#❖ location: borderlands. / iskaldrik.

[casimirnoctis]

His eyes flickered up to hers, "Conflict at the border of Astoria only ended a rough decade ago," Casimir wouldn't judge her too harshly for certain facts of Lysara; she was an Iskaran and the mountains had clearly been her home for the past few years, plus being shielded by Ivar was likely a huge disadvantage for her as well. "But," his tongue clicked shaking his head; Juneau was correct in the notion that it was often the rehashing of old wounds, that which had been unable to heal through the rigorous restarts of generations culminated. This, however, had been a war that his mother never once let extinguish and he was one of many heirs who'd been meant to endure the idea of dying under the blanket of stars that celebrated the dragon Lusacan.

"-No, this is about the Cataclysm, really. My mother just won't let it go and I'd love to be generations separated to where I don't know the intricate details, but... " Casimir waved a hand, perhaps one day if he saw the little blonde grifter again, he'd go into each exhausting detail, but for now that was enough for her to consider and digest.

He watched as a sort of simulation of the five stages of grief crossed the threshold of Juneau's countenance and though he had a frangible sense of smugness cloud his smile, Casimir was further affirmed in what he saw in her based off her inevitably verbal reaction. He was relaxed, surrounded by two literal predators, but he'd his own predatory strikes, though the most important factor was that, to himself, he needn't consider the girl a threat. She choked herself on her own fabricated leash. something that was situated and wound so tightly around that bundle of anger issues named Ivar that it became this mobius strip of tragic codependency.

Casimir tried to ignore it the entirety of their little journey, but it'd become impossible as Ivar seemed to view her less as an independent being and more as a possession. Casimir owed little to Juneau, but he'd seen his own siblings be indoctrinated into the violence of another, how their mother padded them with the perpetual churn of tired wars; what separated them from Juneau, however, was that the light in her eyes was being stripped slowly away and he'd not be an accomplice in that. He hummed idly, "This is just my face."

“Aren’t all wars before our time?” she asked, lifting a brow. She found conflict to be relatively pointless, but unavoidable all the same. Even the longest, hardest-fought wars never brought much permanence in the change they supposedly inspired–just the heavy-handed enforcement of the pedagogy of the winning party and the slow, festering ire of the losing side. Until the next war, that was. “It never seems like the conflicts are original–they’re just the cyclical rehashing of old wounds… generational inheritances, as you say, so old history can’t trace them back to whatever the first slight at the heart of the conflict even was.”  She shrugged her shoulders, thinking him wise to walk away from his station if that were what he found to be the most compelling reason.

Juneau shifted where she sat, her body language changing and becoming more angled and tense as he took in her form in all of its various and minute details. Her facial expression changed. But it wasn’t a demure shrinking away from him, it was a stone-faced, headstrong look that let him know that her resistance to it wasn’t because she felt he shouldn’t, but because she had no desire to allow him that level of access to her. She didn’t seem to like his question any more than his method of appraisal, and so she did not answer him. Casimir clearly knew the answer anyhow, though it was doubtful that he understood just how little she assessed herself to be worthy of. 

Regardless of the supposed abundance of contracts, she worried she didn’t have the mettle to make it very far on her own. Someone with more years of experience might have pointed out to her that she’d brought herself up from someone very small through many years of negligence before she met Ivar and the skills she had learned under his overly critical, overly watchful eye would not dissipate once she found herself at a distance from him. The idea of leaving him behind was a breath of fresh air and suffocating all at once, and the fear of alone clung to her like a small child’s irrational, paralyzing anxieties about the dark.

The idea of running from Yggdrasildal’s finest hadn’t crossed her mind until he mentioned it. They didn’t strike her as much of a threat–she was good at looking unassuming and slipping by when it was necessary and to the best of her knowledge her face was still an unknown one amongst the rogues gallery of wanted smugglers. But the fact that Casimir read meaning into her statement where she truly wished she hadn’t concerned her grievously. Despite all of his, even if the dhampir walked across the fire ring between them, took her face in his hands, and forced her eyes open to reality, she would refuse to see it. Not on this night, not for many nights to come. “You ought to fix the look on your face,” she advised him coldly.

[valshirathelight]

Date: FLASHBACK maybe a month ago Locations: Outside HER inn, you know whose <3, Eterna Characters: @jamieprice & @valshirathelight Notes: It's giving the scene that's in every fantasy movie ever

Val'shira had given the mercenary next to nothing, she knew that. She was well aware that her asking to meet him this early into the investigation would likely give her nothing new to go on in her search. Nevertheless, Val'shira was desperate to bring something with her to the Borderlands. On the off chance that some miracle had given Jamie any information whatsoever on her sister Mir'solas, and therefore her child, Val'shira called upon the strigoi mercenary anyway. Thus far, all that was known was that Mir'solas had been in Iskaldrik when she died.

