The Blind Leads the Blind

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Rare let the man lead, expression placid and pleasant as she forced herself to act as though the strange corridor. Relieved when they passed through another door, the woman found the new location one of darkness and tables.

Only one table was fully lit in the preternatural dim.

A clap made Rare jump, and her eyes jerked to the side to take in the Artiste in her periphery, and then the light blazed. Sensitive eyes shut, then opened again as she directed her gaze toward the room again, finding it brightly-lit and guarded by more of the strange bird men.

Dust, cobwebs, dirty dishes—

This was no way to live. She only barely restrained the urge to slice her finger and begin using magic to banish the filth herself. Still, she kept her expression pleasant and schooled as she turned toward the man as he spoke. A smile accepted his apology, and she followed him and accepted the offered seat.

With a quick straightening to her dress, she offered the man another smile.

"Thank you, dear Artiste. That you offer your hospitality despite such times speaks no ill of you."

A buzzing hall of Lovecraftian madness, on the other hand... Well, she would have to investigate. She might need to do more than that as well if she discovered something dangerous. For now, it seemed her place was here. For now, Twiggy might need to wait.
 
The silence around Twiggy was almost palpable as he began talking, all voices quieting to hear his hesitant voice. Alyssa's hand rested on his shoulder, lightly and supportive, but the rest of her body was nowhere to be found, or leaned into.

Rimi was noticeably bouncy, almost incapable of standing still, and her little motions were perfectly noticeable in the silence, whereas the older, sterner voice had not spoken since - not that the redhead would stay "still" much longer, as she almost leapt at the chance Twiggy's grasping hand gave her, and pressed her rump against it with a giggle.

"Rimi!" The chastising voice, followed by a heartfelt "Aww, I was just-" And then, suddenly, Twiggy was asking about being poked.

"What? Why's everyone... I didn't do it! Why does everyone think I'm the one that..."

"Well, that's the same you said with last time." One of the previously silent women spoke, amused. "I've never seen a farmboy so confused."

"I... well, that..." Rimi's almost-aggressive defense had been completely deflated, and she just shuffled sideways. "But it wasn't me this time!" She finished, almost mumbling.

"Girls, behave yourselves." The chastising voice had taken a more matronly aspect, and it was having trouble hiding its amusement. "We should try to be respectable and mature, after all."

She walked towards Twiggy, the others parting before her, voices quieting as she knelt before the seer; her scent overwhelming all others, wrapping the seer in welcoming, protective warmth.

"I am Zaida, Matron of this Sisterhood. You may not be aware of this, Twiggy, but it is fairly uncommon for a man to assist to our gatherings. Alyssa, why is his presence necessary?"

"He is a seer, Matron." Alyssa did not waver for a moment. "Given the current circumstances, I..." She didn't continue, seeing a signal that Twiggy missed.

"It is a good reason, Sister." A hand stretched forward, grabbing Twiggy's, and slowly leading it to the Matron's face - soft, rounded, almost flawless skin.

"Twiggy. You have already met with our foe, the abominations that murdered everything near you, that kidnapped you. We are at war with them, and while the land itself stands with us, any help we can get may mean another life saved. Will you stand with us?"

There was no question that the offer was sudden, but still none of the women were surprised. Either they'd figured out where the Matron was going when she started off, or these offers were not as uncommon as one might think.

⋯﴾⛧﴿⋯​

No sooner had Rare taken a seat than the food appeared - a large tray, carried by the hopefuls - their small, weak, chicklike figure almost overburdened by the weight of what seemed to be a full boar, meat still smoking in a mouth-watering scent. The Artiste turned to her with a wide grin.

"But, my beloved Corvians keep their keeper in mind, minding their minder, and food as good, meat as sweet? Only in this keep." He chuckled, tipping his head lightly towards Rare, and with a flick of the wrist and a snap of the fingers there were two large glasses full of hot, spiced wine - which, to the perceptive nose or tongue would have a very subtle metallic taste.

