"The Honesty of Auvrey"

Log Date:
	9/7, 9/8/99

Log Cast:
	Richard, Rory

Log Intro:
	The man known in Haven as the Mongrel trader Richard is not without
friends and allies--and a few of them have been disturbed to discover he's
fallen victim to the plague that's been sweeping the city. A lovely young
Mongrel woman, Auvrey, has taken it upon herself to acquire a remedy for him
as well as clean clothes and food for the two orphaned children under his
care. But at the same time, Richard's darkling Empyrean friend Nox has 
himself brought a much more powerful source of healing to him: the Outcast
healer Cynara, who takes it upon herself to heal him of his illness.
	That illness, though, has revealed rather more of Richard's true
nature to Cynara than he'd have liked. The Lady of Thorns has hinted to him
that neither his dead partner's children nor the flame-haired Auvrey would
take well to learning he is truly a wingless Empyrean, a notion Richard's
had to parry with all the nonchalance he can muster. Better that, his
instincts counsel, than reveal anything else of himself to Cynara. Even if
she _has_ healed him.
	It's Auvrey, however, that he remembers coming to him in his 
sickness. And as it turns out, it's Auvrey who continues to help him as 
he begins to get his strength back, bringing new clothes and continuing to
look after the children. She brings him something else, too: a confirmation
that she is in fact aware of what Cynara has hinted....

*===========================< In Character Time >==========================*
             Time of day:  Morning
          Date on Aether:  Monday, March 23, 3905.
           Year on Earth:  1505 A.D.
       Phase of the Moon:  Full
                  Season:  Early Spring
                 Weather:  Rain
             Temperature:  Cool
*==========================================================================*

It's been some days since Cynara healed him... but as of yet, his strength has 
  not yet fully returned. After that healing, a day and a half had gone by in 
  which Richard had barely been able to stir out of bed, hours flying by lost 
  in desperately needed slumber. But now his young charges have not had to 
  worry about their guardian's wits being lost in fever... and Roki and Elette 
  have needed to do little more than make sure that their Uncle Richard's door 
  is barred when they're not awake to keep watch on it. This morning, finding 
  enough strength and presence of mind to think of hauling himself out of bed, 
  he's found the children curled up together like puppies on their palette in 
  the corner and sleeping the sleep of the just. The sight's touched his 
  heart, chasing lingering shreds of dark dreaming out of his thoughts while 
  he systematically explores the unfamiliar items that have been left near his 
  bed. Clothing of Varati make is pulled on slowly and cautiously, once all 
  his old garments are determined to be nowhere in sight. A razor is located, 
  along with a bucket of clean water. While Richard sets about grooming 
  himself, his thoughts turn to the one who must have brought him these things 
  -- not Cynara, and not Nox, for surely neither of them would have brought 
  him a Varati man's clothing?

A slight rapping at the room's door indicates a new arrival, a presence not 
  overwhelming, if the wooden sounds are indication. A pause, then, pregnant 
  indeed to give notion to a patiently waiting person just without the room.

Richard has just reached for a cloth to dry his face and hair when that knock 
  sounds. Drawn out of his reflections and ablutions, he rises quietly so as 
  not to disturb the children, a surge of unfamiliar bemusement coursing 
  through him as he realizes he's not entirely certain who he expects to find 
  on the other side of that door. But he opens it readily, just enough to look 
  through and inquire softly, "Aye...?" -- and to stop, bemused all the more, 
  by who he finds there.

"I am glad to find you awake and coherent, sir," murmurs Auvrey politely, not 
  in the least bit unruffled by the state of the greeting. Indeed, even a 
  gentle smile taints her lips, lifting them upwards in a friendly greeting. 
  "Did I draw you from a bath then?" questions she, even as a blush begins to 
  stain her ivory cheeks. Chucking her chin slightly downwards, there is an 
  impression - she'd be digging her toe into the ground with embarrassment, if 
  she had not been trained to be more of a woman than that.