As the rain poured outside, the elve entered the inn and beelined towards the table that he sat at. She pulled down her hood and spoke before even sitting down. "Anything?" She asked immediately, moving to finally sit across Jamie. "Any records at least?"

[casimirnoctis]

Casimir waved a hand, the action proved dismissive of the question, but the dhampir gathered the bare bones of any sufficient retort, "I don't wish to fight for wars that are long before my time." It would be difficult to explain the intricacies to Juneau in the time they had, nor did he feel it'd do any good; Lusacan, the Church of Night, his horrid uncle who was currently locked away in the Tower and the war Valerius attempted to instill upon Eterna, his fanatical mother who was Thee Vampire Queen. Really, it'd just be an overwhelming story that was chock full of too much personal details; being this shadow grifter was a much more important image for him to uphold with Juneau.

Casimir assessed her quietly, blood red hues panning over the entirety of her person as though indulging on each subtlety; the rise and fall of her chest, any uptick in her heartrate, the narrowing of her gaze. The dhampir abstained from laughing, merely shaking his head as a suitable action, "Have you never been offered anything merely because-" The question was redundant for Casimir had already presumed that was certainly not the case for Juneau; she was one who had to kneel within the muck and grime, use her teeth and claws to obtain anything she felt deserving of. A shrug is produced next, she needn't know the pathways Casimir had carved for himself in the frigid waste of a kingdom, but he'd wrought something out of nothing and was silently proud of such feat. "There's always a contract to cash in on, chances are I'll see you around," he didn't want to freak her out by saying he often cruised the city as a raven and would likely see her if she'd take the leap; baby steps and all that.

Casimir says little on her lack of trust - it's something any seasoned person in this field would respect and recognize, he can't hold that against her nor protest her reasoning. "Within the cisterns you'll find a tavern; that will take you to Loki's statue," Casimir reaffirms the location, it'd be hard to miss but he could sense her mild hesitancy towards the idea and hoped that a well-established route would warm her to the entire design of it all. He's amused at how Juneau tells on everything they both did not speak of; the elephant in the room that was Ivar. The dhampir's lips purse and his brows knit together, "No, from Yggdrasildal's law enforcement." Casimir makes a very I-told-you-so face as though he'd said anything to the contrary about Ivar and his temper.

Juneau did not shrink away from Casimir’s eye as he elaborated on his personhood, the reputation he seemed to assume must have proceeded him. The young wolf rejected authority to the point that she never took the time to learn significant names or circumstances–only enough to voice her disdain for the concept of such power and to relish in the way she defied the ruling class by smuggling those they would target with their cruelty to kinder lands. “And how did that come to be?” she asked, a brow quirking. The question was devoid of judgment, but she was certain there was a story there. The degree of his willingness to share it was to be foreseen. 

If it wasn’t about utilization, Juneau struggled to imagine what else could possibly advise his opinion of her, what litmus test he assessed her against. It made her feel stupid and inadequate not to understand, so despite the question’s desperate attempts to pass her lips, she kept her jaw tightly set and remained silent. The concept of a self-directed life was like a thrall to her, but it frightened her as well. She had never been alone, not really. The months she spent wandering the wilds until Ivar came upon her were the only time there was truly no one, and though the memories were hazy due to the passage of time, she knew it wasn’t something she wished to return to. Juneau folded her hands together, resting her thin, pointed elbows on her knees and leaning forward slightly to press her lips against the knuckles of her thumbs as she considered Casimir’s words. “How would I ask once it comes to that point?” she asked him. She was not so sure she wished to lord over a regime. She detested the feeling of loneliness, but she couldn’t imagine herself as much of a leader either. 

“I wouldn’t trust your promises even if you bothered to make them,” Juneau responded–she knew how thieves were. Selfish, honorless, supposedly thick. But she didn’t think thieves to be thick, not the good ones at least. Not the ones who evaded capture and prison. Her hands itched to sketch out the cisterns he mentioned, to ask him to describe them and draw them in her field notebook in accordance with even his most exact specifications. But she felt that asking him to describe them would suggest to him she was incapable of thinking for herself, so she did not.

