03.21.3014: Like Oil and Water
Summary: In the Warehouse, Kieran and Cyrielle discuss a number of things. From the differences in their sea-houses to the difficulties of noble courtship.
Date: 10-12-13
Related: Nitrim Gets Beat Up, In Your Arms, Solace Be Found
Cyrielle Kieran 

The Warehouse, Volkan, The Crescent
The two and a half-story interior of this factory is open from slab floor to metal-sheathed roof cathedral ceiling. A stage stands opposite the entrance, ready to host either live music or a DJ, and the space between door and stage is empty of any impediment to creating a writhing sea of humanity from the stage to halfway down the length of the warehouse. At that point, chest-high tables with stools around them begin, gathered in little clusters. On busy nights, a knot of people collect in front of the bar along one side of the giant room.

The music is loud, aggressive, and distinctly Khourni, matching the aesthetic. Machinery has been mounted on the walls, some parts still working, pulsing to the beat of the music. Light flash and play across the machinery and ceiling, occasionally spotlighting or silhouetting the catwalks that still encircle the open area three meters off the ground. Those catwalks are reserved for people of importance or particularly comely men or women that the bouncers at the stairs believe might attract appropriate gazes with their dancing.

Friday, March 21st 3014

It's a busy night in the Warehouse. Loud music, dim light, Smoke from machines and cigarettes lightly cloud the spaces where people aren't dancing. Somewhere in the back on a black couch sits Kieran, drink in hand. At first glance it would seem he is watching the dancers, but his eyes don't seem to be trailing anyone in particular. He's hunched over his free hand resting on his chin, elbow on his leg.

The Warehouse is not a place Cyrielle really frequents by herself and tonight isn't much of an exception. The woman is currently with a stunning woman of asiantic descent. The Hollolas woman's companion is attired in synth-leather; from a bandeau to a miniskirt. The boots she wears have nigh-impossible heels and snake their way up to mid-thigh. She must have quite the heavy coat at the coat-check for the chill in the night air.

The brunette, however, is attired in a bodice made of a dark, velveteen fabric that appears black some some angles and red from others. The place where it meets the slim skirt is bridged by a broad belt with smooth-faceted studs across the surface. Her boots are more militaristic in design and bear solid soles; no heels. Over one hand, Cyrielle wears a bracelet that's more gauntlet in style; gleaming scale mail covering the back of her hand. Her hair is gathered around the crown of her head in a purposefully-messy braid… all the more to show the pendant that rests between her breasts on a leather cord. The dark pendant holds a blood-red glass bauble in the center.

The two women talk easily at the bar, but the first soon winds off after pressing a kiss to Cyrielle's cheek. Left alone as her evening companion goes to meet up with some friends, she pushes away and reaches for some crutches resting against the bar itself. They're a stark, white contrast to her outfit and she does catch a few looks as she starts a slow circuit at the rear of the club.

Kieran has on a navy blue, long sleeve silk shirt with the top few buttons undone, showing off his muscular chest. The black pants he wears fit nicely, a studded belt fastened snugly at his waist. Whatever he was doing before is halted when out of his peripheral vision he catches…

"Lady Cyrielle Hollolas?" He asks, sitting up. His eyes study her for a few seconds before taking a drink. "What brings you here?" His voice is smug, as his gaze goes to the crutches.

If she had seen Kieran before he speaks, Cyrielle makes little indication of such. The woman might even be poised to move on by, but ah- the heir is speaking to her. As the skirt only goes to just above her knee and the boots to mid-calf, well… the gleaming white of her cybernetic leg is readily visible. Though she tries to straighten as he calls out to her, the crutches — braced against her forearms — make it a bit tricky.

"Young Lord Kieran Valta," she offers in return, voice pitched above the music that thrums its way through the club. Proper greeting for a proper greeting. Leaning in on the white supports, she narrows the distance between them. Paused, the woman leans upon her left — normal — leg. "I was visiting with a friend. And yourself?"

