Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies

[Matea Antriius]

Akasha was certainly correct in that, you could smell the fear coming off of Mikhael, assuming you had the senses for it. Matea could almost feel her stomach swim in reaction to the scent. Every urge in her body tuning to the instinct, prey - though, she admitted it also put her in a foul mood. Had she really been out of society and strapped into this armor for so long that she couldn't come off as desirable?

It would certainly set her temper on edge for the rest of the night, but there were other opportunities to alleviate such stress after this obnoxious bard was gone, and she was sleeping comfortably. So, a change of plans then, away from flirtatious and into forward and distressing.

"That sounds positively lovely, dear bard, but I don't know if I could stand to part from you, at least while you are enchanting me with your riveting music. I'd much rather stay right here, and wait for you to finish." She smiled coyly behind the helmet, and for not the first time that evening wished that her expression wasn't so completely masked.

[Akasha]

Mikael bolted up from the bench and out of grasping range of Matea's gauntlets. Then he considered the reach of a warhammer and took another two steps back.

"Well, then!" he said brightly, with a smile that could not have appeared more forced if it were cast in an ancient Dwemer steam press, and he snatched his lute with such desperation that he nearly threw it into a table full of Battle-Borns. "Far be it from me to deprive a patron of the arts! I'm sure you'll appreciate this next song. It's a tribute to the Imperial protectors of Skyrim. It's called The Age of Obsession. Er, Aggression!"

He struck a pose that he might have described as heroically poetic, or poetically heroic, or something along those lines, and strummed a minor chord. But when he struck the smallest string of his lute, his thumb stuck there, then strained against it as sweat beaded on his brow. Mikael tugged on the string once, twice, three times, before it finally snapped with a pathetic plink.

"Oh, no!" he cried, holding the injured instrument aloft in dismay. "Why, that string! That string is quite possibly the most important string to the entire song! Alas, fair Matea, without it, I simply can't continue! I'll have to go home and repair it, but that could take all night. Curse my improbable Nordic strength!"

[Matea Antriius]

"Oh dear, what a terrible accident! Yes, of course, I understand! You must repair it at once, it is your livelyhood and your art, afterall. Until we meet again, sweet Mikhael." She waved to him, absolutely smug behind her helmet as she watched the bard all but flee from the building as if skeevers had taken nest in his trousers. She waited until the door slammed shut behind him to release the falsetto chipperness to her voice, and said loud enough for the rest of the patrons to hear, "I feel pity for whatever plant or animal gives its existence to string that vile instrument." She stood and stretched, returning to the bar counter and leaned against it.

"There, you are rid one especially obnoxious bard." She drummed her fingertips against the countertop, "I trust that settles us, as we discussed?"

[Akasha]

Akasha wore a crescent-moon grin as Matea returned to the bar. Hulda was more reserved in her appreciation.

"Aye, that'll do," the Nordic proprietress said as she wiped down another glass. "For your dog, anyway. If you want to stay, that'll be ten septims."

"And the dog will have a haunch of venison," Akasha interrupted. "And this one will have apple and cabbage stew, and a cup of spiced wine. Are you certain you don't want anything, Matea?"

[Matea Antriius]

She wanted to snap at the woman, both figuratively and literally, but it was probably best not to push her luck, or cause a scene. She grumbled, loudly, but fished out 10 septim and lay it on the counter before Akasha began their orders. Her stomach rolled again, still anxious from the earlier encounter with the bard, but shook her head. "I'm afraid I simply can't. Dietary restrictions, as I said before. Though I thank you, once again, for the offer of kindness." She watched the Khajiit with fascination, the oddity of seeing one her kind within city walls absolutely playing tricks with her Imperial mind. Though, to be fair, her kind wasn't one you'd find in city walls either - though that was deception on her part.

"Tell me, Akasha, how you've come to be a member of this community, and a companion, no less. I understand its no small feat to be accepted in such a fashion."

[Akasha]

Akasha's ears slipped back, abashed, despite what Matea had said earlier about feeling no shame for falling ill. Her arrival into Writerun had hardly been the stuff of legends - more like the sort of cautionary tale her mother used to tell about the dangers of not saying your prayers or respecting your elders.

"This one told you she caught Sanguinare Vampiris on her way to Whiterun," she said. "But she did not know what it was at the time. This one met two other travelers on the road, one who wanted to join the Companions, and one who was already a shield-brother. But this one did not know that at the time, either."

Hulda returned with a flagon of spiced wine and a pewter cup, which she filled, and then disappeared into the kitchen. Akasha took the cup in her paws and made to throw it back in one pull, then thought better of it with a vampire hunter around. She sipped her wine carefully and laid it back on the counter.

"We meant to make the Temple of Kynareth by nightfall so this one could be cured. But on the way we were met by members of the Silver Hand hunting for werewolves. They were friendly enough until they realized this one was infected. Then they tried to kill her."

