(1312-12-24) On the Way to Mont Nuit
Summary: Zabien runs into Jehan-Pascal on the way to Balm House.
RL Date: 12/24/2020
Related: None
jehan-pascal zabien 

Mont Nuit - City of Elua

Accessible only through the avenues that wind through Night's Doorstep is the cobblestone road that leads through a gate before it climbs the rise of Mont Nuit in wide serpentines. Scattered along the well kept road are the Thirteen Houses of the Night Court, each with its own little courtyard where carriages pull up to bring visitors of great wealth and power. Each House caters to a particular taste, with their adepts and courtesans trained in their canon. The more prestigious the House, the higher up the hill it will be found, and it is no wonder that it is House Cereus that presides over the others at the top of Mont Nuit, as it was founded by Enediel Vintesoir 900 hundred years ago, as First House of the Court of Nightblooming Flowers.

It is a winter day. The weather is cold and clear.


Jehan-Pascal can see his breath. Can see a whole lot of his breath, in fact. He's not one of the set being ferried up and down this steep and winding mountain path in a carriage; no, he's hoofing it, as it were— dressed richly in creams and dun hues with accents of sky blue and a blue-ticked grey lined cape, with gleaming dark brown boots as though carved of mahogany— but all these riches somewhat overwhelmed by the sight of the fellow huffing and puffing it up the hill. The sun has gone down hours ago, now. Of course, that doesn't make it late, when the sun is down not so long after lunchtime anymore. But Jehan-Pascal is about to take a break and lean a hand against a tree by the roadside, tossing back a cape that seems too warm even in the bitter night air. Whew.

Prince Zabien Shahrizai is dressed in heacy black velvet. Secured about his shoulders is a fur-lined cloak. The young prince is on back of a horse, as black as night, save for one white stocking on his left foreleg. Riding beside Zabien is a man dressed entirely in Cassiline grey. A large sword prominately rests on his back, and the vambraces shine in the moon's light. As the duo of riders approach where Jehan-Pascal is currently standing, Zabien pulls back the reigns to halt the horse. He looks down at the huffing man. "My Lord there… are you alright?" In the moonlight, Zabien's pale white skin is almost luminescent, especially in contrast to his black clothing and his raven black hair.

Jehan-Pascal is unarmed, gracious, and hardly poses much by the way of a threat, but, no less, the hand not planted against the tree he lifts in a jaunty wave to the Prince and his Cassiline, as much to show himself empty-hnded as anything else. "Oh, yes," he waves off the concern, quite airily, for someone quite so spiritually challenged, "All is well. The road is just… rather steep, just here. I suppose I shouldn't have assumed the 'mont' bit of 'Mont Nuit' was something of an aggrandizement," he offers up by way of a quick joke between them, then, narrowing his eyes in a squint toward Zabien in the dark. "I know you, don't I?" he realizes.

Zabien looks at the man, not immediately remembering having ever met the man. "It is possible." He smiles, "I do have a face, that few forget, or at least, I am told." And it is true, the youth is unforgettably beautiful. "I am Prince Zabien Shahrizai." He glances to the man in grey, "And this is my guardian Hugh de Brijoy." He looks to the man, "And you are?"

Jehan-Pascal leans off of the tree and steps a little bit closer. He's not great with faces, himself, but a portion of that should be put down to his shortsightedness. Still, the name, he knows, and the beauty, certainly. "Oh! Yes! We met once in a wine bar in Marsilikos," he summarizes their interaction, brief though it may have been. "I'm Jehan-Pascal," he gives his name, then adds, "Of Baphinol," to pin him to his tribus, then glances to the Cassiline, as well, whom he doesn't remember as vividly— though part of their distinctive skillset seems to be blending in somewhat, so who knows. "A pleasure."

It takes a moment, before the midnight blue eyes of the Shahrizai light up with recognition. "Ah yes! I was not expecting to run into someone from Marsilikos." He looks over at the Cassiline. "It is alright. Jehan-Pascal is a friend." A friend that he did not recognize and had only met once. Zabien looks to Jehan-Pascal, "What are you doing in Elua?" He pauses, "Well, obviously heading to one of the salons?" He pauses, "Which house were you heading to? If it is on the way to where we were heading, we can give you a ride."

"I hadn't expected to be here my own self, if I'm being honest," Jehan-Pascal laughs, the conversation bringing his breathing back to a somewhat less harried pace in concert with his no longer trying to haul himself uphill. "My wife decided she wanted to come up for the holiday sort of at the last moment, and so here we are. She's visiting with friends at Heliotrope and I'm sort of at loose ends to go exploring the meanwhile. Where are you going? I'll take my cue from you, if you're offering a lift that far," he laughs.

"I am heading to Balm House. I recently sustained an injury and have been seeking their curative touch to ease the recover." Zabien says. The youth grins widely, "Well, there is no better place to be for Midwinter than the City of Elua. Be it for the Midwinter Ball at the Palace or the parties held here on Mont Nuit." Zabien offers his hand down to Jehan-Pascal to help him up on the horse's back. "We can drop you off at the gate of any of the houses along the way."

