The black-armored canid finds herself in the midst of Inala's carnival "once more" although from her present perspective, dream-like, she has no real sense of discontinuity – of waking or dreaming again. Her two erstwhile companions are nowhere to be seen, but their disappearance seems perfectly natural, as if they were merely elsewhere at the moment and Elise could, if she wished, find them in short order.

Acrobatic tumblers leap around the noble poodle, attempting to engage her interest. A moment after he dropped out of sight behind a black curtain at the rear of his tent, the Mystic re-emerges to the side of his dais, and gazes evenly at Elise. "Lady of Bellefeuille," he begins, "rather than keep you waiting out here, perhaps you would care to join me for a cup of tea?"

The armored canid tilts her head, shifting the ever somber helmet of hers to the side. "I suppose so. You will forgive me however, if I do not partake of any food to be found here. One must watch what one eats," she answers calmly, her tail idly swishing behind her.

The Mystic smiles briefly at Elise's response. He parts the dark curtains behind him and gestures for her to enter before him. The area within the tent concealed beyond the stage-like dais is cozy, even indulgent, with a table just large enough for two, a small stove, and furniture draped in silks and furs.

Upon being invited, the Gallee walks forward, and enters the rear area of the tent. As she does so, she takes a moment to stand and gaze at her new surroundings. Her expression is unreadable due to the helmet and indeed she seems to like it that way.

Her host moves to the little stove, poking briefly at the fire within. He seems more relaxed now, without an audience or a challenge pressing, but despite the informality of his setting, he still has a presence about him which speaks of power, making him appear large and formidable in spite of an unremarkable height.

After a moment, he turns from the stove to view his guest. "Make yourself comfortable, please, Lady." He pulls out one of the chairs for her courteously.

The woman hesitates for moment. Elise's shadowed eyes appear as mere empty sockets upon the mask of a helmet which considers the man. Her tail has since stopped moving and it is soon brushed to the side along with her cape as the noble decides that sitting at least would be safe. Once settled, she inclines her head. "Thank you."

Another small smile, and he aids her in adjusting the chair comfortably before the table. "You are welcome, gracious lady. How are you enjoying our Carnival, might I ask? Did the game entertain you?"

"I find it in many ways disturbing. Most notably the creature in the tent, and certainly your attempts to manipulate us," answers Elise after she has become comfortably settled. Her hands move to her helmet after her response, and remove it, allowing her face to be seen once more. The helmet is placed in the poodle's lap, and she folds her arms neatly on top of it.

The Mystic leans against a tent post near the stove, folding his arms habitually across his chest, one leg bent so the foot also rests against the post. He regards his guest carefully, with a gaze that shifts occasionally to other objects about the room, defusing an impression that he might be staring. He nods after a long moment in response to her words. "I am most sorry that we have failed to amuse you." His words sound both sober and sincere.

The poodle seems to watch the room directly in front of her across the table. She does not shift her gaze to watch theman, instead opting to avoid him at least visually. "If I might ask, why is it so important that I am amused? Or is your objective to keep us trapped in this place, amused, forever?" asks the woman.

The kettle on the stove starts to whistle, and he turns to it, lifting it from the heat and pouring the contents into a small, elegant porcelain teapot set on a ceramic tray, two matching cups and saucers to either side of it. When he has completed this motion, he turns to face the poodle. "No," he says with gentle reassurance, "it is no one at this Carnival's intention to keep you trapped here." He chuckles, apparently at a thought. "Certainly not trapped against your will, at any rate."

He lifts the platter with practiced ease and moves it to the table, where he seats himself opposite the Gallee, his wings flexing for a moment to either side of the narrow-backed chair. "Unless I misjudge you," he adds softly, "I do not think it could be your will to stay here forever."

"Then one must give oneself to this place? That bard was certainly right. Despite what it seems, this is most certainly not a heaven." A twitch of the tail and the poodle finally shifts her head to face the Eeee. "You are correct. I would not wish to stay here. However, I wonder, what it is you gain here? Why all of this?"

An fragrant aroma begins to arise from the teapot, of herbs and berries. The scent is pleasant but not strong. "What do I gain?" He frowns, thoughtfully, as if contemplating how to explain. "You wear the armor and robes of your Nation, do you not, my lady?" he inquires.

"You are correct, and I assume that you too wear your robes wherever it is you are in life," replies the poodle. She steadily watches the Eeee, attempting to hide her nervousness behind a facade of calm. Occasionally her nose sniffs at the air, but she does not reach for any tea.

The Mystic inhales deeply of the aroma of the tea, but does not yet move to pour it, letting it steep further. He folds his fingers easily before him, resting the palms against the table, deep green eyes flicking from the Gallee's face to the table, once more carefully avoiding staring. "But why do you wear such attire, Lady Antoine de Bellefeuille? Is it not to proclaim your allegiance to your ideals, your country?"

