He brightens up. "I do!"

He reaches easily into his tunic and -

- not even a ripple, no visible fold in space, just - 

What he draws forth from a space where it should not fit is a blade three feet long that shines like a mirror, moon-silver mithril that sits light and bitter-sharp in his hands, the smooth curve of the blade like nothing any smith of these days could dream of, the handle all wrought in gold, a sapphire the size of a hen's egg nestled in the pommel. In the flicker of candlelight, Eloise can see the deep-set twinkle of runes sung into the metal. A work of great artisans in the time of Raikoth, before the deep mines crumbled and the ancient libraries burned, ensorcelled with long-forgotten spells; ancient, and as new as the day it was made. It glitters. 

Conversations stop. 

"'got these too." On the table lands something like a smooth sheet of rock, but too dark to see - a perfect silhouette in the candlelight, an oddly oily violet gleam deep inside, oddly difficult to focus upon. The scale of a dragon. 

And then something huge and round, black like onyx and veined with pure bone-white. 

An egg. 

She stares into her tankard. There must be something in the stuff. She is beginning to see things.

But– no, he did not have a sword on him before, not even a harness for it, she is sure. Which means– 

Which must mean—

No, surely not. She’s read books. Bags of Holding are rare, so rare that they’re probably not real anymore. A thing out of Fallen Raikoth.

Eloise’s intelligent blue eyes shift to the egg, staring at it apprehensively. The sword and the scale are but beautiful glimmers in her blurred periphery. “What is– in that thing? Will it… hatch?” She whispers the last word.

She gets the sense, through the glaze of the alcohol, that they should not be displaying these out in public so flippantly. 

He gets the same sense, and is already packing them away. 

There is absolutely no way that egg could be concealed on his person, it's massive. 

"No idea. Found it in the thing's lair in a pit of something... bubbly." It had been a pool of black brackish water that seethed and smoked exceedingly. "Hasn't moved. They say they can take years to hatch, but I bet you anything that's just a guess. Scholars make half this shit up." He's slurring his words now. "No idea what I'll do if it does hatch. 'Hey dragon kid, sorry I killed your mum- your dad? I don't actually know?'" he bursts out laughing. 

She stares at him, wide-eyed, before nervously starting to giggle. And she cannot help it. Against all her better wisdom, soon the pair of them are doubled over, guffawing to themselves as if having been told the funniest joke in the world.

There are tears in Eloise’s eyes when their fit calms down, and her cheeks and neck are flushed with the struggle to breathe. “Perhaps– perhaps you should take it to a wizard. I am certain they will know what to do.”

He sighs. "Indeed. I... wish I knew one I trusted with it." 

She furrows her brow, deep in thought.

In the corner of her eye, people are staring. She sees a hooded man whisper into the ear of a friend, and something twists in her stomach. Her very nauseated, ale-filled stomach.

Voltur has attracted too much attention.

“Perhaps it would be better to discuss this on the journey home?” Her question is pointed. 

He gets to his feet without staggering very much, and holds out his arm. Then, after a moment, he half-retracts it. "Would you rather not take my arm, in fact?"

She tries to rise, and the world spins. “No. No. Just… act entirely natural.” Her voice is pale, and she snatches back Voltur’s arm in a tight grip. 

Dear gods, how do her brothers do this every night? She knows, they think they’re so subtle—

“…How does one walk?”

He steadies himself. "One foot in front of the other. Left, then right. I think."

He can get them out of here. He doesn't really notice Eloise's weight, even if she stumbles against him. She's so small. 

He smiles to himself a little. 

“Do you have a Bag of Holding?” she blurts out, when they are sufficiently out of earshot of that fascinating establishment and she has grown accustomed enough to the pattern of walking in a not so  straight line.

He may be weaving a little as well as they make their way down the street. Back towards - thing. Big house. 

"Oh, yeah. Found it in the hoard as well. Got some kind of runes stitched on it. 's only small. Keep it in m'pocket, s'handy for keeping things." He yawns hugely. 

She is stunned for a moment, but less so now. She is growing accustomed to being surprised by him. “You are…”

There are no words for it.

“Unbelievable.” Her voice is soft.

And then she clears her throat and blushes, and carries on with the matter at hand. “Well, we should do shomething about that dragon egg. It could hatch any day! Tomorrow, even!”

He shrugs. "Not sure I believe it mmyself. And confused. Those aren't the same. It's strange learning to be different. One of you. The egg! Yes. Not sure what. Don't know what makes them hatch." He hiccoughs. 

“Well… perhaps if we keep it very warm? I really do think we should find a wizard. Perhaps– there are some wizards my family consults, sometimes, maybe them? No– then my mother will surely find out.” She mulls it over as though it is the largest thought of her life. Her brow scrunches cutely. “Ah! You are a duke. Surely you can hire a great wizard.”

He laughs uproariously. "That's right! I can have a, a court wizard- oh gods I don't know how you get a court wizard. Uh. Yeah, I guess I should ask Talen about that. I probably need a good one. Hmm. I'll tell her we need to be able to trust them with a dragon egg."

“Yes! Yes, someone trustworthy. You are already shaping up to be rather a wise duke, you know.” She pats him clumsily on the shoulder.

He pats her hand awkwardly where it rests on his shoulder. "Thank you. That- that means a lot." He smiles at her a little lopsidedly. 

“You really aren’t like the others, are you.”

"Nah. Don't think I'm going to be. Best I can do is try an' fake it."

She finds herself shaking her head. “No. No, I… like that. You are all sort of… refreshing, I suppose.” And then she turns pink and they have arrived at her garden wall. “Gift me a lift?”

"Oh. Thank you." For some reason he's a little flushed. "Of course." She really is very light.

“Release my sister. Now.”

She screams, losing her balance.