Food began streaming in, most of it meat of some kind or another, though there were both vegetables and fish in place, albeit none of the fish were of a recognizable species. As more and more trays appeared, it was clear that the feast was far, far too much for either of them to eat, and the Artiste quickly made it clear that she was not expected to eat more than a bite of each thing, as he encouraged her to try this or that, moving her along the meal as if he were directing a play.

When the table was completely full, though, he quickly stood up, and immediately all the surrounding Corvians, who had simply stared greedily at the food, stood to attention.

"What is a meal, without proper entertainment? Who but a beast would nourish only the body, when mind and soul have yet to have a taste? A spectacle, I demand, of bloody beauty, pained passion, tormented triumph!"

The corvians stood still for a moment, two - and then one of them stepped forward, and immediately another. A glance was crossed between them, and they both walked to the center of the room, as the rest of the corvians pulled the heavy wooden tables with ease, forming a wide circle around the center of the room. The two competitors unsheathed their rapiers in unison, brought the blades up to their shoulder, and bowed - to Rare, not the Artiste, though the difference was subtle.

"A whisper of yours, will unleash the storm. Unless, of course, you would rather have them entertain you differently, Lady Rare. They are yours to command, as faithfully as mine."
 
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Rare reminded herself she kept a bottle of her 'antidote' in one of her pockets as she politely tasted each dish.

However, she had to cover her mouth to stifle the quiet moan of appreciation as the bite of meat she'd taken seemed to melt in her mouth, juices threatening to drown her as rich flavor teased her tongue. After that, she kept her composure more carefully as she tasted a bite here and there at the Artiste's insistence, murmuring the occasional polite praise.

Despite the sheer amount of food, she showed no signs of being full or weighted down. In fact, with a distinct edge taken off her hunger, Rare felt more awake and alert. Her mind felt keener, and she noticed from the corner of her eye how hungry the Corvians appeared.

The Artiste stood, and the Corvians drew up to attention. Brown eyes watched with curiosity before her attention returned to the strange man beside her.

His words paired with the stillness among the Corvians. A glance shared before two walked to the room's center, and the tables slid away.

She could assume only one meaning behind the atmosphere in the room.

Their bow to her, if she saw the angle correctly, cemented in her mind what the Artiste said before the words left his lips. She gave a moment for dramatic silence, then stood and inclined her head with a smile to the Artiste before she looked toward the Corvians.

"I beg you, tease my mind's appetite and sate my curiosity. Rather than the song of swords, your tales instead would please me during so lovely a meal offered by so gracious a host." She smiled, offering a slightly sheepish look towards the Artiste. "I hope you will forgive me. In my youth, I was always scolded for my prying curiosity."

It went against the typical manners of this game to suggest something unexpected, but...

One of these creatures had shown gentleness to her. Even if it was an abduction. Besides that, she had to learn of this place now that she'd discovered it, to discover if it was a danger or could be left in peace.

⋯﴾⛧﴿⋯​

It took a moment, but Twiggy quickly forgot the poke as he registered that it was a bottom he'd just felt against his hand. Eyes wide and mouth agape, his whole face burned and reddened. His mouth worked open and shut, but no sound emerged aside from a tiny squeak as the women around became absorbed in the now-forgotten poke.

"Girls, behave yourselves."

Those three words caught his attention like a frying pan to the head, and he blinked from his bottom-centric stupor. It was a shift in the atmosphere, more than the words themselves that caught his attention, and he closed his mouth as he listened carefully.

Zaida, this one's name was. His eyes closed as he let himself take in her scent as much as her words. With Alyssa's hand on his shoulder and this scent, he felt some of his ever-present anxiety lessen.

The exchange between the two worried him, though, until he felt a hand lead his to a face.

His fingertips traced and tapped slowly as he mapped her face in his mind, letting descriptors form a list, and comparing her scent and voice with what he felt of her face to tie the three senses together into a sort of portrait of the woman, even as she spoke.

Brief confusion colored his features, and then his eyebrows shot high in realization.

They surely meant Shiloh, but... no! Well, maybe the ones allied with or pulling Shiloh's strings, but he liked Shiloh.

Shiloh.

