[Silas' days are long and tiresome. He starts work in the morning, doing rounds through the maternity ward of the south city side. If there's no emergencies, he would take a carriage up toward the western side, by the river, to tend to newly arriving patients. Not many Druid's cared for the west gate hospital, it contained too much riff raff, but Silas never minded that. The travelers coming in from all around the world were the most interesting part of his job.
What he didn't care for was Oscar, inevitably, bringing in three broken up criminals at days end. Silas didn't even bother to start cleaning up towards the end of his shift. He knew the other Druid would skid in last second with an hours more work. This day was no different, but Silas will feign it for variety]
Earlier than usual, [by a hair] they must not have given you enough trouble.
[There's not an ounce of apology to Oscar's walk as he comes in. It's a pointed choice because he was quite capable of walking with apology in it. He could inject it as if it were a syringe. There was hardly a point to it here, though. Silas would only get fussier if he were to act any differently. This was who he was for Silas and while it wasn't his true self it was actually a self he rather liked.]
Oh, tell me about it. [he says, dramatically, his shoulders sagging as he holds onto the convoy of wounded rabble-rousers.]
It was hardly satisfying at all. Look! I have jitters! [he holds up his free hand and wiggles it]
One broke his hand against me and I barely felt it. [And one guy (with a broken hand) looks like he was really the more wounded one for that. Oscar isn't even looking at them, though. After all, if one were to try and escape and take a pot-shot at him, that would be delightful.]
One broken hand... [Silas said out load, writing it carefully into a ledger book with an ink pen. He circles the patients and touches them, feels out the injuries, and writes down everything amiss. He writes the time. He does this as he listens to Oscar, but he feigns professionalism.
The break from it is a perked eyebrow and a casual offer]
If you have the jitters this late, you should get a drink. [meaning they should get a drink]
[Silas was a proper druid. Or, well, he at least made a good show of being proper which, as far as anyone was concerned, was good enough. So, he doesn't interrupt, he waits for the conversation to rightfully come back to him. Like, forget the injured people. His face lights up in a sort of exuberant smile that doesn't really match his tired face.]
Silas, you're a genius! [for knowing exactly what he wanted and giving him an excuse]
Truly, your calling is healing, you knew exactly what I needed. Can I trust you to help with the treatment?
[He snorts, not really bothering much to hide the smile on his face. Silas sets aside his booklet and pen to start actually using his healing on the knocked out criminals, careful to not heal them enough to wake them. He'd made that mistake when he was very young and gotten punched in the face at least a couple times. Amateur mistake, nothing he'd do these days.]
I suppose someone ought to keep an eye on you. It would irresponsible if I allowed you to go alone. [all these years and they've never run out of coy little ways to justify their barhopping]
[Oscar wouldn't really mind if they were to get up for round two. However, asking Silas to heal someone just so they could throw a few more punches his way was unethical. And Silas wouldn't do it, he'd asked already.]
You're right! I might incite a riot. Offend someone's sensibilities. [or, with a dramatic whisper,] Have an affair with the bartender.
[He's wounded! By the truth of it. One particularly well-to-do bartender had been one of his flings, a long time ago. Funny how little she wanted to do with him once he was a criminal and a druid.]
[Actually, no, it was hardly funny, that was normal.]
Ah, well. Could you imagine the fun I'd have if there were another city?
[He says it like it's some long, distant thought. To them, it was an impossibility. Then again, people had said him becoming a druid would be impossible, too.]
Considering a transfer, are you? [he muses, knowing the other Springtide cities wouldn't appeal to Oscar in the slightest. They were deeper in the caves and closer to the sea, but felt so far away they may as well not exist at all. Each had it's own regional cultural differences that were... genuinely infuriating to deal with. Like seeing a painting, then looking at a crude copy, then looking at a third, even worse copy. Sure, they may create the same broad picture, but all the details are just a bit wrong on the other two.
Oscar hates paintings, he'd hate even that comparison. Silas scoffed again]
Is it too much to ask, a city where no one knows my tricks?
[But, right, it would be obnoxious, like changing out a pair of slightly too small clothing for slightly too loose. A proper clothing metaphor. Not something unsightly like painting. People who would use painting as a metaphor for anything but torture were impossible.]
