@waraylon @avyernan for mentions. Thank you Waraylon for this RP!
--
Dahliria never suggested bribery. It was something frequently suggested by other magisters -- certainly, Quel'thalas was rife with corruption from the rich merchants and landed gentry that inhabited it. However, Dahliria had a policy of never suggesting such things in normal cases. To do so was a violation of her morals. Or....it had been, before the war. Very few of these types of cases had come across her desk in recent years, most people worried that she would be seen as too inflammatory -- too likely to set someone on fire in the courtroom -- should she stray beyond estates and probate. And in the time that she had spent lingering in the sweltering jungle of the Isle of Thunder, Dahliria had realized that there was very little that her morals could do besides...well. Make her seem as if she had a stick up her ass. Morals, by necessity, could only carry her so far. In the end, she would do what she needed to to survive.Â
So she relented. Just this once. Suggesting a bribe to save someone was, ultimately, what she wanted to do -- help people -- if a bit...uncouth. And truth be told, she would do most anything for a friend of Avyernan. Sitting at her home desk, in the tower of the Goldenlake, she waited for the servants to direct the man to her door -- or save him from the lake, she supposed. Eyes strayed to the golden water outside of her home, fingers curling through her long platinum hair as she pulled it over her shoulder. This was such an unusual occasion -- no. She would not consider the strangeness of the day. It was her duty to see this through, and so she would.
As she looked out to the lake, she would see a man walking across it -- if not somewhat hesitantly, glancing down into the waters below. An amount of time later, he would be entering her office, led in by one of her servants, a wrapped package in hand. He'd be dressed in simple, yet refined, clothes, a rich purple shirt with golden trim, black dress pants and shoes. He would beam as he entered, his hair tucked back into a neat bun, his facial hair trimmed neatly. "Mm, Mrs. Goldenwood, a pleasure~!"
The lake did not even seem to wet his shoes -- whatever magic was within it was clearly quite powerful, a testament to the family's strong legacy of magic. As he entered, Waraylon was likely to notice the relatively older taste of the home -- though still quite fashionable, if not cutting edge. Dahlia's study was filled with papers and books: floor to ceiling bookshelves houses times with names in Darnassian, as well as Thalassian and Common. The woman herself stood, shapely figure accentuated by the white gown that trailed her form. Gracefully, she curtsied, head dipping a fraction as she did so, before offering the man her hand. "Lord Duskstrider, a pleasure to make your acquaintance officially. I believe I saw you across the decks of the Doom Glaive not too long ago, but demon invasions do not lend themselves to proper introduction.
He would take the hand in his, fingers gentle bringing her hand up, bowing his head down to gently place his lips on her fingers, kissing them before raising back up, with proper posture. "Please, call me Waraylon, there is no need for titles now." He would release her hand, making a mental note to keep his eyes above the neckline, no matter how badly he wanted to do otherwise. "I've brought a gift for you, by the way -" He would pick the wrapped gift back up, holding it out to her. It was clearly a bottle of wine, but it was still wrapped well, in gift paper. Holding the thing out towards her reverently, he would nod. "Is that decent of me, or is this scandalous of me?"
"If you insist, Waraylon. And please -- I am only an advocate interested in justice; a gift from you seems remarkably extravagant." The tone indicated she had played this deny and then insist game before -- incredibly old fashioned, it seemed, and a stickler for behavior. Still, she smiled, knowing and relatively kind.
He would grin, devilish in nature. Holding it out again in both hands. "Please, I must encourage you to accept. It would be rude of me otherwise, to grace your lovely home and not bring a gift, hm?"
"If you insist..." As if she was going to truly turn down wine. Dahlia took the bottle with a dip of her head, smile playing across her features. "Please, sit. We have important business to discuss, I believe." She turned -- allowing the man a full view of her naked back, the hem of her dress dipping nearly to the top of her behind. Runes glittered with dangerous magic power, dancing across her spine. Dahlia took her seat once more, placing the bottle of wine on the desk in a safe location. Gesturing to the chair in front of her -- plush and made for guests' comfort -- she pulled a few pieces of paper from the stack in front of her, and levitated over a quill.