The poodle, like the Eeee, attempts not to stare. Instead she watches somewhere beyond the man, eyes focused on no particular thing. "Indeed you are correct once again. My armor is a show of my loyalty, a obvious thing for the world to see, not simply protection," she answers with a slight nod.

The fragrance of berries grows a little stronger, but is still subtle in the air. The Mystic stands and lifts the teapot, carefully filling a cup two-thirds of the way. He pauses, looking to her eyes, a ready smile at her answer. "There you have it. My motives are likewise apparent to the world: I am here to serve my people and our Goddesses. Would you like cream or sugar with your tea, Lady?"

"As I said before, pardon me if I do not partake of any substance here. But thank you," responds Elise. Her earflicks a little and her head tilts in though. She ponders the Mystic's words before speaking again. "I cannot say I believe in the Seven Sisters. Having read their legends, I find them distasteful and without the morals I find dear. I can say I pity you some, to know you believe in them and may now be at their whim."

His smile turns wry, and he gazes into the small china cup. "Some of us are not gifted with the best of nations, or the kindliest of deities. One makes do with what one has. If you were beset by a wild beast, would you scorn to use a stick because it was not a sword? Your pardon, my lady. You spoke of food, and I was uncertain if you reasoned drink dangerous as well."

"It would appear to me that the accepting of anything here, delightful as it may appear, is dangerous. So forgive me if I must decline," mentions Elise. She attempts a smile, but it comes off weak and forced. "One is also given the gift to chose. Not all paths in life are set in stone, and we have the ability to step off a path we find troublesome. You too could change. There are other countries, other gods and other places to be. If you so chose to accept them and have the courage to act upon your world, to mold and change it through the course of your deeds."

A dash of cream from the small chilled container, and a spoonful of sugar goes into the cup. The Mystic stirs it slowly, the ceramic spoon clinking against the sides. Once again, his intense green eyes rise to meet Elise's gaze as she speaks. His lips part as if to answer, but he seems to reconsider his words, looking into his tea again. At last, he says, "So, our Carnival affords you little entertainment, but you still wished to play my simple game. I do not wish to give offense, but might I inquire why?"

Elise watches the cup of the man before her, again considering just how to answer. The cup presents something else to rest her eyes on, for she would most certainly rather not look into his eyes. "I wish to gain a ticket and proceed to this Paradise of yours. That seems to be of importance to my companions, and thus it is important to me. We are here, after all, to overcome these tests. However, something you mentioned puzzles me. Succeed or fail, we assist you. What did you mean by this?"

The black-furred Eeee sets the spoon on the saucer, and lifts the vessel to sip from it, closing his eyes as he inhales the fragrant steam. He releases a pleased sigh after drinking, and seems to relax a bit more in his seat. "I must confess, sweet lady, your caution in declining my drink is admirable." His voice is easy, the compliment an honest one. "In this case, misplaced, but nonetheless wise for it. I am only sorry that the simple pleasure of berryswort tea is thereby denied you." He seems to be considering the poodle's question even as he speaks of the tea, a slight frown creasing his brow as he thinks.

"My father once told me that in strange places with uncertain company, one should be careful what one is offered," notes the poodle as her gaze shifts to her helmet. The items is turned around so the face stares back at Elise and she reaches to carefully remove a smudge with her thumb.

He sets the cup back down in its saucer. "When one is a showman, one will often say much that is not … precisely … accurate, in furtherance of the show." The oblique sentence could be in answer to Elise's earlier question.

The poodle smirks faintly as she continues to stare back into the eyes of her helmet. "How very tricky of you," she mentions. "Of course I did not expect you to give me your entire plan, simply because I asked. But in the course of our conversation I found something to be amusing. Here you are, in a world of dreams serving a goddess of pleasure you claim to follow … yet you seem unhappy."

The Mystic stirs at his tea, and then stands abruptly, as if with nervous energy. He banks the coals in the tiny stove, and empties the remaining water in the kettle into a bucket. He towel-dries the kettle with gentle care, the everyday motions looking more natural, and less cover for sudden lack of ease. He stores the container precisely in a chest, and then bursts into surprised, delighted laughter as Elise reaches the conclusion of her statement.

"I do, do I not? A fine irony indeed, my graceful Gallee." He turns and stands from his crouch before the chest, facing the poodle. His eyes capture hers, and his speech is gentle. "It's because here I am seeking to make you feel joy, yet I know that so far, I am meeting with little success, and I fear that I will not do better in the future."