I suppose I've built up too much of a reputation here to leave it. [If he left, they might try and pretend a criminal hadn't ever passed their stupid druid training. They might call it impossible again and try to gloss over his existence. No, no way.]
For better and for worse, indeed, you have. [Silas goes on, finishing up his work on the criminals. He goes to his ledger to write a few more notes and then passes it to Oscar to sign off on. Very well organized, even when he looks clearly exhausted by the use of more powers, at the end of an already long day. He could use sleep or food and the latter sounded much better with company. If Silas could manage the former, with company, Oscar would surely die of jealousy.]
The fisherman brought in a large catch today. You could see the ship overflowing from here. [this means Silas wants fish and chips]
[He's already jealous of the tiredness itself, no need to make it excessive.]
[Oscar's signature is remarkably flourished and fiddly. It takes several seconds to complete. Someone had made a comment about how it was inconvenient and he should change it, therefore guaranteeing he wouldn't. He'd love to be as tired as Silas but hell if he wanted to do any more paperwork. Paperwork didn't suit him. Healing didn't really suit him either. Doing work that wasn't his didn't suit him. If only hobbies that burned his energy quicker were more readily available!]
I wouldn't mind having a taste of that. [this means Oscar was down for fish and chips.]
[The signature of a man who spent an entire month perfecting his handwriting, surely. Silas is used to it, looking the ledger over one more time before closing it, ringing a bell to alert the other staff he was finished up, and setting the book away in it's proper place. He rubs a wet cloth over his hands to clean them, then puts his druid's gloves back on, turning to Oscar]
Seeing as I've already been kept late, [by certain people who like to tire him, perhaps out of some vicarious enjoyment in it] we should go with haste, then. Before I'm called upon by another emergency.
[which, given his waning energy, he wouldn't be much use in helping out with any way]
[Still, knowing Silas, if an emergency were to happen, he would attempt despite his relative uselessness.]
[Now, Oscar would jump into a fight at any opportunity but that was more selfishly motivated. He desperately needed to feel worn down and some days his usual work just didn't cut it. Silas, though, he did it for others. He maybe did too much for others. That's why Oscar was here, to be selfish enough for both of them.]
With haste! [he chimes, circling around to start shoving the younger man out the door if need be]
After all, an emergency could happen any second. We must make sure the emergency isn't that the local tavern doesn't get enough coin.
[his lips quirk up from the usual, dry smile to something a bit more playful] And maybe a barfight.
Y, You're not carrying money on you, again, are you? [Silas asked, exasperated and under his breath, secretive. The Druids weren't allowed worldly possessions, but of course, all rules got a little twisted. Many establishments simply treated visiting Druids to meals and drinks, it was very bad form to turn away public servants. Even if they weren't given extravagant treatment, it saved them having to carry money...
But, Oscar liked to break the rules. Any and all rules. He was a boundary pusher. Much in the way he was pushing Silas out the door and onto the streets, towards the pub on the riverside]
[Oscar liked breaking the rules for no other reason than breaking them. He didn't need money. He'd never needed money. Still, having it around was a comfort and a thrill. The weight of metal was only so satisfying because people said he shouldn't.]
I'm carrying a sack. [After all, admitting it was a bit too blatant. There was the fun in dancing around a rule, finding the exceptions or caveats to that rule.]
There may be something in that sack, I appear to have forgotten exactly what! You know, the memory fades after such a long day of work.
[He could use their walk down to the tavern as another excuse to silence Silas in regards to his rule breaking. After all, even when it was the two of them, he spoke of it in hushed whispers. Propriety could be such a good cover!]
Ah, yes, of course, [Silas nods along, dry and searching to fill in the gaps. He was a better liar in some ways, than Oscar. His knack for believable creativity had helped pardon the man a few times in the past, Silas a master of excuses.]
Goods you needed to confiscate from those rabble-rousers. You'll turn it into the Elder's as soon as you can, I'm assured.
[Silas was a master of believable excuses, the nice and tidy kind that worked and clicked in your brain. Oscar preferred to think of his excuses as the kind that worked because a person so desperately wanted to believe them.]