If she were to unwrap it, she'd find it was a horrendously expensive bottle of arcwine, fortified who knows how many times. The golden leaf paper wrapped around it would have words scrawled in the language of the Quel'dorei of Suramar, similar yet different than their own language. He would nod at her, takign his seat. "Thank you, yes, I do believe we--" He breath would catch as she turned, not hesitating to drink in her figure for a short few moments. "Uh- what I- what I was going to say was that..." He would clear his throat. "Yes we do have some important things to discuss, don't we?"
She would unwrap it later and almost certainly enjoy it. For now, however, her attention remained focused on the subject at hand. Politely, she did not mention his soft gasp, instead turning her attention to the paper in front of her. "You wished to help Eleeria Silverwing by..." she sighed, shaking her head. "Let us be straightforward about this, as much as it galls me. Waraylon, she will not win this case. Even with a bribe, I find it difficult to imagine a world in which a man gets his fingers systematically cut off by a drunk woman in an alley after his death and she is not held responsible. Â But...we can mitigate the damage, provided you have the funds."
"Well, yes." He'd take a moment to ingest this new information - one of her actual crimes. "And yes, I assumed it would be something that would not be... Excusable, hm? But coin can always soften a blow - as far as the State cares, I'm sure you know, judging from your pleasurable tone regarding it." He'd grin, offering a slight wink, moving to cross his legs at the knee. "And yes - I've the funds, I'm sure. You don't become a merchant-prince without funds, hm~?"
"It can, and I do not doubt your ability to do so. The trick lays in making it seem as if it is not a bribe. Many may accept them as currency, but it is the interplay of bribery and making it seem as if it was their idea from the start that you must accomplish. I cannot do this for you." She tilted her head, examining him critically with sharp eyes. "I am certain it is well within your ability. How much were you planning on offering him?"
"Now, that is the question, isn't it? How much is enough, but doesn't say something along the lines of 'I am trying to buy you outright'? Maybe somewhere in the-- Five figure area, maybe six?" He would hum softly, looking over Dahlia for a short moment. "Tell me, what were the other things she did; I'm in need of being refreshed, it's been a time since she told me about the charges."
Dahliria paused, watching him with a sudden cross of her legs as well. "There were two charges. The one I am more concerned about was the most recent -- she killed a man and was in the process of dismembering him in an alley when she was found. Reports said that she was incredibly intoxicated at the time, along with traces of fel magic in her system before she managed to slip away. The other was a self-defense case -- she was much, much younger at the time. Protected her mother from a man who had broken in and thought to kill her."
"Ah, yes, I recall - it was a rather gruesome scene. But yes -- that should be able to be lessened, in all reality. Maybe a series of gifts, both gold and material, could work, mixed with basic flattery. Tell me, this man, do you know any of his interests, hobbies, fears?" His brows would raise, hands coming to rest on his knee.March 21, 2017
"Hm..." She tapped her finger to her chin, deep in thought. "I know a few. I believe he enjoys reading, particularly novels of a more...lewd sort." She said, as if her collection of erotica was not hidden on the shelf behind her. "Though he also enjoys history books. I believe he is afraid of spiders, which is not a particularly helpful fear truth be told. But he is as old and as pompous as I could find for a judge; I found one more easily swayed by bribery and pretty words, if we are being quite honest. I pulled a few strings."
His eyes would wander over her notable collection behind her, halting as his eyes passed over the rather... questionable novels. "Mm, he doesn't seem to be the only one - but I'm just as guilty~" He'd grin at her, humming softly. "But yes, it sounds like money and flattery will be the best way to go about it."
"I-- admit to partaking in a few of those types of fiction, myself." She flushed, however faintly. "He is old, and fat." Her voice was blunt. "He thinks incredibly highly of himself and his own opinion. I admit, were I in any other case, I would not wish to be near him."
"Old, and fat... Hm, it sounds as though perhaps a few, ah - escorts could help pull the trick off, invite him somewhere, drinks, women, and discussion... The women will be paid handsomely for their suffering, hm?"
She took a deep breath, nodding once, definitively. "Although that sounds uncouth to my aged ears, I am certain that would do the trick. I will leave it to you to figure the details."