Jehan-Pascal reaches up, "An injury? Not too serious, I hope? Are you alright?" he frets genially over the Prince, taking his hand, no less, and mounting up behind with an easy sweep before setting in, holding himself with a simple pressure of the knees and maybe a genle arm looped at Zabien's hip. "Yes, I was actually here the year before last, as well, but didn't have a chance to visit the Mont with… everything else going on. I suppose that this trip I'll make up for it a little. Let me see you to Balm? Then I can explore back downhill from there if it suits me. I thought of paying a call to Mandrake, at some point, but possibly not tonight."

Zabien nods, "Fair enough." He tenses slightly as Jehan-Pascal asks of the injury. "It wasn't too serious." He helps the man get situated behind him.

The garners a gruff from Hugh, as the man remarks, "A dagger to the side is not too serious." Hugh looks at the pair on the black mare, frowning slightly. "Then shall we away for the Balm House?"

Zabien shrugs slightly. "So it was a little bit seriuos, but not so serious that I should still be bed-ridden." Which is technically true. The healer did not say to keep him in bed, just to keep his activities to light. Zabien looks to Hugh, "And what worries should I have? I have you, afteral, watching after everything I do. What would you have me to, leave a friend stranded on the side of the street, shivering in the cold? No. That would hardly be the noble thing, now would it?" The question is answered only with a snort from the grey-clad man.

Jehan-Pascal's voice rises— not in volume, but certainly in pitch. "You were stabbed? Was it on purpose?" he worries after the equestrian before him, hovering warmly at the beautiful youth's back. "Oh— you probably don't want to go over the whole thing again. But that's awful," he murmurs. He glances bashfully back to Hugh, and, "I really do appreciate the lift," he agrees with Zabien in his direction, then, after a moment of quiet, "One of my barons tried to stab me, once," he brings up, as though to commiserate. "Fortunately I had a champion of my own on hand to take care of him."

Zabien shrugs slightly. "I don't mind telling you. I really don't know exactly what it was about. I was in the market place, speaking with someone, when this man bumped into me… or at least that is what it seemed like at first, that was until he slammed the blade into me." He frowns, "He ran off and disappeared in the crowd… I have a few suspicions, but that is all that they would be… so now, I have Hugh here, to keep me safe and all."

"Oh my gosh, Zabien, that's…" Jehan-Pascal can't even say what it is, but Zabien can feel a visceral shudder rummage its way through the form behind him. "I'm so sorry that happened to you, and I'm glad you're alright. There must be an investigation ongoing. You think you were targetted. That only makes sense, it hardly seems a profitsome sort of crime, if random. Unless to express a general disdain for… you know."

Zabien shrugs, "I try not to let it get in my head… I mean it could be because of something that I did." He shrugs, "There could be a couple of things… It could be something that my family did… Companions know the Shahrizai has enemies… Or it could be some nut job who targetted me because I am a Prince of the Blood and is trying to tear down the aristocracy…. Either way, it happened and nothing can be done about it now. Just be vigilant so that someone doesn't come along to finish the job, you know?" He grins, "But on the other side of it… when you explain to a courtesan that someone almost killed you and that you are seaking them for comfort… Let's just say they are extremely motivated and affectionate."

Jehan-Pascal listens attentively, a quivering aftershock of that initial shudder lingering in his torso— or maybe he's just getting cold, now that he's got less work to do than the quadruped between his thighs. "Yes, do be careful," he purrs quietly, then, with a smile of his own, "I'd hardly expect differently no matter the circumstances— but, yes, I can see that being a powerful prompt for their talents to respond to."

Zabien sighs softly, "But in truth, I seek the Balm House more for therapy than pleasure." He grins, "Well, just because it's good for you doesn't mean it has to be unpleasant, now does it?" The youth spurs his horse on a bit more, navigating the winding streets of Mont Nuit. "So you said that you'd find your way back down… have you not a destination in mind? If you can't decide, you can always go through them alphabetically… " He chuckles in the cold, crisp night air.

Jehan-Pascal's weak eyes flick momently skyward with the suggestion, then, laughing, "You know, it might not be a bad idea. In Marsilikos my patronage lies almost exclusively with the White Roses, so it would stand to reason that I visit their counterparts here, first. But I'm hardly sure, I almost feel it would be a betrayal of a salon in which I've spent so many of my formative nights… not to mention one in which my own brother is in service," he chuckles. "Mandrake I thought an easier visit— the Thorns and I have never seen eye to eye, much, and I would like to see whether the Mandrakes are much different," he explains light-heartedly enough for someone just recently told of an assassination attempt. "Next after Alyssum would be Balm, anyhow, so I'd be close to that prescription to follow you."

Zabien hmss softly. "Tell me then if you were so a patron of the white roses, has a certain novice by the name of Raimbaut debuted yet? I spent a little bit of time with him and would certainly like to be kept apprised of him." He grins, "The White Roses are a lot like the Alyssum House in some regards… " He grins, "Since you have shared so much time with their sister house, you could skip the Alyssum House and come with me to Balm House. I assure you… you will be so relaxed after they have finished with you, you are practically poured, like a liquid, back into your clothes." He doesn't really wait for an answer. "It is settled then." Of course it is, why would it not, and Zabien spurs the horse on. The quiet Cassiline just shakes his head at the two's conversation and rides alongside Zabien and Jehan-Pascal as they gallop on toward the Balm House.

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