[He even put the burden of his own lying on other people, he was just that remarkably selfish.]
Oh, of course. The funniest thing is that then the elder will certainly hold onto it for confiscation. In their wisdom, I'm sure they'll know exactly what to do with these coins.
[in other words, they're full of bullshit about their own rules]
Donated back to the city, Sir Oscar. Such confiscations pay the taxes needed to keep our housing. Not to mention the good will of the people. [any place that fed a Druid would be granted a stipend for the burden, but that's not apart of Oscar or Silas' concerns. They go, they get food and drink, all is well. No need to carry a purse of coin...]
You'll get your fill at the tavern without directly paying them.
[Most went to the taxes. Most. There were definitely an elder or two who took things into their own hands. In some cases it was excusable or for a generally good cause. In some cases the money just vanished. Silas was, in Oscar's eyes, really a more proper Druid than the lot of them.]
How diligent of you, Silas! [he claps his hands together with some show of excitement] I feel right like I'm back in one of those dreadfully boring lectures.
[Now, it wasn't as easy with the lectures as the physical training for the elders to try and make him quit. They found ways, though. They found ways to make studying horrid and he found ways to still study. The memory catches him for a moment and he looks distant. Then,]
If I doze off, will you strike my hand with a switch? [In a flash, back to giddy masochism that was as comfortable as a second skin to him.]
You think me a monster, Sir Oscar? [there's a playfulness to the formality, Silas smiling a bit coy as the entered the tavern. It's a quiet place, not grown rowdy yet, and falling even more silent to see two Druids enter. Shh, shh, no fun here, not until the Druids have gotten some drinks in them... Silas is ready for a drink.]
To witness you getting some well deserved rest would be cause for celebration.
[Oscar's more than ready for a drink and to watch the air of care fade away from the patrons. On one hand, it was fun to watch people take care around them, on the other it was far more interesting for there to be a ruckus.]
You underestimate my ability to uncover new gripes, Silas. [he gestures to the bartender: something strong.] Vastly.
Anyways, you can't stop me from hoping even if you are too much of a piglet to ever smack me properly. We can all have our mild fantasies. [Again, it's more the allure of Silas, so unsuited, doing it that's exciting rather than the actual hit.]
[Silas makes his a double. The bartender knows that means to just hit them both with the closest thing the tavern has to rubbing alcohol. Druid constitution was wonderful for healing and made them very difficult to injure, let alone kill, but it also made relaxing all the more challenging. Whatever kind of moonshine that's poured for them is clear and smells like formaldehyde, but it'll do the job they need.
Silas thanks the tender with a nod and a soft smile.]
I've not known you to be mild about anything. You are a man of extremes, in all directions, Sir Oscar. [and cheers to that, he thinks, raising his glass and tossing back what is practically acid. Mmmnn, pretty good stuff. This tavern should be a regular joint for them...]
[Oscar's nod to the bartender is with a little more swagger than Silas' but, well, generally you treat the man who hands you drinks well. Not that anyone would try to drug a druid. The smell is absolutely atrocious. Still, that affront to his senses was a good thing now. He'd probably have tried this quality of alcohol even before his druidic transformation.]
[The more it seemed like he shouldn't have something, the more he wanted it.]
I'd argue I'm the type for under or overstatement, though. [So calling it mild was simply much more characteristic of him than being mild himself. Or this was just another step in being contrary.] That's an extreme I'm certainly aligned to.
If you'd like, I could call them raucous fantasies.
I should prefer not to be in your fantasies. Raucous or otherwise. [Silas sounds firm and serious, but the tinge of pink across this face betrays it somewhat. The alcohol causes that, surely, not any idea of Oscar and himself in compromising situations. Silas mind doesn't ever wander like that. Ever.
He swallows nothing, before reaching for his glass, tapping it to be refilled. The bartender comments they should eat some food with that and Silas agrees softly, giving those sweet doe eyes of his to the man, who huffs and asks what they'd like. Silas is quick to answer with the previously discussed fish and chips. Nothing fancy, just filling and greasy. Just what he needs at the end of a long day and with Oscar's pestering.]
[You're not special, Silas, at least not in the way that allows you to avoid being in fantasies! Oscar's such a deviant he even had one or two fantasies about his wife! And not even drunk!]