Eyes now zone in on cybernetic leg. Kieran's lips slowly form a grin as he sits back now. "Where is your friend? I don't see him." he says, looking around for anyone who appears to recognize her. His hand now idly strokes the stubble on his chin. "Why don't you have a seat, get some weight off of that leg." He motions to her right leg, casting her a knowing glance before motioning to the empty spot on the couch. "How are things on the other side of the pond?" He asks, almost laughing.

"Her," Cyrielle corrects as she moves in to settle onto the sofa. An appropriate distance away, mind. The crutches are set to rest against the arm of the piece of furniture, her right leg stretched out before her. The other remains tucked in closer. "She saw some other friends and I sent her on her way."

The question earns a vague roll of the eyes, but Cyrielle opts to humor the Valta rather than fight it. "Still gorgeous, clear waters, lovely fishing. All the things that happen with you work with the ecosystem."

The Hollolas' comment about her lands gets Kieran to laugh once more. "We work with the ecosystem too… just put it to work, as it were. Made it stop freeloading." His tone is not serious, and he again softly laughs.

"Your friend didn't invite you along? Or you did not wish to go?" He asks her before taking another drink of what looks to be scotch.

"Tut. That's where your problem lies," Cyrielle points out, "thinking the ecosystem is a freeloader. It'd be just fine if we weren't here." She lowers a land to her leg, rubbing absently just above the cybernetic knee. Where flesh meets synthetic.

"I opted not to join," she says with a slight shrug. "Work friends. Not really my thing." A club employee, passing with drinks is flagged down and Cyrielle places an order for a bourbon, leaning back into the sofa after.

"But we can all agree, it's much more awesome with us here." Kieran says, motioning to both himself and her. He quickly finishes the last of his drink, and when the club employee is flagged down he orders another scotch.

"Alright, I need to ask…" He says when the employee leaves. "When did you get the surgery?" Eyes go back to the cybernetic leg, head tilted to the side.

"Can we? I think it'd be better sans some pesky sea drills." Cyrielle is still joking; that much is obvious. The woman has a light-hearted air about her. The hand with the scale-maille bracelet lifts, metal pieces clinking softly against one another as fingers curl lightly around the pendant at her throat.

Nearby, some teens surround a tablet one holds and they seem to be speaking angrily over something or another that they watch.

"The day after the carnival," Cyrielle answers, casting a look down to the leg she has stretched out. "So, mm. Month and a half past? I'm just glad to be out of the hospital."

"Oh, right. the Carnival. I only made a brief appearance, before I was called away." Kieran says, raising one foot to rest on his leg, moving to sit in a more relaxed position. "Glad to see you're up and moving, then. Hospitals suck."

The angry teens catch his attention for a brief moment. "Is there a fight or a tournament that I wasn't aware of tonight or something?" He mutters to no one in particular.

"Four walls, restricted movement. I hate it." Cyrielle shudders faintly. "Almost enough to make me re-think my plans to get into the field more." The battlefield. May explain the job finally getting done. The drinks arrive and she tilts the glass this way and that a moment before finally taking a sip. "But not enough to get me to actually do so."

There's a glance towards the teens as Kieran speaks up and Cyrielle's eyebrow rises somewhat. "Can't say any that I know of." Setting the drink down on a table next to the couch, she reaches… well, into the bodice to retrieve a small tablet, starting to flip through news and entertainment alerts.

"I was recently in a wheelchair because of a broken rib… bar fight. Apparently I can withstand the might of a Hostile Priest. The fist of an Ash Legion soldier however? Nope. Maybe armor had something to do with it…" Kieran seems as if he's almost recalling the moment before shaking his head, making a disgusted face.

When the Hollolas noble reaches in for the small tablet, Kieran eyes her for a second, but it is just that. Focusing again on the angry teenagers, he quietly fidgets with the collar on his shirt.

