[Jamil had done quite well for himself since arriving in Varschein Palace, if you asked him. He'd managed to get himself "adopted" by a middling noble family soon after arrival by emphasizing both his magic and his domestic skills--he may not speak the language, but he knows what kind of people to look for and how to orchestrate a timely demonstration--perhaps with a touch of laying on the demure routine extra thick, in case they were the type to take pity.
Thankfully, they were. His new owners (wonderful) were familiar territory: an old-money, early sunset-years couple only just starting to get their first grandchildren, the type to fancy themselves philanthropists and enjoy imagining themselves uplifting the downtrodden now that their children are the ones managing the empire. More money than influence, unfortunately, which isn't ideal, but Jamil could certainly do worse. He immediately worked very hard at becoming their favorite. Once Jamil proved himself to be as reliable and skilled and oh-so-humble as he'd initially promised, they even deigned to start teaching him to read and write. And once he'd demonstrated (a minimum) of his magical aptitude, along with his complete trustworthiness, his owners had even "generously" had his suppression band loosened to a whole 50%. Wow.
It would be worth it. Jamil is nothing if not patient. The whole humble servant routine is being delivered through gritted teeth as always, but Jamil is well practiced at it, and it's been gaining him ground these past several months. He's already at the point where the couple is dressing him up and taking him along to all their vacations so he can manage their bags; a few months more and they might just start giving him a stipend. Or even access to their bank accounts, if he can prove to them he knows how to budget.
He hasn't even had to use any hypnosis. That's something he's keeping close to the chest for now--a wildcard he's not going to play unless he absolutely has to. Jamil doesn't have the benefit of years of history to save his ass here. Any trust these silly nobles have formed in him is very easily broken.
Anyway. It turns out they're theater people--not that Jamil is complaining--and one of their newfound favorite pastimes in retirement is making weekend trips down to Elysium to sample the local events, and the Starlit Stage is a must-visit every time. It's not generally the kind of theater that Jamil is into, but he's not the one who gets to make these decisions, and it's certainly better than being left behind in their hotel room. Since these aren't the type of people who attract assassins--really, Jamil might as well be on vacation--he lets himself pay more attention to their bags than their surroundings as they head toward the ticket booth.
At least until he hears That Voice welcoming them in. Jamil of course recognizes it immediately--he hears it in his fucking nightmares. His head whips up to confirm before he can compose himself--and there he is. Kalim Al-Asim, their usher for the evening.
They must be desperate for help.
There's no way Kalim won't recognize him, but Jamil prays he won't anyway. There's no way, considering the way they last parted, that Kalim will be able to compose himself if he does recognize Jamil, but Jamil prays he will anyway. It's futile, but it's all he can do. Don't look at me. Don't say anything. Do NOT say ANYTHING.
There's no way Kalim will keep quiet. Jamil can already feel the dread and fury building--all this work he's put in after all this time, and Kalim is going to stumble in and ruin it like always. He's going to have to finally use his signature spell after all these months to keep Kalim from blowing his cover, and he'll have to somehow do it without revealing himself to his "beneficiaries." This sucks.]
iii-ish
Thankfully, they were. His new owners (wonderful) were familiar territory: an old-money, early sunset-years couple only just starting to get their first grandchildren, the type to fancy themselves philanthropists and enjoy imagining themselves uplifting the downtrodden now that their children are the ones managing the empire. More money than influence, unfortunately, which isn't ideal, but Jamil could certainly do worse. He immediately worked very hard at becoming their favorite. Once Jamil proved himself to be as reliable and skilled and oh-so-humble as he'd initially promised, they even deigned to start teaching him to read and write. And once he'd demonstrated (a minimum) of his magical aptitude, along with his complete trustworthiness, his owners had even "generously" had his suppression band loosened to a whole 50%. Wow.
It would be worth it. Jamil is nothing if not patient. The whole humble servant routine is being delivered through gritted teeth as always, but Jamil is well practiced at it, and it's been gaining him ground these past several months. He's already at the point where the couple is dressing him up and taking him along to all their vacations so he can manage their bags; a few months more and they might just start giving him a stipend. Or even access to their bank accounts, if he can prove to them he knows how to budget.
He hasn't even had to use any hypnosis. That's something he's keeping close to the chest for now--a wildcard he's not going to play unless he absolutely has to. Jamil doesn't have the benefit of years of history to save his ass here. Any trust these silly nobles have formed in him is very easily broken.
Anyway. It turns out they're theater people--not that Jamil is complaining--and one of their newfound favorite pastimes in retirement is making weekend trips down to Elysium to sample the local events, and the Starlit Stage is a must-visit every time. It's not generally the kind of theater that Jamil is into, but he's not the one who gets to make these decisions, and it's certainly better than being left behind in their hotel room. Since these aren't the type of people who attract assassins--really, Jamil might as well be on vacation--he lets himself pay more attention to their bags than their surroundings as they head toward the ticket booth.
At least until he hears That Voice welcoming them in. Jamil of course recognizes it immediately--he hears it in his fucking nightmares. His head whips up to confirm before he can compose himself--and there he is. Kalim Al-Asim, their usher for the evening.
They must be desperate for help.
There's no way Kalim won't recognize him, but Jamil prays he won't anyway. There's no way, considering the way they last parted, that Kalim will be able to compose himself if he does recognize Jamil, but Jamil prays he will anyway. It's futile, but it's all he can do. Don't look at me. Don't say anything. Do NOT say ANYTHING.
There's no way Kalim will keep quiet. Jamil can already feel the dread and fury building--all this work he's put in after all this time, and Kalim is going to stumble in and ruin it like always. He's going to have to finally use his signature spell after all these months to keep Kalim from blowing his cover, and he'll have to somehow do it without revealing himself to his "beneficiaries." This sucks.]