#mtg dnd

They aren’t supposed to be doing this.

He feints an attack, then swings a haymaker at her. She deflects with the sword.

Her muscles ache. She’s built for deskwork, not for this.

Then again, technically she isn’t here.

She’s not here, in this dusty arena, sparring with a man twice her size, deep in Riveteer territory.

Of course, technicality is the air she breathes. She’s not here to anyone unimportant. She’s here because he is important.

They circle each other, waiting for an opening. This is the part of fighting Maeve lives for, the dance portion, the elegance.

They exchange more blows. His get more and more wild, hers more and more reserved, focusing on defense. The sword she’s using is probably going to get dented. Unimportant.

The fight ebbs and flows, like all fights do. They both get in some good hits. Luckily, he’s got enough sense to hold back.

She wonders if she can outlast the anger. The hurt… the hurt she can’t outlast. But she can get through the anger. Help with the release.

She had had to convince him that it was even a good idea to start this fight. Both this sparring match, and what caused it.

Dueling in a political sense is her domain. Writing up her cases, presenting airtight evidence, dominating the competition with the pen not the sword.

It’s not where he likes to fight. But that was the point, of course. The point was to get a fight ring for people with prosthetics. And that was certainly important enough to fight for.

Of course, the powers that be have a lot of sway. And you can be right, you can have all the reasons and the money all lined up.

And they can still fuck you over, and you can still be back to square one, except this time all your hopes are crushed, and all you can feel is anger.

The fight has devolved by this point, Dorata hitting the wall just as much as he aims a swing at her. This is the part of physical fighting she dislikes, the deconstruction. The shattering of an intricate, twirling thing into base violence and rage.

She puts down her weapon. Fully drops it. It’s not useful to her anymore.

He stares at her, blankly, brow furrowed.

She flops onto the floor on her back, looking up at the high arched ceiling. He follows suit a moment after. There’s a moment of silence, there. Just the two of them, breathing hard, staring up at an unfeeling, cold hard ceiling.

She expects the silence to hold, for them to lay there, exhausted, letting the emotions drain into fatigue.

It… does not.

He crumples, turns onto his side, shaking with silent, tearless sobs. She turns to curl up next to him, to run a hand through his hair, providing wordless comfort.

The real comfort will come later, of course. Once they win. They’ve lost the battle, for sure, but the real fight is yet to begin.

He had five minutes of peace before someone knocked on the door. Five minutes to do whatever he wanted before chaos unleashed. Before negotiations were to be made. He had all the reasons to be bitter, to be angry. In fact he should, but he rolls it right off him instead of sinking in and twisting the way he thinks. He needed to focus. His personal matters shouldn’t quell in business. If the whole economy goes down it’s going to be his fault and no one else. He looked down at the desk of messy papers and reviewed his notes once more.

‘You can meet a challenge with humility, grace and a brave soul, or you can do the opposite. And though these things are never easy, that each time is significant and important, and we need this to get us through, we do get to choose our response to some significances and how open we are to learning the lessons we have sewed. Emerging more empathic than we were before but choosing the wrong choice could turn the tides into a devastating matter…’

He tapped a pen against his chin. He always wondered why he was chosen for this position, how he got here. He knew how he got here technically but yet the memories were still hazy, the pain however, permanently stained his mind. And the scars didn’t help with the reminder. He knew in time that he would remember everything that happened. At least that’s what they said, ‘part of the healing process.’

There was a knock at the door. Early of course. He organized the papers into one pile and set them on the desk.

“You can come in.”

Rumor was not someone who usually let people come into his office without a damn good reason. Azrael and Maeve were about the only exception on most days of the week. Even Sylvia had the decency to call ahead if she was going to visit for business. Rumor was a punctual sort, and preferred to have things in writing. Sometimes he wondered if he would have made a good Broker in that regard. Regardless he had not expected his latest friend to storm up to his office. Persephone was proving a more and more interesting quarry by the day. Rumor had decided just this once he would buzz her in, and composing himself very quickly leaving his papers on his desk he peaked his elbows on the wood and rested his chin on his fists as she walked in, clearly with practiced confidence. She had likely been practicing this routine for hours now. Looking at herself in the mirror and saying Rumor’s usual tricks would “for sure not work this time.” It was adorable. 