"Other than the recovery from the initial injury, during which I was largely distracted by an entire shift in my life… this is the only stay I've had within a hospital." Cyrielle is going through the tablet still, but also keeping up conversation. A few tendrils of dark hair fall free of the purposefully-messy braid, draping against cheek and neck.

"I have yet to encounter a priest, but soldiers seem to view me… well, unluckily for them and insultingly for me, as not worth their time." Cyrielle's lips curl in something of distaste. She finally, however, comes across something of… interest? Soon, the choppy viewer-submitted video of Keanen's attack on Nitrim is playing and she angles the tablet so that Kieran can see.

"Consider yourself lucky, then. I've been in the hospital more times then I can count." Kieran groans. "Being a knight has its drawbacks, for sure." He says as the waitress comes back with their drinks.

As he takes it, Cyri is showing him something interesting on the tablet. He blinks a few times before speaking. "Is that… Nitrim?" He asks, leaning in to get a better look. "And… is that… Keanen?"

"Correct," Cyrielle says, her voice tight. There's a stiffness in both tone and posture, shoulders square. "On both counts." She draws in a breath, the air hissing through her teeth. "I can't imagine what would cause Keanen to do that, as last I had heard, they were friends."

The woman shifts the tablet to a hand so Kieran can continue to see, the other extending to the drink she had set aside. The bourbon is downed in a fell swoop, her eyes closing as she works to steel herself.

"It's odd behavior for sure. From the brief few instances I've interacted with the boy, it's clear he's upset at something or someone." Kieran notes, his eyes still glued to the tablet. His hands have stopped playing with his collar and have moved to the stubble on his chin. "Nitrim is getting /fucked/ up…" He says, half mortified, half amused.

"I haven't seen Keanen in a while. Not since he was hitting on me a couple months back and I was humoring him." Cyrielle's words come haltingly, said nearly through her teeth.

The glass in her hand shakes and she nearly drops it back onto the table at the amusement clear, even along with the morification. The woman's eyes narrow at Kieran. "That's a son of your High Lord being assaulted, in the middle of the street."

Not looking away, Kieran's brow compresses, a little confused now. "From what I know of Nitrim, he probably deserved some of whatever he got." Continuing to stroke his chin, the Valta young Lord finally glances away from the tablet, back to Cyrielle. "Why do you care what happens to the boy anyway? I seriously doubt Keanen has the capability of actually killing him, and the boy could learn that he can't do whatever without consequences. I'm sure High Lord Jevon will deal with it with High Lady Eryn. My involvement would only… complicate matters." The last few words are said with hints of sadness, maybe slightly defeated.

"Most noblemen, in my experience," Cyrielle says, still on edge, "deserve some form of beating from time to time." The video fades with the shout of murderer and she winces further, pulling it back to herself. A quick flurry of fingers taps out a message and she tucks the small device back into her cleavage.

"Consequences or no, Keanen has no right to… dole out his own punishment, as it were. It's not right." Cyrielle looks, sidelong, to Kieran. "I can be concerned for a friend, can I not? He's been through a lot in recent days. To have a friend so brutally attack you…" She shakes her head.

"If Keanen and Nitrim were good friends like you say, then Nitrim /really/ did something to deserve it, or Keanen is a mastermind." Kieran shrugs, the video not seeming to phase him any. "In my experience, doling out your own punishment might not be right, but it is sometimes necessary." A sip of his drink.

"What would you rather I do?" He asks her, rather directly. "Would you rather I go to war with the Arborens, your paramount house, because their youngest assaulted my youngest? Nirim is what? Nineteen, twenty? Keanen is equally as young." Taking a deep breath, the Valta shrugs. "Hostiles are at our doorstep, I don't see why I should care there two friends got in a disagreement?"

"Or Keanen has opted to buy into rumours, despite knowing Nitrim. Which would be a lark, as Keanen seems just as bad, if not worse in his own ways." Cyrielle practically shoves her empty glass at a passing serving girl. It's indication enough that she wants more.

