Greetings! Salutations. Other extended welcomes. My name is Tybalt. I'm an archivist and restoration practicioner at your local Isle museum. I'd appreciate if you didn't touch any of my things... [[For the Other World RP]]
beck-tow replied to your post:Don't Take Gambles if You Aren't Ready to Pay.
-snickers and pets your face.-
aolani-tow replied to your post:Don't Take Gambles if You Aren't Ready to Pay.
/noses and curls around hi
Gentle fingers rain like warm rain down either side of his face. The soft breath of cinnamon and coffee filled the air, and the distant rustle of curtains drew his attention little by little out of the aching haze of a hangover and into the waking world once more.
"RRmgh," he groaned eloquently, taking a feeble swat at the fingers now dancing through his dark hair. A throaty chuckle drew his bleary gaze upward, and the slender figure of Maleficent towered over him, teasing smile lit by the sunshine streaming through the window by the bed.
"...Whhuh times'it," Tybalt tried again, mashing the heel of his hand firmly against a grainy eye, also making an effort to sit up. Maleficent insistently pressed a hand against his shoulder to shove him back into bed, plumping the enormous faux-feather pillows behind him somehow during his descent. Tybalt flopped back, listless as a beached porpoise, and sighed heavily, placing a settling hand on his roiling stomach and suddenly wishing they'd found a somewhat larger place to hide out after--
His blue eyes shot back open and he scrambled to try and sit up again, only to find Maleficent had once more settled her hands on his shoulders; wedging him back into the bed; knocking his head a bit against the frame in the process (which he was fairly certain she did on purpose).
"Ohhhh--Lady Tiamat, I'm late--I'm so late, aren't I? Please tell me I'm not late."
"You're late," Mal said simply. Tybalt let out a plaintive cry like a cat caught in a downpour and Maleficent rolled her eyes, smoothing a hand through the hungover wyrm's hair reassuringly. "And it is not the end of the world, somehow."
"No--the auction. At the center--" Tybalt squirmed and tried to writhe away from the loving hand, clawing his way toward the phone on the end table beside the bed. Maleficent settled daintily on the end of the bed with a patient brush of a hand down her green dressing gown, biting back a smile. "Someone will have bought my--" Maleficent, with little ado whatsoever, produced a pearl pendant on the end of a thin golden chain, letting it swing in the air between them.
Tybalt, the phone pressed against his jaw (upside-down), gaped stupidly at the other dragon, who tossed her banner of wavy dark hair over her slim shoulders, smiling a very pretty smile indeed. The dial tone beeped sleepily in his ear, and eventually, slid away completely as the handset dropped to the carpeted floor.
Slowly turning in place to face Maleficent, Tybalt put a hand over his mouth and stared at her through bloodshot eyes. The chain swung in the air; winking as Mal did, with cheek and charm all at the same time.
"How did y...when did y..." he trailed off as laughter bubbled up behind Maleficent's scrunched nose and twinkling eyes, her shoulders hunching mischievously.
"You were out for a long time, leibchen," Maleficent replied in her mellow alto voice, bemusement evident in her every word. Shakily smiling, Tybalt swept a hand through his hair, reaching out to gingerly receive the cup of coffee she twisted to fetch for him from the hotel desk without rising from the bed. "You drank all but three bottles of liquor in the casino last night, so neither of us should be particularly surprised..." She shrugged, sipping her own coffee as she watched the jewel dance in the air, the 16th-century piece gleaming brightly in the desert sun.
"So I just thought I'd pop by and...see how bids were going. Then got a closer look. And a little closer, and then..." The swinging stopped. "I left." Maleficent bit her bottom lip to hide a smile and flicked her brows at Tybalt, who watched her with the stunned appreciation of someone who'd just seen his first ever sunrise. Impressed; awed. And not a little intimidated, too.
"...You...got it for me?" Tybalt's relief was evident. Maleficent almost regretted her choice in her next words--but not enough not to say them.
"Oh, no, leibchen." Maleficent watched Tybalt's face as she rose from the bed, sliding the chain around her neck with a smooth brush of fingers, daintily gallivanting back from the bed and leaning against the propped-open window. Tybalt ripped back the covers in a wicked splash of coffee that stained the hotel wall (and cost him a good hundred bucks), but he was much too sluggish. The curse of two entire kegs of brandy, and what-have-you. Maleficent grinned at him devilishly as she threw the window open behind herself.
"I got it for me."
And that was the last Tybalt saw of Maleficent.
A graceful descent into the bright rays of a July day in Nevada, the year of 1989, her scaly green gown a flicker of emerald fire on the gay and wild breezes, the pearl pendant of a duchess dancing around her neck as she made her getaway.
"I'd like to" Ryan murmured, taking in ever sight (and scent) of the office as he waited. How had this Rutherford tamed such a temperamental beast? Surely working among artifacts and exhibits had not been enough to quell his temper--what was their relationship? A question to be explored later, he decided, as he took the pen. Collecting the papers in his other, he began to diligently scan through every line. "Humanoid--heh. Talk like that gets the knights sent after you."
"Let them come," Tybalt scowled, fidgeting with a stapler, opening and closing the top as he watched its silvery, singular fangs descend and tap the bottom half, only to be released instead of actually puncturing anything. "It's been a while since I've had any proper action. I'm getting soft," he muttered, looking down at himself with a faint flicker of disgust. "And knights are hard to come by, nowadays. Unless they, like us, have been somewhat forced into hiding," he added, tone dripping with derision. He couldn't possibly care less about those arrogant, presumptuous boys in their tin cans and pointy sticks. And he hadn't seen one in years, anyhow.
