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[emberdance]

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[emberdance]

As they approach the expansive building, two attendants come forward, a man and a woman who look like they could be twins, with skin so dark it's almost blue in the night air, and avid green eyes that glance over Phyre with professional studiousness. Crow beams, greeting them with a flurry of cheek kisses and compliments, which they tolerate with good humor.

"Phyre, my good sir, this is Anuket," he gestures to the woman, "and Akhem," and then to the man. "They run these apartments, and you'll find no hospitality better in all the city. It's a family business, you see, so their entire sense of pride is wound into every stone brick."

Anuket almost rolls her eyes fondly at Crow's teasing grin, but stops short of actually doing it. Instead, she bows her head to greet Phyre, Akhem doing the same a moment after her. "We have been expecting you, Scholar Phyre," she greets. "Your rooms are already set up, and an evening meal will be delivered momentarily." She glances behind her, and makes a gesture ⸻ an eager young girl runs forward to skid to a halt next to the camels, reaching up to stroke their noses and soothe them. "Sepa will take your steeds, and they will be housed in the royal stables not far from here."

Crow watches as other attendants come forward to start unloading all of the packs from the camel's backs, and starts mentally planning his day tomorrow. First, he'll get the list from Phyre in the morning, and he'll spend the day getting what supplies he needs. His evening, amusingly, is already booked.

Amidst the flurry of activity, Crow says to Phyre, "If you could write that list tonight and leave it with Anuket and Akhem, I'll pick it up in the morning and get to work." He bows low, exaggerated. "Alas, I must leave you for tonight, as I am sure you are weary from your travels. But I'm certain the hospitality here will refresh you for our meeting tomorrow."

[nomadicflame]

The warlock inclines his head in return, the bow precise and unhurried - an old habit, performed with the ease of someone who has practiced courtesy longer than most have practiced breathing. He allows the attendants their work without interference, his attention shifting in quiet, precise increments: the twins' posture, the efficiency of their staff, the ease with which Crow moves among them. Competence recognizes competence. It shows in the stillness of him.

"My thanks," he says to the servitors when there is a break in the bustle, his voice even and warm without being familiar. "Your preparations are appreciated. Few things ease travel-weariness so effectively as competence." The dark red flicks briefly to Sepa as she soothes the camels, a quiet approval there, before returning to Crow. "That will be no trouble," Phyre replies. "I will have the list prepared before the night is out. You will find nothing on it that stains your boots." He pauses then, eyes narrowing just slightly with dry amusement.

"I trust you will exercise restraint in my absence and procure precisely what is written, rather than what merely catches your interest." Crow's exaggerated bow earns him the faintest curve of a smile before he stops for just a moment. The morning. The presence of sun. Phyre bristles at the mention but outwardly projects a calm facade. "I am unable to venture out into the sun. It is... Part of my condition. I shall have to receive you inside. But do enjoy your evening. I expect you alive, functional, and punctual come morning."

As Crow departs, Phyre turns back to the twins. The quickness of movement does not hurry him; instead, he allows himself a still moment, surveying the stonework, the angles of the entryway, the careful pride evident even in the way the attendants move through the space. "This place is well tended," he observes with care. "You honor your family name." Then, with a slight inclination of his head toward Anuket, deliberate but restrained: acknowledging authority where it is due. "I will not be a difficult guest. If there are customs I should observe, I would rather be informed than forgiven." There is no flirtation in his tone - perhaps a stark difference from Crow - but there is respect, and something like quiet interest. Enough to suggest that while the scholar does not seek to be impressed, he does notice when care is taken.

[emberdance]

Oh, does Anuket look very pleased when Phyre enquires about local customs. Crow stifles a snort. Anuket and Akhem belong to one of the oldest families in the cities, and the pride there runs deep, as do the traditions ⸻ no two families in Azar-Ban have quite the same traditions, but there's a general theme. Treat guests as honored family. Shelter the stranger in need of water. Take your shoes off inside so you don't track sand in. Make sure your food is always as spicy as possible. You know, the usual.

He leaves Phyre in their efficient care, and sets out to report back to the king, or rather, the king's staff, since the man is abed by this hour. Crow is not far behind.

In the morning, he touches base with Phyre to gather the list. Because of Phyre's unusual condition about sunlight, Crow makes sure to turn up before the sun fully rises. He flirts a little, feigns offense at the accusation that he'd stray from the list in favour of shiny things, gives Phyre updates on the forecast and amusing news from around the city, and finally departs to let Phyre have his breakfast in peace. Mostly because Akhem gives him subtle shoo motions as he's bringing the plates to Phyre's apartments.

He spends the next half-day in the markets, hunting down everything on Phyre's list. Crow is extraordinarily tempted to amuse himself and throw in some extra things here and there, but he decides to stick precisely to the list as written, and it's not long before he has a camel laden with trunks full of esoteric ingredients and equipment. He has that delivered to the apartments, where it will wait outside Phyre's door until the man is ready to recieve it.

And then, finally, it is evening, and Crow turns up as invited. Phyre had made no secret that the invite for the evening was likely sexual in nature, and so, Crow is very curious ⸻ the same man had tried to warn him off initially, only to invite him closer in the end. A man of fascinating contradictions.

Dressed casually in loose black pants and a sleeveless black vest, his porcelain and gold prosthetic glints in the lantern light as he leans against the door, gold jewelry strung though his ears and hair and draped over his chest. The sun is just beginning to set, hidden enough behind the cliff face that none will be making its way into Phyre's apartments ⸻ he checked, just to be thorough ⸻ and so Crow knocks. When the door opens, he greets Phyre with a nod to the chests that lay outside his door.