The evidence of Richard's attentions to himself is apparent enough; his face, 
  clean-shaven, is a trifle damp and so is his hair, slicked back from his 
  brow save for a thick comma of black fallen forward just over his right eye. 
  Awake he is indeed, and coherent. His blue eyes have already glinted with 
  recognition, and now his mouth curls up on one end as he opens up the door 
  enough to admit his visitor to the room. He's draped the towel over his 
  shoulder, the cloth off-white against the scarlet of the jubbah he's pulled 
  forth from the items brought him. "Just a bit of a cleanup and a shave, till 
  I buy time in a bath," he replies softly, while lifting a finger to his lips 
  and silently 'shh'-ing, nodding towards the sleeping children. "Enter if ye 
  will, but mind the bairns."

Liquid silver finds and keeps the children, scanning each as much as possible, 
  taking stock of their condition. Even then Auvrey offers a respectful nod; 
  yes, this mongrel is most careful about noise. Soundless in footsteps, 
  though that is not unnatural for the redhead, yet her voice quiets to a 
  husky, natural purr. "I am glad your health has returned, sir. Cynara seems 
  to have sped your recovery considerably faster than I ever could." And now 
  those examining eyes flicker over, brightening as a perusal is made of 
  -your- person. "Are you still a bit weak? Hungry?"

Roki and Elette are sleeping with the sort of peaceful expressions that only 
  children can achieve in slumber... and both, like Richard, appear to have 
  availed themselves of the clothing secured from the Gem Inn. "They've fed 
  themselves, and have been farin' well enough, or so Roki tells me," murmurs 
  the man who now follows Auvrey's gaze to them. Once that silver regard 
  returns to him, though, the barest hint of sheepishness crosses those 
  fine-boned features of his. Richard does not exactly blush, but his voice 
  drops to an even softer, almost embarrassed volume as he mutters, "When I've 
  been awake enough t'mark him..." More loudly, he concludes, "Imphada, 
  ye've... saved me the trouble of comin' to find ye. I'm... given to 
  understand ye're partly responsible for me bein' on my feet again."

"No, I am not responsible, sir, though I had perhaps made an attempt." 
  Sunshine's essense of sweet and serene envelop Auvrey as the one portion of 
  her remaining unkept - those writing fingers of hers - fold demurely before 
  her, thumbs pressing with one point, a gathering of the remaining for 
  another. "Varati clothing suits you, though I pray I have not offended you 
  by the selection. It was what was available, sir." A change of topic, yes. 
  Uncomfortable with praise, is she? Perhaps.

"I... seem to recall ye bein' here, before Cynara." Richard's voice is low and 
  soft enough that the lilt of his accent is almost more distinguishable than 
  the words he utters, though those are clear enough. His gaze, almost 
  preternaturally blue set off against the scarlet jubbah, his ebon hair, and 
  his still too-pale skin, rests measuringly upon the young woman and takes in 
  the little signs of what might be discomfort. Yes... hers is the face he 
  remembers seeing in a fevered haze, though he cannot say for the life of him 
  how soon before the healer's visit that must have been. Because of that 
  possible discomfort, though, he doesn't mention that fragment of memory. 
  Richard smiles slightly instead, saying, "Learned a long time back, Imphada, 
  never to scoff at a clean shirt to put on my back, no matter the race of one 
  that wove it." Without pausing, however, he goes on, "Cynara did heal me, 
  aye, but the children say ye brought us these things." A lean hand indicates 
  the clothes he's wearing, the towel on his shoulder, the new linens on his 
  bed. Earnestly, he finishes, "And ye've seen to the feeding of the bairns. 
  For that... anything ye care to ask of me is yours, ye've but to name it."

"I wish nothing, sir," and the truth of such a statement settles in each pore 
  of her being. "For what I offer is but another chance at life." Shifting, 
  her gaze lifts away, to meditate upon her surroundings as she speaks. "I am 
  sorry for the lives I have lost you." Now, that -must- have been a difficult 
  admission. "Will you care for the children now that their parents have 
  continued on in another life?"