[Oscar nurses his drink a bit more slowly, letting the sensation more work its way into his bloodstream. He needed to savor any heaviness the sensation of drunkenness gave him. There's a small laugh, a dark chuckle, at Silas giving doe eyes- piggy eyes- at the bartender. The boy was flirting without even realizing it. Or, if he did realize it, that was part of the charm. Oscar will raise a hand to also get a serving.]
You could be in anyone's fantasies, you know. Someone might go home and write their own version of the saucy druid for you. [he grins, nudging the other with his elbow. Silas did always hate that slutty druid trope. Oscar just leaned into it when he could.]
[Silas really could ask for so much more, if he'd more willingly bat his pretty pink eyelashes, but no. He kept himself restrained, probably the most controlled druid in the whole order, for whatever that may be worth. His glass is poured and he lifts it to his mouth when Oscar began to tease.
Literally always a mistake, coughing on the harsh alcohol.]
O... Oscar! Sir Oscar, please, you're too outrageous. As if anybody could think such of me, of all people. I wonder how that da-- that trope even existed before you came along... [he didn't say damned, he caught it, you damned bastard]
[Was it that Silas was bad at picking times to drink or Oscar was good at choosing his timings? Hard to say. He is delighted by getting Silas to sputter, though.]
You said it yourself, Silas, I'm a man of extremes! [he leans back in his seat a little and he'll kick his feet if given the room. It's an almost giddy amount of energy that should truly chafe against Silas' own tiredness. It was a curse but a sometimes enviable curse.]
As much as they didn't want a traitor in their midst, someone must have acted in a way to set that ablaze. I'm hardly the worst person that's become a druid. [He was the best worst person. There was a difference.]
Long before our time, Sir Oscar. I'm certain... [he swallows nothing, sighing. The Druids were an odd part of Springtide culture and always had been. The Warlocks of old, to the Mages, turned finally to the Druids. They'd needed to rebrand their practice of magic several times over, with new rules and restrictions each time. Eventually, getting to the kind of Druids that Oscar and Silas were. Pacifistic, only following the three branches of magic largely incapable of harm, and bound to the Faekin... The Mages had only been the very last of that list and the Warlocks none so restrained. That was how they conquered nearly the whole of the world before the previous empire collapses and left their ancestors banished into the forests to die.
While Silas is mulling over history, a few more people are arriving in the bar. At least one whistles at them, specifically winking to Oscar. It wasn't uncommon, given the other Druid's reputation. Silas grumbles, grimly,] .... an acquaintance of yours?
[Even if it was long before his time, Oscar's certain that promiscuous magic-users have been a tradition for as long as magic in any form.]
[His eye is drawn upon hearing the whistle and he purses his lips, the faintest appearance of a blown kiss as he waves. Silas grumbles and Oscar turns back to him, with a faint smile still on his lips.]
Never met him. [he says, taking another drink. It's impossible to tell if he's playing or or being sincere. He had a reputation, after all, and he'd never want to disappoint his reputation for something as minor as not actually knowing a person's name.]
[And, well, if they had rolled around in the metaphorical thicket Silas would grumble more.]
How ever do you stay out of trouble? [Silas asks this wistfully and sarcastically, knowing full well Oscar lived to be in trouble. If it was a physical location, Oscar would have a holiday home there.]
[Being in trouble was exciting. There were always new and exciting situations when it came to being in trouble. Well, except solitary. That would be the absolute worst. Any other form of trouble, though, was far more interesting than obedient peace.]
It's an exercise in wits, you know. [now he's ready to tap his glass and get the bartender to fill him up again. His own brief lick of the lips wasn't as well-received. Guess piggy was more of this guy's type. Tragic!]
You're still too fresh but as you get older you're going to have to do something to keep your mind young.
You aren't that much older than me, sir. [a halfhearted reply, Silas blinking as his drink was refilled along with Oscars, despite him not asking. It's fine, he'll nod in thanks to the bartender. Silas was constantly judged for his appearance and age was apart of that. It was assumed he couldn't possibly last in the Order, having started so young. Even though he'd endured the training and then so many years of being a Druid so far, it still hung over his head like an axe waiting to fall.