"I would rather you not find it humorous," she says finally, looking pointedly at Kieran. "We are, indeed, at war. There's no reason we should be encouraging or finding some sort of joy in two nobles, both of whom should be capable fighters, but now one at least will be out of the fray." She folds her arms across her abdomen, crushing the bodice more against flat stomach. "It's poor behavior and shows a distraction. I'm embarassed for my paramount- Keanen should be setting an example, not flaunting that he has so much freedom to attack another Havenite."

"What are they doing to assist in the war effort? I don't see Nitrim or Keanen doing anything to help. Other then publicly humiliate his sister at a bar, or shoving paparazzi around." Kieran replies, his questions calm, not indicating if he's speaking about one or both of the nobles. "I also don't know the whole story. Maybe Nitrim started the fight, maybe it was a publicity stunt. Until I know more, and until I'll form an opinion, I will view the footage for what it is. One man beating up another." To contrast Cyri, he gently hands the glass to the club employee. "Another, please." He says, giving her a smile.

"I've not seen Keanen doing anything to help," Cyrielle says, stretching her right leg carefully. A hand goes to the edge of skirt, that reveals the join just above her knee. Where flesh meets synthetic. She rubs absently there, looking into the crowd. "But Nitrim has been working on a number of things, is often on patrol, and sustained a number of severe injuries just a couple of months back in battle and protecting his sisters."

The woman leans into the sofa further, nose wrinkling somewhat. "If they weren't members of Paramount houses, that'd be one thing." Cyrielle lifts fingers to her hair and… catches them slightly in her braid. There's a slight grunt of frustration and she lets her hand fall to her lap.

"Nitrim has been on patrols? Interesting…" Kieran tilts his head to the side, this is the first he's heard of this. His eyes survey the club, while the people in front of them have changed, the scenery is still the same. Dancing, grinding, drinking, smoking, you name it.

"They'll both get their talking to's. This kind of behavior is expected of both lords." He shrugs, shifting back to his original, comfortable position.

"Regular patrols," Cyrielle offers, giving a shake of her head. "During his betrothal to Soleil Sauveur, yes, he slipped. Before and after, however, he has been heavily involved in his House and the protection of Haven." She shifts again, crossing her right leg over the left.

"It's expected, but not right. Nitrim has been doing his best to repair his image, but…" Cyrielle shrugs, exhaling in a long sigh. There's a more graceful acceptance of the drink, once they're brought. "The tabloids don't make their money without something to show, so they hound him."

"They hound him because he slips up. He needs to do what I did, hide in his fort for a while, learn a useful skill, and wait for the tabloids to move to the next lord or lady screw-up." Kieran takes his drink, lightly sipping on it before continuing.

"Then Nitrim needs to not associate himself with nobles who aren't looking to change their image. Keanan shouldn't have bunched Nitrim, yes. I'm not convinced that Keanen is the one solelyat fault here, however." He swirls his drink slightly before taking another sip.

"Myself and others have told him as much," Cyrielle muses, lifting her drink for a sip. She doesn't down this one so swiftly, no. Her cheeks already have the faint ruddy hue that indicates she's been drinking long already this evening. "But he wants to remain involved."

Gazing off into the crowd, the Hollolas gives a small shake of her head. "I never said Keanen was solely at fault for the overall situation. How it was handled, though… You can take out your frustrations in so many other ways. Out in the open isn't one. It pains a terrible picture for the nobles- those of us supposed to lead them."

"Then maybe Nitrim's not willing to give up his old life." Kieran offers, his body language suggesting that it was obvious. "I believe that Nitrim believes he wants to be free of his old habits… I don't believe that Nitrim truly wants to be the outstanding noble he's trying to be, however." Another sip, Kieran seems to be slowing down. Being alone in a bar isn't an optimal time to be getting drunk.