Juneau’s eyes, a color that seemed to mimic the forest floors that landscaped the majority of her life, flickered to the side as she intuited what Casimir must be doing. “He’s nowhere close to us, I would know if he were,” she responded. They could sense one another up to a certain distance, and it always made her spine prickle with nervousness when she couldn’t sense him nearby. Juneau ignored the way her wolf sense informing her he was returning to proximity flooded her with a sense of dread more often than not. But what was love if not an entrapping, heavy rope?  At least that was the only way Juneau could describe it based on how she had experienced it. “Safely from him?” she asked before her face split into a confident, amused grin. “He doesn’t pose a threat to me, even with his temper. I don’t need to be protected from him.”

[casimirnoctis]

Casimir's smile lost its luster as he ventured to an explanation; it was telling towards her experience of this world, that she did not sneer in disgust nor cower in projected fear at an exiled vampire heir. For so long he'd navigated the darkness, did not prowl out into the sunlight, he'd been exhausted at the condemnation of society around him and molded himself to their bidding. Sakkara had offered him a safe haven in her home, a respite from judgement that was eternal, no matter how long it had been since he'd shed the chains of his Noctis inheritance. "I hail from the Deadlands, from Veilcrest," a rueful grin leapt forth as he eyed Juneau carefully, "I am one of its rightful heirs, but here I sit, instead, with you."

Sat amongst the muck and dirt, the frigid grime of Iskaldrik; the decision was by choice, but it had been one of monumental conflict for Casimir. He hoped Juneau could see between each directed word and pilfer the importance of what he stated, he'd chosen this rugged expanse for it was more of an embrace than the dark luxury and sacrament his mother tried to gift to him. Vast knowledge and opportunity were where he felt truly aggrieved at what was; everything locked tightly away within the expanse of Veilcrest - Lysara was eons behind in technology even with the aid of Zuleima and the protection of Agron. So often, Casimir only felt panged with regret when he spiraled on such advancements that would never be, thanks to the selfish and cruel ambitions of his mother.

The dhampir turned to face her completely, a snort of dissatisfaction; had she been so belittled she only saw her worth when it came molded and preened with a purpose for someone else? "It's not about utilization," he nodded towards the coin Juneau now garnered in nimble fingertips, "Once you take that leap of faith, you're more or less on your own. I doubt we'd even work alongside one another, but I'd help you if only you asked." A pause as his hand rolled out as if to encapsulate the expanse that was Iskaldrik, "Contracts crop up all over this abysmal kingdom, but you can construct your own regime as a thief if only you take that first leap."

All he'd walked away from could not ever be replaced but Casimir garnered new spoils and information, new jewels and riches to claim as his own and it hadn't been inherited simply by the indoctrination of being born under the helm of a dark sacrament - he'd built this legacy by his own merit. "A thief cannot make promises," the smile remained on his face, flippant and unserious despite the grave insistence that seeped into his tone, "But the cisterns in the city will guide you, protect you even as it leads you to the tavern of the guild." He paused, listening to see if Ivar were to return, but heard nothing but the chittering of bugs and critters far off, "If you decide it, I can offer you the wares to pay for your safe descent."

Despite her best intention, no quippy comeback came to her when he confirmed he did not think she was stupid. Then again, was his confirmation he didn’t judge her to be lacking in intellect something that required the last word? It was difficult for her to determine whether or not she was simply trained in defensiveness as a survival tactic or if she really was that bad-tempered at her core. This wasn’t the way she had always been, but it seemed more and more like she would snap out at any hand outstretched toward her, regardless of its intention.

Juneau knew Casimir’s name, but she had a suspicion that his question probed at something much deeper than a first-name basis. She also knew that people weren’t their names. Names were things people wore, and not the other way around. “Why don’t you let me know how I ought to esteem you?” she asked him. It seemed like a better answer than no, which would have made her feel clumsy and blunted, and it was better than a lie that he would have seen through in an instant. Her expression flattened into an obvious bemusement when he brought types into it. “Thank goodness you’ve told me. I’m crushed to hear as much, but no longer plagued with concern over whether or not you are bewitched by the endless spoils of my girlish charms,” she deadpanned at him. As if she were so one dimensional that she’d worried about if he looked at her that way. Not when so much of her energy went to keeping Ivar’s temper even. There was rarely time to consider much else on the bad days; and most days were bad days. 

What came next surprised her. In the beginning, Ivar had seen potential in her, but she had snuffed the flame of his faith in her over time with too many mistakes and her vinegary personality she assumed. Perhaps, under the wing of a new mentor, she could do better and achieve genuine improvement. “And you think you could utilize me better?” she asked him. Apparently, Juneau had convinced Casimir of her worth and mettle, but she would demand a similar level of worthiness spelled out for her regarding whatever it was he seemed to be about to offer her. A large part of her was just lying in wait for a compelling reason to leave Ivar, to abandon her path at his side, but it seemed like no such thing ever managed to present itself and her dogged devotion to him waxed and waned in between the instances of false hope. It was a vicious cycle. 

