"Just Another Pantheon Night"

Log Date:
	12/1/00

Log Cast:
	Morgan, Deianyra, David

Log Intro:
	[NOTE: This scene is timewraped back about a month IC from when 
a presumed earlier scene of Morgan's and Deianyra's was RPed. David, being
fairly timeless, was easily put in as background filler.]
	As long as his friends Jackie, Nat, and Breon are watching out for
him, one day or night on duty at the Pantheon is much like any other for
David. Even the smallest little thing might make an exception, though. 
Such as an Empyrean with wings dyed in rainbow hues, dining with another 
whose pinions are tinged purple, asking him to actually use his brain!

*===========================< In Character Time >===========================* 
             Time of day:  Evening 
          Date on Aether:  Sunday, May 24, 3907. 
           Year on Earth:  1507 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  Full 
                  Season:  Summer 
                 Weather:  Clear Skies 
             Temperature:  Cool
*==========================================================================*

Sitting at a table in the back of the Pantheon, on the third tier of the 
  restaurant, Morgan picks casually at a plate of chilled fruit as Deinayra 
  sits across from him. The two seem to be at a lull in their conversation, 
  the man reclining slightly as he lets his gaze wander about the Pantheon, 
  and yet the woman looks somehow surprised.

Deianyra blinks, turning her surprised look away from Morgan, to the plate 
  between them. The slightest rumbling of her tummy sounds in the growing 
  silence between them, but she says naught, merely glancing away again.

One of the young Mongrel serving staff of this place emerges from the back: 
  black-haired, blue-eyed David, who's settled himself more or less into the 
  routine of working at the Pantheon. Or, perhaps, who's had his routine 
  comfortably settled for him. If there's anything that the Pantheon kitchen 
  staff has figured out about this lanky youth from the back of beyond, it's 
  that it's best to put him to work with nice, simple, menial tasks. The task 
  of the hour is the wiping down of unoccupied tables and the collection of 
  dirty dishes from customers who've taken their leave, and David approaches 
  his duty with a tray in one hand, a half-filled pitcher of water in the 
  other, and a fluffy towel over one shoulder. There are a lot of Mongrels in 
  Haven who'd be discontent with such servile tasks; not so this boy, who 
  sports a sort of peaceful, placid expression on his suntanned face. At the 
  same time he moves about with a sort of fidgety restlessness, diligently 
  going to work, oh yes, but unthinkingly rhythmically bouncing from foot to 
  foot and whistling something under his breath.

Glancing toward his guest for a moment, Morgan scans the Pantheon for the 
  first servant, and finds a bus boy a few feet away. Narrowing his eyes as he 
  attempts to recall the young man's name, Morgan says, "Dak..dev.. David!" 
  Yes, this is the odd one of which the other mongrels speak. Some are not 
  quite sure that he is fully present sometimes. Although the position of his 
  body is always evident, it is not quite obvious that his mind is not 
  elsewhere.

Morgan
One word describes the youthful form of this young man. Beautiful. He stands 
  tall and lean though his body is noticeably toned, hours spent swiming, yes, 
  swimming, having carved his form nicely. Violet eyes look outward like pools 
  of amethyst floating in a sea of copper skin. Large wings which glint with a 
  healthy sheen beneath the sun are of the palest lavendar hue, almost white, 
  and their mere size and excellent maintainance are enough to make others 
  swoon. His nose slopes downward in a gentle arc, ending nobly above a well 
  shaped mouth. A square jaw seems carved from purest marble, attention drawn 
  to a cleft in his chin. Chestnut hair lies in wavy locks about his face and 
  his firm frame and young face lends a boyish charm to his gorgeous visage.