“Persephone may I call you by first name at this point?” Rumor asked with a smirk. 

“Cut the crap Ru you know I am not here to debate the semantics of my name” Persephone shot back.  God she was feisty today. Ru had to hide how pleased he was by this. 

“Well now you have to tell me what blesses me with your presence, Angel-face. I assume you are here with more questions about my partner.” Rumor spoke with precision. He knew exactly what button to push and just how hard to push it. 

Persephone scoffed, “Trust me fucker, I realize you aren’t gonna give me shit about Az anytime soon.” She couldn’t help herself but smirk and lean a bit more toward the desk, “But no this time Rumor this is all about you” she spoke with a smug tone laced with slight infatuation. 

Rumor’s award winning smile was as practiced as every one of his movements, “Now Persephone you flatter me. Tell me what it is about me you want to know?”

Her smirk grew in turn, “I was wondering if you could give me a little bit of a history lesson”

Ru rose an eyebrow, “Now you’re just using my special interests against me. What would you like to know?”

Persephone eyed the window watching the cars drift by from the office. She seemed to lose herself in thought, “I was clearing up some Broker files since as you know I am getting some renown to my name among the family, and there happened to be an ages old cold case, something that ties back to your boss Xander. A loan of his for about, oh.. Hundred thousand gold. Funniest thing, his repayment plan was never processed.”

Rumor seemed more than a little off put. He was expecting quite a few things from this scenario, but an ages old bit of thievery from his boss was not one of them. He took the file full of Persephone’s paper trail and read through it. In true Broker fashion it was air tight. Enviably so honestly. While he respected the Maestros style he did feel they had more than a little to learn from the other families. The Broker’s skill with contracts was one of them. 

“So what does this have to do with me?” Rumor spoke with slightly more venom. Persephone seemed a bit vindicated by his hatred, “Well. You can imagine scheduling a meeting with Lord Xander would set my workload back months, but you Ru.. You are always available for me.”

She moved even closer. He couldn’t help but enjoy the thrill. She was moving pawns and bishops in every word. Rumor had not been on the defensive in a verbal chess match in quite a long time. The desperation to mount a defense was exhilarating. She would have been a damn good enemy. Except for one fatal weakness. 

Rumor moved just as close to her, “Well of course I have time for you Angel-face. Now you tell me, what would you be looking for to resolve that case of yours.”

She gave a very fake giggle inches from his face, eyes locked, “Well, the Brokers would like their payment.”

Ru looked to the right, contemplating. “Now if you were to be honest with me. Would you accept alternative forms of payment other than gold?”

Persephone veered back, “There’s the fucking hound dog I know. No Rumor you cannot pay the Broker's that much gold back in a good time for me.”

Rumor only chuckled, “Now when did I say I would only pay you back in that? That’s just pleasure after business is done”

It was Persephone’s turn to look perplexed. Ru grinned in spite of himself. 

Check. 

“What do you have in mind, Ru?” Persephone asked near a whisper. 

“Well, I happen to have an old artifact that once belonged to a Broker agent. One of the first insignia of the family back when we were in a simple enough time to wear our insignia around our neck. It would likely run up double Xander’s debt to the most basic of pawn shop owners, but if you happened to give it back to Spara. Now that is how someone like you gets renown darling~” 

Persephone’s eyes widened and it was clear she was lost for words. Rumor had just given her something better than the prize she was after, and it was a prize Ru had no intention of keeping long term anyway. It was a pilfered museum relic just in case a Broker happened to need something from him. There seemed to be a habit for these sorts of interactions between him and Spara’s flunkies. It was insurance. He had 4 similar failsafe's in case the other families pulled similar shit, but Persephone didn’t need to know that.

“....The necklace, something in writing that I had this conversation with you, so the folks back home know who I trounced to get it… and.. And I may take you up on that other form of payment babe” Persephone spoke after a moment. 

Checkmate. 

Rumor stood up and held out his hand for a shake, “So let it be written, so let it be done”

Persephone shook with a wide grin. Certain she got the better end of the deal. Depending on who you asked, she may have. 

Rumor decided to call his car and chat Persephone up with small talk as he went to his archive for the necklace loaded with gaudy stones and gold.