He gasped as he remembered the brief image, and then his vision.

It was late, but the urge to vomit forth the description came, and he gave in after a deep breath to steady himself as he relayed the words of Eyes.

"In Moon's embrace does the Seer tread.
Paths split and each must he follow.
A vision of warning did Blood Moon show.
But twas along the path away found he dread.
Although for Scented Woman had Gift bled,
The Powered Ward all thought Lady's foe,
Sent away both while he was laid low.
Trembling fingers too soon severed thread.

Dark painted throne overturned,
Victory-Bright Child brings news,
Greeted bright by brazier light,
A choir unknown had not spurned,
Rich-clad painter seeks the muse,
Dark feathers on each guardian knight."


Twiggy let out express breath slowly, then withdrew his hand hesitantly from Zaida. Self-conscious, the seer hugged himself.

"I—" he cut off, voice quiet, before he forced himself to keep going, "I'll help... help against th-the... the Unifiers... but others... others... um..." He forced a deep breath. "I need to... to have m-my Gift's permiss... permission."
 
"Inner beauty is but reflected outwards, clearly!" The Artiste's reply was typically cryptic, smiling. "But my winged wardens would worry this wondrous woman not, though mercy as shown speaks but well of the soul 'neath; boredom's bane in spoken perhaps-verse shall no more be delayed once red has blossomed in the midst, for crimson are my needs today."

The Artiste's declamation was paced, slow but momentuous, giving Rare no chance to interrupt, least of all to do so politely. The two corvians in the center of the room had turned to look at him the moment Rare had declined to give them the go-ahead, and the moment he nodded there was a flash of steel, rapiers colliding in midair in a mirrored first-move.

The avian creatures fought with unfitting agility for their size, their plumage lending them a bulk that they truly did not possess, spindly limbs narrowly dodging flashing rapiers in a rising tempo of clashes - both unwilling to step away from the other even slightly, almost unwilling to move their feet other than sideways, making slow circles around an invisible center.

And then, suddenly, a splatter of blood - thick, dark, almost black, and boiling - and a step back from one of them, the injured one. Both rapiers were raised almost in unison, but not quite, with the taker of the first blood being just that slightly ahead of his opponent - and, as a black gleam covered the edge of his rapier, that minor advantage proved to be just enough, for the wounded corvian never managed to complete his own motion.

A slash from the attacker had the tip of his rapier appearing right next to the defender, the sword appearing to be split into two, forcing the defender to lower his own weapon to deflect the blow - and thus began an even more brutal assault, that had the defending corvian struggling to keep up with the other's blade suddenly appearing out of thin air, in impossible angles - soon the entire corvian followed, warping around almost at will around the other, poking, prodding for a gap in his defenses that would let him deal a finishing blow.

And yet, the defender held on, his motions gaining in certainty as time went on. From his off-hand flew one feather-shaped dagger first, then in threes, forcing his teleporting enemy to dodge, block, and even back off momentarily. The duel continued tensely all over the room, the central area no longer a point of contention. Any knives that threatened to reach either the Artiste or Rare were knocked out of the air by one of the other Corvians with a throw of their own, almost casually - not that the Artiste ever noticed, entranced as he was by the flashing of steel and magic in front of him.

In one final flash of steel, one of the two corvians suddenly stepped away, bending down and falling on a knee - a knife embedded deep into his abdomen, where his stomach would be, if he weren't so emaciated. The Artiste's hands flew into a flurry of applause, as the other corvian turned to face the two and bowed.

"From the taut strings of my heart! Oh, words, companions faithful of mine, what a tragic time to fail me! See to those wounds, champions of mine, for no more of your life shall I demand for the puerile reasons of entertainment!" He almost shooed the two corvians away, the winner helping the loser leave the room, leaving a thick trail of blood. The Artiste, meanwhile, had taken a finger to the roiling liquid, drawing runes upon the floor, his drawings as close to standard runes as block writing to calligraphy, almost a painting in itself. A satisfied nod had him taking a step back and clapping his hands theatrically. A puff of smoke surged upwards, solidifying in a humanoid form a moment later.

