"These things happen," he says wisely, smiling down at her. "What do they teach these days about the fall of Ansaith?"

"A lot of it's confused and contradictory. Attempted coup that spiraled into a nasty and devastating war that brought the Empire to ruin, and then either the one making the bid for the throne died or just - left." She eyes him. "Try to take over any Empires, have you?"

"I thought I wanted my father's empire," he says. "I thought I wanted it very badly. And he was a few thousand years old himself at that point and didn't look likely to give it up anytime soon. So I tried to take it, and failed, and lost my father and my best friend and the city I'd called home all my life, and then, just as I was beginning to give in to despair..."

He shrugs.

"It turned out that what I wanted was much simpler than I'd thought. Immortality, unimaginable power, a nice castle. Girls. All still within reach."

"... Huh. There's probably something poetic in that, but I am a bit too drunk to try and puzzle it out, I think." Speaking of: alcohol. Hell yes she needs its embrace right now, what even is this conversation?

"So. What's the trick to immortality? I'd say asking for a friend, but no, I'm asking for myself. I have to live forever after this. No offense, but I refuse to let getting drunk be the best thing I did in my life, and this is shaping up to be a pretty important conversation, so. Immortality's the answer." Considering pause. "Unimaginable power wouldn't be bad, either, how'd you manage that one?"

He smiles crookedly. "Lots and lots of torture, I'm afraid. To both questions. Although Iri thinks one day she'll get the whole thing to work by itself without me having to keep feeding it."

"Oh." Disappointed pause. "Did the Ansati Empire run off of lots and lots of torture, too, or? Because I got the impression that they had a lot more infrastructure than like. A dungeon and a lot of creatively shaped knives."

"No, they did it with time and coordination. Thousands of people working together on projects that half of them or more wouldn't live to see finished. That's how my grandfather built the fountains."

"Oh, those are actually real? Well. Then can you take your questionably siphoned power and clean up the ruins of the old capital and like. Put up a signpost. 'Hey guys it's safe come be disease free and in your twenties again!'"

...He starts giggling. It's not very compatible with his terrifying-omnipotent-sorcerer image, and yet: giggling.

Huh. Yeah, wow, she made him giggle. That's weird.

It sort of works for him, though?

... She peers at her bottle, and then she re-corks it and sets it down out of the way. That is definitely a sign that she has had too much to drink.

Moving right along from that. "Granted it would take a bit more infrastructure than a sign. Maybe a greeter with brochures. Sign posted rules. 'Break the rules at your own risk, see; mountain with the torture sorcerer on it.'"

He shakes his head. "Rules sound like work," he says. "Cleaning out the capital, eh, maybe someday I'll be bored enough. Administering it afterward? Not a chance."

Snort.

"Okay. Fair enough, I guess. My mother would be good at administering it but doesn't have the power to keep hold of the capital if it started, uh. Giving youth instead of horrible death. .... How willing are you to be an enforcer?"

Another of those crooked smiles. "Depends how much work is involved. And how good you are at convincing me, I guess."

"Well, what types of arguments are you usually convinced by?"

"It's been a very long time since anyone got what they wanted out of me," he admits. "But I hope you don't let that stop you from trying. You have something I want that I can't get by torturing you, and that hasn't happened in a while."

"I worry that I would become rapidly less charming if I tried to use my charm to get you to do things. Lots of people don't like being manipulated. And I'm not really sure which thing I'm doing is resulting in my charm, it's likely some portion of the alcohol talking, you see."

"It's the way you think," he says, leaning forward slightly and turning his head to look back at her. "If I had to guess, I'd say being drunk is just making you more inclined to speak your mind."

"Oh. Well. Okay then. Thanks? I think?"

He laughs.

"Come stay with me at the castle and I'll clear out the old capital for you," he says, "how's that?"

She considers.

"My ability to leave intact and your desire to help my mother keep people from breaking the fountains by fighting over them still up in the air?"

"Yes and yes."

"... Let me write and send a letter, first? Since mail dislikes your mountain so."

"All right," he says agreeably.

"Where am I even going to find paper," she says, mostly to herself, before hauling herself to her feet. She wobbles dangerously, steadying herself with a hand on the nearby wall.

Lord Tanaikon reaches into thin air and retrieves a roll of high-quality paper, which he offers to her with a flourish.