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In truth, Éclaire wasn't really.. A professional.
Well, not that he wasn't good at what he could generally do, because truly, nobody in Parfaedia could match up his archaeological ability. The man was quite the relic magnet, and he knew just how to acquire what he wanted... But the thing — the thing was that he...
Was NOT essentially managing any of the relics in his possession. It was more like... Growing something prohibited. Or smuggling something banned. Like shoplifting. Or borrowing money. Or stealing.
He owned them Illegally.
All 92 artifacts in his museum.
Illegally.
"So lemme get this straight, lady." Yam chuffed out, taking a big bite out of a rack of meaty, roasted ribs and staring down Éclaire who sat across him around the kindling fire. "You're NOT actually a professor?"
Yam stopped turning the meat on the spike in favor of eating for himself, and besides, nobody would really mind some slightly charred brisket, would they?
★☆
The little sarcophagus site that Éclaire had been working on was repurposed into a small fortress for the newcoming warriors to rest in whilst preparing to fight the rift monsters. The barbarian, who the Milk Tribe Light Paladin had called 'Yam' was the only one besides Éclaire left, as they had decided to go off to the west to look for the Smithstress Avocado, the travelling blacksmith to fix up their weapons - and seeing it as an opportunity when they heard that she was in the neighboring city, they took it upon themselves to try and recruit her.
Yam, as hot tempered as he is, was told to stay back, lest they unattract the blacksmith because of his rather... Unpleasant disposition — and the man had a little tantrum. Now it was up to Éclaire to babysit him.
"Well, for your information, my good sir — I am ALSO a man." Snapped back Éclaire, crossing his arms over his chest. "And I AM a professor." He defends, nose up and all — he's confident in himself despite the follow up, "-although not in a formal sense."
"The HELL d'ya mean, 'not in a FORMAL SENSE'!?" Yam takes another bite of his ribs before... Before breaking one off and shoving it in Éclaire's face to take. He waves it in front of him, coaxing the other to take it and takes the opportunity to continue, "What, so you're basically just... Not professional? Or WHAT?!"
Éclaire thinks, taking Yam into account that the brute's quite rude, but he doesn't mean any real harm, and takes the steaming rib with both hands, spreading sweet marinade across his fingers.
"Well... I'm not quite an archaeologist on paper..." Éclaire admits reluctantly, huffing out. "... But Parfaedia itself doesn't really seem to care about that...!"
"Oh yeah? But what if they TAKE your shit when they find out that you're just some QUACK?"
"They... Won't. They haven't said anything about it for almost 5 years."
"You've been collecting this shit for 5 YEARS..!?"
"I've been displaying them for 5 years." Éclaire corrects the other. But I've been collecting things for far longer."
"And, what, do you even have a damn PERMIT for ANY of this stuff?"
"Relics aren't a business, my fellowman." Éclaire bites into his rib. The latter rips the meat off of his.
"But judging from... All of..." He gestures around to Éclaire's current archaeology site-turned-camping grounds, "this, you treat relics like a PASTIME!"
"More so, I treat it more like a mission" says Éclaire, nonchalant but smiling to himself, sucking off rib juice from a finger.
"Man, are ya even a SCHOLAR?"
"I was, until I dropped out of the Academy." He smirks. "I failed practical magic combat."
"But you still managed to haul... A what — a whole dragon's skeleton into your museum all by yourself?"
"I said that I failed practical magic COMBAT, not practical magic."
Yam huffs, sounding disappointed. "And you're just... You just have all this stuff? Whaddya even do with any of it?"
"Well, first of all, yes — I've unearthed and collected my entire archive all by myself. I have relics from far and wide, and some dating back to the bronze age!" Éclaire exclaims. "And.. Secondly... Yes, I don't really need to use any of it, but... Somebody has to archive these treasures, aren't I correct?"
"Huh. Archive." Yam says, a little condescendingly but not enough spite to put off Éclaire. "Or you know. You could just say ya like shiny things. It ISN'T that deep."
Éclaire scoffs at the larger man, waving the rib around in his hand like a wand at Yam. "Shiny things?" He laughs. "What, do I look like an appraiser to you?"
"Well, smartass, you seem to like polishing your little trinkets all the fuckin' time." Yam retorts, his banter sounding more amused than he would be usually. "So, appraiser? Hah, sure!"
"Well, what's the use of history if I can't maintain it in it's glory?"
Yam scoffs into his food, but there's no malice in it, but just genuine mirth in his tone. "What a weird guy, you are." He says. "You're dedicated to the craft."
"So I am." Agrees the latter.
They laugh together about it — and it's not really something that Éclaire had ever really confessed. He'd never confided in someone else other than himself that he was under no jurisdiction or permit from the Parfaedian commission to even practice anything professionally, as he had... Given up formal education for a turn to Historic appreciation.
It's a miracle he's even flown this far under the radar. He knows that if he ever gives himself up and admits to owning over 100,000,000 gold coins in artifacts, he could lose all his work. But you know, it would be the right thing to do.
He disregards the fact with a smirk, swiping his tongue over some sauce on his lip and smiling at the other man.
"You know, if anything, and I ever find another dragon skeleton... I want you to help me carry it."