But he's not alone! He has Cyrielle Hollolas to provide witness to whatever shenanigans may follow suit. The woman gives a small shake of her head. "Changing habits is a difficult thing. I doubt anyone can do so… flawlessly."

The woman shifts slightly, moving her leg back to stretching it out. There's a slight scowl, expression pulling into a brief one of pain. She covers it, quickly, by downing the rest of her drink in a fluid motion. More liquor means less pain, right?

"Oh, I know this very well." Kieran says, a smirk spreading across his lips, much like a boy who knew something that she didn't. The alcohol seems to be loosening his tongue some. "I still from time to time revisit my old… bad habits, as it were." He laughs a good, hearty laugh as he starts to loosen up a little.

"How's your leg doing?" He asks her when he notices her stretch her leg. "I don't have any cybernetic parts yet… But I can't imagine they're easy to get used to."

There's a sidelong look for the Valtan heir, an eyebrow quirking. "And what bad habits would those be, oh he who speaks from a pedestal?" Cyrielle lifts her glass with a gesture to the serving girls and this time, when she comes closer, the woman orders an entire bottle. Just to make matters easier on them.

At the question, she glances back to Kieran proper. "It isn't. Especially when you put it off for years. The pain is… more bearable, but it's strange."

"I'm sure you've read up on me and know that I have a… weakness, as it were, for the human form." Kieran laughs again, setting his drink down. Most definitely time to slow down now. "More specifically, the kind of… entertainment one can have with it." He tries dodging what he actually means. "But right now I'm attempting the straight and narrow. It's difficult."

His glance goes back to her outstretched leg once more. "Still, you got some guts. I don't particularly like the idea of cybernetics in me, it might ruin my dashing good looks!" He smiles again, becoming increasingly more and more comfortable wit the Hollollas woman.

"I've not read up on you," Cyrielle says with a slow shrug. "I actually know very little about the misbehaviors of nobles. I was… out of matters for a good, mm. Six years?" She draws in the leg again, the scrutiny perhaps a bit overwhelming at this point. "As for the enjoyment of the human form… Provided you aren't creating bastards left and right or sullying the name of other nobles? Well. Who the fuck cares?"

Apparently she's becoming comfortable as well. There's a snort at the bravado and she leans back. "Well, without it, I'd have no chance at actually being properly useful in combat. It was this or continue to feel useless."

"And what's more attractive then a woman in battle, right? I mean, if scars are sexy, then missing limbs… oh god." The last two words are said with an imitated moaning sound in his voice. He winks, then grins again.

"I may have slipped in some nobility when my family wasn't looking." He doesn't say just how recently that was. "At any rate, I was a drama magnet for a while before I was basically forced to stay indoors for a few years."

There's a snort at the imitated sound and Cyrielle extends bare arms. They're worked in tattoos, yes, but there's no scars. "The battles I've been involved in have led to no scars. The leg, well, that was a storm at sea." She casts an eye towards Kieran, squinting slightly. A smirk shows, mind. "How often have you actually been at sea, Young Lord?"

There's a sudden burst of laughter at the admission. "I'd call you a liar if you said you hadn't been with some noble or another. It's when it becomes public or results in scandal that the issue is found. How often does Lord Cedric and Lady Lyrienne still come up? Often enough and they're about to have yet more children."

"Alas, I have no scars to show off either." Kieran says, trying his best to sound disappointed. "The first battle I took part in I came out unscathed. All the other knights came out with wicked battle scars. And most recently the worst they did to me was cut my arm a little and give me a headache."

When Cyri asks him about being at sea, he looks slightly confused. "What do you mean? I've gone swimming on the shore. Valta is mostly cliffs, our port is very small, so to speak. We had to dig it out. I've not been on a boat much. Why"

When she speaks about sleeping with nobles he raises an eyebrow. "Is that an admission, my Lady?" He grins mischievously, shifting himself to rest his back on the corner of the arm of the sofa and the back to get a better angle to focus on the Hollolas.

