As though by the magic of fortuitous timing, the door chime sounded just then and the levity of the moment vanished from the Eldar as he moved quickly out of sight and gestured a hand at the door. Tarna went to the door to answer it. The male she'd spoken to earlier waited patiently at the door as she answered, offering a bow and a tied bundle to her.
"Your order, Mistress. Is there anything else this one may do to serve?"
She took it and glanced over it and said, "Excellent. This will suffice for now. Move along now."
The servitor began to turn away as he was dismissed and the door closed, no further commentary forthcoming as he was quite well-trained. She headed back inside and closed the door again.
The package was readily opened and revealed clothing which would seem to fit quite well in the theme of what she wore but in male cut and with a few additions; two different optional leather hoods and a spiked or D-ringed collar and lead to be precise. Tarna looked it over distastefully, making a bit of a face at it.
"Well, here we go..." She then went to see if she could remove the collar on Melaran's neck.
Melaran looked the 'wardrobe' over with varying degrees of distaste and alarm, re-thinking his ability to play the role in this... this... He shuddered and left them sitting on a chair for now, knowing that he would do so, but not glad of the prospect. The removal of the slave collar, however, was of considerable interest to him.
"I would hope that you are familiar with this?" he asked doubtfully, the runes on the device seeming vaguely reminiscent of the Eldar and yet mutated over time to questionable purpose.
"Nope, not in the least," Tarna said brightly, peering over the thing.
The control device was likely of a standard design here, which would lead to no end of questions if they were to seek help in the matter regardless of where they might look. Melaran studied the glyphs pensively, trying to discern some sort of meaning in them and finally sighed.
"Two would seem of potential use, if the meaning of the runes is even close to what I believe..." He trails off into silence, then continued with a weak grin, "Unfortunately, the closest I may come is Release or Death for either, not precisely comforting choices."
"Oh, that's helpful." Tarna rolled her eyes. "And I don't think anyone will kindly let me read their mind to figure it out either."
"Unlikely," Melaran replied unhelpfully, "And as they are distant kin their resistance to unwanted psychic intrusion is much alike that of the Eldar." He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "We do not have a great deal of choice in the matter, however, and I would sooner find a quick death at your hand than the one which would have awaited me elsewhere. Choose and trust to fate, Tarna Tanson."
"I'll prefer to at least try my oh-so-neat mental abilities first at least," Tarna said dryly. "Azale's better at precision-teleportation, but over such a short distance I might be able to manage it..."
"No," Melaran replied quietly, stepping to face her. "Do not risk yourself on my behalf. Your risk in this is great enough and has already increased by aiding another beyond your quest. I am still a soldier, mindful of duty and obligation, and could not conscience allowing you to endanger yourself further for a choice which may be mine."
"Well, no, I'd say it's a much greater risk to you than me, as I'm not gonna try teleporting myself. Though I doubt with a low-power weave I'd manage to rip your head off by accident or something..."
Melaran chuckled softly and bowed to her, "My humblest apologies, Mistress, I had mistaken your intent in this. Proceed at your leisure, then, if you believe the danger is sufficiently less than random chance."
He straightened and stepped back, settling into an informal attention with his chin tilted slightly upward.
Tarna said, "Well, I'm good enough at it that I think there's a better than 50-50 chance at bad things happening at least..."
Tarna took a deep breath and settles in and concentrates on it, and rolled the dice. The effort with the alien technology was not simple, and Tarna worked at it a bit without immediate effect, but the metal collar soon disappeared with an audible sound akin to a spring. It reappeared instantly a mere centimeter from Melaran's throat and he snatched it as it began to fall.
"It would appear to have worked," he murmured, unconsciously reaching up to rub at the place it had recently occupied.
Tarna breathed a sigh of relief and slumped a bit. "Yeah... I guess they didn't really anticipate people being able to do things quite like that when they made them, did they. Similar devices used by the Elkandu tend to be more restrictive, with more safeguards against such things."
"Indeed," Melaran replied, setting the repulsive collar on a bedside table. "Though I suspect the difference lies primarily in the nature of the location. Where would an escaped slave truly go in such a dire place? It would require the aid of another for success, and the likelihood of such an occurrence is improbable enough that the Prankster himself might shy away from the gamble."
