536 Bearing Gifts

Tycondrius nodded in appreciation. It looked quite dangerous. 

Lone immediately dove out of the way, sliding clumsily on the waxed and polished floor and hiding underneath a bench. 

Ignoring his Ranger, Tycon seated himself on the hardwood chair opposite Natalya. There was no seat cushion and the Archbishop's high-backed chair was raised compared to his... but he was used to sitting on stone to converse with far more... intimidating allies. 

"Did you get my message?" Tycon smirked. 

The Archbishop growled, slamming her palm into her desk. She forcibly quenched her offensive spell. That was quite nice of her, as it was very capable of severely injuring Tycon and obliterating her very nice door. 

"Tycondrius..." Natalya's voice dripped with displeasure. "Had I known you were coming, I'd have arranged to crucify you before sundown."

Tycon bared his teeth in a grin, "I'd like to apply to *not* be crucified, if at all possible."

"To be seen," Natalya rolled her eyes as she pushed away her stack of papers. "Perhaps I just want to see you stripped, flayed, and paraded around the capital?"

"I consider myself a modest gentleman, Lady Crucis," Tycon leaned forward, steepling his fingers, "Perhaps I can entertain you in private?"

The Archbishop crossed her arms, clearly not amused, "What did you bring me?"

Ah. He was ready for this. He produced a small booklet and placed it on the woman's desk. 

Natalya eyed it suspiciously, "This is?"

"Coupons for Olea Garden."

"Not good enough."

Tycon pursed his lips in a grimace. He was really hoping it would be... He reached forward to take it back-- but the Archbishop greedily snatched it away. He was left with his empty hand extended awkwardly. 

Natalya sneered at his discomfort, "What *else* did you bring me, Ivory Prince?" 

Tycon let out a light sigh. He didn't like Olea Garden... but there was a 'Buy One Get One Free' offer he could have used. 

He stood and flicked his wrist to summon his other gift from his spatial ring. Bowing ostentatiously, he presented the Archbishop a thick bouquet of freshly picked roses. The color perfectly matched her general decor and had the luck of also matching her chosen attire. 

"Really?" Natalya groaned, "How dare you use your... parlor tricks here. Don't you know that magic is synonymous with heresy in--" 

The woman stood to snatch the bouquet out of Tycon's hands... and hesitated, "Oh... These are real?"

"Indeed," Tycon nodded. "I pray sleight of hand isn't so serious an offense."

By the look of wonder in Natalya's eyes, the woman seemed properly mollified. 

Tycon decided to press his advantage, "Perhaps that rates a delay in my execution?"

Natalya returned her expression to a fierce scowl, "Again, that is to be seen." 

Tycon pursed his lips. Perhaps a different avenue of attack would prove more effective... 

"Then would it rate us holding our intimate affairs behind closed doors?"

"Brazen talk, coming from you." The woman placed the bouquet back on her desk, "I would love to wipe that arrogant smirk off your face."

Tycon raised an eyebrow, grinning, "And I'd love to hear you scream." 

Natalya scoffed, her voice raising in pitch, "Are you threatening *me*? An Archbishop?" 

"With a good time-- yes, I suppose." 

The woman took a deep breath, twisting her lips and closing her eyes... "Are you aware of the meaning of roses in the language of flowers?"

Tycon briefly reviewed his knowledge... and that was not in his repertoire. Thus, he formed his next words of his preferred language: deception and false praise. 

"I do not. I found them appropriate because I found them the most beautiful. They suit you."

Women liked flowers. They also liked being called beautiful. Beauty is subjective, therefore it was not a lie. 

He very much hoped that those two things were as constant as his memories told him. The threat of death by crucifixion was very real. 

"Mmm~" Natalya hummed as she sat on the edge of her desk, half-turned away. It was a pose that accentuated her overly large pair of buttocks, "Roses... they do have thorns. Are you trying to say something of me, Prince Tycondrius?"

Tycon hesitated. 

That... was a trick question. He did not want to answer it. 

His best bet was to deflect it awkwardly-- which unfortunately, would make him appear weak. 

"Right!" Lone stood up from wherever the hells he was hiding, "Boss means to say that thorns cause bleeding if a guy were to fall in your bush!"

Tycon grabbed the man by the collar and pulled him close to growl in his ear, "Really, Mister Lone?"

"Boss!" He whispered harshly, "You guys were talkin' about sex! It was clever! Give me some credit!"

"Why is *he* here?" Natalya gestured dismissively.

Tycon gulped. He wanted to thank his companion for the artful save, but it was not the time. 

He shoved Lone away and adjusted the young man's mussed clothing... "Why *are* you here, Mister Lone? Perhaps you should leave."

"Aha... r-right," Lone bowed, combat-rolled to the door, and let himself out with respectable speed. 

"My apologies, Archbishop," Tycon turned with a... with an admittedly nervous grin. 

"Why are *you* here?" Natalya winked coquettishly, "Perhaps *you* should leave."

...Damn. Tycon could not win against this woman. 

She gestured towards the bouquet, "The roses, Prince."

Grimacing, Tycon picked them back up... "If they aren't to your liking, I'll get rid of them."

He intended to place them back in his spatial ring where they'd keep fresh. It shouldn't be too difficult, hawking them in the streets afterward. 

"There is a vase on the shelf behind you," She waved. "Remove the oleanders. Replace them with the roses."

...So she did like them. 

Tycondrius of Charm, Gold-Rank Holy-Room-Decorator, performed his assigned task.