"My hand was bruised, my last battle," Cyrielle says, rolling her eyes. "Faced down two Hostile soldiers and I get a bruise. I've never been sure whether to be proud or disappointed. I had no real armor, either. Well, to be honest, I've never worn any to begin with."

Skirt is brushed down further over her leg, even though it's far too short to hide it. "You would think a house that brags about the sea would know more about being out on it. There's nothing quite like the wind in your hair and nothing on the horizon except more water."

The grin earns a raised eyebrow and a baring of teeth as she grins. Almost feral. "It may or may not be. I won't lie and claim to being virginal. It'd be laughable."

"I'll get you some Valtan armor, it's the highest quality you can get." He winks again, the roughish grin still pressed on his lips. He places an arm on the arm rest, trying to face her as much as he can. "The sea is nice, We don't really have any sailing ships, however. It's more big barges. Those, I imagine, are much less fun then a boat built for sailing."

"Oh, come on. Who was it?" Keiran goads her, pushing her arm lightly with his. He seems curious and interested in what she has to say.

The Hollolas turns slightly to nestle into her corner of the sofa. She lets the space between arm and back cradle her slim frame, bringing Kieran into view as much as the club past his shoulder. There's a smirk at the offer and she lifts her arm, eyes fading into white. Her Awakened aura works itself into a fascimile of a gauntlet over her hand; plates of leaf-like green surrounding her. "I have my own armor, even if it's not the traditional." A pause as she blinks, releasing the state. Color returns to her gaze and the aura fades. "Far less fun. The only barges we have are the fishing drones."

The disappointment in her tone may also be pity for the poor Valtan, never knowing the true pleasures of sailing and ruling the seas.

There's a snort at the push to her arm, eyebrows rising. "Why should I tell you? You've heard what all our parents tell us. Nobles don't date. Nobles ought not dally with one another. And yet… where do love matches come from?"

Kieran watches as the Hollolas makes her display of awakened powers. It's hard to tell, but it looks like he may be impressed. Smiling, he speaks. "They make armor for awakened types, you know. I bet I could get you suited up with a little extra protection." His gaze doesn't move from her arm until the armor has completely dissipated.

"As I said, it's hard to really get any good sailing in. I know a few people have done it, but they don't go very far, usually. Cliffs are hard to maneuver in a rocky sea."

He grins, "Every match is a love match, you just have to learn to love the person you're with!" He rolls his eyes, chuckling. "But as for why… I'm curious! And…" He says, his eyes go to his drink for a few seconds, almost as if he's considering more then just the drink. In one fluid motion he grabs the cup, and finishes it off. "I'll tell you mine."

"I've never used it before," Cyrielle says with a slow rise and fall of shoulders, "and I doubt it'd do me much good to use now. Most of my training is for survival in the forest. I was in a training exercise, opposite Nitrim. He in armor, me without. He was unable to land a single hit on me. And yet I'm the one without combat training as an Awakened."

There is a certain measure of pride there.

There's a soft snort regarding the matches. "There's a reason we're allowed Companions, Lord Kieran. Even the powers that be know we may find ourselves wed to someone we cannot stand and they long to keep us mollified so that we'll procreate for future wars." Cyrielle turns slightly to thank a serving girl as the bottle is delivered, signing off on her credit chip and making sure there's an ample tip. Her glass is filled and she holds out the bottle to top his off as well. If he wishes.

"Tell me yours first, then."

Kieran apparently did not use enough sarcasm in his voice! "I know, I was quoting some aunt I had that said that. A little odd, from the vale."

He hesitates having another glass to drink, but when he's asked to go first he quickly moves his cup to the bottle. "Alright but… You cannot say anything. I mean like, cannot. You better not fuck me over for this…" He takes a drink, taking a deep breath.

"It's Brienne." He says, almost in a whisper, but still loud enough that she can hear it over the loudness of the music.