The glimmer of a coin flashing in the firelight suggested that whatever Casimir was about to offer to her had some meat to it. A thin, pale hand cut through the dark to snatch the coin from the smooth, arc of a path in her direction. Dextrous and precise, she plucked it out of the air as if the coin were a mere extension of her, and she examined it in her palm. “What you’re offering demands more skills than navigating by stars and building fires,” she returned when he commented on her abilities. Juneau wasn’t sure why he was so certain her proficiencies extended beyond an extreme knack for camping. “Yggdrasildal,” she repeated, the name of the city on her tongue like a stinging venom–the capital of those miserable, hateful humans. “I never cared much for cities.” Her shadowed green eyes traced the arc of his Cheshire smile. “Maybe if I had a very, very strong assurance it would be worth my while,” she thought aloud, signaling her willingness to at least hear him out should he be willing to disclose anything further.

[casimirnoctis]

It had been much like pulling teeth to simply be granted the privilege of Juneau's name; something which had been granted to him via Ivar as the wily blonde often spent most of the endeavor slipping quietly through the trees and mountains tops. That was red flag enough for Casimir; vampires and their children were notorious for a tenebrous existence, marred by darkness and an inherited allegiance to the Dark One, but that didn't mean they were completely without a sense of morals. Ire ignited in the reflection of her eyes, however, and Casimir smiled, it was not from the cruel reality that he had struck a nerve, it was the satisfaction that there was still a fight to be had within her spirit.

Casimir could not sit by idly as they trekked through the extremities of Iskaldrik, the mountains and foliage could be unforgiving, but Casimir had the sense to ensure everyone involved made it through the journey. Many said there was no honor among thieves, a cutthroat existence surely, but this one could have a proper vision for herself if only she opened her eyes to the deadweight that had leeched itself onto her. "You're not," affirmed quietly as if mulling over what next to say; really, he was hoping the silence would pivot Juneau to the self-realization she was so close to fully grasping.

"Juneau, do you know who I am?" A killer and a thief to some, but he'd also been a prince, something forged from darkness that still had the ability to be somewhat kind. It said something that even he looked upon Ivar with a curled lip as though disgusted by what sat before him; a creature of cowardice and putrid ire that could not be molded to something of proper purpose. "Mind you, you're not my type," volleyed back with a mild grin, "but I do see something in you; something that could not be realized by that oaf if it smacked him plain as day across that scowling, sour face." Thieves Guild members did not often take the chance on mere potential, but Casimir had little to lose; he'd been within the Guild for nearly a century and so he fished within his pocket, flipping the coin between his thumb and index finger as they spoke.

Inevitably he flicked the coin her way; she deserved respect but whether she caught it, or it bounced into her lap, the sentiment was the same from Casimir, "You have what it takes to survive and to adapt. Maybe this will help you see that." She'd endured, quietly, maybe she did not know what she truly deserved, and Casimir could somewhat understand that. He had lived a life of lavish decadence but still turned away from it all when it meant the betrayal of himself; it was what had brought him onto this path towards the Thieves Guild and what had warranted the perseverance of his very self. "If you do not cross over to Lysara, if you're to stay here in this frigid wasteland, turn to Yggdrasildal, there you will find Loki - the statue of him anyhow." He smiled, somewhat ominous in the stretch of fire that illuminated their faces to one another, "Toss a coin and change your fate."

Juneau’s eyes set on the dhampir when he contradicted her statement, and it was obvious that she did not take kindly to his words. Why she contained such a blindly loyal compulsion to defend Ivar was beyond her. It wasn’t necessarily that she didn’t agree with Casimir. She wasn’t even sure she felt the dhampir was wrong when she removed the blinders she had been navigating the world with for so long and looked at the truth of the situation. But Ivar was all she had, and if she let herself see the raw, ugly reality of things, she would be left empty-handed and alone. She could survive many things–the wilds didn’t scare her anymore–but she wasn’t certain she could survive the loneliness. Not again. 

The flames of her ire seemed to be stoked by his next words, and her frown deepened. This time, she could not restrain herself from asking, “What is that supposed to mean? I’m not stupid.” But she was. Ivar had told her as much, albeit with a much more colorful vocabulary, repeatedly for several years now. Juneau wasn’t sure how long it had been since she felt she had no choice but to believe him. If she wasn’t stupid she wouldn’t be so afraid to lose Ivar, she wouldn’t be clinging to him with all of her might; she would know how to walk away from him and be complete all on her own. 