Only a matter of time. Silas will take another swig]
[If you were young and stubborn you could outlive anyone who was waiting for that axe. Whenever Oscar's own swung down, he intended for it to be standing on top of a pile of bodies of his doubters. His entire existence was a spiteful display.]
Hm, contented. I can't say I understand contented at all. [Therefore, he would always be seeking out trouble. He drums his fingertips against the table. They'd been covered in clay, fancy polish, various bodily fluids, and eventually blood as he sought out more and more trouble.]
Well, I'll try to keep my trouble clear of your peace. [another sip]
You're insatiable, that's why. Nothing in this realm or any other could keep you busy. [Silas huffs, but there's a hint of admiration in there. It's not like he'd say it outright, but Oscar's constant striving was always an inspiration for him. They got along because they shared a certain momentum, always striving through adversities, enduring what came their way. Silas wasn't sure if he would have made it through his druid training, without Oscar there, making him want to prove himself.
So spiteful, the both of them.... Silas smiles into his glass to joke]
[Oscar doesn't seem ashamed of that at all. Insatiable was hardly a negative trait, no matter how much trouble it got him into. Besides, it was the only state he'd ever lived in. He wouldn't know what to do with himself if he were ever more satisfied than this, here, chatting and drinking.]
[That vaguest amount of contentment does fade from his face when Silas brings up painting though.]
Painting is from outside this realm or any other. It's an otherworldly torment designed to waste the time of idiots. It couldn't keep me busy because it's such an abject waste of time.
See, that's another thing that draws my ire! [he points his finger while not letting go of his glass]
"Artist," refers to all manner of art! The idea that it's directly associated with that drivel of painting is offensive. Writing is art, intimacy is art, sculpture is art, you can't assume one's only dealing with horrible brush urchins each time art is mentioned.
[never mind the middle where he basically called fucking an art over painting]
[Silas nearly spits his drink again, swallowing before chuckling into his palm. He mouths the term "brush urchin" without actually saying it. Riling up Oscar did make him particularly funny and crass. Silas speaks hushed and laughingly outraged]
Intimacy as an art... surely not. [he scoffs, taking a swig of his booze as he looked to the bartender, who was lighting up a cigar. Silas, again it's so hard to tell if he does it on purpose, gives those sweet, fluttering piggy eye to the man. Silas gets handed a cigarette a moment later, grinning in gratitude. It would be rude of him to outright ask, but the tender was being so kind and thoughtful. Not at all taken with Silas' cute appearance. Nope.]
[Oscar is left to his grumbling for a while, hardly taking any extra offense at Silas' muffled giggling. He swirls his drink- before realizing he only has a cup to swirl and needs to get filled up again. He's rather drunk at this point, refreshingly.]
[He watches Silas flirt his way to another favor. He, at very least, waits for there to be a gap between the two before he comments.]
Oh, you've certainly gotten that down to an art, haven't you?
[no way, Oscar, he is so wise to this game. He purses his lips, unimpressed by the baiting. What would an evening with Oscar be without some verbal sparring. It's the only kind of push back he'll get from Silas.]
There is satisfaction, but no, I would not call that art. [he puffs some smoke]
For all your posturing, you do so often romanticize the world. [given that most Springtide romances are also tragedies, Silas thinks he's on point]
[Well, if Silas was an easy victim he wouldn't enjoy it so much!]
I'd go so far as to say satisfaction is an art! [he smiles, wide and clear]
I've spent most of my life perfecting it. [Ironically, perfecting the art of his own satisfaction had taken him through so many different hobbies and arts. It has also resulted in him being here in the first place.]
[Still, if Oscar hadn't done that, he probably never would have given Silas the time of day unless he was bleeding his guts out.]
Perfection such as that is surely unobtainable. A man like you could own the world and still want more. [Silas wouldn't stoke the man's ego by saying I wouldn't put that passed you, even though it was true. Oscar was a man of unbridled ambition, if he wasn't a member of the Springtide, chained to their traditions as much as he chose to be, well.... Silas wouldn't be surprised by anything he could do with so much drive.]