[Matea Antriius]

"I'm not surprised that your condition went un-noticed at first, its a tricky little illness." She visibly winced at mention of the Silver Hand, though her helmet covered it from being noticed, and twisted her head one way, then the other cracking her neck loudly in nervous habit. She'd met a recruit at the Dawnguard who had previously belonged to their order. Excessively violent, and unreasoning in her brief experience with them. That one had been especially foul, taking every opportunity to make himself a nuisance to her. She assumed he had feelings for her, though most likely they were the sort that only went as far as the man's britches.

"I wish I could say the Silver Hand's reaction shocked me." She admitted, letting out a sigh that she didn't need to make, but seemed appropriate to the situation. "They're a rather aggressive lot, even by the standards of my order - thankfully you were not killed. Your condition won you passage into the city for remedy, then? You must have been under the right divine's favor, Akasha."

The thought of personal fortunes and luck left an uncomfortable chill in her spine and she drew silent, watching the patrons as Tiberius kept turning his head at every sound from the kitchen, sniffing madly at the air at the scent of cooking food. It made her own stomach rumble a bit, as the spices did indeed smell delicious. She'd need to excuse herself before the end of the night to attend to her own needs. She was almost out of her rations, and it was fortunate that she had made it into town to find a general store before she had.

[Akasha]

"This one was very fortunate," Akasha agreed in a quiet voice. "If not for her friends... this one does not know what would have become of her."

The Khajiit had a fertile imagination, and several equally unappealing options occurred to her. Slaughtered like a rabid beast by a band of roving hunters. Captured and enthralled by more powerful vampires, and made to guard a crypt with other foul creatures. She didn't even know if she would keep her own mind and be overwhelmed by bloodlust, or if her mind would be replaced by something else entirely. Surely any vampire, given its faculties, would welcome the release that thugs like the Silver Hand might provide.

Akasha tossed her head as if to shake away those dark thoughts. "But after this one was cured, she went with her friends to Jorrvaskr hall and was tested by the inner Circle of the Companions. Happily the Companions do not care about fur or scales or shade of skin. Merely about one's heart and hand. This one was born to be a warrior. And perhaps the Divines agree."

She tipped back her wine again and wiped her whiskers with the back of her other paw. "And you, Matea? Were you born to hunt vampires?"

[Matea Antriius]

The question caught her off guard more than she would have expected, and she considered how much she should be willing to share with Akasha. Lying had become her trade, or at least half-truths, and as friendly as this Khajiit had been with her, she almost felt bad for lying. Almost.

"No, I am actually from Solitude originally. I'll spare you the boring, and rather gruesome details of how I came to wear this armor and helmet, and just let you know that I have not had... quite the same level of fortune you have, and found myself rescued by the Dawnguard after said misfortunes had taken everything from me. Honestly joining their order felt like my only escape. They did promise me friendship, family - of a sorts, and adventure..."

And how had all of that turned out? Other than a mangy mutt, who was more interested in the cooking meat being prepared to sate his hunger than anything else occurring around him she had no one. No friends, no alliances. The whole situation just further depressed her. "My story isn't a happy one, lets leave it at that." She all but snapped to end the line of conversation that was weighing her down. Though, hadn't she promised the Khajiit a story earlier? She bristled a bit beneath her armor and turned.

"Let me tell you, instead, about the time me and the mutt came face to face with a burning cave troll..."

[Akasha]

Akasha sat enraptured as Matea wove her tale of a desperate and hungry Nord orphan, a column of imperial legionnaires, and, tying everything together like the main course of a choice banquet, an angry, incendiary frost troll that came stumbling into their midst in a flurry of singed fur, swiping paws, and smoke. Now, this was a story - perhaps not the sort that was sung in ancient halls in the company of kings, but the kind you shared with a shield-sister over a round of mead and a roaring fire, seasoned with some exaggeration and one-upsmanship, perhaps, though if Matea was embellishing, Akasha couldn't tell. The vampire hunter was a skilled storyteller, certainly far beyond the young Khajiit's own halting efforts. It was just one more talent she meant to perfect on her way to becoming the warrior she dreamed of being.

By the time Matea had finished, Akasha's wine was spent, and there was a warm buzz singing in her ears. She fancied ordering another, but Matea had not yet ordered anything - possibly some ascetic religious vow - and it would be poor hospitality to leave her behind. Besides, Akasha reminded herself, she was supposed to be keeping an eye on Matea. Not that she quite knew why; Matea hadn't done anything remotely suspicious so far. Other than frightening away an obnoxious bard. And refusing food and drink. And wearing an iron mask in doors. Which, come to think of it, really was odd, wasn't it? She would have to probe at this mystery, carefully, so as not to arouse suspicion.

"A fine adventure!" Akasha said, raising her empty flagon in salute. "This one would like to have seen it. This one also would like to know what is the deal with your mask."

She blinked, replayed that last sentence in her head, and blushed violently red across her ears.

"Ah... she means... this one has never seen anything like it. It is very striking. And a little frightening. No, wait, this one did not mean to say that out loud."

[Matea Antriius]

Akasha was... enjoyable company, and that surprised her, was it just that she'd been without another person to really talk and share with for so long, or was there some sort of budding friendship here? It wouldn't matter in the long run, she supposed, she'd have to leave as soon as she was able to anyway. At the mention of her helmet she felt a lump jump into her throat, she was aware that it was... intimidating, that fact had worked wonders on getting rid of the annoying bard earlier.