As the smoke cleared, more details became clear. Green-gray eyes stared out in apathy from underneath a hood, framed by what could be black eyeliner, and piercings on nose and lips. Slowly the hood revealed itself to be part of what could only be a hoodie, its oddity further accenctuated by the rest of the newcomer's attire - jeans and sneakers, appropriate to a teen as this seemed to be, certainly, but still not right for the place. Even beyond that, there was something wrong about this figure, as if it emanated a sense of wrongness, but even a careful inspection would not be able to point out just what.

A small frown of disapproval appeared on the Artiste's face, and he was just taking his breath to, probably, make his displeasure evident when the new arrival met his eyes for a brief moment. Whatever transpired there, the ARtiste seemed to rethink his words.

"The prodigal son returns!" His beaming smile as he placed one hand around the teen's shoulders and turned him to face Rare. "My new muse wanted tales of the wondrous variety, and I am certain you have so many of them to share!"

The Artiste didn't even bother staying to listen to the teen's reply, which the teen likely already expected since he just looked at Rare and rolled his eyes in the brief moment before the Artiste reached him.

"A creation such as the world has not and shall not see again! Please, my lady, allow me the incredible pleasure of introducing you to my one and only heir. Alas, he has given up his name true, and goes by 'Joel' these days, but I am led to believe that rebelliousness is to be expected at these ages, yes?"

Joel, in the meantime, had taken his time walking over to Rare, hoping to let the overexcited Artiste finish before he arrived. He mostly succeeded, and by the time he got there she was free enough that he could kneel in front of her, take her hand, and kiss it in a fluid motion, stinging Rare's hand oh-so-subtly in the process with his silver piercings.

"Pleased to meet you." He said, though neither his tone nor his body language indicated it was anything other than a formality, and one he'd rather not be dealing with, at that.
 
Rare nearly held her breath as the two Corvians battled, but relief entered her features as the Artiste declared them finished with their show, and said he wouldn't demand more than injury.

She clapped as well, quietly, for the duelists, hoping not to shame them by not showing appreciation. The Artiste, gentle as he seemed, was proving himself a little more unpredictable than she would have liked.

As the unharmed Corvian assisted his injured brethren from the room, Rare finally released her breath. Even being who and what she was, she couldn't help but dislike unneeded death and violence. To use such things for entertainment seemed incredibly wrong in her eyes, but she was a guest, and though a guest had certain rights or requests they could make, the host ruled their own home.

And the Artist was drawing now, on the floor with blood from the two avians. She tilted her head, but remained quiet, even a little apprehensive.

The arrival and introduction of Joel left her brows raised high, but her features relaxed into an easy smile as the introduction continued—more mask than from real enjoyment or ease at this turn of events.

Through the burn of his kiss, Rare kept that neutral smile, and as he falsely declared his pleasure at meeting her, she inclined her head politely.

"Likewise," she assured. He'd made clear his real feelings, and she rather shared them, but at the same time, curiosity niggled at her regarding the difference between the Artiste and Joel.

On her hand where he'd kissed, fresh burns mapped each of his piercings that touched her: small in size, but the formerly-flawless skin looked scarred already. It wasn't about that she spoke, though—only an introduction of herself.

"I am called Rare."
 
"A muse, that's what she is!" The Artiste intervened excitedly, eyes flying alternatively from Joel to Rare. How could he not, when the cusp of his art met the current source of it?

Joel just nodded distractedly, giving Rare a glance as he walked over to the chair opposite of her and sat. He seemed to be perfectly at home with the abundant cutlery, and was quickly cutting himself various bits and pieces of the food on the table, under the Artiste's gaze, a mixture of annoyance, curiosity and excitement, though his eyes quickly turned to Rare once more. Before grabbing the first bite, Joel turned to her as well:

"How are you liking the castle, Rare? Have you had time to properly explore its many wonders? I particularly like..." His voice was soft, casual, but his eyes were clearly scanning the woman's face for a reaction - whether there was one or not, though, he got quickly interrupted by the Artiste.