The laughter serves to cause the poodle's ears to flatten slightly against her head. "Yes, you mentioned you make do with what you have. And you must have some power to be here, as I suspect you are as much a person as I. All that power and you are a mere showman in a world created for pleasure, but in essence, a way to torture yourselves. The goddesses were never benevolent. You said yourself you simply 'make do' with them. No, I think you are unhappy despite your laughter. Much like the creature in the cage." She frowns a little and turns her helmet on its side, considering it more. She avoids his gaze. "Why is my happiness so important? Above yours? That does not seem to be very much of the legends I recall. So giving, and nothing in return?"

"It is good of you to show concern for the comfort of your host, even when the host is such a poor one as myself." The Mystic is once more at ease as he returns to his seat, cool and collected, a smile ghosting on his mouth. "Your happiness is important because you are the guest, and we are but the Carnival. As for getting nothing in return – well, you have shekels to spend, do you not?" His eyes sparkle, inviting her to share the jest and the knowledge that their setting is not as simple as his words.

A smirk, then a smile follows and the Gallee finally looks up from her helmet to meet the Eeee's eyes. "How absurd this could all appear to be," she tells him, lifting a hand to gesture around. "But anyway, you seemed nervous a moment ago. Is there something … wrong?"

His large, expressive green eyes meet her gaze unblinkingly, the smile on his lips echoed within their depths. He seems to enjoy the opportunity to look back into Elise's face, drinking in her features, the look in her eyes, as he might drink his tea, savoring it thoroughly. He nods gentle assent, without breaking his look. "Yes, I believe there is something wrong," he says simply.

Elise hand falls from the helmet as if the strength had drained from it. She places it back in her lap as she gazes back at the Eeee, eyes unmoving as she stares into his green eyes. For a moment she does not say anything, but eventually she does speak. "What, may I ask, is wrong?"

A frown clouds his features as he considers the nature of his reply, as if he were determining his own reasons for speaking so. "I am not sure, my dear." The stone around his neck glitters in the candlelight, counterpoint and echo to his eyes. "But I believe a solution may be forthcoming, and I am content in that."

Another ear twitch from the poodle, and the stare is broken long enough that Elise can glance towards the stone around his neck. "Might you … speak as to the nature of this problem?" she asks him after looking, again meeting his eyes and rarely blinking.

He leans forward, resting his forearms against the table. "I… " His voice breaks off, and his lambent eyes narrow with intensity. "I am not sure that I may," he says after a long moment's delay, and there is a trace of anger in his words, beneath the Mystic's aura of ease and confidence. His intent gaze changes subtly, searching the Gallee's face like an Inquisitor's probe rather than a lover's caress, as if she might be the source of the wrongness.

Again the poodle's ears flatten back, further this time under the now harsh gaze of the Eeee. She cannot help but continue to watch him though, gazing into his eyes. Those eyes. "You seem to be in … in some distress. Have my questions into your faith or amusement caused you some trouble? And … I would like to know what trouble you may be in," she tells him in a quieter tone than is normal for her.

The Mystic shakes his head, loosing the Gallee from the grip of his eyes. "It's the place, and it's not in you." He folds one palm over the other hand, clenched in a fist, while his words tumble rapidly, one after the other, as if he were trying to push them quickly through a brief opening. "There are forces at work that have brought this dream-realm about, and an alternate force which has brought you here. I do not, at present, know why, and I am not certain I like the direction that either force seems to take. Tell me what you know." The last is spoken in a tone of command so stern it would be hard to disobey, at odds with his earlier, gentler conversation. It's as if the effort of speaking just now was so great there was no room left for manners.

"I … I do not like your tone," stammers the Gallee at the sudden command. She shrinks back away from him and clutches her helmet, whimpering slightly. Despite being armed and armored, she cannot find any strength in this. "What do you mean, the place is not in me? And … I do not really know what is the course of any of this. I was brought here without my consent, apparently to help. And to face you, and your gods. But you do not seem to be favoring either side. Who … are you?"

The Mystic stands abruptly, his wings unfurling to flare above his head, the chair knocked back with the suddenness of his movement. "Do you mean to tell me you know nothing more of why you are here?" He towers over the poodle, voice low, fierce with warring emotions, among them anger, but beneath that, pleading.

At the imposing visage the poodle turns her head away and closes her eyes tightly. She clings to her helmet and is silent for a moment before her lip curls slightly and she slowly pulls herself up and stands. The helmet is put on the table and she attempts to stand her ground. "No! Not truly, this is all so very confusing. And I will not be yelled at, or commanded by the likes of you!" she yells at him. A step forward around the table and the poodle lifts her hand to bring it forth, to smack him across the face. "How dare you speak to me like this!"

