First Meeting

"If you were mine I'd see you dressed in silks and satins."
Eyvan Majarra jumped, startled out of his reverie, and looked up over his shoulder. The dark-haired duelist he had been watching earlier in the evening stood by his chair, a playful insolence lurking in his eyes. Eyvan flushed, then finally found his tongue.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Silk, satin, velvet, jewels...something simple, cut to suit you, rather than that garish thing," he said, taking in Eyvan's brightly hued uniform with one disdainful gesture.
Eyvan shrugged, dropping his head down so his hair hid his flush. "It's traditional Council garb," he said, trying to keep his rich tenor from quavering too much in shy embarrassment. "It doesn't matter if I like it or not."
"It doesn't suit you at all," the man said, circling the chair and settling himself on the floor with the taut grace of a hunting hound. Eyvan blinked, unaccustomed to such bluntness, and licked nervously at his lips. The man's eyes narrowed amusedly.
"I'm Yossef ÷ though some call me the Wolf. You were looking at me earlier."
Eyvan blushed deeper, but shyly glanced at him. He found it difficult to meet Yossef's amber gaze. "Eyvan," he said, wrapping his calloused fingers around the frame of his harp so he didn't have to shake hands. "You don't come to the Conservatorium often."
"No. Father requested my presence, tonight. But it may turn out to be worthwhile, this time."
"I see." Eyvan said, wondering which family Yossef came from. "And what if I was only looking at you because you were a new face in the crowd?"
Yossef grinned at him in such a way that Eyvan knew where his nickname had come from and said, "You weren't. I'd guess you went widder some time ago."
"Maybe, maybe not. Tell me what you would dress me in, then, if not this," he challenged, not sure if he should be offended or amused.
Yossef considered him for a long moment, then said, "Something pale, I suppose," then wrinkled his nose and pulled on the grey ribbon that bound his unruly-looking black hair. "I don't know ÷ I'm not one of those foolish Hunabars. I have better things to do with my time than worry about being fashionable."
"I can tell."
"Oh ho, touche then. Well, perhaps the two of us could take our tasteless selves somewhere else and talk?"
Eyvan hesitated a moment. Yossef's amber eyes glinted playfully, promising an interesting evening, but Eyvan knew next to nothing about him.
"I can't," he said, truthfully, and was a little surprised at how quickly Yossef's eyes clouded. He started to change his answer, somehow not wanting to disappoint Yossef, but saw his sister Merisa eyeing him curiously from the doorway across the hall.
"Really," he continued, "I'm helping with the instruments, and I have a family commitment this evening."
"Another time, then?"
"Maybe...do you know the Blackbriar?"
Yossef's raven-dark eyebrows went up a bit. "Indeed I do. Have you been slumming, my Lord?"
"Not at all. I have several friends who go there. I may be free two nights from now ÷ if so, I'll meet you there for dinner," he said.
"Well," Yossef said, standing quickly, "I shall expect to see you there, then. A good evening to you, Eyvan."
"And to you as well," Eyvan replied, standing himself. He watched as Yossef strode down the crowded hall, wondering what had possessed him that he was even thinking of pursuing a duelist.
Merisa approached him casually across the floor, harp in hand.

"Father will never approve," he murmured as she followed his gaze.
"Probably not," she said, making him blush again as she handed him her instrument, then stretched up and kissed him on the cheek. "Just be discreet, 'Van."
He tried to scowl after her as she went back to join her husband, but it turned into an affectionate smile as he placed the harps in their cases and moved up toward the musician's gallery, whistling a merry tune.