Cue Some Timeless Theatrics

[mosthonest]

There's a strange breeze in the plaza. That's not that weird, there always seem to be odd air currents rippling through it, but this one feels warm and Mediterranean--smells like hot sand and heady spices. And if you listened hard enough you might be able to hear the sea birds and polyglot babble it carries in from the jostling marketplace in Cyprus.

It seems to wrap around Iago, sitting at a table on which there are a few empty cups. From all outward appearances, he's no one exceptional. A seasoned, weary soldier on his off time. Simple well-worn tunic, rough hands, wide and honest face with a few scars. Simple, open smile. He gestures to the seats across from him. Classic Nexus set-up, just another soul looking to share a drink.

"I am often long away from my native land. And often do my thoughts linger on it, some parts of it I miss dearly as my heart would miss blood, as my body would miss breath." He's already offhandedly pouring wine into a cup for himself from a drawn leather sack, and now some for you.

"Knowest thou that feeling? Come, tell. I have learned the taste of wine is richer seasoned with tales of home."

[*waves* Old, old timey occasional player here. So glad to see these communities are still popping!]

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[ablacksun]

At the mention of this exotic and wonderful place called Damascus, Zack's eyes soften. He imagines what he is able, given his home dimension. But yes, he's been on countless dying worlds, and has caught that last fleeting glimpse of beauty before he'd been compelled to make the magma rise up and claim it, or before he inflicted a new ice age, or unleashed a desert storm to end all storms, across an unsuspecting continent.

He's not sure what zenith means, but it must be a high point. To be drowned in silver must be a wonderful way to die.

Usually, at this point, he's managed to offend someone; so the stranger's amusement is met well enough. Zack can't help a half-grin at the idea that the alien drink makes people want sex and then prevents biological function.

“No, we don't have anything like this or any good water. What there is, is toxic. Full of grit and bugs. The rats get fat though. Oddly. Good eating.”

Bravely, he takes another mouthful wondering how quickly he can get used to it. “In case the time comes when this is all there is to drink,” he tells the stranger.

[mosthonest]

"Aye, 'tis thirsty to live in such a desert. In that part of the world I know, where the sun is high and water only a dream, they say the men who live there are at times so beset by thirst that they near die for the lack of drinking, and they kill their animals. They slit their throats and drink their blood." Iago almost said they were horses, but he's certain they're not horses. Something like a horse, he's seen them, but with a great arched back and more of an inclination to bite. "Is that how your kin live?"

He sloshes the skin of wine in his hand and grins. "There's more, good sir, if you would addle further your brains. And how shall I call you? I am Iago of Venice. Humble soldier in her army, ensign to her first most noble and valiant general."

[ablacksun]

Zack finds none of this distasteful. When water is scarce, blood has the added advantage of nutrients. When he kills a rat or a snake, nothing is wasted.

He doesn't know it yet, but Zack can't get drunk from mortal alcohol. He's made of the dust of dead worlds, supernaturally enhanced. He may feel pain and hunger, but poisons don't harm him too much, even if they do taste unpleasant and induce a sore belly. When Abdiron created him, he didn't want his new little brother dying on him.

“Addle away,” he pushes his glass towards Iago for a refill.

As the human seems so lordly and polished, Zack decides that his official title might present him in a good light. He's not showing off, or trying to intimidate; only show that he's worth speaking to. Some of Dean's tutelage on how to behave is actually sinking in. Try to relate to them a little, ask polite questions to show you're interested.

He's still getting the hang of 'polite' but Zack is trying hard.

“I'm Aisaak, prince of the hell dimension of Antillioch; Avenger of murdered worlds; brother to the hellgod Abdiron. He's my first most noble and valiant lord... Is your general a great man?”

[mosthonest]

Oh dear oh dear, a prince now? Iago's class consciousness is acute and prickly and he is as a rule disdainful and suspicious of the gentry. But this person does not behave like the princes he knows. And a prince of hell no less. Perhaps best get acquainted now, so he'd have friends to greet when he settles into the final and fiery end he fully anticipates.

Though his speech is pretty here, even many of the lowliest louts and scoundrels speak the same where he's from. So he's very unaware of the impression he gives of lordliness from his diction. Iago inclines his head slightly in deference, though luckily he feels he can save the toadying he'd use for a Venetian prince. Perhaps in hell, the lordly egos are less fragile.

"I know not those names, prince of hell. Were they once among those reverent seraphim? Were you? And certainly, my general Othello is the best of men. So they say in fair Venice. Though a heathen by birth, beneath his sooty visage is there a white and radiant soul, washed well with the blood of our city's general enemies. A more skilled slayer of barbarians there is none, with many felled or wounded under his sword."

Including Iago. Wounded, not slain. This barbarian fills Zack's cup once more to the brim.

[ablacksun]

“It's Zack,” he says, only now shifting position so that he's seated in the chair properly. “Everyone calls me Zack.” He hasn't been attacked yet, and figures that if the wine is going to addle Iago, then before long, he's not likely to be physically capable of attack.

He scrubs a hand through his hair and takes another sip, wrinkling his nose as he does so, but refraining from comment.

“Nothing like a nice clean soul,” he remarks. Such things as the shade of a mortal's flesh are of so little consequence, he doesn't even notice, let alone mention it. “Uh, Seraphim... angels? I saw some, once, and some live here, but me and Abe were never their kind. We're more.. elemental. Abe's born of chaos and decay. I'm born out of dying planets."

Another sip, then, “what's Venice like? Is it really fair? Abe says the cosmos isn't meant to be fair.” He may have misjudged the meaning, just a tad.