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Eleeria had snuck down the stairs into Waraylonâs ornate ballroom, admiring the aesthetic of the room as she slid across the polished floor in her socks. Mirrors and windows. Thatâs all she felt like she saw in the manâs home -- and it partly made her uncomfortable. Seeing so many reflections of herself reminded her not only of how old she was getting, but how much of her appearance she lied about on a daily basis. Sliding to a stop a few inches from one of the gilded mirrors on the wall, she leaned in and frowned at the sight of a few grey hairs. Grey! When had those gotten there? She knew the answer of course -- nearly dying had leached the color from her face as much as her hair, the few slivers of grey easily covered with magic or simple dyes. Eleeria squinted, before allowing her inertia to slide her away from the mirror, wrapping herself instead in her own thoughts of better things.
Waraylon was trying to convince her to make a trip to Stormwind. Although he insisted he truly wished to see the new park and the statue of that fallen king, she knew that the conversation had only taken a turn towards vacation when she had mentioned Linnea. Linnea Ray was a woman who still haunted her memories -- her former best friend and conspirator, turned worst enemy when the two of them had realized their ideals differed in inexorable ways. Her fingers clenched into fists, attempting to catch the moonlight that filtered in through the large windows of the ballroom. Shahin had called her a coward because she didnât want to open up to anyone. Another twist of her feet, and Eleeria spun, opposite leg pushed forward into a dancerâs position as she twirled. Shahin was wrong. It wasnât that she didnât want to open up to anyone -- she wanted that connection again. The small woman continued to dance as she felt through her thoughts; the turn stopped, and the woman leaped from form to form, nimble and sure. She wanted to connect to people again, to touch and love the way she used to. But every person who came up behind her was another dagger pressed to her throat. Every hug was entrapping her, suffocating her. It was just going to be another problem, another betrayal-- no. She was trying, but it was hard for her. Asking her to suddenly open up to every stranger that walked by was like asking her to claw her own eyes out.
Waraylon, though⌠Eleeria paused -- balanced precariously on the toes of her left foot, her body suspended nearly parallel to the shimmering floor -- and considered her reflection in the shimmering surface. She had trusted him so readily. Some part of her had almost intrinsically connected with the manâs heart. As if they were cut from the same cloth, almost. Not two parts of one person -- that would be silly -- but as if whatever god looked out for them both had placed them together. Two parts in a similar theme. Two notes in a chord. She continued to dance -- twisting her body so that she righted herself from her balanced position and spreading her arms. What had been an elegant dance to the beat of her own internal music turned into a spin, a twirl; she spun in circles, allowing her socks to slide across the floor without care. He had offered to bribe the magister in charge of her second trial. That she would not forget -- she had to trust in him. She had to hope that what he was offering, he would well provide. Trust had never come easily to the sharp woman, but -- no. Eleeria sighed. Trust had come easily to her until it had been broken, again and again. But she wanted to trust again. And trusting Waraylon was a good start.
Abruptly, he caught her hand as she was dancing in the dimmed light of the empty ballroom. Eleeria whirled her head for lack of the ability to turn her body -- glancing straight into Waraylonâs grinning features. âHow long were you standing there?â
âShould I tell you that Iâve been watching you ever since you started, or let you pretend I just walked in?â
Eleeria gasped. âYou ass!â Yes, he was perfect. Rich chocolate-colored hair and impish smile made her heart skip a beat. As he spun her into his arms she laughed, draping her arms over his shoulders. âI was thinking!â
âI know!â
He leaned in and kissed her, and the rogue decided sheâd be alright with giving trust a trial run. This once.
In her dreams, magic worked exactly as she wished it to. Eleeria stood on the battlefield, fire and light curling around her features. A wildfire -- uncontrollable by others, moving of its own accord and agenda. Flames caressed her cheek; fire was the magic of passion, and she had so much of it to share with everyone. She was a well of anger miles deep, a sea of bitterness and fury. Fire tore from her fingertips into the gigantic stag in front of them -- the Great Prince, they had called him. But fire destroyed everything, it destroyed people and plants and animals too. It did not take much to make the lesser stags explode at all. In her dreams she had done it purposefully, not accidentally -- she was so angry...