"Her arrival, though sweet beyond all measure, has but happened." The Artiste quickly moved on, which only managed to get a small smile from Joel's pierced lips. "Enlighten us with tales of glory instead, sweet child of mine - what news from the cold, uncaring world beyond?"

Joel gazed longingly at his food, still untouched, and pushed it slightly away, shaking his head.

"As the curse goes, interesting times. Let's see..." A couple of seconds of thought followed, as the Artiste looked on with eager impatience. "There's new players in the Great Game. Some outsiders, from beyond. Teal uniforms, strong magic, or technology, or both. Charismatic. Half the human kingdoms have joined them, not least because they have managed to get on the Deep Ones' bad side and survive. Of particular interest are the fanatic sects over in Astaria - somehow, they've convinced them to put their differences aside."

"Speaking of the Deep Ones, they seem to be calling the Council, or something even worse. Tornados, tidal waves, even an earthquake or two in the coastal areas, always with a halfbreed involved. Mass disappearances in unaligned coastal villages, rumors of sacrifices. They don't trust us enough to tell us their plans, unfortunately, but it's big. Bigger than ever, in my opinion. The new ones have managed to position themselves as a threat to them, and I don't think there's any chance of the squids letting that pass."

"Unsurprisingly, all this muddling about with magic has got the world itself riled up. More sightings of trolls and ogres than ever, even a few golems, and who knows what's happening deep in the Shimmering Mists right now, but they're expanding again." A short sigh, as Joel shook his head. "Doesn't look like they're going to stop anytime soon, either. And given the rate we've been losing dreamers at recently, it's safe to say there's turmoil there too right now."

"Beyond that... Well, barring the Deep Ones, everyone's been trying to get the Warlords of Korr, the militant orders over at Deathwatch, the dead themselves, those very nice lads over at the White Castle... Basically, anything that could give them an edge in the coming fight. Might not happen, but things are escalating, and with the Church of Blood and the Seekers of Sol already aligned, everyone wants a secret weapon, or at least a special operations group. We've even had some people approach us." Joel chuckled. "And I'm sure they'd gladly take your Corvians, too."

Throughout this all, the Artiste's face had slowly shifted - gone was his normal, flighty behaviour, the wandering eyes, or the exaggerated movements. His eyes had fixed on Joel as he spoke, only glancing from time to time upwards in thought, nodding every few sentences. It wasn't until Joel finished that he noticed he'd been leaning forward in his chair, and he slowly put his back onto the seatrest again, rubbing his chin in thought, silently. Joel, in the meantime, turned to look at Rare, attempting to gauge how much of what he'd said she was already aware of.
 
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Rare's brows lifted slightly at Joel's question and the following interruption, but all movement from her ceased at mention of teal uniforms on outsiders. She couldn't help but hold her breath.

Before attention returned to her, she manage to resume a neutral expression, but at Joel's eyes on her, a hint of hardness entered her gaze.

"If I may, a suggestion?" She didn't give either man time to answer before she 'suggested'. "The teal ones, they are called Unifiers. In seeking their goals, they plan to forcibly combine all planes of existence into one. I strongly advise their utter eradication."

She couldn't hide the conviction in her voice, nor the stubborn set of her jaw, nor how her eyelids tightened with barely-disguised hatred.
 
Rare's words fell like a tombstone on the conversation, and for a moment, there was only silence. Joel simply stared at the Artiste, whose eyes and mouth were dramatically open in surprise. One second, two - and the Artiste's chair flew off sideways, tossed carelessly as the man stood up and strode off, bellowing one, magically loudened word that seemed to reach the entire castle.

"NORN!"

Joel looked at his back emotionlessly until, a few moments later, the man was gone; and only then did he turn his eyes lazily towards Rare. Perhaps his father had been too busy being alarmed to notice, but Joel had been scanning her, and she didn't even seem to have tried to hide her dislike for them.

"Now he's going to be unbearable for a week. If we're lucky." He sighed, pushing off to his feet. "Is this the usual way of breaking bad news where you're from?"
 