"Yeah... the worst the Elkandu use - the demons, really - are demonsteel handcuffs. They even go so far as prevent you from channeling or even seeking. Nasty things..."
She didn't stop to think that he probably doesn't know what she means by 'channeling' or 'seeking'. Channeling he readily understood, the process quite familiar on many levels for the Eldar, but 'seeking' he could only begin to guess at and he began to ask about it then sighed, recognizing his inclination for what it was.
"If it please you, Mistress," Melaran replied with semi-credible servility, "I should bathe and then see to my..." his concentration was broken and he made a face of disgust as he finished, "...wardrobe."
"Do you have any suggestions or preference regarding the, ahh, accessories?" he asked, a faint tinge of color at his eartips the only sign of his discomfort.
"Nope. I couldn't begin to tell you what these depraved weirdos might consider fashionable. Nor care, either," Tarna muttered.
The Eldar vanished without further word with the 'clothing' into the bathroom, apparently availing himself of a shower as the sound of water is heard. One might wonder about the availability of such trivial things in an isolated world, but then that would require considering all the myriad and bizarre concepts associated with the Warp that would be guaranteed to incite a raging headache.
Tarna didn't wonder. She was used to being able to imagine an entire landscape around her back at home, anyway. She took a moment to relax and meditate, or something vaguely resembling such, while he did that.
Melaran emerged a bit later, wearing what apparently passed as suitable male servitor wear in this place and looking like nothing so much as an escapee from an S&M movie back in Elkandu. Leather straps and a thong, plus thin knee-high boots, though he apparently decided to forego the use of one of the hoods and seemed unsure as he emerged as to which of the collars to choose.
"I would suppose each would have a separate meaning or purpose," Melaran remarked, remaining remarkably calm and cool in light of things, really. "Yet I can discern no reasonable one for either."
"Couldn't begin to tell you," Tarna muttered, giving them a glance over. "I don't know why they even bother with clothing at all. It's not like they're actually covering much of anything." Tarna rolled her eyes in disgust.
Melaran reddened slightly at the frank assessment of the clothing style, then focused on the two collars for a moment thoughtfully. The spiked seemed more 'aggressive' in tone, perhaps denoting some sort of protective capacity? He could not fathom, and while the idea might assuage some of his natural unease, it was also not an image he might wish to foster. He settled on the D-ring and offered her the unconnected, folded leash.
"I presume that will be expected and more readily-accepted in the eyes of my dark kin," he said quietly.
Tarna looked at it uncomfortably and took it uneasily. Clearly her quiet moments hadn't really managed to calm her down overly much, and she seemed very nervous. Melaran was not perhaps the calmest he had ever been either, but had a lifetime of self-discipline to rely on to settle at least the worst of that and unease.
"Are you going to be alright, Tarna Tanson?" he asked gently, managing the feat of ignoring clothing issues for the moment. "You seem to be uneasy yet, beyond the normal which might be considered in this setting even."
"Yeah..." Tarna said haltingly. "I'll ... I'll manage..."
She closed her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath, and with new resolve, headed for the door. Considering it for a moment as she headed for the door, Melaran moved lightly to intercept her, stepping well within the normal bounds which the Eldar of her brief experience tend to maintain and gently gripped her shoulders.
"Listen to me," he said softly, "If you are not ready for this in spirit, then we may wait a while yet until you may be. Time is not necessarily of such great import that a day may not be held aside."
He paused, trying to catch her eyes, then continued.
"You must be sure of yourself in all things, and if some measure of discomfort comes of me that I might endanger you then you must tell me; I will find another path from that which you follow before endangering you, do you understand?"
Tarna gave a nod. She didn't flinch or shy away from him, either. "I'd be more afraid of endangering you than the other way around. But I'll be glad, for once, to not have to face this alone. And I'll be glad to be gone from this place. If anything, remaining here longer will just wear me down even more."
