xD;;;"
<OOC> Azriel says, ".....................OMG"
<OOC> Azriel says, "wah"
<OOC> Azriel says, "WAH"
<OOC> Azriel cries
<OOC> Azriel says, "brute, no lube XD"
<OOC> Verayes says, "sob"
<OOC> Verayes uses berserk potion as lube. xD
<OOC> Azriel DIES
<OOC> Azriel says, ""No wonder he has those claw marks XD"