With a bit of morning sunlight peeking in through the narrow windows of this 
  place, a bit of fresh air wafting in on the rain-touched breeze, something 
  of why Richard must have chosen this room as his dwelling might be gleaned. 
  It's not impressive to the aye, but air obviously moves regularly through 
  the room. No longer does the place smell of sickness. Some of the furniture, 
  too, has been rearranged to better make for a sleeping place for the two 
  little ones still curled up next to one another. As for the man who claims 
  the room, if he is surprised by this talk of future lives -- both his own 
  and those of the children's mother and father -- he shows no sign of it. 
  That small smile of his quirks his mouth anew, though. "So far, I'm not 
  exactly one to say as to what'dve happened if the plague had taken me, so a 
  fresh grip on life is naught for me to sneeze at." The smile quirks up 
  larger before flickering down again, and his eyes remain steadily sober all 
  the while. "I've... got to consider my options, for the bairns."

Brows level without emotion, invisible veils shielding Auvrey's eyes even that 
  lush curtain of lashes settles at mid-range. "You are considering Cynara, 
  then." A mere statement. Nothing more, nothing less. The only problem is 
  that it is far too blande by half. At least there is a small smile, however, 
  as the children are found once more. "They are sweet. Your young lady charge 
  is quiet.." A pensive silence, before she wonders, "She will recover? From 
  her loss?" All intact with mind?

The dark azure gaze of the convalescing man, beneath ever so slightly lifted 
  brows, suggests he's noticed the nuances of expression and tone -- or lack 
  thereof, perhaps -- when the Empyrean healer's name is spoken. Rather than 
  answering that question directly, however, Richard swings his attention in 
  the direction of the children. For a moment, unguarded, his expression 
  relays a hint of pensiveness of his own; then he quietly replies, "Elette's 
  never been much to talk from what I've seen of 'er. I'll just be hopin' 
  she'll take after her brother." The blue attention shifts sideways, slightly 
  back towards the visitor, and Richard adds, "Cynara's an option that's been 
  presented me."

"Do you feel it is a viable option, Richard?" questions Rory forthrightly, 
  gaze never waivering from the children. Serenity is Thy Name, Auvrey 
  dearest. It is well to remember this. "And if so, do you find other options 
  as attractive?" Nothing, not her gentle sloping of shoulders, nor laced 
  fingers, nor those daintily slippered toes.

Richard studies his visitor rather that the young ones now, his black brows 
  arching up ever so slightly further. "Ah, well," he murmurs, "that's the 
  trick of it; the problem is, I cannae watch over them myself each day, all 
  the day. Someone'll have to be watchin' them, while I go about my business. 
  'Tis mostly a question o' whom." A small quirk, then, of the dark disheveled 
  head. Perhaps deceptively mildly, he goes on, "Cynara... _can_ care for the 
  children. I'm nae necessarily certain I wish her to, and I've not yet gone 
  out to find out who else I know can take on the task." He doesn't elaborate 
  on why, though that may be easily enough concluded.

Consideration, now, reflects within those nearly transparent puddles, her own 
  slender brows scrunching downwards slightly. "If you wish to have your 
  children cared for by another, I can see whom I might find, sir. A 
  dependable person, at that." It is an option - a way out of such a 
  situation, one which Auvrey evidently considers drastic. Still, her voice 
  remains even. Smooth and rich as honey.

"I've got a few folk t' be askin'," Richard points out patiently. He takes in 
  the tone in which that offer is expressed, though, reminded once again of 
  the scraps of memory he has lurking within him; had not this voice been 
  murmuring soothing nonsense over him? Something connects the voice with the 
  feel of water on his heated brow, and at that thought, the beginnings of a 
  disconcerted frown cross Richard's visage. "But... thank ye, again, for the 
  concern."

