tolpen | An Encounter in the Veilgarden, 24th of June

Current Location: the Veilgarden

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An Encounter in the Veilgarden, 24th of June

The lights are still bright and the crowds bustle - although for the Veilgarden, this is fairly low traffic. The air is thick with the wine of yesternight, honey, and a mixture of perfumes.
The Soft-Eyed Mycologist is stalking- no not, stalking, he is loitering on the edge of the area. Biding his time. Waiting. He has a pocket watch. He doesn't check it, not even once.
Unlike earlier today, he is not wearing light blue nor teal. The tailcoat is true apocyan and so are the trousers. The waistcoat is silver and white. There is a lapel pin in the shape of a cross, and there is a pair of comfortable yet dashing shoes. They click audibly on the cobblestones and the occasional spark betrays that the soles are reinforced with steel.
Wherein one would expect him to carry a walking stick, all he holds is a parcel of a modest size, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a piece of twine. It doesn't appear to be heavy.

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Upon hearing that the Professor can't help but burst in laughter, holding the Mycologist a little bit closer in the meantime.

"Oh dear, you have no idea how pleased I am." A devilish fanged grin answers, their slitted pupils becoming sharper to match his. "And you like it? I can see that, you're getting the catch pretty fast. So now-" The Professor aims for a spin, giving a subtle hint with their tail before commiting to the movement and see how the Mycologist responds.

"We can continue escalating... Start moving around the ballroom, getting bolder with our stops, closer in the grip... Or looser, to allow for more flourish?" A change of pace, again using the tail as indicator to where to turn, or the movement that comes afterwards. "What about we just see where the music brings us?" The Professor's wide hips feeling the rythm and getting a bit bolder in the steps. The Mycologist is enjoying? Let's see how far~

OOC(You have no right to make me burst in laughter like that. Also, tango? Yes, why not~)

At the clue, the Mycologist spins around like a record, letting the momentum to bring him closer to the Professor before he unwinds in the opposite direction to give their feet some space.
He is picking up the steps very quickly - it is obvious he knows some of them, simply not at this pace.

"Well I suppose that depends: Dost thou prefer to charm the entire hall to envy us each other, or art thou more fond of a private entertainment?"

Somewhere, somehow, several dancers have noticed them already, and are now making their own attempts at samba. Some are better than the others. A bohemian dancer of a certain sway even persuades the director of this evening for a change of music to something more fitting.

"I personally am leaning towards the first." This grin is outright mean. Yet beautiful. These are certainly human teeth, but the lips pull far too back.
"But 'tis thy night and thy dance. Thus thy choice as well."

Knowing they're with an outright professional, most likely better at the dance floor than them, the Professor matches with a grin of their own, less mean but definitely wider, holding the Mycologist close for a moment to whisper their answer.

"Why don't you start leading now? Let's Make some Waves~" Teasing, wanting to see that hinted beast take over the dance floor. And hoping to survive it as well. Their own movements trying to lure that beast out. Now their trail is getting in the middle of the dancers, yet careful enough not to hit anyone. That lack of consideration would simply not do well to the show.

OOC(Very fitting indeed. Hurray for the devilish inclinations)

Is the Mycologist comfortable taking lead in a dance he's known for, what twenty minutes? Not in the slightest. Is that going to stop him? The current hypothesis is that no.
In all truth, the most difficult task is to keep out of the way of everyone else.

Step, step, spin, step, switch (pause? Why does this dance come with pauses in it?), step. His steel-soled shoes do not make an outright racket on the parquet, but they certainly make up for what the drummer up on the podium is lacking.

A young pair, still figuring out the base steps, jumps to the corner when it notices the Professor and the Mycologist approaching. Surely the Mycologist hasn't led them across the entire dancefloor here on purpose. Just to do this?
"Share a though with me: What would Darwin say of the dancing floor?"

The Professor lets the Mycologist have his fun. There's such an allure in the way he moves, the cause of which is confirmed with that last sentence, that made their forked tongue flick as if to prevent outright laughter. If the Professor saw him truly out of his element would take the lead again, but right now this is exactly the desired outcome and fantastically performed. Even if there are some collateral damages...

"You know how the saying goes, dear..." taking advantage of a rather bold change of pace, the Professor lets themself "fall" in the right angle for the Mycologist to grab without even breaking the song's timing, was he so inclined. In that case, the answer would be:

"Adapt or die~" with a delighted fanged smile.

What an amazing body body to work with. The Mycologist catches the Professor on his forearm a few centimetres above the floor. It is a move feline in its nature - quick, efficient, yet aimed to dazzle anyone looking. He pulls them back up in one fluid motion, betraying that under the soft fabric are trained muscles... and a considerable knowledge of physics.

They are so close to each other now. The Mycologist hasn't stopped smiling since the dance began, but now he has to make a pause to wet his lips. His tongue stretches perhaps a little too far.
"How fortunate for them that death avoids humans in the Neath, then," he murmurs, and there it is a gain, the little pleased purr in his voice. This close, chest to chest, it can be felt reverberating under his ribs.

He then offers, in this momentarily pause: "Drinks?"