And then she was being consumed. Anger was always a volatile base for any sort of magic -- the fuel enabled the fire to burn everything, including the person who wielded it. Eleeria screamed, she was burning -- she was burning alive in her dreams and she couldn't tell if anyone was there to save her, or if it was really real -- Eleeria crumpled to the ground, screaming as her insides fell to pieces. Fingers met straggled grass, and she saw her fire consume that too. Everything was burning, she wasn't able to control it--
"Eleeria. Eleeria!" The sudden shock of a man's hand across her face woke her from her nightmares. Eleeria gasped, too warm for the pleasantly cool evening. Her wide eyes met Waraylon's as he clutched his shoulder -- burned, a scald in the shape of a familiar small hand. "You're dreaming. It was only a dream."
Eleeria flung herself from the bed without replying, dropping her body onto the cool bathroom tiles and laying there until she had calmed.
Felo'thore,
You'd taught me once that fire is a magic of passion. Well I have a lot of that. I thank you for showing me a place to go when I need to be alone and let all that passion loose. I use it more than you'd think, honestly. Sometimes I just take my paperwork and sit. It's nice, to have a place alone. I feel like so many people need me all the time now. I feel pulled in a hundred directions.
I was wondering if you'd want to teach me more? I-- thought I'd be fine, that letting it out when I was angry would fix my control issues. But things still explode when I meant to cauterize, and I don't know how to make it do what I want. It's like all this anger is strangling all the common sense it knows and making it something...scary.
Sorry for bothering you. Answer when you can?
E.
â12th: Write a story about your character from the perspective of an object, thing, or animal.âÂ
@notdavidbowieâ
---
The primary foodgiver was sharp, and cold. Not like the secondary foodgiver -- who was a little warmer, a little more relaxed. Second had brought her home: away from the experimentation rooms, where her brothers and sisters had lived and played and died. She mewed, a struggling noise, and he picked her up, tucking her into his coat to keep her warm as they walked through more people than the tiny kitten had ever seen, ever.
He was primary foodgiver for all of five seconds before Smudge (she was given a name! A name that was hers! She loved her name!) met her.
Sharp and a little too loud and full of energy. Just like Smudge, she had a case of the zoomies. Smudge could sense it in her: they were kindred spirits. Smudge ran and frantic circles around the apartment, ducking under chairs and knocking over lamps. And she knew if the woman was not so tall she would have joined the tiny kitten in the Zoom. She was not second to anyone -- she was First, Primary caretaker and the Best Owner. Smudge hooked her claws into Primary's clothes -- what was this fabric? Something harder? Not the silk and cotton of Secondary? -- and climbed up onto her shoulder as she yelled "ow!" Smudge liked being tall. She could be taller on Secondary's broad shoulder, but Primary never picked her up and sat her back down on the floor, even when she was doing work. Smudge knew that Primary liked being tall, too. She was always on top of Secondary doing weird things. (Smudge had investigated the weird things once. Primary and Secondary yelled a lot of words she didn't understand. Secondary picked her up and put her out in the hall. Maybe if they hadn't made so many loud, concerning noises she wouldn't have to make sure they were okay!)
Smudge realized Primary and Secondary couldn't speak Cat pretty quickly. So she took it upon herself to teach them. Meow meow meow purr purr -- a swipe of her claws as shampoo and soap and Smudge herself went tumbling into the empty bathtub. Secondary sighed and put his hand to his eyes. He never really meowed back. But Primary tried to learn! Her accent was atrocious -- really, Smudge thought, it was good that she was a generous and benevolent cat. She tried her best to hold conversations with Primary, often lasting for hours. The two of them would sit there and meow meow meow all day if Secondary didn't pull her away for something. Smudge liked those times second-best: second only to the times when she was allowed to curl up between her two foodgivers and purr repeatedly as they all slept. And then she would pick whichever one was purring louder and sit on their face as a sign of affection.
But then the mood had changed. She was not very good at speaking Human but she could feel the energy around Secondary. He had come home alone one day and he had not felt the same. He was sad -- she had twined around his legs, meowing frantically to ask what was wrong. He had put her away (!!! ???) in her large room with the cat toys and the cat bed. She didn't understand. Why did he not want affection like normal? Did he not want her help? Primary sometimes went away for a few days and came back but Secondary was never so sad. Not like this.