His hand whips forward, a blur of motion, to catch Elise's wrist before her blow lands. He bares his teeth in a silent snarl, eyes locking viciously into hers. For an instant, they are locked in this pose, then, as quickly as emotion came upon him, it drains away, and he releases her wrist with a soft cry, slumping back into his chair. "Ah," he murmurs, head sinking into his hands, elbows resting to either side of his cup. "Forgive me. I have frightened, hurt and offended you, and I meant to do nothing of any of that."

When the hand is caught, the poodle's muzzle opens slightly in a silent gasp. Her eyes go wide, and she can only stare back at him frozen in fear. But the hand is released and the man shifts emotions so quickly that she is left standing dazed for a moment before she can respond to the sudden shift. The hand that was held, and then left in the air, is hesitantly placed on the Eeee's shoulder. She frowns down at as the fear clears from her face. "I … do not understand you. I thought you were here to manipulate me at first, and then now to see what information you can pull from me. But, you seem greatly pained by your actions here as you are unable to do whatever it is you must do. You do not want to be here, doing this, do you?" she asks him.

A wry smile ghosts over his lips. "I know you said earlier that you did not enjoy attempts to manipulate you. Apparently I do not like being manipulated, either." He places one hand over Elise's where it rests on his shoulder, the gesture tender and wholly at odds with their position just moments ago. After a moment, he lets his fingers fall away. The silence stretches, and he does not turn his gaze to the Gallee again. He reaches instead for his cup of tea, sipping as he restores his own composure.

The hand does not move from the shoulder, nor does the poodle move from the Eeee's side except to follow his actions. "Do you mean me? Surely I cannot be causing such shifts in personality? Or, perhaps you mean another? I would not put it beyond this place to have begun to use the two of us. By nature of being here, I seem to be being used. But I do not know what would use you. Perhaps you do?" she asks quietly, but also attempting to sound concerned despite being shaken.

When he finishes his drink, he sets the empty vessel with graceful precision once more onto its saucer, turning the handle just so for the proper position. A slight shake of his head. "No, it's not in you," he says, weary and with great effort. "It's in me. And perhaps doing its bidding would not pain me if I felt I had more of a choice in it." He exhales shakily.

Ears perk at the Eeee's comment. The thought of even those supposedly controlling this place being used adds a layer of confusion the poodle is not ready for. She considers for a moment before kneeling down beside the Mystic. "Then perhaps, you need someone to help you?" she asks him in a whisper. She tries to smile too, but she is still too shaken to make if look confident. "Perhaps if I knew more as to the nature of what possesses you, I might have some insight into what to do about it. Also, how do you know who it possesses? You seem to have not seen it in me."

His fingers, slender but strong, rub at his forehead, and he shakes his head. "Truly, I do not know. Dear lady, to unravel this mystery, I think you must progress. Perhaps Paradise will hold the answers that presently we lack." His wings are lowered at his back, the tips resting unheeded on the ground. "My wits are so dull at present that I would not be a match for a three year-old kitten, much less a grown woman of noble birth." The hint of a smile that touches his lips is no more stable than that on hers, and his eyes dart briefly towards her face, as if to share humor, but he averts them quickly.

As he continues, the Eeee's voice regains some of its former confidence, "For the formality of the three shekels, m'lady, I think we might call this a contest, and whether or not you were 'the winner', I find myself most soundly beaten. Should that not earn you your Ticket?"

For a moment the noble smiles back at the Eeee, and this time she does indeed seem to smile without being crippled by fear or confusion. When he turns away the smile fades, but her hand still does not move from him. "I think you quite capable, but at the moment you are not yourself, and I would not think to doubt your intelligence due to that," she attempts to reassure him in hopes it might cause him some ease in his suffering. Her free hand trails to her pouch and gathers three of the strange shekels. They are then placed in the Eeee's hand, no matter if he holds it out or not. "And I thank you for the game, despite what has occurred. Perhaps someday when we know, and when this fantasy … or nightmare … is done, we can have a rematch?"

Once she removes her fingers after she presses the coins into his unresponsive hand, the shekels slip down to clink against the saucer. He inhales deeply, gathering himself, and then lifts his wings to their former proud angle, and raises his head to smile into her eyes. "A consummation devoutly to be hoped for, fair lady," he answers her. Emerald eyes sparkle with promise.

"Most would call you my enemy, and indeed if this were real I would be shunned for this, but … " she smiles again reassuringly, and not afraid, " … I do not believe every Eeee wishes war, or pain. Perhaps some day we will meet in person. Let us hope by then, this conflict is over. I look forward to seeing you then." She stands and gathers her helmet from the table, then tucks it under arm, as she leaves the tent, returning to the Carnival outside.