That was a chastisement if ever she'd heard one, but Rare knew she was right to speak. She'd seen the chaos and destruction wrought by Unifiers first hand, not once, but twice in war and many more times besides.

"Perhaps I could have held back," she admitted, feeling some shame as her collar interpreted that she should, to please Joel.

"The danger they bring is very real, though. Their methods are as mad as their goals, and I can think of nothing I would not give or do to ensure they and their insanity are stopped."

Perhaps Joel saw dislike, but what Rare felt was much closer to fear. Terror, even, hidden behind a mask of hate. It tore away her ability to be diplomatic and left her fingers shaking subtly. She'd witnessed too much, too often—she'd been captured several times and bore scars unseen by the naked eye.

Her lips drew back.

"They are the very essence of cruelty."
 
Joel stared at Rare as she spoke, sizing her words up, trying to form an opinion on her based on what she was saying, and not just his prejudice against anyone who the Artiste considered a muse.

She sounded driven, if nothing else. Convinced. Idealistic, perhaps; and on a stretch one could say that foolishly so, but he had no basis for that other than his usual dislike for muses. But she was convinced, or at least sounded convincing; and she did not sound like she was exaggerating when she spoke of giving her all to stop them. So focused was Joel on his analysis that he didn't notice the subtle cues that pointed towards her knowledge having been borne from more than just enmity.

In any case, this was an opportunity for sure. In a way, she was fortunate she was right here, right now, and particularly to be talking with Joel alone. The Corvians would listen in for sure, but it would be days before the Artiste was treatable enough for any reports to reach him; and by then anything discussed here would likely be old news... or not important enough to remember. He could most likely speak freely. And, if not, he was fairly certain the price for doing so regardless would not be too high.

"The very essence of cruelty? They're going to have to share it with the Healers, then. And the Aboleth." Joel wasn't too affected by the memories that expression brought up, but experience had shown normal people were. How they'd come into possession of his memories, that was a tale for another day. A short pause followed, as the odd teen considered his options.

"Still, there's something very interesting about you." He stepped towards Rare, hands in his pockets, still emanating the same wrongness. After all, if she knew more than him about the unifiers and less about the rest... the conclusion was logically there. But was he certain enough to act on it?

"So, did you really mean you'd give anything to stop the Unifiers? Because if that's true... I have an offer for you. Unless you're one of those muses" He almost spat the word. "that only serve to decorate, of course."
 
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Suspicion rose, as it did every time she heard someone ask how far she would go, or if she'd truly give anything, toward any given end. Those questions often led to more trouble than they were worth, but curiosity refused to ebb.

She watched Joel, and one brow rose as he insulted her and likely every woman his father favored. Her lips quirked into a small and knowing half-smile.

"What is your offer?"

She stepped into what was surely a verbal trap, but she did so full-aware of that possibility.

She knew though, she hadn't said she would do anything—only that she could think of nothing she wouldn't do. If she had to decline his offer, she could simply say he was more creative than she at coming up with objectionable ideas than she was.
 
"So you at least consider yourself somewhat more than decoration. Good." Joel kept his standing position, looking down onto Rare's half-smile - it gave him a mental advantage, or so he'd been told. His eyes locked onto hers before he continued.

"My offer is putting you in contact with other major players here. Father's Corvians are good assassins and informants, but you're going to need an army - one that won't forget about you when the next pretty face shows up. You're not the only one who is against those Unifiers, as you call them." He paused for a moment, carefully measuring his next words to keep them from revealing too much for free. "They have stepped on many toes, and if you have something to offer to those factions, you may be able to convince them to let you join. You could, of course, try to start your own... But who would trust someone like you, I wonder?"

That last sentence was half a shot in the dark, half based on what he'd gathered from their previous conversation. In letting him know she was only informed about the Unifiers, but far more so than he was, she'd let a crucial detail escape - she had to be a turncoat, who had betrayed them and escaped, and if so that would be a sore spot for her for a while. Negotiations were a dirty affair, after all, and trying to hit a mental weakspot was all part of the game.

"Before any of that, though the big question is, of course, what do you have to offer me? Everything... is at the same time a lot, and nothing at all. I want details."
 