“Then leave on your own,” she suggested. He hadn’t brought the dreamweaver ring back up, and she hoped with the small challenge of her previous words he had forgotten about the trinket entirely. “You have what you came for, don’t you?” She nodded toward the area of camp where his items sat idle. “Unless you came to lecture me about my life choices or you’re just that disappointed that I don’t want to run away with you.” She knew that wasn’t it, which was clear in her delivery, but she didn't appreciate being judged by him either. Some people knew the comfort of options, but she'd been brought up and hardened by the cage of a lifetime of very few, equally undesirable choices. If she were looking at things through clear eyes, she might also notice how much bolder and self-assured she was when Ivar was outside of earshot.

[casimirnoctis]

Ichorous red eyes illuminated the expanse of his face, Casimir's eyes following the werewolf from her initial vantage point of skulking. Casimir silently noted the bedroll, the way Juneau shuffled and slunk along imbued with a fiery pit of shame, but it would do little good to call the wolf out. The Shade was lawfully evil, shifting and molding the board to what best suited him but to kick an, erm, dog while she was down? He wasn't kindly tuned to that - besides, Juneau was more woman than beast and the least Casimir could do was treat her with the basic level of respect she deserved; something their mutual friend clearly could not garner in even the scantest amounts.

Casimir hummed idly, his eyes found focus in the blazing fire that stretched between them and the dhampir spoke quietly. He wasn't fearful if that loathing beast of a thief was to hear them; Ivar had long gone to groan and bitch near the expanse of the river they camped a ways off from. "Yes, he is," his eyes flickered back upward now; her face was sharp and pointed from the dancing flames that licked at it and Casimir gave a pointed look. "Smart woman, but not smart enough," a haughty smile emerged then; he never liked a wasted talent and hers seemed to collapse inward on itself fatally, each and every time Ivar became dramatically incensed.

He shrugged; the baseline was that he owed the mumbling beast a favor and though he was a thief, he still held onto enough honor to respect that notion. "Past dues," a hand was waved, "-the semantics hardly matter, I'm looking for payment and he needed a hand. I thought his asking price was well worth the endeavor." The waving of his hand swirled to surmise wherever Ivar had roamed to, "-All of this, not so much worthwhile."

(tw: allusions to verbally abusive dynamic) It almost shocked her to see a gloomy face lit by the firelight as she ducked out of the tent she shared with Ivar, but then again, the undead had always had that effect on her. Juneau tried not to call attention to the fact that she held the makings of an entire bedroll in her arms. Sometimes it was easier to sleep outside exposed to the elements rather than Ivar’s temper, but she didn’t want to admit that to Casimir, who was as much a stranger to her as he wasn’t. Her eyes flickered away from Casimir’s as she quietly sat down across the campfire from him and started to fold up the blankets and secure the bedroll–maybe if she pretended she’d merely been silly enough to set up an extra bedroll very, very well he would be just as willing to pretend he hadn’t overheard–well, it couldn’t exactly be called a screaming match, could it?  She would have had to have uttered at least a single syllable for that to be true. 

Juneau shucked the sleeping pad a few feet to her left when Casimir spoke and abandoned folding the blanket in favor of wrapping it around herself. It was already getting chilly, even right beside the fire. It surprised her when Casimir addressed her directly, though this hadn’t been the first time he had done so in their several days together. However, she was pretty sure he knew just as well as she did that she wasn’t meant to talk to anyone besides Ivar and the refugees they smuggled according to the male werewolf’s overreaching rules. “If you think he’s spun up now, imagine the way he’d act once I found my way back to him if we did that,” she responded quietly, almost as if she was afraid Ivar might hear. To leave Ivar for good felt so entirely impossible that she did not even register that was what the dhampir was suggesting. “He isn’t always like that.”

Her eyes narrowed on Casimir’s with a note of curiosity behind them as he mentioned a missing item. Her head tilted to the side slightly as he recounted what he noticed, and the difference between whether or not the gesture was sincere or not was as thin as a knife’s edge. “How long has it been missing?” she asked, her brow furrowing. Her trained loyalty to Ivar tugged at something within her, but her loyalty and patience did know bounds, did tell her that love shouldn’t always feel like a closed fist and her curiosity begged at her to tug the thread of Casimir’s not-so-vieled insult. “If you hold him in such low regard, why work with us?” A fear in the ribcage reverberated with anxiety that somehow Ivar might hear her question him, but she kept her attention on Casimir.