[The great maker gave Oscar a compulsive need for trouble and a very restrained society because otherwise, Oscar would hunt down the very maker and try to overthrow them.]
[It's a shame that such attention was given to him, while the pink lily pig boy was ignored. They should know where the real source of cute evil was in this world.]
Well, if I own nothing then technically I already own everything. [he smiles, wryly, at his circular logic.]
All things in this world are mine... as a druid, a loyal steward of nature.
You are positively ridiculous, Sir Oscar. [Silas says, stern and somehow adoring. It was as affectionate as he could be with his friend without setting him off. He may have added something, but his nose catches scent of the food arriving from the kitchen and he quickly takes in two, snorting breathes before swiveling his attention to the plates arriving. He'll thank the bartender profusely, not taking the time to bat his eyelashes, wanting too much to dig in as soon as was proper. When Silas is eating, he'd a very happy druid.]
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What he didn't care for was Oscar, inevitably, bringing in three broken up criminals at days end. Silas didn't even bother to start cleaning up towards the end of his shift. He knew the other Druid would skid in last second with an hours more work. This day was no different, but Silas will feign it for variety]
Earlier than usual, [by a hair] they must not have given you enough trouble.
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Oh, tell me about it. [he says, dramatically, his shoulders sagging as he holds onto the convoy of wounded rabble-rousers.]
It was hardly satisfying at all. Look! I have jitters! [he holds up his free hand and wiggles it]
One broke his hand against me and I barely felt it. [And one guy (with a broken hand) looks like he was really the more wounded one for that. Oscar isn't even looking at them, though. After all, if one were to try and escape and take a pot-shot at him, that would be delightful.]
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The break from it is a perked eyebrow and a casual offer]
If you have the jitters this late, you should get a drink. [meaning they should get a drink]
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Silas, you're a genius! [for knowing exactly what he wanted and giving him an excuse]
Truly, your calling is healing, you knew exactly what I needed. Can I trust you to help with the treatment?
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I suppose someone ought to keep an eye on you. It would irresponsible if I allowed you to go alone. [all these years and they've never run out of coy little ways to justify their barhopping]
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You're right! I might incite a riot. Offend someone's sensibilities. [or, with a dramatic whisper,] Have an affair with the bartender.
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Every single one in this city is wise to you.
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[Actually, no, it was hardly funny, that was normal.]
Ah, well. Could you imagine the fun I'd have if there were another city?
[He says it like it's some long, distant thought. To them, it was an impossibility. Then again, people had said him becoming a druid would be impossible, too.]
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Oscar hates paintings, he'd hate even that comparison. Silas scoffed again]
You'd overstay your welcome before even arriving.
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[But, right, it would be obnoxious, like changing out a pair of slightly too small clothing for slightly too loose. A proper clothing metaphor. Not something unsightly like painting. People who would use painting as a metaphor for anything but torture were impossible.]
I suppose I've built up too much of a reputation here to leave it. [If he left, they might try and pretend a criminal hadn't ever passed their stupid druid training. They might call it impossible again and try to gloss over his existence. No, no way.]
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The fisherman brought in a large catch today. You could see the ship overflowing from here. [this means Silas wants fish and chips]
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[Oscar's signature is remarkably flourished and fiddly. It takes several seconds to complete. Someone had made a comment about how it was inconvenient and he should change it, therefore guaranteeing he wouldn't. He'd love to be as tired as Silas but hell if he wanted to do any more paperwork. Paperwork didn't suit him. Healing didn't really suit him either. Doing work that wasn't his didn't suit him. If only hobbies that burned his energy quicker were more readily available!]
I wouldn't mind having a taste of that. [this means Oscar was down for fish and chips.]
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Seeing as I've already been kept late, [by certain people who like to tire him, perhaps out of some vicarious enjoyment in it] we should go with haste, then. Before I'm called upon by another emergency.
[which, given his waning energy, he wouldn't be much use in helping out with any way]
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[Now, Oscar would jump into a fight at any opportunity but that was more selfishly motivated. He desperately needed to feel worn down and some days his usual work just didn't cut it. Silas, though, he did it for others. He maybe did too much for others. That's why Oscar was here, to be selfish enough for both of them.]
