“More interesting peers?” Esen repeated in mock offense. He turned to the awaiting crowd that were perhaps far too drunk to be insulted, or they were just the right amount of drunk to keep themselves in their seats unless there was a call to action. “My, my, it seems that he does not know how to make friends.” He had the bar, that was certain. They ate up his words, responded to him in their cheers, agreement, and laughs that a true entertainer could produce. His father once told him that such charisma would make him a formidable politician.
Ah, but look at me now, father. Holding the ear of the degenerates!
Still, he returned to the other and shook his head. It seemed this man did not quite understand the desire for adventure and what it brings in the long run. To see things in one’s own travels before coming back home, to your rock, to where you may rest your feet at the end of the day as you find nostalgia in all that you have witnessed abroad. To live with it all would be to take away that very special feeling one had when coming upon it. It would sully the mere idea.
“This is my home,” Esen spoke simply with a smile upon his face. “I care naught for women, or men, that can warm my bed just for one lonely night. I care naught for the riches either. I love the thrill, the exploration, the ability to know things that many people do not because they are stuck on this same land for years and years. My friend, listen, everyone can be interesting in their own right. All you have to do is listen to their stories, either real or fake. Truthfully, the faker the better.”
A loud roar of ‘HEAR-HEAR’ came up and Esen winked at the man with all the questions.
As much as Esen is able to hold a crowd, the crowd is also able to forget quickly and go back to their games, their drinks, and their own private conversations the moment they know that the main event had filtered out. That was when Esen pulled up a chair and sat near the other man. Call him interested, it was the theme of the night, was it not? “Tell me, who are you? You do not look like you have been in Nevarra for long.“
Kylian had to force himself to breathe evenly as the other man talked. Chevalier training dealt more with the body, pushing physical limits. He could hold his breath in freezing water. He could pace his breathing after a fifty kilometre run. But this, the thrill of the Game that came from working so intimately with people, using people... he didn't think he could ever get used to it.
Perfect, is all Kylian can think to himself, as he is approached by the very man he sought out.
Growing up in Orlais, you learn to tell the genuine smiles from the fake ones, if only by sheer rarity. And, surprisingly, the smile the other man wore as he talked about his purpose was sincere. So now, Kylian not only had his interest... but his motivations.
"You can call me Kell," Kylian said, unable to lie. He held out a hand for him to clasp in greeting, a force of habit.
After that action, he practically contradicts himself, "I am not here to make friends." Push hard enough to keep his attention... keep him on his toes... "Though, I do have an offer that you may find intriguing."
Kylian then tried to give a foxy grin, but the stress of the events leading up to this has been hard. He has to lean back in his chair, steepling his fingers together at the right angle to mask his misstep. "For you are the notorious pirate king of the Waking Sea, no? You may find what I have to say concerning."
His Home, he says. Had he not been on the other side of the war front, Kylian would have liked this man. As it was, home meant something to protect. Home meant a story to tell, extravagant and magnificent, after saving the day. Thus, the threat of danger served as perfectly good incentive.
And if his half-truths only served to further his own goal...
Well, then Kylian only had himself to hate.
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