Everyone else would come to a place like this, relax with friends, kick off their helmets and shake off the road for a while. And here she sat, face masked by a helmet and looking as out of place as one could possibly look. She was certain at least one more set of eyes was on her now as well, drawn by the Khajiit's question. She forced a small sigh to escape her lips, and slumped forward, the weight of her existence seeming like an almost unfathomable burden on her in that moment.

"It was a gift, when I completed my training with the Dawnguard." This was true, though the armor was given to all who had been through their preparations to fight back Oblivion in their name. "I'm certain you've also noticed I'm very hesitant to remove it." She'd rather alleviate the threat she seemed to cast by being masked inside the way she was. "Vampire's a vicious creatures, Akasha, brutal and wicked. My encounters with them have not left me the same - and I bear an appearance I would rather not share with everyone else from those experiences." All true, though half-truths at best. Quarter truths, maybe.

[Akasha]

Akasha's ears splayed back in sympathy. Though she was too young to remember the war in Hammerfell, she had seen the marks it had left on its victims - missing limbs, missing eyes, faces torn and twisted and mutilated beyond recognition. Even Uncle S'thay had his scars, some of which he bore with pride, others with regret, and there was the old wound in his back that would, without warning, transform him from a hale and hearty warrior to a gasping, limping elder who needed his nieces' help to cross a room.

There was nothing in Matea's voice or her bearing that suggested any such infirmity. But Akasha was used to the wounds caused by swords and axes and arrows, and occasionally by harrowing blasts of magicka. Who knew what a vampire could do to a body?

"Apologies," she said quietly. "This one did not mean any disrespect. The scars of battle are an honor. But they may be a difficult honor to bear."

Akasha stirred the last of her apple and cabbage stew as she tried to collect her wine-addled thoughts into something more productive. "Are you staying long in Whiterun?"

[Matea Antriius]

"No offense taken, my friend." Matea offered in kindness to the Khajiit, certain now that she had taken a shine to her new comrade. She let her eyes linger over the fire, positively itching to be free of this armor for the evening, despite knowing that even in sleep it was unlikely she would be safe to remove it. When this was all over, she'd have to find a secluded stream or underground river to clean herself in and let these concerns wash away with the tide of.

"Hmmm?" She quizzed, lost in her own thought and nearly missing the next question, but pieced it together a moment later, shaking her head. "A night or two, most likely. I need to resupply myself, and be certain there is no lingering danger, and then I will continue on my travels. You understand, of course, what the adventuring life is like. Not much time to settle down, as it is."

[Akasha]

"This one is beginning to understand," Akasha replied, taking care now that her tongue did not run off without her again. "Her uncle led a life of adventure. He spoke often of the danger, and the glory. But not often of the loneliness."

Akasha looked at the winecup in her paw, twice empty now. Sangiin's bile! When had she become depressing drunk? This wouldn't do, no, this wouldn't do at all!

The Khajiit's eyes flickered back to the Dawnguard's impassive mask with a manic glint. "But glory is best when if is shared with friends, yes? This is why this one has joined the Companions. Maybe you should join, too! Your scars would hardly be noticed in Jorrvaskr."

She tipped back the last dregs of her wine and added, "Or perhaps this one could join you! Perhaps give vampires a taste of her steel instead of her blood!"

[Matea Antriius]

Oh by the Divines, she was an anxious one, wasn't she? So quick to try and recruit Matea to the companions, or tag-along on an adventure. Matea hardly sought adventure, she just rather stumbled into it. She let a light chuckle escape her lips, friendly and warm and was about to admonish her that there simply would not be time, nor need when one of the locals, spurred on by what must have been Oblivion itself tore into the hall, panting and wide, scared eyes searching.

"Vampires!" He exlaimed loudly, with little concern for the terror that the word could incite. Instantly Matea's attention had snapped to him, and she almost hissed in defiance as if he accused her directly of being such a thing. Instead, after a moment's heartbeat and hesitation with all eyes upon him, he found composure. "Vampires." he repeated, catching his wind and doubling over slightly, "In Broken Fang Cave. I'm sure of it, strange movements in the previous nights, I... I heard there was a vampire hunter in town, came to tell them."

Oh. OH. Broken Fang. She'd made camp there no more than 2 or 3 days prior. Always at night, always quietly without alerting anyone of her presence and. Ah. Of course, he had seen her movements and mistaken them for something else. That was all. She considered for a moment, remembering the Khajiit's interest in an adventure and saw a wonderful compromise begin to form. "Well, then as a sworn protector of the Dawnguard it is my task to see to this claim of vampiric infestation, is it not? I graciously accept this task on behalf of the good people of Whiterun."

Perhaps she could shore up some goodwill, or better prices by acting the part of the hero for a while. This seemed to steady the nerves of not only the man who had made the proclamation, but the growing murmurs of the crowd. She turned back to Akasha and leaned in. "Still up for an adventure then, friend?"