"Yes, well.." Awkward. There is no other way to describe this subtle change 
  within the otherwise well-composed lass. Clay lifts beneath sooty veils to 
  reguard you with a more direct eye. "I am glad you are well. I should, I 
  suppose, be on my way." A pause, and an offer is brought forth, one draped 
  in velvety undertones. "If you wish to find me, I work with the Provost. Or 
  the children may bring you to Opal, and she can locate me." Hesitant now, as 
  though afraid to offend. "I was unsure how long you would be bedridden. Opal 
  has additional meals for you and your charges, compliments of a debt and 
  friendship I hold with her." Just the barest of quirks with those full lips 
  indicates bemusement. "I dinna know why she insists upon it, but there it 
  is. Good cooking it is, as well. Please do not be shy, for her cooking is 
  well-reknown." A small nod, to indicate her blessing bestowed upon you. "May 
  Khalid Atar's light shine brightly upon you, Richard, and warm you within as 
  well."

Rory
     Pure waves of liquid fire drape dramatically in a loose chiffon, 
  mischievous tendrils escaping to sensually lick the soft curve of this 
  woman's graceful neck. Brazen lightning has been captured within her 
  intense, intelligent gaze, flashing sassily within their captor's frame of 
  dark, heavy lashes. Her ivory complexion is like porcelain, as perfectly 
  smooth as rich cream, accentuating her lush, pouting lips. Oft times they 
  are greedily seized within the confines of her even, white teeth to be 
  sumptuously nibbled upon.
     Light, shimmering azure water slithers enticingly over her feminine 
  curves and slender form, the elegant sari securing just beneath her fine, 
  dainty features. Whispy veils of golden sunshine ripple downwards, allowing 
  only the barest hints of her fingertips to be seen. Forming and concealing 
  as a proper Varati gown should, this concoction she is adorned in is 
  nontheless quite suggestive, her bodice slightly strained from what tempting 
  delights lie beneath.
     Five feet and ten inches of seductive female, this demure woman moves 
  with a silent, feline step long since known to her. A tantilizing hint of 
  apple spice tauntingly wafts around this young mongrel woman.

The subtle awkwardness, the hesitance, the shifting of the silver gaze... all 
  of these are taken in by the man Auvrey last saw delirious, disheveled, and 
  gripped by fever. And all at once, his smile flares up, quicksilver-smooth, 
  a flare of white within an only somewhat less pale countenance. "Truth be 
  told, I'm famished, lass, and that's a fact. But... clothes, a razor..." He 
  flicks a deft hand upwards, indicating his own chin, clean-shaven now. A 
  small dimple in that chin might perhaps be noted, now that there is no beard 
  to hide it. "And meals. You've been most kind. I hope ye'll let me do summat 
  to repay ye."

"Repayment, Richard, is unnecessary," assures she quietly, earnest in doing 
  so. "If you feel you must, then it is for you to decide, and none other. I 
  would have you at peace rather than riddled with a guilt I do not 
  understand, or an obligation at that." Tenderness creeps into her smile, 
  peace as well. "You prefer being shaven." Odd, that she would bring such a 
  thing up now.

Is that a twinkle in those twilight-colored eyes? "Generally, aye," he murmurs 
  in reply, more or less straight-faced save for that smile that's settled 
  down again to merely tug at one corner of his mouth. "Why?"

"It suits, and I was curious." Grinning unabashedly, Rory's eyes rekindle with 
  friendly humor. Curiosity, indeed, is powerful in this lithe creature. An 
  strange sort of pleasure marks her words, yet that cannot be pinpointed 
  either.