With haste! [he chimes, circling around to start shoving the younger man out the door if need be]
After all, an emergency could happen any second. We must make sure the emergency isn't that the local tavern doesn't get enough coin.
[his lips quirk up from the usual, dry smile to something a bit more playful] And maybe a barfight.
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But, Oscar liked to break the rules. Any and all rules. He was a boundary pusher. Much in the way he was pushing Silas out the door and onto the streets, towards the pub on the riverside]
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I'm carrying a sack. [After all, admitting it was a bit too blatant. There was the fun in dancing around a rule, finding the exceptions or caveats to that rule.]
There may be something in that sack, I appear to have forgotten exactly what! You know, the memory fades after such a long day of work.
[He could use their walk down to the tavern as another excuse to silence Silas in regards to his rule breaking. After all, even when it was the two of them, he spoke of it in hushed whispers. Propriety could be such a good cover!]
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Goods you needed to confiscate from those rabble-rousers. You'll turn it into the Elder's as soon as you can, I'm assured.
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[He even put the burden of his own lying on other people, he was just that remarkably selfish.]
Oh, of course. The funniest thing is that then the elder will certainly hold onto it for confiscation. In their wisdom, I'm sure they'll know exactly what to do with these coins.
[in other words, they're full of bullshit about their own rules]
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You'll get your fill at the tavern without directly paying them.
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How diligent of you, Silas! [he claps his hands together with some show of excitement] I feel right like I'm back in one of those dreadfully boring lectures.
[Now, it wasn't as easy with the lectures as the physical training for the elders to try and make him quit. They found ways, though. They found ways to make studying horrid and he found ways to still study. The memory catches him for a moment and he looks distant. Then,]
If I doze off, will you strike my hand with a switch? [In a flash, back to giddy masochism that was as comfortable as a second skin to him.]
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To witness you getting some well deserved rest would be cause for celebration.
[a beat]
Perhaps you would gripe less.
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You underestimate my ability to uncover new gripes, Silas. [he gestures to the bartender: something strong.] Vastly.
Anyways, you can't stop me from hoping even if you are too much of a piglet to ever smack me properly. We can all have our mild fantasies. [Again, it's more the allure of Silas, so unsuited, doing it that's exciting rather than the actual hit.]
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Silas thanks the tender with a nod and a soft smile.]
I've not known you to be mild about anything. You are a man of extremes, in all directions, Sir Oscar. [and cheers to that, he thinks, raising his glass and tossing back what is practically acid. Mmmnn, pretty good stuff. This tavern should be a regular joint for them...]
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[The more it seemed like he shouldn't have something, the more he wanted it.]
I'd argue I'm the type for under or overstatement, though. [So calling it mild was simply much more characteristic of him than being mild himself. Or this was just another step in being contrary.] That's an extreme I'm certainly aligned to.
If you'd like, I could call them raucous fantasies.
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He swallows nothing, before reaching for his glass, tapping it to be refilled. The bartender comments they should eat some food with that and Silas agrees softly, giving those sweet doe eyes of his to the man, who huffs and asks what they'd like. Silas is quick to answer with the previously discussed fish and chips. Nothing fancy, just filling and greasy. Just what he needs at the end of a long day and with Oscar's pestering.]
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[Oscar nurses his drink a bit more slowly, letting the sensation more work its way into his bloodstream. He needed to savor any heaviness the sensation of drunkenness gave him. There's a small laugh, a dark chuckle, at Silas giving doe eyes- piggy eyes- at the bartender. The boy was flirting without even realizing it. Or, if he did realize it, that was part of the charm. Oscar will raise a hand to also get a serving.]
You could be in anyone's fantasies, you know. Someone might go home and write their own version of the saucy druid for you. [he grins, nudging the other with his elbow. Silas did always hate that slutty druid trope. Oscar just leaned into it when he could.]
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Literally always a mistake, coughing on the harsh alcohol.]
O... Oscar! Sir Oscar, please, you're too outrageous. As if anybody could think such of me, of all people. I wonder how that da-- that trope even existed before you came along... [he didn't say damned, he caught it, you damned bastard]
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You said it yourself, Silas, I'm a man of extremes! [he leans back in his seat a little and he'll kick his feet if given the room. It's an almost giddy amount of energy that should truly chafe against Silas' own tiredness. It was a curse but a sometimes enviable curse.]
