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apostatised) wrote2008-09-03 07:40 pm
[log] it floods the sky and blurs the darkness like a chandelier
The matter of the ring having been relatively simple to sort out (Candice left the matter in his hands entirely and he's never had much difficulty knowing exactly what he wants, when he wants it), Martel's moving through his mental checklist of things that should get taken care of sooner rather than later. If they're going to have this long engagement--and it's for the best that they do--then it makes sense (to his mind) to take care of what he'd otherwise be scolded for leaving late in advance.
For example: meet the family. In this case, being as Martel's family mostly consists of people who want to kill him and Candice has already met Sephrenia, it mainly means contacting and Aphrael and extending an invitation to the castle. (He's been considering naming it, but gods only know what yet.)
From the outside, set against the Arum mountains, it still looks...mainly wild, if far from ruin. The renovations that have already taken place on the interior are more advanced (at least in the parts he's deemed most necessary); Martel fails to grasp how it looks to Candice, seeing mostly things that still have to be done, but it's an impressive property. For now he's settled in the library (such as it is; he's filling the shelves again at a sedate pace, trying to rebuild what must have been before he lived here), if settled is the word for 'bothering Candice about the shape of the letter 'F'', and waiting on the imminent arrival of incoming deity. With any luck.
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Unless, of course, it's absolutely necessary. Like, you know. Spells.
After the proper greeting (for her) has been completed, she smiles (reassuringly) at Candice. "I thought since you've probably heard enough about me I had to skip the entire mute-girl-playing-the-pipes thing, but if you want to, I can show you later." And since she just covered the bit about names, she'll leave it to the older woman to choose which one to use.
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He's very good at getting on the wrong side of people, surely it stands to reason he can get on the right side with that same deliberation. "I know." He likes his formality. Now and then.
"Careful of her affection," Martel advises Candice, blandly. "She'll steal your soul. Aphrael, Candice Monaghan. I'm going to marry her, I thought perhaps you should meet."
Informal enough, maybe? Not that he's a brat of any kind. Ever. At all. Surely.
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She'll probably go with Flute. Aphrael strikes her as an incantation name--though she'll have to get used to remembering this is a different sort of goddess. (Santeria spirits aren't as cute, for the most part. Skeleton people!)
"That was really great for lead-up," she informs Martel, and then grins at Aphrael, shrugging, "But he's about summarized it. It's good to meet you."
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She slips out of Martel's arms and walks over, offering a wide smile up, fingers trailing the books on the lower shelves. "It is good to meet you, Candice Monaghan." She can be a little bit formal too, sometimes. "Congratulations on your engagement." Cute? Why yes, she can be, with big words coming out of the pink bow-like mouth of an approximately ten-years-old girl.
And yes. She would steal her soul. Any soul.
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"Divinely inspired," Martel answers (both prompt and dry) to Candice's observation, folding his arms when Flute leaves them to cross to her; he doesn't actually smile but the sentiment is there. In whatever way he tends to express it (e.g. strangely).
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Candice is quite determined to wait it out a bit, largely because she thinks she needs some time to get used to the idea...and to get her own family used to the idea as well (big Catholic clan; that'll be an interesting procedure, full of "no, Nate, I don't need a background check done" because that wouldn't turn up anything in the first place since Martel hasn't even got a surname).
"Thank you," she tells Aphrael, and then glances briefly Martel's way before returning her attention to the goddess in their presence. "I think he gets a bit tired of me when I make fun of him, but he'll have to get used to that, won't he?"
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The girl's dark eyes are crinkling now with amusement. "Tired? I do believe he may have gotten tired a few times in the past, but never in intelligent company. Of course he'll get used to it." Doesn't add that he doesn't keep with non-intelligent company unless he must, and there's no way possible Martel could have gotten engaged and be - as far as she could judge, and she could - more or less glad about it, out of 'must'. At least, not the kind of 'must' that implies keeping low company.
"For all he thinks he's old and doesn't like change," smirks at him, "he's quite adaptable."
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"I loathe and abhor change, dear," Martel informs Aphrael blandly, coming to sit down. His relationship with his goddess is evidently not so very different from his usual brand of affection (e.g. full of ridiculous). "Unless it suits me."
There's probably a cheap shot to be taken there about his wardrobe and additions he keeps arguing with, but there you go.
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There is absolutely no way Candice can't take that bait.
"Speaking of suits," she says, meaningfully, "where is yours? If I take you into my world, you'll have to find it. -- that's one adaptation I don't think he minds as much as he says, yeah."
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Then her eyebrows shoot up, and she looks back at Candice. "Oh you mean you're changing his wardrobe? What kind of suit is it? Will either of you show me?" Wide grin on her face looking at Martel. In an excited 'I want a demonstration!' kind of way.
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Martel's even little smile--because he is full of lies and they all know it--at Flute's muttering takes on a certain trapped quality when he catches the flow of conversation.