That only makes Richard's smile quirk up again and brings out an undeniable 
  glimmer of arch amusement in his eyes. "Well then, lass," says he, his voice 
  still soft enough to keep from rousing the children yet loud enough to let 
  those lilting cadences of his add wings to his words, "I promise to be sure 
  to give m'self a shave when ye come to see me, if ye give me warnin' of your 
  comin'." His gaze, now solidly upon the alabaster countenance of the redhead 
  before him, sparks momentarily; in that same moment, his expression turns a 
  trifle odd with something he does not voice. But whatever it is, it lends a 
  certain huskiness to his last few words, and puts what may well be a glimmer 
  of curiosity into his stare. _How much, exactly, does she know?_

"I know enough, Richard, to give rise to more questions. It is your privacy, 
  however, and your place. And, perhaps, first you might wish to come to terms 
  with this shadow yourself." Sadness and kindness, intertwined to create an 
  artistic weave of emotion. "It will remain your privacy." A reassurance, 
  ahh.. but to take the word of a stranger? That she will not speak of such 
  things as clipped wings?

The apparent abrupt change of topic disconcerts him -- but not for long. 
  Richard's expression shifts with an instant of surprise before the smile 
  fades away from his mouth and out of his eyes; a second instant, and his 
  face registers a fleeting vulnerability, what may well be a jolt to his 
  spirit; a third, and his fine-boned features have gone very still. But in 
  that brief span of time, his gaze never wavers, and at last he says very 
  softly, "Kenned somethin' more of me, did ye?"

"Aye, Richard." A quiet sigh, and a hand strays from her grasp to shove 
  through those amassed, unruly locks of copper. "I feel you must know of my 
  knowledge, for it is not an easy thing I believe you to live with. Nor is it 
  fair that you remain ignorant of my knowledge either." A lock is tugged, 
  absently now, from her loose chignon, to toil and twirl around idle fingers.

Ever so slightly, Richard straightens up a little where he stands; ever so 
  softly he pulls in a breath, the tiny sound of a man resigning himself to 
  the inevitable. "It occurs to me to ask," he says then, his voice turned 
  even huskier, dropping the lilting tenor down towards baritone, "what 
  exactly ye know, then... if I'm to deal with it. To be clear, y'ken?"

"I know that you are Empyrean, with clipped wings," says Auvrey gently, if 
  again with the utmost honesty. "I know it was because of a woman, whose name 
  you called in sleep. Cynara most likely knows as well, Richard," she adds in 
  afterthought, while collecting herself. "Mmmmm. And I believe that these 
  children are not flesh and blood, but are children of those who perhaps 
  either cared for you, or took you in when your soul needing healing the 
  most."

From the look that settles into those sky-hued eyes, it would almost seem that 
  Richard is now staring his own soul in the face, so stark does his gaze 
  become. And for a moment or two, he is not entirely certain what disquiets 
  him more: the fact that this veritable stranger has discovered this 
  secret... the apparent fact that he was ill enough to betray himself... or 
  the daunting question of what more he might have inadvertently revealed in 
  his fever. Deeply troubled now, feeling unsettlingly transparent to the 
  silver regard upon him, he glances back to the children. Only then does he 
  manage to speak, his voice going distant -- perhaps in an attempt to stem 
  the flow of revelations he's apparently already made to this young woman. 
  "They're... the bairns of the man who took me in... when I came to Haven. 
  Him, and his wife."

Silken skin reaches forth now, as perhaps the fabled fairies might touch man 
  with blessings, to brush a feather caress against your cheek. "Richard," she 
  says quietly, "I will not make your secret known. I did not wish you well 
  and offer help to see you in ruin." Such sweet sorrow that colours her eyes 
  as lightning within a storm. "It is rare to catch something so dire as the 
  plague. You held valiantly on, but in the end, it was known. You know me 
  not, but I ask that you trust me. It is much. Perhaps time will prove to you 
  my word is true."

His skin's as smooth as a man's can get, with a razor just passed over it; the 
  cheek beneath that ventured hand is still a trifle too hollowed from the 
  sickness that felled him, but that only serves to more clearly offer forth 
  to the eye the fine structure of the bone beneath his flesh. The face of a 
  Son of the Air... an almost ideal one, if not for the ebon hue of his hair 
  and his brows and the long lashes that fringe his eyes. The touch brings his 
  gaze around again, and Richard's caught, held, by that sorrowful regard. 
  "Cynara," he rasps, "suggested... ye'd be troubled... if ye knew what I am. 
  I take it she's wrong."