"Ah, the Vale. I fear they think the world runs on rainbows and unicorn dreams." If there's a place she mocks more than Valta… Well, it'd be the Vale. Cyrielle fills his glass and keeps hold of the bottle as she lifts her own for a drink.

As he reveals the name, she snorts into the amber liquid and has to raise her arm to cough against her own tattoo-marked flesh to recover. "Bloody hell."

Kieran is feeling extremely vulnerable right now! He blinks a few times, watching her reaction. "Bloody Hell?" He asks, looking around the room now. He's making sure nobody else heard him. "Alright, deal's a deal." He says, anxiously waiting for her response.

"Maiden's tits," Cyrielle swears again, coughing once more. She takes a long sip to steel herself. "Just a few days past, I found myself summoned to the Royal Tower. For what, you may ask? Because one Lord Advent Sauveur found himself spurned by Lady Brienne and sought a friend's support." More or less.

There's a gesture towards Kieran with the glass she holds. "You find yourself in a twisted web. 'ware the venom." Shaking her head, the woman breathes out a sigh. "Surprised you've not put the pieces together yourself. The tabloids have dropped my name more than once. Nitrim."

"Wait, Advent Sauveur was pining for her too?" Kieran asks, raising an eyebrow. "I knew about Canis and my cousin, wasn't aware of Advent." He shakes his head, sighing. "It's a web, for sure. It's purely political, however. I've already won her affections." he seems rather confident in that.

When she tells him who she's with, a lightbulb goes off in his head. "I see… the beginning of our conversation makes much more sense now." He laughs and nods, resuming his more comfortable behavior. "It's a big mess, thanks to careless choices of everyone. Now Brie has a reputation for being… well me if someone ever did an Expose on my life." He chuckles, but it's hollow. "I don't really know what to do for her."

"Your cousin?" There's a bark of laughter at that. "You speak of Adelstein? I think he's just looking for any port in a storm." The more Cyrielle drinks, the more sailor she becomes. "He approached me with a request to seek betrothal after we'd met and spoken all of once." There's some laughter and she shakes her head, but it calms fairly quickly. "As for Lord Advent, aye. Apparently they've fought side by side a number of times, but he's… not the bold sort. She told him that had he been moreso, she'd have considered him." There's a look for Kieran then, but it doesn't last long. She's drunk.

Finishing her drink, Cyrielle refills it. The bottle is offered to Kieran for his. "It's politics. Think how it'd look, Arboren marrying Valta? It could be viewed an insult to Hollolas, though we don't care for the political game. And the citizens of Arboren may very well hate Brienne for it. She's spent plenty of time in the Vale, but Arborenin hold no ill there. Valta however…" There's a slow shrug.

"Perhaps, should Nitrim's father ever relent and consider banns between us, the way would become open for you. A tit for a tat in the political realm. Until then- best realize it may never happen. I don't envy any heirs, including my own sister. My marriage has little political sway."

"He asked you too?" Kieran almost shouts as he flies into a fit of laughter. "Knights balls…" He gets out after calming down. "You know, he just about threw me and my family to the wolves to try and get with her… He didn't know that we were uh… seeing each other, as it were." He shakes his head again, highly amused now. "So, I'm curious. Why didn't you accept his offer?" He says, finishing his drink. Now trying to keep up with the Hollolas, because it's already too late anyway.

He offers his drink to the woman, allowing her to fill his cup again. "That's interesting… I know that she's particularly… Valen, in many ways. When we first spoke she was just ok to marry to whoever best suited her family." His eyes squint a little as she starts speaking. When she finishes, he fully faces her, his back resting on the arm, sitting cross legged now. He leans forward. "So… let me get this straight." he says, scratching the back of his head. "You really think so?" He asks, is that concern in his voice?

"He appeared while I was utilizing the training facilities here in Volkan," Cyrielle explains, lips quirking, "with a bottle of some liquor or another that he said was brewed by his father. Informed me that his father agreed it would be a good match and all he sought was my approval to move forward." His question earns a raised brow.

