"I dunno," he confessed with something of a shrug. "I'ss no' relly a matta' of 'ow old, bu' when th' ceremuny's dun. I tinks 'ey get i' at eighteen, nawmally?" Arkash exhaled a little through his nose, then looked up to the man. "Am a li'l laet'o, as 'ew can tell." He spoke with a hidden jest in mind. He quite seriously doubted Taelian would be able to tell his age, given the spectrum of differences between their species.
Taelian had him all figured out; he did want his eye back. Gods would it be nice to finally see through two eyes again. It had been a sort of nightmare to stare from one side of his face for the past couple of months, but he'd somehow managed with his poor accuracy, and as Taelian stated, his depth perception. But, that did mean that Arkash was even more indebted to the half-elf, which wouldn't do. "A bunch'a faeva's," he added to Taelian's offer. Not a few favors, but a bunch. That was what he owed the half-elf. Though he hated it, he was indeed indebted to another man.
He watched with amusement as Taelian played with his hair, however. It was always something that piqued his interest in a curious way. Did it hurt when it was bent out of shape? Could they feel it when it moved? Did their heads ever get hot? He'd always supposed it was something like Liu's fur, just confined to the tops of the plain skins heads. He'd never really had a human friend to ask about what it felt like, but it felt like a matter too personal to bother taelian with.
He didn't reply to Taelian's comment about his beautiful locks, partly out of uncertainty, and partly because he'd been taken by surprise at the extended offer. Vallet? Clothes? Taelian would allow him to wear something fine? In his state? it was a strange thought; he dressed for functionality, not for looks. All Arkash's life, skipping a layer or choosing a cooler, lighter fabric that breathed easier had meant the difference between life and death. His clothes had always been hides, furs, and leathers. It broke up his shape, and he thought it looked okay, so he didn't particularly mind much and hadn't put much thought to his appearance, how he might look if he dressed like someone proper.
Arkash caught a glimpse of his mangled face in the reflection of Taelian's mirror. The way his left eye stared on with its glossy white film was so clear on that surface. Arkash had known he was hideous and deformed from puddles and the like, but to see his injuries, the curl of his lip in detail was... Well, it frightened him. As the taste of venom crept onto his palette, Arkash steeled himself and looked to Taelian, away from the sight of the monster. The man was running a bath?
He was just about to leave the room when Taelian called to him and prompted Arkash to pause then spin on his heels. The bath was for him? Someone as fancy and high as Taelian was running him a bath? That was... quite unlike any aristocrat he'd heard of. But then again, Taelian had said a lot of the covenant came from the streets. Did he have similar origins? He hadn't thought to ask, but then there were so many things that suddenly made sense if that was the case. Taelian could take Arkash's lowborn banter, he sympathized with the nameless and didn't let class separate them at all. He almost felt as though he was being treated like a human; like an equal. That was, if not for the scales comment.
"Mista' Scaels, relly?" Was all he asked with something of a raised brow "I 'eard the museum's recallin' they's first aeg relics, an' 'at naem's on th' list," he spoke with a grin and a cross of his arm over his tucked stump. Taelian immediately one-upped his witty remark with one of his own, and the powdered wig was brought back to light. Arkash could nearly curse himself for talking of such a thing in the first place. A furrow of his brows saw Arkash squint and glare. "Orite, Ser Steve. One moer wise-crack an' I'll a'tually wear i'," he warned with a flex of his brow and a smile. He couldn't threaten to thump Taelian, as the man could quite easily wipe the floor with him, but he could threaten to make them both equally uncomfortable.
Arkash came to stand beside the tub while it filled, seemingly from nowhere at all, and squinted. It was a strange sight to behold, but he supposed it was another luxury that rich people could afford - they didn't have to draw water from a well whenever they were thirsty. Water was available on-demand, no matter the weather. A deep sigh left him while he stared, then he looked to the giant with something of a gentle, almost longing smile. "...Thank 'ew," he spoke genuinely. "I relly 'preciate i'ss, Taelian."
With that, Taelian was off, And Arkash assured him he would be fine by himself for a moment. Arkash was alone in the lavish room, filled with things the likes of which he'd never even dreamed of owning. Then again, he wasn't too materialistic. He made good money as a hitter, but spent it on naught but food and tools. Was he suited for that sort of lifestyle? Probably not. He didn't have the emotional control one needed to work in a political environment, nor did he have the patience or consideration to present or articulate himself. He was worlds away from someone like Taelian, and yet, he suspected Taelian had come from a place as low as he.
Arkash undid the buttons of his leathers, and stepped out of the room-temperature fur clothes to brush his one set of claws along the warmth of the still water. The steam felt heavenly against his scales, and he shut his eye as a shiver ran through his spine. With a deep sigh, Arkash reached the first half of his arm into the water, and wisps of dirt and little bubbes flowed from his scales while it soaked, and the pleasant warmth of the water ran through his body.
With little pause, he gripped the edge of the bath and lifted his dirty, patchy, scarred body into the cleansing waters. Warmth enveloped him and seeped into his bones. His body limbered and the beat of his heart slowed as blissful relaxation claimed him. With a deep exhale, he rested his head against the back of the tub, and opened his eye a crack through the rise of steam, and peered to the ceiling. He wouldn't be able to see the stars from where he laid, but he could still get used to the view, he imagined. Was that the sort of life he wanted? The comfort of four hole-less walls and an intact ceiling? Embroidered quilts, fine clothes, and baths? It felt wrong, but then, who wouldn't want to live such a life? A deep sigh escaped him as he shut his eye again, and he sank into the waters to soak the scarred, twisted scales of his face in the cleansing waters. It wasn't to last, so he made an effort to enjoy it without room for the poison in his heart.
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