Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

That earned a raised brow from the Scholar. "Your humble...Oh. Oh. I suppose so, yes." he responded, only getting what she meant halfway through asking a question. "Though to be fair, I don't see how I could visit them without your company," he quipped a moment later, amused at the ridiculousness of the thought.

[C S]

"The Boldrim is a humble range that I happen to hail from. Part of me is perched on its tallest peak," Syria replied. She rested her hand on the elf's arm and grinned.

[The Kingpin]

"Then I suppose it is only natural that your suitor is one that can meet you at any height you choose," responded the Scholar, entertained with the Mage's playfulness. It was about that time that he floated a couple of plates forward from their spot atop the barrel, slices of the slowly rotating flank seemed to be cleaved off by the air itself. A couple of potatoes rose from the mound under the spit, one settling on each of the two plates. From there, a number of spices and seasonings were sprinkled on top of the food and the plates floated over to where the two were resting, even though the Scholar seemed in no rush to untangle himself from the mage to eat. After all, if she didn't want to move he could always simply float his food to where it needed to go.

[C S]

Syria reached out and took the plate as a reflex while her gaze was still glued to the Scholar. Her heart had skipped a beat. Suitor. It wasn't just a hastily assembled cover for Morrelie, or an accidental wording in the stress of the moment. Septimus wouldn't be using his clout among his people to let just any outsider in either. With that dawning on her, Syria set her food down in her lap and blurted out, "I love you, Septimus."

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar smiled at that. "I Know. I love you too," he responded, leaning in to plant a peck on the Mage's lips. "Not that anyone could possibly not love you, sweetheart that you are," he added a moment later, fixing his sapphire gaze with her own emerald.

[C S]

Syria cocked her head at that one. It was her natural reaction to deny it, but rather than insist to the contrary, she simply replied, "Unfortunate for everyone else, then, that I found you when I did. And if you truly mean to be my husband, then I would gladly have you for the rest of my life."

[The Kingpin]

He hesitated for only a moment, deciding on how to phrase his response. "I think that I would very much like that, yes." It was a funny thought, that he, a Khulruud drake, would be mated- no, married, to a human woman. One was a society in which marriage was not an institution so much as a socially acknowledged coupling, and the other was one that was dominated by the opposite, where ritual ceremonies were followed by an expectation to bear children. Children Syria would never have if she remained on this path. "But," he began, trying to find a way to phrase it lightly. "Are you sure about this, Syria? Your line will end with you if you choose to follow through with this," he warned after a few moments of trying to find a way to say it, and failing.

[C S]

"I am no monarch, and my family name entails a legacy I have no intention of meeting." Syria picked up her baked potato and took a trepidatious bite out of it. It was still very much hot off of the fire, and she was not surprised by that. That same fire had sped through the cooking of the meat. It was long enough a pause for her to realize, "My father, explorer that he was, would find it satisfactory that I was brave enough to take Khulruudi as my own name. Khulruudi-Letant? Letant-Khulruudi? I'll need some time to think about that one, but none at all to pledge my commitment. Even if I were a queen, I would turn my back on it for you." Saying that, Syria grinned widely and started to laugh. "I'd make a terrible queen!" she said, throwing her head back into Septimus.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar chuckled at the mental image, of the playful Mage forgoing her staff, her wirshah, her tomes and her magic for a throne, lavish dresses and even more lavish balls. "Oh, I don't know. You handled yourself elegantly enough at the Qa'id's feast. And in front of the Daavenian Council, for that matter." It was a sincere comment, if perhaps losing some of its impact by the mouthful of ridgehorn he had a moment later.

[C S]

"I can summon elegance and grace in trying times, but as a full-time leader I will surely deplete my stores. And then all my people would have is a ditz who would leave them all for a dragon who is a really good cook." Syria blew on her potato a few times before taking a more substantial bite out of it.

[The Kingpin]

"I have read that it is a queenly attribute to be modest despite one's abilities," retorted the Scholar, barely skipping a beat. "And besides, your ditziness adds to your charm," he quipped a moment later as he took a bite out of his potato, unperturbed by its heat. If there was anyone to take note of the fact he had winced at the stick jabbing him moments before and yet had not so much as flinched when eating the potato, they would well have been left in utter confusion as to the abilities of the dragon's elvish form. Intentional or just a convenient lapse in the thoroughness of his change was something only the Scholar could tell.

"And I'm not that good a cook. 'Somewhat better than common slop' does not an outstanding dish make."

[C S]

Syria shook her head. "I've learned something new today, Seppy. I learned that irony makes a good garnish," she responded, fixing Septimus a look with all the sternness she could muster before finishing off her potato.

[The Kingpin]

"To be fair, some Thimeyran men's fashion does look an awful lot like a dress," retorted the Scholar defensively, eating the rest of his potato in a second bite before following it up with another slice of the Ridgehorn.

[C S]

"But I-- that's not what I... huh..." Syria blinked a few times and took a sip of her wine. "To be fair, I'd be a lot more confident about you being a queen than I would ever be about myself. Besides, it's only a word. I'm sure your example would warrant redefining it."

[The Kingpin]

He had to swallow to avoid choking on his food. As soon as he could breathe again, however, he was laughing. "With a voice like mine? My dear, I'd be the most terrifying queen that ever lived, for all the wrong reasons!"

[C S]

"Like I said, you would redefine the word, and maybe in time you would redefine the fashion as well. I certainly believe it," the mage replied. After seeing Septimus' minor fit, she was wary about moving onto her Ridgehorn, expecting Septimus to retort with something to tickle her humor when she was least prepared for it.

[The Kingpin]

"Maybe. I mean, I learned to shapeshift from a dragon to an elf. I'm sure shifting from a man to a woman would be easy enough to accomplish. But I'd much rather have a queen than be a queen," he stated, tapping a finger on the Mage's nose playfully.

[C S]

Glad that her judgement proved true, Syria gave Septimus a puzzled look and shook her head again. "You will have a wife, Septimus. I will strive to be as queenly as I can manage without being an actual queen. Goodness knows I feel like one whenever I'm with you, and living in a palace inside your bags."

[The Kingpin]

"You needn't act any more queenly than you already do, dear." He cast his plate towards the spit, the dish hovering as it came to a stop not far from the food even as the Scholar's hands wrapped around the mage. "I mean, there is certainly nothing regal about either of us at the moment. We go for anything more so than what's ordinary for us?"

[C S]

"Oh, good." Syria picked up her slab, took a bite and then offered some to Septimus by holding it up for him. "This is as queenly as I can be, I'm fairly sure," she mumbled through her food in a very un-queenly way.