Deianyra
Poised at 5'9", Deianyra radiates an aura of aloof calmness and quiet pride in 
  every lithe movement of her subtly exotic form. Gentle cascades of loose, 
  coppery hair frame her heart-shaped face, curling and tumbling down to her 
  hip. A few small braids trickle through the slippery mass in arrays of hues 
  - today sapphire and amethyst grace the plaits. They accentuate the vivid 
  coloring of Deia's clear violet-blue eyes, shrouded by thin bangs. The mold 
  of her facial features is a shade too strong to be beautiful, but the clean 
  angles and laugh lines dancing about her mouth hold their own appeal. A 
  light sprinkling of freckles dance across the bridge of her nose, and toned 
  muscle slides beneath tanned skin. The tips of her fingers are stained 
  rainbow hues. 
Three black spheres the size of a woman's smallest fingertip grace the right 
  side of her face in a descending line, from lower temple to upper cheekbone. 
  This odd tattoo is not alone; a vine trails down her left arm, a butterfly 
  pauses in flight on her right ankle, and a rune-like knot, like those found 
  on locks, stretches over the back of her right hand, only half there, 
  suggesting half might be found on another's hand. 
 Large white wings arch from the strong curve of her back, denoting her racial 
  heritage as Empyrean. Myriad feathers have also been dyed or painted in the 
  froth of white wings - currently royal and pastel blue and an intense 
  lavender wink like jewels in the sands, from coverts to primaries. 
 Her sari adds to the feast of color she is, being a rich malachite green, 
  swirled with more blue hues. A small knife is secured to her side, as is a 
  sizable pouch. Feet are clad in sturdy sandals, a bit tougher and more 
  supportive than the simple zoris. 
 If one can catch it, the slightly throaty quality of her contralto voice is 
  rather pleasant to the ear, and the nose can pick up a slight perfume about 
  Deia, a fresh wind and flower smell.

Deianyra follows Morgan's glance, looking towards the man he'd called out to 
  with mild surprise.

The young Mongrel's dark head snaps up at the sound of his name, and he seems 
  to start as if nudged out of a daydream. Who, what? Oh! The dominus, the one 
  with the sorta kinda purple wings. David's seen him around the Pantheon 
  several times -- "that's th' dom'nus Morgan, Davey-lad, y'be respectful t' 
  'im, ye ken?" has been his instruction -- and so the former farmboy promptly 
  comes when he's called. Morgan's companion of the moment seems to give him 
  something of a start, as big dusky blue eyes go wide at the sight of 
  Deianyra's elaborately colored wings, but David manages not to gape. Much. 
  Ducking his gaze shyly, then, he pipes, "C'n Ah git ya somethin', dom'nus?"

Casting a glance to Deianyra, Morgan asks, "Are you hungry Domina? You need 
  not worry about price. It comes with the job." And he's right about price 
  here too. Half the food on the menu, which some such as the poor mongrel 
  before them cannot even read, costs a small fortune.

Deianyra arches a brow, a slow smile curving her lips as she nods slightly. 
  "Aye, Dominus, that would be quite welcome. Thank you kindly. If you have 
  any sort of pastry, that would be welcome. And some juice." She says to the 
  mongrel.

While Morgan's attention diverts to Deianyra, so does David's. He can't really 
  help it; gosh, but those wings she's got are awful pretty! Towel still 
  draped over his blue-clad shoulder, one heel still almost noiselessly 
  tapping against the floor while whatever rhythm's been playing through the 
  back of his head keeps up its business, David is never entirely still even 
  when he's trying to stand still. But he seems to catch himself as he's 
  addressed, jerking his gaze off the lavishly hued plumage, bashfully. With a 
  conscious effort he manages to stop his foot long enough to blurt, "Yes'm, 
  what kind ya want? Ah-Ah-Ah mean, pastry an' juice?"

Morgan's slender brown brows lift in silent surprise, oddly at a request for 
  food, and he says, "Nothing for me David," motioning to the plate of fruit 
  and goblet before him. Lifting his gaze to Deianyra, he awaits her answer to 
  David's question. Mongrel's aren't mind readers afterall.

Deianyra smiles politely, waving a hand. "Oh, whatever you have is fine. Thank 
  you." She blinks, casting a glance at Morgan sharply, although one could 
  wonder why.

David, in addition to not being a mind reader, is also not exactly Seize the 
  Initiative Boy. A slight flash of panic crosses his face for a moment as the 
  domina seems to leave it up to _him_ as to what to bring her; awww, Tyche, 
  what the heck _is_ the Pantheon serving tonight in the way of pastry and 
  juice? Two more beats of looking ever so slightly flustered, then David's 
  never-fail backup plan kicks in: when confused, go ask Jackie. That always 
  works! "Ah'll go git raht on that, ma'am," he promises earnestly, dropping a 
  bow that's fairly obviously unpolished, but probably meant well. "Be raht 
  back!" And off he hastens, remembering just in time not to actually holler 
  for his friend in the kitchen until he gets _to_ the kitchen. It's uncouth 
  to holler in front of the customers; David's been told that, too. Though he 
  has yet to figure out exactly what 'uncouth' means, and when it's all right 
  to be couth.

Turning his attention from the amusing service to the woman before him, Morgan 
  sips his goblet for a moment before remarking, "We have such a devoted team 
  of workers here." Smilng at his jest, for they are both aware that the boy 
  means well, Morgan wonders. "Have you ever eaten here before Domina?"