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He didn't want wealth, she felt certain. She wore well-made clothes, but nothing glamorous. He had to assume she had information about the Unifiers, but he wasn't being obvious about wanting it. He didn't seem that sort. He was eager to take a dominant position, looking down at her, evaluating, judging.

She didn't make a move to stop him or usurp his position of power, but her history made it easier to manipulate from below.

"I have my body, my skills, and my knowledge," she admitted, head lowered. "It is not a lot, but... it is offered."

A show of humility, to let him feel dominant as she lowered her gaze, ears reddening.
 
"Right-o." Joel seemed less than impressed as he sat back down, eyes staring straight at Rare - and through her, since his thoughts were very much elsewhere.

That had proven to be, if not quite a waste of time, certainly less productive than he would've liked. Not too surprising, but displeasing nonetheless. The lady held her cards close to her chest, so either she was useless and attempting to fool him into thinking otherwise, or she was useful and attempting to hide how much. For the latter, either she wanted him to underestimate her - always a good idea when dealing with unknown factors such as Joel himself - or she was afraid that she wasn't useful enough to get his help if she was direct; and thus we were back to square one, where Joel was not sure whether she was worth his time or not.

But perhaps there was something to be gained from all this. Either case showed a certain amount of strategic skill, or at the very least manipulative skill. She'd managed to handle the Artiste for a while, too, so there was definitely some social skill regardless. If she was weak and looking for aid, one'd have to wonder how she had managed to escape the Unifiers... Most likely by either being persuasive enough to convince someone to help her, or by being strong enough to escape. In either case, she'd currently be trying to lay low.

Of course, there was also the option that he was completely misreading one of the steps in the process, that it wasn't all planned but there were some of those stupidly emotional factors that ruined all plans in the way - that she wasn't hiding for any other reason than her being ashamed of her strength, or that she'd run away with the help of a human who'd fallen for her, or simply that she enjoyed misleading people and, really, was just having fun having Joel wonder. He gave Rare a wry smile as he focused on her again, for a brief moment, before looking around them at the guarding corvians.

"Leave us." If the Artiste's voice was warm and almost fatherly when talking with the creatures, Joel's was the complete opposite - it carried an unspoken threat with it. It still took him staring down a couple of them before the rest got the message, and soon the room was empty but for the two at the table.

"Make no mistake, I could wait and find out how good your offer is later on, but by then there'll be too many chips on the table. So let's gamble, shall we?" The teen raised an arm, and from his wrist began elongating a long, thin protusion, flesh turning gray as it did. "You take this - it'll be painful, but not lethal - and I'll point you in the right direction. Help you get in the good graces of the Deep Ones. Deal?"
 
"Very well," she agreed.

Deep ones. From the name alone, this was indeed a gamble.

Large eyes searched his face as she reached out and grasped the strange protrusion he offered her. She didn't show fear, nor did she brace herself against the warned pain.

Pain was something of an... old friend. She could handle it. There were many pains in her life that she experienced, all varying wildly.

She just hoped that the collar didn't make her enjoy the pain. Again.
 
"Smart choice." Joel's smile just widened as she grabbed onto the offered protusion - a moment later the gray flesh was stretching forward, wrapping tightly around her wrist to hold her arm in place, and its tip jabbed itself into her elbow, straight to her artery.

By now, there would be no way Rare had not noticed what this proboscis was doing, but its power strengthened greatly as it made its way to her heart - draining her energy, greedily taking her magic into itself and harming what it didn't steal, not quite setting it ablaze as much as corrupting it. With every heartbeat, her entire body was subjected to another wave of pain, with Joel's unblinking eyes staring straight into hers, gauging her reaction. Any attempt to move, no matter how small, would fail thanks to the appendage's interference, leaving Rare almost helpless to stop the teen from draining her dry, if he so desired.