Oh, fuck.
"No," he says, severely, aware that he's probably going to lose this.
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"It's pretty simple, all in black and white," she tells Aphrael, "but he really looks quite good in it, so I'm not sure why he protests so much--on that note, yes, Martel. It won't take you more than a moment, anyway."
The first step in marrying any man is learning how to get him to do what you say, apparently.
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For now, Aphrael turns her full, charming attention to Martel. Pink-bow mouth in a pleading almost pout, eyes open and asking him to. "Please will you?" Sweetly. "For me?"
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Martel points at Aphrael. "Ye shameless horror." Which is as good as acquiescence, because he gives them both a dirty look and pushes to his feet. "I'll be back in a moment," he says, resigned.
At the door, he pauses, hand on the frame, "I do like silver." And then he closes it sharply behind himself.
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"Silver it is, next time," Candice murmurs, amused.
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Or silver tie. Something.
Then she looks up at Candice and smiles, then moves to a seat and sits on it cross-legged. "So. Anything that you may be curious about?" No, she knows secrets should be gotten around to when Martel's ready for them. But - things. Cultural things, stuff that maybe puzzled Candice but she hasn't gotten around to asking him about. Or whatever she well pleased to ask.
They have time after all. Yes, it would still be a moment for Martel.
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"Many things," she says, wryly, and then really considers the question. "Actually--would you mind telling me more about the magic he's got--presumably your gift? If that's all right. It doesn't feel anything like what I have, so I'm a bit mystified."
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Flute bobbed her head a bit. "They ask for what they want to be done. Then I go and do it." If she chose to. "Or make it happen, whichever is more precise. That's why the instructions ought to be good though, because often a few of those happen at the same time and I can't know what each of them means to happen if just... vaguely directed."
In other words. Magic spells? Are prayers. Very specific prayers.
Ones that got answered.
"Does that make it... clearer? It's usually done in the language of the god or goddess who's going to answer, for obvious reasons. Although sometimes musical spells also work, if they're precise enough."
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When Martel returns--shortly after--he is not only wearing the suit, he's also accompanied by what's probably the Arum equivalent of four Pallas cats, nosing interestedly along around his feet as he comes back into the library.
'The suit' does, in fact, rather flatter him, fairly simple as they go, black with white shirt. He looks terribly long-suffering, which could be either the suit or the cats. "Well?"
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Candice is listening very closely to this description of magic--it's pretty in keeping with what she's witnessed, and what other people have said to her. What she practices is moderately different, of course, but not so much she can't grasp what she's being told. "That really does help, thank you. I think musical spells would be rather interesting to see--oh, hello!"
The cats are greeted with a slightly amused smile, and then she makes a great show of looking Martel over, as though reassessing her thoughts on the suit (which wouldn't be necessary, she's made up her mind to appreciate it).
"I still think the jacket might be a little tight in the shoulders, but it's pretty nice, Martel, you should just admit it."
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"It does look good. And doesn't smell as many of your other presentable outfits tended to!" She isn't even looking at him, her attention apparently on the little felines. Then again. If she can hear his spells when she's nowhere near? She can make remarks about him without seeming to look him over.
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"I sincerely hope you mean 'of the forge'," Martel protests to Flute, apparently unsurprised by the little goddess' affection for the wild cats, ability to win them over or ability to hold them all at once when he's fairly sure combined they ought to be bigger than she is. (Not quite.)
He gives Candice a wry sort of look in the meanwhile, managing a free-standing lounge that some people have to practice to really perfect. "Nice enough," he says, grudgingly, "but not entirely to my taste."
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"Well, fair enough. You can consider it one of those many ways you have of humoring your friends."
She observes Flute with the cats, entertained by how docile the furry, weird-looking creatures have suddenly become.
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and isn't trying to stuff them in doll dresses. "Your taste which includes, hmm, clanking when you walk and sometimes a can opener to extract you from your gentle garments? No, then it's not entirely to your taste."Her face looks up at Martel, lighting up with a wide smile. "But definitely silver. Embroidery maybe, around the cuffs, lapels. Not quite like embossing, but it should help satisfy your taste Martel." She shrugs. "I like robes, but this trim outlook has enough reasons to be nice."
She turns to Candice. "What would a woman's garb that corresponds to that one look like, do you think?"
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Martel grimaces at Aphrael, ostentatiously--and seats himself after a moment's thought. It isn't that he has any particular objection to being on display--in fact it's how he enjoys spending a lot of his time--but on his terms, always on his terms.
"Now that you mention it, we did acquire a nice suit of armor," he says, innocently conversational (no). In all due fairness, Martel's vanity extends to all manner of things and he's as particular about his clothing as he is everything else. He observes this discussion about clothing with a kind of wryly amused resignation; if Aprhael's taken an interest, now, he's probably more or less doomed to it.