@theonxepialos location: Merchant Guild Hall, Eterna notes: meet cute part 2 electric boogaloo
The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow through the stained-glass windows of Falon's office, painting the room in a kaleidoscope of colors. The air was filled with the scent of aged parchment, rich mahogany, and the faint, lingering aroma of Falon's cologne. Napoleon paced the length of the office, his loose-fitting crimson tunic, adorned with intricate emerald embroidery, shifted softly with each step. His eyes scanned the shelves lined with books and artifacts, the walls adorned with maps and charts, and the desk strewn with paperwork and correspondence. Falon had needed his signet and, well, Napoleon was in no rush to surrender control so quickly. Even as the changeling hissed from his reflection, Napoleon ignored him - enjoying how worked up his elvhen counterpart could get.
Napoleon paused occasionally, his fingers tracing the spines of old ledgers and cool metals, the strange curios and baubles that Falon collected, and the rough edges of parchment marked with Falon's meticulous handwriting. There was so much order here, not a book out of place, not a piece of decor not where it ought to be. Drab, simple, and academic - Napoleon loathed completely. It was the indelible warning that someday he'd sweep this place but they had a standing agreement. The office was Falon's domain, and the estates were Napoleon's. He wouldn't meddle with that, at least not yet.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Falon in the ornate mirror that hung on the far wall. The changeling's reflection was pacing, mirroring Napoleon's movements, his expression a mix of frustration and impatience. "Napoleon," Falon hissed, his voice a low, insistent whisper. "Switch back, you've had your fun- I'm expecting some-" Napoleon cut him off, "I'm perfectly capable of holding my own meetings." He did enjoy this.
The handle on the door turned and Napoleon looked toward the other, his eyes meeting those of a stranger. The man was tall and lean, his body corded with muscle, his eyes sharp and assessing. There was an air about him that sent a thrill up Napoleon's spine - this was no fat merchant or gout-ridden shipwright, no, he was something else entirely. Where Napoleon could be overtly trusting and naive he did know nobility when he saw it. Wealth was something that the Sinarian could smell and despite his attire, there was a posture and an undeniably regal presence. "Leon." Came Falon's bite once more, the sharp hiss was marked by a nickname that the changeling only pulled out when he really wanted something. He was too late though, he should have tried that a few moments sooner because Napoleon was suddenly intrigued.
"And who might you be?" Napoleon asked, he didn't bother to sit behind the stuffy, imposing desk; instead, he made his way from the shelf of hand-carved trinkets that Falon had made, to stand directly in front of the stranger. Briefly, Napoleon's eyes traveled the length of the stranger's body, taking in every detail, every nuance. "There was no one on the ledger- no name, nothing but a cleared afternoon. Bit unusual for our... Mutual acquaintance." Falon was perpetually busy, and that his schedule was clear was a tell that Napoleon easily recognized.