Deianyra exhales a soft sigh, shaking her head and flickering violet eyes back 
  to ones of the same hue in Morgan's face. "Aye, once or twice. It is 
  normally beyond me, however, populated as it is by the better half of 
  society." She levels a steady glance at him, almost meaningful, and glances 
  around the room again.

And off in the kitchen:

"Jackie, hey, Jackie? Theah's a dom'na out theah, she wants pastry an' juice--"

"What kind'd she say, Davey?"

"She didn't SAY! W-w-w-what'm Ah s'posed t' bring 'er iffin she don't tell me 
  what she wants?"

"Shhh, take it easy, Davey, take it easy then, here's what you do--"

One good advantage of being a well-to-do establishment: you tend to have a 
  variety of appetizing things to eat on hand. And it doesn't take long to 
  assemble pastries and juice. In just a few minutes, David re-emerges from 
  the kitchen, carrying a new tray with as much care as if it bears the weight 
  of a fragile vase rather than a mug of sweet grape juice and a small platter 
  laden with an assortment of finger-sized pastries, chocolate and cinnamon 
  and lemon. Just carry it to the table, Davey. Don't trip over your own feet, 
  Davey. Or anybody else's feet. With a look of intense concentration, he 
  makes his way back to Morgan and Deianyra's table.

The masseur's attention is distracted momentarily by the steady approach of 
  food, and he grins silently to himself at the young man's effort at 
  coordination. He'll be sure to have words with their boss about his good 
  service. Turning to Deianyra then, he asks for no apparent reason, "Are you 
  well Domina?" His tone of voice hints at something behind her eyes.

Deianyra smiles briefly, her mask firmly back in place for the sake of her 
  emotions and the young mongrel upon whom she turns that smile. "Thank you." 
  She says to him gratefully. A flicker of a glance at Morgan and a shrug of 
  narrow shoulders. "I'm fine, of course, Dominus. Why do you ask?"

Maybe David's not _naturally_ clumsy; perhaps he's just finally growing into 
  the promise of his tall rangy frame. But nevertheless, his fierce 
  concentration stands him in good stead, and his approach might almost even 
  be termed graceful as he comes up and sets the tray down on the table before 
  the domina. Startlement and pleasure lights up his face at the thank-you, 
  prompting an enormous lopsided grin; for a fraction of an instant, he's 
  quite handsome. Then shyness takes over, along with the lessons pounded into 
  his head: customer says thank you, you bow, you leave 'em be unless they 
  need you again. Accordingly, David bows, stepping back to let the two winger 
  patrons continue their conversation. He's got tables to wash, still. As he 
  goes, unconsciously, he starts in on the whistling again.

"No reason," responds the masseur, not wishing to pry. The last thing he wants 
  to do is allow her to close herself off from him. She is intriguing in a way 
  no one else has ever been for him. Snatching a pastry with a grin, the young 
  man takes a bite, reminding him how happy he is at his luck in living 
  accomodations and occupation.

Deianyra exhales a relieved sigh, smiling at the young mongrel and then at 
  Morgan in turn. In silence, she sets to finishing off several of the 
  pastries and a good portion of the juice with relish. Wings furl more 
  tightly and relax again against her back throughout the span of several 
  heartbeats.

Realizing that the woman might not wish to speak further, Morgan lifts his 
  gaze to meet that of several women glancing his way. It seems that his usual 
  hide-out in the back has become a bit more known, and now the patrons know 
  where to seek him out, or at least gaze. Standing slowly, he looks once more 
  to Deianyra, his words coming from between lips sweet as honey. "Remain here 
  and eat as long as you wish, Domina. I fear I must return to work now. It 
  was good to speak with you, and I hope you'll take the opportunity to visit 
  here more often." Eyes like amaethyst jewels regard her from within a sea of 
  smooth coppery skin before glancing about him as he adds, "Despite the usual 
  clientele." Smiling once more, he bows to her, causing quite a few jealous 
  stares from high class women toward the dyer.

Deianyra lifts her gaze to his, a smile curving her lips gently. "Aye, I will, 
  Dominus, thank you." Intones her soft contralto.

With that, the masseur is back into his trade, walking leisurely among the 
  tables, pausing the smile and greet a few well-known patrons, male and 
  female alike. He will, of course, have the decency to wait until Deianyra 
  leaves before accepting any clients.

[And as the two Empyreans part ways, David remains--as is his wont--placidly
 oblivious. Sweet boy, but he's got the attention span of an overripe
 grapefruit. ;) End log!]