After the masterful movement, the Professor stopped for a few moments, basking in the closeness to the Mycologist. Soon after their breathing joins his, as it had stopped entirely. That smile, oh that echo in the voice...

"That would be lovely." They finally answer, regaining a somewhat composed line of thought, their eyes showing how enjoyable the experience was... Or still is?

He blinks, slowly, once, twice. A deliberate lapse in the guard held, the attention to surroundings paid.
"Marvellous," he beams.

When the dance concludes, he steers them both in the direction of the bar. It would be poetic if the crowd parted for them like a sea before a prophet. Alas, once the spectacle of dance is over, no one really pays them any attention beyond trying to find perhaps a new person to dance with.

"What is thy poison of choice?" the Mycologist eyes the bottles displayed.

The people may not part for the couple, ungrateful as they are, but the Professor won't let anyone stop them from their set path, and luckily no one does.

Once at the bar, the Professor looks intently, eyes bright upon finding what they were looking for. "Ah! Solacefruit sorbet, perfect for the heat, twice as good when shared in delightful company. Don't you think?"

A playful flick of the tail, letting it rest right next the Mycologist, while the eyes of the Professor don't leave him after confirming their choice's availability.

"The sorbet is a good idea," he agrees. So two solacefruit sorbets and a glass of water it is. The Mycologist pays, even leaves a good tip as an apology of half of the coins not being the Bazaar currency. Mostly it is surface, some are Roofward stuivers. No scrips; bad to have those plainly in one's pocket.

He empties the glass of water first and leaves it on the counter. Sherbet in one hand the other not-so-sneakily around the Professor's waist, he makes way to an emptier corner of the hall.

"To joy," he raises his sorbet.

The Professor notices the choice of coin, and specially that they've been invited. Oh well, next time it'll be. But now there's a drink on their hand, a hand on their waist, and such a shame would be not to employ the other hand on the Mycologist's waist in return as they go, it being so easy to seek his closeness...

"And to more experiences like this." Completing the toast with a joyful smile indeed.

The Mycologist accepts the toast with laughter of delight and emptying his glass halfway. It stains his lips a deep red.
He leans on the Professor, enjoying the touch. "Absolutely. I'll be delighted to repeat this some night in the near future with thee again."

The Professor drinks and embraces the leaning Mycologist, practically wrapping him in one arm (and probably tail) while the other holds the glass. Their expression is warm, peaceful.

"That'll be delightful, but there's no need for this night to end yet, if you're so inclined. One advantage of the Neath is that sunrise only comes when you believe it so..."

He reaches out- Hang on, this arm is already in use in this embrace. He reaches his other- The Mycologist finishes his sorbet, deposits the glass, and finally gets to run his fingers along the scales of the tail.

"I've said no thing about endings." He waits for a moment, and then begins: "If thou art amenable..." His voice trails off with a smile.

The whole of the Professor leans to the Mycologist's touch, an act that battles endlessly with the Professor keeping close as much of the Mycologist as possible. The only possible result of that clash of forces is a perfect embrace, capable of forming a little personal world for them, outside of which only the brightest stars could be hinted...

"Amenable?" Starting now to softly caress within the embrace, wondering just how much intimacy the Mycologist enjoyed between them both, wishing it is the same as them. "You'll be bestowing me a great favour."

If the way the man melts into the gentle touches is any indication, it is safe to assume that not only does the Mycology enjoys extensive intimacy but has has been expecting it for... some time.

There is no word more dignified yet fitting to describe the Mycologist's current approach than 'snuggling'.

"Perhaps," he drawls out the R in a most un-English manner, "we might seek a place more secluded from prying eyes. Unless, of course, thy artn't done dancing yet. I can hardly refuse thee that."

Seeing how they enjoy the Professor can't help but continue snuggling their dance partner, always happy to help, specially in those matters.

"I'd say we already saw each other dance, and the Veilgarden won't go anywhere so we'll have as many chances to repeat as we want..." the almost-velvety scales on their palms having reached the Mycologist's neck, starting with gentle rubs, hinting to a future massage.

"Therefore we can continue to extend our mutual knowledge in different scenarios..." spoken in a low tone, the suppressed hissing in their voice being more apparent this close, or this comfortable.

That was true. The Veilgarden, while subject to the Treachery of Maps, would probably not sprout legs and walk away entirely. Even if it did, there were other places where dancing could be conducted.

"Then by all means, lead the way my dear," the Mycologist purrs back. "Tonight I am all thine."

Would it be easier to simply invite the Professor to his own lodgings? Well, if they wouldn't mind that there isn't a bed to speak of... nor a sofa with enough space, then yes.

"All mine?" They relished the feeling of that wording on their lips. "Very well then. As you asked for seclusion, I can assure you my lodgings are free of preeing eyes-" they had to stop there, blinking away a thought. "But those of my beloved spindlewolf, yet she doesn't take as much interest in my affairs than in other people's so we should be safe."

After dismissing a fond chuckle, the Professor accommodated more of the Mycologist close to them. "Shall we?"