"Why didn't I accept? Well, Nitrim and I had been… involved, as you say, for… three? months at that point. Perhaps longer. Time becomes… muddied." There's a shrug as she pours for him. The bottle is left to rest in her lap, glass held in a hand balanced by elbow on the arm of the sofa.

"Nitrim and I have been… looking at the angles for, mm. Over six months, now. I've learned more of the politics and desires between noble families than I ever cared to. My family cares little for political games, but my father and his before him and so on? Have always been very strong supporters of Arboren. Lady Eryn would not want to risk that by marrying her eldest daughter to the heir of Valta." A pause, she frowns. "No offense." Then a shrug. "Every marriage is a political move. It's the price we pay for the lavish and lazy lives we live." She gestures towards him, "But I would bet you my own ship that if a link is forged first from Khournas to Arboren or one of its vassals, the way might become easier. Especially if Brienne's… troubles are less known by then."

She stares off into space, frowning. "Well. You may wish to find some pretty little thing for Lord Advent also. If he continues to pine, well. No one wants to piss off a royal."

"I was teasing. If my father says no to High Lady Eryn… No way he'd agree to a Hollolas marriage." Kieran lets slip. "That does sound like him though, he doesn't even know what's in the stuff." He rolls his eyes, drinking some more.

"Ok, so… let me get this straight. How did you two meet up? Was this after his betrothal?" He asks, scratching the back of his head once more. He's trying to remember something important… "Wait… didn't that Peake knight or whatever marry a Saimhenn Young Lord?"

He's at the point where almost anything is funny, and when she mentions that he should find Advent a pretty little thing he begins /giggling/. "Perhaps. I've never met the man, however."

"I met Nitrim while he was still betrothed. We spoke of our Awakened training, dreams, and a love of photography. Anything else, well, that came after the betrothal was broken." Cyrielle's shoulders move in a fluid shrug. She has a certain grace that will never be fully founded, due to the injury to her leg. "I would never step in upon another's…" Brow furrows and she's unable to find the right words. "territory." It's a pitiful, but suiting finish.

"Mmm, aye. That's vassal to vassal and ones, well… Peake is rather a mess of itself." Cyrielle snorts to herself; as if at some private joke. "You're seeking to wed the eldest daughter of a Paramount. I think they're a fair sight trickier…" She taps lightly at her abdomen with the bottle. "We bear the next generation. You don't just hand off power like that." There's a wink and she drains her glass as there's a beep from within the bodice. Setting the emptied thing aside, she pulls it out.

Brows form a furrow and she sighs, tapping out a message. "I must… go tend to something." The message is send, device tucked back from where it came from. The bottle, more than half gone is shoved at Kieran. "Enjoy. It's on me."

"Your friend you came with ready to go?" He asks, raising an eyebrow, nodding to the rest of what she had said. "Good luck… Nitrim is a good kid, just needs some fine tuning." He eyes the bottle, taking it in hand. "I will need to get someone to escort me out, I think… after I've finished the bottle." He saya as he starts getting more and more comfortable on the couch. "Take care of yourself, or something, yeah?" He says, waving to her. "And uh… oh. The next one is on me?" He asks her, implying that they would be doing this again?

"She'll take care of herself," Cyrielle says of said friend, casting a glance off into the bar to see of catching a glimpse of Cat. "No. I have need to tend to Nitrim." There's a soft snort under her breath. "What he needs is the fucking tabloids to leave him alone, or to pay some level of mind all the times he does good." She shakes her head, muttering something about missing the forest at times.

Grabbing for her crutches, she gets to her feet. Stable, thankfully. "Oh, next time it's on you. I can guarantee that." With a nod for a few patrons she's come to know from her infrequent visits to the Warehouse, Cyrielle begins to make her way out into the streets of Volkan beyond.

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