"Delivery for a Lord Phyre?" He grins. "I'm not the usual delivery boy, I know, but I can still help you carry them inside, if you like."

[nomadicflame]

The warlock entertains the twins' enthusiasm with polite courtesy - making sure to take in every single detail with the attention it deserves - and, of course, removing his shoes upon entering his apartment after being told to do so. Every custom in its place and every effort taken to observe it. Once he has been shown into his lodgings and showered with enough knowledge of everything he will need to know, he sets about unpacking items from his long journey - heavily bound journals, reagents, everything and anything he will need for what he has been sent here for.

When Crow arrives, he is still awake, having availed himself to one of his tomes for the evening - after a little night wandering, of course - and deflecting the flirting with well-placed ripostes and warnings, though none of them overly sharp or barbed. Simply little warnings that could likely be taken as invitations for the overly flirtatious man dancing through every "where thou shalt fear to tread" as if it were some sort of invitation to danger. Once the shiny-finder has departed, the scholar moves to find slumber, solace from the sun.

Clothing is changed - a lightweight kurta and churidar pants, comfortable and practical for the purpose - before he slips into the furniture offered to him for this purpose. Before long, the red gaze flickers under heavy lids. It is dreamless. As it always is. Torpor, though short, is never pleasant. Simply darkness. A passage of time as the sun moves through the sky. While Crow spins his tales and form through the market, the elder lies silent and still in his bed, mind full of nothing and thoughts a void.

The rise of the moon heralds the end of his rest, a hand brought to his forehead as he sorts through the memories of the day prior. Yes, he is to entertain the flitty bird this evening; and good timing, too. The hunger is rising within.

Alas, he has no time to switch to something more formal - his magicked clothing, something with a bit more flair even - before the door is gently rapped upon. Crow will instead receive the vampire with slightly mussed hair and wrinkled bedwear.

"You are early, too efficient for your own good," the Balkan intones as the door slides open, midnight strands loose around his face, the darkness around his face and the earthen tones of his clothing a stark difference to the milky, pallid hue of his skin.

"I have not yet changed. I hope that will not be a problem. You may go inside. I will handle the delivery." The door creaks open all the way, the figure within moving aside to allow Crow entry first before he himself moves outside. With relative ease - as if the chests were nothing but straw - he lifts and carries them within, depositing each somewhere they will be out of the way before the door thuds shut behind him.

"Thank you. If you will wait a moment, I will wash up and change."

[emberdance]

Huh. Would you look at that.

Crow had had Phyre pegged as a man of impeccable demeanour. A man who took great pains to present to the world exactly the picture that he wanted to painstakingly paint, and not a single bit less. But here he is, sleep-rumpled and mussed.

It's an unexpectedly endearing sight. Like watching a wolf waking up, soft and blinking sleepily in the moments before it turns back into a creature of the wild.

"I'd say you hardly need to go to the effort on my account, but if you insist," Crow hums, moving into the apartment. He carries in the dinner that had been delivered minutes before, once perched neatly atop a delivered crate of materials, now in Crow's hands as he carries it to the table and chairs within, set near the expansive (and currently curtain-covered) windows. Crow's tempted to brush the heavy drapes aside, but he has no idea the extent of Phyre's enmity with the sun ⸻ as the last dregs of it are still in the sky, he'll let Phyre decide when the curtains open.

Besides, it looks like dinner is actually a breakfast spread ⸻ the twins have also caught on to Phyre's different schedule ⸻ so he'll occupy himself with brewing some coffee and tea.

He moves to the kitchen, familiar with the layout of these apartments, and finds both teapot and coffee press. As Phyre washes up, Crow calls, "I hope you have an appetite, because by the looks of the breakfast provided, they think they're feeding an army."

[nomadicflame]

Taking his time with the basins, he lets the water run over his face to refresh him from sleep. Although he has no bodily functions like mortals do, he still cannot discount the feeling of a splash of water across his skin to rouse him in the evening.

While busying himself, he takes the time to change into his preferred attire - a warlock's frock coat and brocade embroidered pants, both emblazoned in black, red, and adorned with a hint of gold embroidery - before stepping back out into the apartment proper, adjusting the buttons at his collar. His sleeves have been neatly adjusted, his hair fixed into proper place. Order established and deliberate where all should be.

It is then that his red, hellish gaze falls upon the table and its bounty and he pauses where he stands. One cannot deny the spread is generous: bread still warm, soft cheeses, honey, figs split open like garnets, spiced eggs, roasted meats. The scent of it hangs rich in the air, tempting to any who could stomach it. For a moment - perhaps too long - he says nothing, his expression carefully blank.

"I am afraid their generosity will be wasted," comes his even, almost deadpan reply. It is not discourteous, but simply a matter of observation. Taking another step forward, he approaches the table but neglects to take a seat. Those dark, unrelenting eyes trace the fare without hunger, absent of desire or need. Simple calculation, as one would study a still-life.

"My condition prevents me from eating such fare. It does not agree with me."

It is a truth, but a softened one. Should he attempt to eat, even to humor his benefactor, it would be as ash upon his tongue. And only moments later he would eject it from his body, perhaps causing more concern than anything.

"But do not let my failings prevent you from enjoying it. It would be improper to let Anuket and Akhem's efforts go unappreciated." Continuing his pace past the table, he pauses just alongside Crow in the kitchen, glancing at him out of the corners of his eyes.

"As for appetite," he begins, voice heavy in the quiet stillness; the dark red gaze is steady and unblinking. "I can assure you that I have one. It is simply selective."