nowhere to be and everywhere to go [open]

[Nymeth]

Donning an old pair of slacks (if you could call them that -- they just barely reached her mid-calf) and a very boxy, loose white tank top, Nymeth had attempted to enter Sabrina's. She still wore her helm, the feathers standing strongly from the back after a fresh cleaning. Her iron belt was also about her waist, though she only carried one (old) sword in one of the sheaths. She had limited options in footwear, and so her war boots saw almost as much complacency as they did action.

Today, however, had turned out to not be so complacent. Sabrina's was ringing with some kind of tussle when Nymeth arrived. Mathias was calmly perched on her shoulder, observing the fervor of fae with what could only be interpreted as disdain. No sooner had she entered the cottage did she find herself heading right out.

And right into some rough man's shoulder.

She stepped back without a word and observed him. This was a sidhe she had not seen before. "Apologies," she grunted, leaving him to either dismiss her or scold her. Not that she'd listen to either. Nymeth was not one for politics and formalities, but she liked enemies even less. Not all sidhe were so judgmental or quick to abuse their blood rights, but the valkyrie were not the kind to coax the bear from his cave, whether they feared him or not.

And Nymeth rarely feared anything.

[Murdoch]

He was headed for the palace. Although Murdoch's attire was more haphazard than usual -- jeans and a dark grey dress shirt, left untucked – he carried himself with an easy confidence that drew the attention of many passing faerie. To his left stood a stone building that had been built into the trunk of a tree, and he was on his way past it when the door opened and someone walked right into him.

Murdoch barely glanced at the offending nimbus. "Waste of a good pair of eyes," he said, and though this was presumably directed at Nymeth, he seemed more interested in the large canine that had gone to sit in front of him when he stopped. "Finnian," he tried, ignoring the stranger. "Nolan." Another pause. "Shay." The dingo thumped its tail on the ground once. He reached down and scratched it behind its ear. "You'll hunt with me, won't you, Shay?"

It was at this point that Murdoch finally looked at Nymeth, really looked at her, his gaze lingering over her speculatively. He was silent for a moment. Then--

"Not bad for a nimbus bitch," he said without very much inflection at all, though it was still unclear whether he was speaking to her or the dingo, as Shay was now also watching her with a single-minded, predatory focus. "Especially the eyes--" He brushed his fingers over the hilt of his knife, a distracted motion that seemed out of place compared to his previous stillness. "--which you don't seem to be using."

[Nymeth]

The man did not seem altogether... stable. Nymeth wasn't sure how to analyze him or how to predict his possible actions. That was alright -- she had been at a loss before. It was not something with which she was unfamiliar. I only hope there is something that will be surprising, eventually.

"I use my eyes at my own leisure," she said, monotone and calm. A man like this -- a sidhe like this would likely only take pleasure in her discomfort, and had she any, she would have had hidden it. He had no right to be so critical... but perhaps his blood made him think he did, and for that ignorance she found some pity. "I'm not so bad at anything, for what I am." Nymeth turned to him, locking those blue eyes of hers with those blue eyes of his. His eyes betrayed him -- they were light, dulled, even soft if you looked closely. What an engima, she thought briefly.

Staring him down, Nym caught his hand in her peripheral. Instinctively, her hand fell to her own hilt. Her body stiffened, her chest tightened, and her breath slowed. Eyes sparking blue lightning, she held her ground with an air of nonchalance.

[Murdoch]

For all his indifference, Murdoch was a reasonably predictable man: he seldom wavered, he valued not much other than himself, and he cared not at all about the differences in people that others tended to see. He considered everyone fair game -- and this nimbus was no exception. Though he spared little consideration for her feelings, it crossed his mind that he did not know her place in this strange land. It wasn't that he thought the risks too great, but rather that he couldn't even begin to calculate them until he learned more.

As focused as he was on this other faerie, Murdoch couldn't fail to miss her shift in attention. He smiled -- a thin-lipped, crooked and not entirely reassuring perversion of his usual expression -- and deliberately moved his own hand away from his knife. Besides, this fair-haired fae, with her cool composure and pretty blue eyes, intrigued him. He doubted she would play very nicely if he tried to take them from her so early in the game.

"And what," he said, cold as the touch of a blade in the winter, "are you?"

[Nymeth]

This rough man's chilled, sharp demeanor was a strange contrast to the warmth and softness that Nymeth was more familiar with, that of smooth alcohols and old friends -- even if only the liquor had been present for the last handful of decades. The ruggedness around his icy edges was, at least, one trait that they shared, although her roughness may have been more worn with age and enveloped a bright ferocity by comparison.