"Ahh, Richard.. Cynara knows me not, nor will she ever understand me. It is 
  the way of her nature, I fear." Smoothing her thumb over your cheek in a 
  caring fashion, soulful eyes lit upon yours, she whispers, "I too know a bit 
  about pain, though not in the same context. Not in comparison. I will not 
  betray your secret to the public. It is all I can give you, my word. Not 
  much is it, and difficult I know to trust a stranger. It is all I can give 
  you, Richard." Almost regretfully her fingers glide away. "Perhaps with time 
  and patience you shall learn I am true."

As the hand that graced his cheek glides away, so does Richard's wing upward, 
  intercepting it in its retreat, holding it firm but not hard. His thumb 
  brushes against a dainty palm, his long lean fingers curl round the 
  knuckles; his blue gaze drops then to take in the stains of ink that stand 
  out against the skin even paler than his own. As his gaze ascends again, his 
  hand keeps hold of the one he's captured. "Roki told me," he murmurs almost 
  distractedly, "that ye'd have been after givin' me... what, six, seven? 
  Seven days of your time, lass, to be gettin' me on my feet again."

Puddles of rain widen perceptively, though no move is made to tug her hand 
  away. Instead, a visible swallow plays cacophonous prelude to her next, 
  husky words. "Aye. I.. It was the least I could do.." Well, and.. "And I.. 
  did not wish the children to suffer more." Come on Rory, spill it all. "And 
  I could not leave you without.. without proper care." Wouldn't want three 
  deaths to be on her conscience instead of just two.

Sky meets rain; Richard's blue eyes meet and hold the silver ones of Auvrey, 
  just as his hand holds hers. "People have been dyin' all over Haven," he 
  murmurs solemnly, "but it's to me ye've come. To help try to save my 
  friends, their children..." A pause; then, his voice turned to tenor velvet, 
  he continues, "And me. And ye've asked for naught in exchange, for all that 
  that's how it works where I come from, and I think ye know as well as I 
  that's how it works in much of this city. It seems to me..." His hand lifts, 
  carrying the one it holds upwards while his dark head leans forward, just 
  enough to meet the hand that tended him with his lips, to brush a kiss as 
  soft as a feather across the delicate flesh. "Ye've already done much to win 
  a man's trust."

A shiver runs ragged course from fingertips to toes, and upwards once more to 
  stoke a fire within Auvrey's cheeks. A perfect match for that mane of hers. 
  "I... I.." Speechless in Haven? "Am.." Full of desire? "Ahh.. rather.." 
  ecstatic? "H-H-H-happy." Yes, happy. High Amir-al Almighty, she's stuttered 
  for the first time in two years!

Perhaps Richard marks the shudder that runs through the maiden, the fire that 
  flames across her countenance; his own gentles ever so slightly, rendering 
  him a touch more readable... a hint more vulnerable. Now his hand descends 
  once more, but before it releases its captive, his fingers tighten and 
  squeeze. Only after that small gesture does he let Auvrey's hand go on its 
  way... as she had tried to do, he recalls. His small smile curls his mouth, 
  and with a courtly inclination of his head at odds with the street lilt in 
  his words, he softly answers, "I'm willin' to trust ye, Auvrey, for what 
  ye've done for me. I dinnae know if your dark-winged god'll smile on such as 
  me, but well hey, he's married one of us winged ones, eh?" He concludes, his 
  voice gentled to match his expression, "Tyche keep her right hand on ye."

Despite the blazing within her fair skin.. despite the chuck of her chin, her 
  lips slowly begin to form that same, gentled smile again. Peace descends as 
  well, until one last glance at the children allows her space, and steps 
  backwards.

[End log.]