Melaran sighed softly, "You are not alone in this, nor would I allow it to be so as it is within my ability to aid you. I would be... unwilling to see you leave, but will not allow anything of my presence to threaten you for any reason. You are weary and worn enough of spirit, I can add no more to it and be true to my own. Can you do this, Tarna? Think carefully and answer true, as I will accept no less."
"Yes," she said, closing her eyes for a moment and letting out sigh. "Yes, I can."
"Very well," Melaran replied gently, on impulse leaning closer and gently touching his lips to her forehead. "I will hold you to your word, and swear by my own that I shall do precisely as I have said. Do not fail yourself, Tarna, anything beyond that is not yours to carry."
He drew back suddenly and fell silent, his own thoughts a disordered tumble that he tried to place in order. Tarna gives him a faint smile, slips back into character again, and opened the door to head out again. Melaran began to follow, through the door, then suddenly stepped back as a detail which had been pestering at the back of his mind surfaced with clarity.
"Tarna, wait," he called her back quietly and returned to the room, "Another potential for difficulty has just risen to mind which we may need attend before going further."
Tarna stopped and headed back. "What is it?"
Waiting for the door to close again, he brought a strand of his own pale gold hair and examined it ruefully.
"After considerable thought and observation, I fear this must go if I am to truly pass among the darker kin. Even beneath one of their masks it would prove a potential difficulty."
He set the strand loose and pointed to the sharp blades at her forearms.
"Barring anything else available, those may suit the basics of the task if you will aid in it."
"I see your point. Hmm, let's see." Tarna frowned thoughtfully and poked around a bit in her bag for a moment.
Melaran waited patiently, not particularly fond of the idea in the first place, but recognizing readily the need for it and determined not to add to the danger already involved.
Apparently, Tarna raided a beauty parlor at some point. She proceeded to pull out a comb, hairbrush, blow dryer, beach towel, and finally hair dye. "Ah, there it is." At least she knew where her towel was.
The Eldar merely watched with puzzled bemusement as she dug into the beltpouch and begins taking out the copious array of items.
"How odd," Melaran muttered, torn between awe and light laughter at the moment.
"Here, sit down, I'll get to work," she said, proceeding to do so. "Kind of makes me glad of being such a packrat. You never know what you'll need sometimes."
"Indeed," Melaran replied with a quiet chuckle, deciding on levity for the moment as he complied. "Certainly a more-palatable option than that which I would otherwise have considered necessary."
"I'd so hate to take scissors to those lovely locks of yours," Tarna said lightly as she worked on his hair.
Ear-tips colored faintly at the compliment, the attention bringing rise to a cascade of thought which he firmly pushed aside.
"Nor would it be my preference," Melaran replied with deliberation, turning to a more bland and distracting venue. "Unlike our dark kin, we take greater pride in the subtler things, and even small matters are part of the whole."
Clumsy, he knew, but a better than a blissful sigh, damn it!
"Alright, there we go," Tarna said as she finished up.
Tarna handed him a mirror so he could see himself. She stepped back and cocked her head, looking over her handiwork. Melaran examined the result critically, and nodded in approval, appreciative of the overall change in the situation.
"Well done, Tarna," he said quietly, then cleared his throat and continued in a more servile tone, "Rather, if it please you, Mistress, then I am pleased."
"Anything else before we head out?" Tarna said, musing for a moment and putting away the stuff she'd pulled out of the bag.
"Only to gather the remains of the time spent here, Mistress," Melaran responded instantly, working at the role, and collected the unused articles of clothing which he bundled in the sadly-tattered remains of the sheer shipsuit he'd begun in. "Disposing of these may be of some benefit, that no ill-timed question may be asked."
The disposal chute in the hall likely fed into an incinerator, so easily accomplished. Tarna was more inclined to just grab everything and shove it into her bag with the rest of her random crap. She even shoved the collar in there to make sure they didn't leave anything behind.
Melaran was inclined to inquire into the mystery of this pouch as its seemingly-endless capacity was once again displayed, but refrained from doing so other than a quizzical glance at it and a hasty redirection.
"That should suffice, Mistress," he said simply, "Shall we go?"
Tarna gave a nod, and again slipped back into role and headed for the door purposefully.