"Arthur Inkwell here. I've no earthly idea how this thing is supposed to work, but leave me a message if you're so inclined. I'll retrieve it at some point or another!"
[ ah, shite. her lips pull, and she glances to the side. her fingers are moving around the curve of the mug, just slightly, as though pulling on threads in the air that he cannot see.
before his eyes, her appearance melts into that of an older tiefling woman. her horns curve inward slightly, and her features are more petite than Sprezzatura's, but equally stern. she looks a lot like Sprezzatura, in fact.
she speaks, in a softer, higher voice: ] Do you understand, Mister Inkwell?
[ Arthur leans back, wide-eyed. He recognizes that there's magic at work here, though he's never personally watched someone cast a glamour right in front of his face.
His gaze sweeps over her - indeed, the family resemblance is uncanny. ]
[ she shifts the guise: now to an emerald-skinned man, whose horns jut up like Sprezzatura's do, but far more magnificently. he has a cascade of black curls and a very prim moustache and a clever gleam to his goatlike eyes. ]
[ Oh, he doesn't like that. It pricks the hair at the nape of his neck. ]
For personal gain, like as not. [ He knows that well enough, having spent most of his life in a city of merchants, one ruled by its wealthiest citizens. ] But still... you are their daughter.
[ Arthur is aware that he's quite lucky when it comes to family, and he knows that others are far less lucky, but even knowing that there are many, many people for whom the idea of family is a mere suggestion at best does very little to quell the hot spike of anger that spears through his chest.
Really, their own daughter.
Now he leans back in his chair, takes a moment to smooth the flash of rage from his face. ]
Are you... is it alright if I ask some more questions?
[ wearing her father's skin quickly becomes untenable, so in short order, it's just Sprezzatura sitting before him again, with a storm cloud on her brow ]
[ Oh, thank the Twelve. Looking at him was starting to make Arthur uncomfortable. ]
Thank you. Did they merely mean to discredit you, or did they wish to take credit for themselves? If your work was that contentious with the headmistress, I cannot imagine that they wanted aught to do with it.
[ barks a laugh ] Is that what I make you think? I argue with Headmistress Delmirev because she thinks I take credit for their work. [ and what began as a deathly quiet correction is quickly becoming a ramble, heated, angry ] They—they connive, and weasel, and plot—they turn my own school against me! To shine spotlight on themselves, using my theories! My study!
They aren't, Arthur. They aren't. [ breathless with the need for him to understand ] I can--warp any spell to exert power of another type, so long as I have spell of that type in my book to reference. No one else can do this. Only us Scribes. Before us, very few at all. It is not immutable, and we are hamstringing ourselves to think some rules are ironclad and others can bend.
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before his eyes, her appearance melts into that of an older tiefling woman. her horns curve inward slightly, and her features are more petite than Sprezzatura's, but equally stern. she looks a lot like Sprezzatura, in fact.
she speaks, in a softer, higher voice: ] Do you understand, Mister Inkwell?
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His gaze sweeps over her - indeed, the family resemblance is uncanny. ]
Is this... your mother?
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Pictures tell thousands of words, don't they?
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Oh. Oh hells. ]
Your own parents. Why would they do such a thing?
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For personal gain, like as not. [ He knows that well enough, having spent most of his life in a city of merchants, one ruled by its wealthiest citizens. ] But still... you are their daughter.
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she leans towards him, lowering Selcouth's voice even further: ] And?
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And I see that matters little here.
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Sprezzatura Morosis Vaux... No. Blood matters little at all.
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[ Arthur is aware that he's quite lucky when it comes to family, and he knows that others are far less lucky, but even knowing that there are many, many people for whom the idea of family is a mere suggestion at best does very little to quell the hot spike of anger that spears through his chest.
Really, their own daughter.
Now he leans back in his chair, takes a moment to smooth the flash of rage from his face. ]
Are you... is it alright if I ask some more questions?
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We are here already, I suppose. Go on.
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Thank you. Did they merely mean to discredit you, or did they wish to take credit for themselves? If your work was that contentious with the headmistress, I cannot imagine that they wanted aught to do with it.
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What else should he have expected from a pair of people who gave their daughter Morosis as a name? ]
Ad you have no proof because they burned it all down.
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[ He breathes out a small, privately amused little sound. ]
Oh, you would have fit right into Sharlayan.
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How close were you?
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