"I am many things, I suppose," she chuckled, one brow quirked with curiosity. His hand moved away from his knife, but she stayed hers, casual and loose. Something of a smirk jagged across her soft face, an earthquake breaking through an amber-colored valley. She knew these type of men, the kind that welcomed confrontation when it came to their front door, the kind that kept an eye out for it, but did not go blazing in to a tavern blindly hoping for a thug to punch him in the face. No, he was too refined for that, too subtle and poised.

With a polite nod, she turned to leave. "As I am sure you are, as well." She did not move quickly. Predatory animals -- large cats, raptors, wild dogs -- were more like to follow and pounce when they knew their prey was hoping to scurry away. Whether predators did this just to spite their targets, it was unclear. Mathias puffed his chest and settled in to himself, nocturnal eyes drooping shut.

[Murdoch]

Here was an unusual one, Murdoch thought, noting how the nimbus kept her hand near her weapon -- wary, yes, but in no hurry to get away from him. She seemed like someone who refused to rise to adolescent taunts, smiling even as others challenged her. Her relaxed manner seemed more the confidence of a fighter than the naïveté of a child, and though it would never occur to him to ever mention it, he was fascinated by this female.

Next to him, Shay gave a short bark, snapping at the other faerie as if warning her away, but Murdoch stayed him with a brief gesture. He would have words with this nimbus who was many things.

"No," he said as she turned to leave, tracking her movements with eerie calm, "I am not. One or two things at most, perhaps." He waited half a beat and then added, "What is your name, nimbus?"

[Nymeth]

This was peculiar, if not mildly unexpected. Still, Nymeth turned back to face him, squaring her eyes with his once again, no sign of submission or fear. Mathias did not seem entirely pleased by this and stirred awake. He fluffed and moved along her shoulders restlessly, occasionally pecking gently but irritably at her hair or the feathers from her helmet. She did not bother with him.

When she told the man her name -- "I am Nymeth," -- her voice rang like golden bells in mountain caverns and the sky threatened to part, as if her sisters would come gliding down on horseback with their spears to herald her. Her shining hair threw back across her muscled, stormy shoulders. Her eyes buzzed with electricity.

"It is not so easy to only be even two things," she told him, now removing her hand from her weapon. Her arms hang by her sides casually, but they were ready. "Being only one sounds mighty difficult, if not impossible. You are a man, yes? You are also a sidhe, and a member of the Seelie Court. That's three right there. I'm sure you are also a fighter or warrior, and plenty of other things." Nymeth sounded maternal in her explanation without any suggestion of inferiority on his part.

[Murdoch]

There was something of this nimbus that resembled a storm. Murdoch saw it in her eyes and demeanor, in the calmness that could not be mistaken for subservience, but he did not dwell on this observation. Vigilance wasn't conditional -- it wasn't something to be used or abandoned according to circumstance. The way he focused his attention on her was no different from the way he did anything: with quiet purpose.

"Murdoch," he said in return, and though no other words accompanied his name, none were needed; nor did he proclaim it proudly for the world to hear, or adorn it for the purpose of reaching others' ears. Formalities were best saved for the high court. For the moment, just the one word was enough.

"Most things can be broken into smaller pieces," Murdoch continued. His choice of words was no accident, and he meant exactly that: broken. He did not consider these pieces to be the things, as such. To him, people with their parts were more the shards of seven years' misfortune than the variables of an equation. And yet he offered no further explanation, content to let their differences settle like dust freed from the clutches of the wind.

[Nymeth]

"As much as everything is made up of smaller pieces," Nymeth pointed out. "Glass half empty, glass half full." She ignored any emphasis on the word broken -- if he meant to imply something of his character in that regard, she would have none of it. Nymeth was not a pitying type, nor was she the type to engage in chasing games. If you needed her support, you best be direct about it; passive-aggressive behavior was the quickest way to get on her bad side.

But his intentions were unclear, it was irrelevant, she brushed it off.

Matthias cooed and hopped to the edge of her shoulder. Without a thought, Nymeth extended her arm and the owl slid down to her wrist, where she let him perch after readjusting her arm. His eyes were wide and critical now, watching the dog with some semblance of disgust.

The air had a strange stillness to it. Something about this whole... exchange left an odd feeling in the atmosphere; something stiff or stale. But this sidhe -- Murdoch, he seemed to have some intention, some reason for continuing to talk to her, although they had had several opportunities for them to part. Nymeth did not know why, and although it did not bother her particularly, it was curious. He did not seem the type. Then again, how can one ever really know? It hardly mattered.