As much as they didn't want a traitor in their midst, someone must have acted in a way to set that ablaze. I'm hardly the worst person that's become a druid. [He was the best worst person. There was a difference.]
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While Silas is mulling over history, a few more people are arriving in the bar. At least one whistles at them, specifically winking to Oscar. It wasn't uncommon, given the other Druid's reputation. Silas grumbles, grimly,] .... an acquaintance of yours?
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[His eye is drawn upon hearing the whistle and he purses his lips, the faintest appearance of a blown kiss as he waves. Silas grumbles and Oscar turns back to him, with a faint smile still on his lips.]
Never met him. [he says, taking another drink. It's impossible to tell if he's playing or or being sincere. He had a reputation, after all, and he'd never want to disappoint his reputation for something as minor as not actually knowing a person's name.]
[And, well, if they had rolled around in the metaphorical thicket Silas would grumble more.]
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It's an exercise in wits, you know. [now he's ready to tap his glass and get the bartender to fill him up again. His own brief lick of the lips wasn't as well-received. Guess piggy was more of this guy's type. Tragic!]
You're still too fresh but as you get older you're going to have to do something to keep your mind young.
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Only a matter of time. Silas will take another swig]
I'm contented as I am, no need for trouble.
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Hm, contented. I can't say I understand contented at all. [Therefore, he would always be seeking out trouble. He drums his fingertips against the table. They'd been covered in clay, fancy polish, various bodily fluids, and eventually blood as he sought out more and more trouble.]
Well, I'll try to keep my trouble clear of your peace. [another sip]
Mostly.
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So spiteful, the both of them.... Silas smiles into his glass to joke]
Except painting.
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[That vaguest amount of contentment does fade from his face when Silas brings up painting though.]
Painting is from outside this realm or any other. It's an otherworldly torment designed to waste the time of idiots. It couldn't keep me busy because it's such an abject waste of time.
[and he shotguns back the rest of his drink]
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Mmn, though. Funny, that! Given the Springtide Renaissance is mostly remembered for it's artists.
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"Artist," refers to all manner of art! The idea that it's directly associated with that drivel of painting is offensive. Writing is art, intimacy is art, sculpture is art, you can't assume one's only dealing with horrible brush urchins each time art is mentioned.
[never mind the middle where he basically called fucking an art over painting]
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Intimacy as an art... surely not. [he scoffs, taking a swig of his booze as he looked to the bartender, who was lighting up a cigar. Silas, again it's so hard to tell if he does it on purpose, gives those sweet, fluttering piggy eye to the man. Silas gets handed a cigarette a moment later, grinning in gratitude. It would be rude of him to outright ask, but the tender was being so kind and thoughtful. Not at all taken with Silas' cute appearance. Nope.]
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[He watches Silas flirt his way to another favor. He, at very least, waits for there to be a gap between the two before he comments.]
Oh, you've certainly gotten that down to an art, haven't you?
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I don't know what you mean. I'm no artist. [he puffs]
C, certainly not by your definition.
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Is there not art in a well done job? [He rephrases it, surely intended to get Silas to agree to something less embarrassing and then swing it back.]
A bone can be set one way or another but there is certainly a better way to do it and that, I would argue, is an art as well.
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There is satisfaction, but no, I would not call that art. [he puffs some smoke]
For all your posturing, you do so often romanticize the world. [given that most Springtide romances are also tragedies, Silas thinks he's on point]
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I'd go so far as to say satisfaction is an art! [he smiles, wide and clear]
I've spent most of my life perfecting it. [Ironically, perfecting the art of his own satisfaction had taken him through so many different hobbies and arts. It has also resulted in him being here in the first place.]
[Still, if Oscar hadn't done that, he probably never would have given Silas the time of day unless he was bleeding his guts out.]
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[It's a shame that such attention was given to him, while the pink lily pig boy was ignored. They should know where the real source of cute evil was in this world.]
Well, if I own nothing then technically I already own everything. [he smiles, wryly, at his circular logic.]
All things in this world are mine... as a druid, a loyal steward of nature.
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