He looked over the form with Ryan--a simple enough template of filling in the donator's name; affiliation to the museum, if any, contact details, request for plaque, and item(s) being donated. "...On a much lighter note," Tybalt said, in his sudden fashion of switching topics and tones like the weather of New England, "I am certain Mr. Rutherford will be grateful for your generosity."
"I'm not doing this to seem noble. I'm doing it because it's necessary--how people on this island can sit back and watch, even allow, these atrocities to be committed, regularly, is beyond me" he sighed, shaking his head. "It's not selflessness. It's just necessary" he added, quiet this time. "Mr. Rutherford? Couldn't come up with a more historian-sounding name than that, even if I tried" the elder dragon snorted. "Sounds like a plan, lead the way."
Tybalt snorted almost in sync with his predecessor, deciding to dismiss the prior protests against idly sitting by. Let the humanoids be toyed with. He still had to get over the chip on his shoulder that was placing the blame on human existence for--well. Almost every single problem in his life...
He led Ryan down a narrow hallway lined with candelabras from various different eras, past a round room of glass ornaments, and into a small chamber of polished oak and perfect organization; which smelled vaguely of honey and lemon with something like attic dust and rosemary mixed in. There was a warmth in the air of Quinton Rutherford's office that somehow counteracted all drafts of the outside rooms with a pleasant, hearth-y welcome without the use of flame.
Tybalt passed over to one of no less than twelve cabinets that lined the half-moon room and withdrew a thin black folder, leafing through it to find the form for Ryan accordingly.
"You should meet him sometime," he said abruptly, holding a fountain pen and the form out to Ryan beside the grand old desk Quinton had lovingly restored to full working order from its former home (at the bottom of the Atlantic). "Rutherford. He's...decent," Tybalt admitted; grudgingly. "For a humanoid." He shrugged a dismissive shoulder. "Stuffy," he added, somewhat haughtily.
As if it made him any less so to call someone else that particular attribute.
"No. I am but one creature and, though I am mighty indeed, even I could not face the many troubles and enemies that swarm this place. What I am setting into motion is an organization that will protect the community--the very factions I listed earlier. A group of talented people, with bountiful knowledge and resources, that will help the island." Sighing softly, he tapped a knuckled lightly against a nearby plaque. "Including through investing in local businesses and projects."
"...I see," Tybalt said, not quite sure why Ryan saw fit to do something like this--but deciding not to question it. He'd been rude enough to his distant relation tonight without trying to douse a fire with further gasoline. His eyes flickered across Ryan's face, before he pressed his lips together, worried them briefly, and motioned for the older dragon to follow him with a flick of his head, dark brown hair flopping briefly into his eyes.
"Then--follow me, I'll have you fill out the proper forms for...for a donation. To run by Mr. Rutherford..." he shook his head slightly as he began to lope off; all legs.
"I--it sounds, er...noble, I suppose. What you're up to..."
"Well? I wouldn't know about that--troubled, I'd say. Concerned and contemplative since I arrived on this island, and only made more so by what I've seen during my stay. Armies invading and slaughtering people in the streets. The whole world being twisted and altered, with the population remembering only after its happened. Disappearances, attacks, and deaths--I'm sure it sounds familiar, to you" Ryan explained, shaking his head. "I'm worried about this place. About these people."
There was a temporary silence that lasted a hair too long as Tybalt registered what Ryan had said. For once; the prideful hoarder of doilies and trinkets was taken aback visibly—his shock registered in a lift of near-invisible brows, and his mouth opened in a thin sliver of a silent “ah”.
Little by little, his face fell back into place; becoming docile once more, but the uncertainty remained—somewhere in eyes faux blue and full of fear. No, not fear—trepidation.
Tybalt took a leisurely step closer, fidgeting with the cuff of a sleeve.
"…so you’re, what," Tybalt began slowly, brow knitting anew, "…swinging by to set things right…?" He eyed Ryan a moment longer, voice softening in mor ways than one—caught between disbelief and awe.
"What really brings me by, Tybalt, is exactly what I've told you. I've got money from a magical family, the phoenix courts, the queen of another planet, and others who have deemed this museum as being a significant part of the island--between all the chaos and violence, that everyone endures a bit of education would be nice" he explained. "Besides that? I did want to see you--to know that you were employed and happy. So far, I can leave knowing one of those things were true" he snorted.
Suspicious squinting ensued, followed by another, fainter snort of unease. Mentions of phoenixes, magical families, queens--how like Ryan, to align himself with non-dragons so readily. Then again, he was older and (probably) wiser. Tybalt's gaze slipped away again, and the younger serpent flexed his fingers, sheathing and unsheathing rust-colored claws, letting the illusion of humanity fade back over them, repeatedly, until he was calmer and less prone to snippy commentary.
"...I am perfectly content," he said, trying to keep the annoyance from ccreeping back into his voice. "I merely--I was...thrown off," Tybalt admitted; muttering softer now. "To see you, I was not--expecting..." His words trickled into nothingness; coins tossed into a wishing well by a spoiled child.
"...you've been well?" Tybalt asked awkwardly, at long last. How did one catch up on a feeble connection sustained merely by blood? It wasn't that he didn't want to know Ryan, it was that he was...somewhat ashamed.
Being a squishy, humanoid curator in a museum on an island few knew about was hardly laudable by dragon standards. And his track record as a dragon; besides, was...rather poor, by anyone's standards.
Then again, Tybalt held himself to the very highest.
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