#deityleft

"I don't think I ever got around to asking what you plan to do when things quiet down in Aiva," Tempest says, contemplatively.

He can't really recall the last time he spent any significant amount of time alone with Clars during which he could have asked such a thing, but he knows his avoidance was somewhat purposeful. Clerics, Warlocks, Paladins---each had been difficult to abide by until only recently, and he'd gone into this group with a similar initial distaste towards Edryn as well for her connection to the One Who Watches.

New perspectives beget new beginnings, he'd recently found himself thinking. And it would be a shame to avoid those kinds of people forever. And so the two of them had ended up working together during one of their smaller, less important jobs to gather information on some of the last remnants of Aivan abyssal presence.

"What?"

Kalypse kicks herself just a little for asking; she'd heard Clars just fine and had even processed it just fine. The sentiment had surprised her, that was all. Wrapping her head around Clars's interest in her had been one thing, but being faced with reminders of that interest is another thing entirely, and she barely knows how to handle it.

"I mean--- I mean thank you, that's, um, thank you." She fights the urge to hide; she doesn't want to look away. Talking with Clars, she thinks, has been nothing but good for her. At the very least, she's put up more of an effort to uphold conversation with Clars than she does with most other people combined.

It's only partway because Clars is beautiful and interesting. But Kalypse had promised herself before that if there was anyone who tried to talk to her, she wouldn't make any more excuses to lock herself away.

Even if she hadn't expected it to happen, she's always been terrible at breaking promises.

"Yours are... I mean, you also have nice eyes," Kalypse responds, barely above a whisper. It's always nerve-wracking to say complimentary things, because Clars's reaction matters to her. "They're--- I--- I don't mind looking at them."

"User error," says Nikodemas, which generally translates to the person at the helm not being particularly mindful. "And it was not a very good ship to begin with. If I wanted to I'd make a better one in my sleep."

Not that Niko is really that uppity about his own skill, but there is a degree of the bragging that stems from the truth. He'd never designed a full vessel on his own before the mess in Hanazira---the one they're standing on is the best and biggest existing monument to the work he'd put into learning.

It isn't the best ship on the waters. The Riptide, Niko estimates, probably bears that honor. But he'd built the base for that, at least.

"Plus, you know. Dangerous things in the water. Bigger ships than mine get torn in half by them if they aren't careful. Happens all the time in Aiva." He smilles a little wryly, leaning on the side of the ship to admire the seemingly endless expanse of deep blue ocean. "So, you know. We'll be fine probably, but keep your guard up."

"I regret that I couldn't have been present to hear it!" Tempest shoots back easily, slipping into his seat at the bar. It's strange, being alone with someone who isn't Vel, when he knows he has far less of a right to their friendship than Vel does. "I get a little carried away keeping myself busy sometimes and completely forget about our fun little breakfast routines."

He lies with as much grace and fluidity as he moves; there isn't a break to be found in his general demeanor. Most especially not for Clars, who's proven to be about as perceptive as she is confrontational. Tempest doesn't particularly think she'd waste those traits on him, but it's better safe than sorry.

"I'd ask you to recount it for me but I know there are some things you just had to be there for. I'll endeavor not to mix the next breakfast, since we can't be sure how many of them we'll even have left!"

"Oh, please, when have I ever said something because it was the right thing?" Cyran grins, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. "That it is the right thing just happens to also be something that's true."

He's never been the best judge of right and wrong, naturally, but he's nothing if not confident. It's an argument that likely wouldn't have worked on someone like Cam, or Thea...

... But Dharlan isn't either of them, anyway.

"And besides, does it really matter to you so much whether we're doing the right thing? Say it turns out there isn't a person of interest and all we get out of it is a snack and some free drinks---for me and you, respectively. You're not usually the sort of person who'd turn such an opportunity down! And if there is ... well, then I've done a good thing. Has Cam put you up to more do-gooder nonsense, or something?"

"You don't hafta tell me twice!"

It shouldn't be said that Claire is the type to go out of his way to keep people safe that he doesn't know, but he's not a completely uncharitable guy, either; he doesn't exactly like the sound of people suffering for no reason. And besides, it's for Danjin; there's really just about nothing he'd say no to if she was the one who wanted it.

Besides, getting another chance to fight alongside eachother would be just about the most romantic thing that could happen, aside from actual romance.

Thinking about ways to go a little less all-out than usual while not upsetting Danjin's sense of justice, Claire follows her off in the direction of the newly-discovered Exile den. It's seriously just like those guys to come up with such a harebrained kidnapping plot.

"Haha, is it a bad time to ask if you wanna get dinner after this?" There's really no danger of anything bad happening with him around, so Claire doesn't see the trouble in it.

He acknowledges the caution with a firm nod, turning his eyes over to the currently empty room. Ankita has never been particularly suited to stealth, but invisibility for Lilstele's benefit had slotted itself nicely into his studies.

Rather than risk speaking aloud or using a form of sign Lilstele won't be able to parse as easily as he can parse the Xanntashi variant, he opts to point a talon her way and whisper a Message in reply.

« I'm going to make you invisible now. The spell will dissipate when you make physical contact with another person or use magic, so please try and stay out of trouble. I'll be waiting to intervene if you can't. »

He reaches out, placing a hand on Lilstele's shoulder. A light blue magic encompasses the point of contact for just a moment, and Lilstele's form is briefly outlined in that same color before it, and Lilstele herself, fades from view entirely. Had Ankita not known she was there, he likely never would have.

The door before them pushes further open without a single sound. All that's left to do is wait.

"Shut up! You clearly don't know a thing about me, you stupid pile of garbage! Why don't you go insist upon your presence with someone who can somehow tolerate your incessant yapping!"

Incensed, Cyran reaches for the nearest thing to throw; an empty satchel that had once contained a few coins Cyran had taken from a passer-by when he'd been short. The thing bounces uselessly off of Dharlan's forehead, but there are plenty more objects around---the withering, angry glare Cyran sends Dharlan's way suggests he's probably not in a state to be mindful of how much hurt he dishes out.

Already, Cyran's fist is curling around the next thing to be sent across the room as a warning. A glass bottle full of something; Cyran can't remember what.

"Get out! I hate you; I wish you'd just go and get yourself killed already!"