He presses a ghost of a kiss below the Professor's ear. The Mycologist has to stand up to his tippy toes to do so. His lips are still a little cold from the drink.

"Most excellent. We shall then." He hangs himself very decoratively on their arm.
"Spindlewolves are fine by me. They rarely tattle."

The pleasant lingering sensation or the Mycologist's cold lips already had the Professor wanting more. Soon enough.

"All perfect then, we can go by foot. The Treachery left a very convenient shortcut around here..."

On their way out, closely held on each other's arm, the Professor grabs their cane and starts the stroll. It's only around the equivalent to three streets long, but at the end of the first street they have to do two and a half clockwise turns around a statue, walk the next street and, as they will end up on the same street, walk it again backwards. Then they reach a place not far from the Observatory at Watchmaker's, the target being a somewhat baroque, early georgian two-story house illogically placed on the top of a hill, overlooking London from one balcony and the Unterzee from the other.

"The Fall wasn't kind on this house, probably because it didn't fit with the neighboring architecture. No one claimed it before my husband and I did, and needed extensive renovation but here it is now."

They explain while opening the front door, leading to an austere yet comfortable drawing room. It seems all the budget went to sturdy walls and stable floors and ceilings rather than expensive furniture, and then research ate any further income.

As they stepped in a fully brachiating spindlewolf came excitedly to greet the couple, running all over the wall. After a few delicate headpats from the Professor (minding the eyes, there's too many to find an easy angle) and sniffing interested at the Mycologist, the pet retreated deeper into the house.

"And that's my dear Noa, the fluffiest chitin-skinned beast you'll know."

Edited 2025-07-01 11:24 (UTC)

"What a wonderful view you both must have here," the Mycologist notes. "Almost and observatory of one's own." He shoots an appreciative look towards the windows and balconies.

He steels himself as he steps over the threshold. Eyes closed for a moment, a deep breath taken. He steadies himself on the door-frame, and opens his eyes only once he has both his feet safely inside.

"Hello, Noa," the Mycologist smiles at the beast. This is not his first spindlewolf, that much is apparent by the lack of hesitation to offering his hand for a sniff.
"Oh, do excuse me, of course I brought a gift for the caretaker of the premise. Pardon me, my dear," the man extracts himself from the Professor's embrace, and from the inner pocket of his attire (How many pockets does this tailcoat even have?) he produces a strip of dried meat, wrapped in brown paper.
He offers the snack to Noa, the Beuatiful Spindlewolf.
He looks sheepishly back at the Professor: "Worry not. 'Tis unsalted. Procured it myself, the animal spoke not."

The Beautiful Spindlewolf was the first to notice the treat, promptly sniffing it then grabbing it with the finesse of a great lady and eating it slowly, deliberatedly, as if to get all the flavor of it. Once finished she looks for something else a little while on the Mycologist's hand. This not being the case, she shows gratitude by nuzzling that hand gently, turning around him very close to his legs and angling her furred yet too-articulated tail as if to dust the Mycologist while at it, then tip-toeing her way around the house.

The Professor smiled deeply pleased. "Ah, now she'll be loving you more than me. Thank you." They said sincerely while holding his hand, appreciating specially people treating so well the animals, specially their own specialest girl.

"And the view is definitely worth any price, I assure you. There's a moment at night when the Moon-Misers get the most luminous, and the false-constellations so easy to identify... We could get a good look at it."

After a brief thoughtful pause, the Professor asked softly. "Is there something that troubled you in the threshold?"

The jeky in question was a zee-fish, untouched by peligin.

"Oh please, I do not think she will remember me, unless I visit often. She knows thee as the Purveyor of Daily Meals, whereas I merely try to get into her good graces."

He pauses for a moment, and then a very soft, very nostalgic kind of smile crowns his features: "Thy knowst, not many call them Moon-Misers. But of course, thy'st been to the Roof. You had to see them up close. Wonderful beasts, aren't they? The Creator truly loves the beetles the most out of all that came from his graceful hands."
He looks aside, and then he says: "Perhaps we can glim-gaze some other time. It'd be most unbecoming of me to think of another while with thee, and I'd be not able to help myself."

A humourless chuckle. "Ah, I hoped it would escape thy notice. A threshold once crossed can never be uncrossed. I sometimes get stuck on such little things."

The Professor nods, empathizing all too much with the feeling. "Of course, dear. And I thank you for the consideration."

"About that... Maybe I can make certain you'll be happy to have this new threshold behind your shadow. No choice can be unmade, but that doesn't mean they have to be regretted..."

That being said, the Professor lead the Mycologist to the parlor, indicating him to sit on a surprisingly soft if simple sofa, then disappeared for a short while. Once they return they bring a tray with a jar and two glasses of some liquid, the color of creamy milk, but cold, with a slushy texture. They leave it in the coffee table in front of the sofa and sit down next to the Mycologist, confident he will enjoy the closeness.

"May I offer you orxata? Made entirely of chufas from the Surface. It's a priced treasure, thus made even better when shared." Serving the two glasses then offering the Mycologist his, and drinking a bit of their own before once again holding the Mycologist with both arms.

An Encounter in the Veilgarden, 24th of June

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