For a while it looked like that was his purpose, but after some thirty seconds the organic needle started retreating from her heart, leaving behind a mess of corrupted, tainted, dysfunctional magic for Rare to deal with. Finally letting go of her wrist, the teen took a step back, looking at Rare up and down - and in an instant, his entire flesh turned grey, washing over his entire body before retreating once more, revealing a perfect copy of Rare, from her horns down. The noticeable differences were those due to magic on her - the new Rare's horns were visible, and her collar was completely inert.

"Intriguing." Joel's voice had changed as well to be just like Rare's, though the wide smile on his face had not. "Guess you're more than I thought, aren't you?"
 
Rare stared back into his eyes the entire time. Her breathing grew heavier, and then stopped as pain seared through her nerves. The movement in her flesh, the tainting and draining...

Her body regenerated blood quickly, and it went to her ears and her libido rather than other, wiser places. She sagged against her seat as he withdrew that part from within her, but aside from some rapid blinking, she kept her gaze on him, mouth agape as she panted.

She hated it, how her body translated torment into pleasure. The hand he'd not taken gripped her dress tightly.

"What... the hell...?"

Every heartbeat hurt.

But the tears that burned at her eyes came from confusion.

Why would Joel want to wear her ugly form, horns and all?
 
Joel couldn't help giving Rare a half-smile as their eyes met, which would be an odd choice for most people who were causing someone else terrible suffering - it wasn't her pain that was making him smile, though, but rather the fact that she'd willingly put herself completely in this situation, the power she'd given up for the promise of some information. She was way too trusting.

And it wasn't that she was not feeling pain, either - despite her brave attempts at holding back, the woman's breathing was heavy, her hand clenched to her side. And, if there was any doubt, then came the question.

Joel took a few seconds to reply as he twirled around, moving as comfortably in Rare's clothes as he had been in his own a moment ago. The pirouette left him facing the pained Rare once more.

"I just stole some of your magic. Lifeforce, you could call it." He shrugged in a very unladylike manner. "And from there I replicated what makes you, well, you." While he was talking casually at the woman he walked around her, reaching for a half-full glass of wine which he quickly offered her.

"The pain will last for a couple of hours, and I very strongly suggest you don't use any kind of magic until it's completely gone. Until then, I've heard getting drunk works wonders."
 
Rare squinted at him. That was a dangerous game, stealing her form and essence.

Not to mention, he'd only seemed to take the physical rather than anything that had been formative to her mentality.

He didn't have her secrets or memory, which brought her some relief. If he did, he would have surely collapsed, though that may yet happen.

She took the wine, but didn't drink, and instead watched him a moment before she spoke.

"You should be careful," she warned. "It is not a simple thing, to be me."

And then, a test.

"Be certain not to think too hard about Crow and closets and golems."

If he had her memories, even unconsciously, he would surely react to that. It would be fear and more complex emotions, and hurt... so much hurt.

It was one of her most painful memories that would not bring out her secrets immediately, as well. Even bringing it up brought wetness to her eyes, but her gaze remained direct, despite the tension of her body as it tried to resist the pain.
 
Rare's warning garnered a simple raised eyebrow from Joel-in-Rare, and her particularly cryptic followup got absolutely no reaction from him - a sure sign that he'd only taken the physical and not the mental. A step, two, as he moved about in Rare's body, his eyes watching her intently, analyzing her. There was no doubt that he'd spotted the wetting of her eyes.

"Ah, but it's simpler for me to be you... than for you to be you, or for me to be me." Joel's smile did not vanish to her warning, replying just as cryptically to her. "And believe me, it won't be long before you'd rather I were you than you were me." A quick giggle, and Joel was shaking his head. "I've spent too long with the Artiste already, and I've barely returned. Seems like his flair for the dramatic is contagious."

He grabbed a bottle of wine, topping off Rare's glass. "Drink. And now, do tell me if I got it right."

With quick, bouncy steps, he walked around the table, cleared his throat.

"You should be careful. It is not a simple thing, to be me." He repeated, a perfect copy of Rare's tone, her mannerisms, even her body language. Almost as if she were watching a recording of herself. And, as he continued, his eyes got just the right amount of wetness to them. "Be certain not to think too hard about Crow and closets and golems."

"Understand now?"
 
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