Days of sad meowing passed. Everyone was always gone. Secondary came and went to feed her but she was alone with the sleepy Panda who didn't want to play and she missed Primary. Mom. She missed her mother -- cold and sharp with bad cat grammar. The meows intensified. Secondary brought home another cat (impostor!!! Smudge had attacked him and his tail thoroughly to show him she was the First Cat!) and he slept all the time. His name was Smear and he was lazy. But this did not solve her problem -- how sad Secondary was. Where was Mom?
She heard Mom through the door to her cat room when she came home. Everyone was still so sad and she wasn't allowed to see her. She zoomed alone. Smudge just wanted to sit on her -- wouldn't that make her feel better? Sitting on her face always made her laugh! Smear came and went with Secondary, but Smudge never got to come. Smear told her how Mom was getting better from something. She had Zoomed too much and now she was hurt and recovering. Smudge didn't understand why Mom would want to leave her First Cat alone when she was a Zoom master. Smear merely yawned and said that he thought she didn't have a choice in the matter. Whatever that meant.
Finally. FINALLY. They released her and she ran immediately towards her mother. Smudge gave a huge meow and leapt into Mom's lap as she sat in the rolling chair, curling up in her lap. Mom laughed, and Secondary -- Dad maybe?? -- laughed too and Smudge purred as hard as she could. Mom pet her in all her favorite ways and let her sit there for hours. She contained all her Zoom on Smear's advice so she could see her two favorite people (alive!!). She loved her people so much. She loved being their First Cat. She just hoped she wouldn't have to feel them be sad again. Or maybe the next time they would let her help them too.
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@notdavidbowie @gwynealin for mentions.
--
You see him and you decide to sit down with him. Normally, you hate sitting down with people at the Filthy Animal -- thereâs just something about the quality of clientele that guarantees youâre looking at a dull conversation, and that doesnât interest you. But he looks nicely groomed and, after all, heâs a Sinâdorei, so thatâs an immediate plus in his favor. The mask to his well-cared for armor sits in front of him at the table as he drinks the swill they call ale. You note, before approaching, that he has rather sizeable daggers strapped to his hips. So likely, heâs someone you know -- knew. Someone you knew, before you changed your name and started pretending to be someone else. Hesitation rises in your stomach, and anxiety builds in the set of your shoulders. Polite conversation for a bored woman he may be, but you are always careful not to give too much away about who you were before you joined the Sunguard. The attire and the daggers mark danger, so entering this conversation on your own terms is critical.
So you sit, and smile. He asks you some questions that you note, immediately size up your expertise with the blades you carry across your back and the armor you wear. You play them off admirably, and fall into an easy rhythm. Speaking with people you donât know is a lying game, a game of chance. You lie a little and speak truth a little, and they do the same in return. Except this one doesnât seem like heâs lying too, too much when he speaks of how much he enjoys killing people. Thereâs a light in his eyes that you recognize as being similar to your own. Perhaps it wouldnât be so bad to share your similar opinion on the subject and disregard your normal hesitation for sharing the passion for your craft.
(The last person you told about it was Lazarus. You try not to think about how disappointed you were that he didnât understand you. How scared he looked of you. It made you feel like a monster.)
He isnât scared; quite the contrary, really. As the ale disappears you end up leaning towards him. You enjoy looking at the upward curve of his lips and the intelligence in his direct and steady gaze. The smile seems a bit forced, mostly because youâre both veritable strangers, but thatâs to be expected from anyone who carries daggers and knows how to use them. When he looks away you sneak a peek at the rest of his body, too. You instantly decide that if the conversation keeps going well, he might be good for a one-off fuck. Maybe two, if he seems particularly trustworthy. Damn, that ass was fine.
And then thereâs Aeleara! And as the ale flows freely your memory gets fuzzy at the edges. Your attention keeps turning back to him -- Waraylon, an Emberward in the Sunguard as it turned out. The Light speech goes in one ear and out the other. Being Sunguard doesnât soothe all of your worries but generally, the Sunguard tend to be okay people, especially as partners in your bed for the evening. You confirm that he is, in fact, interested in you too -- the glances to your features that mirror your own speak volumes. When you decide the Animal isnât the most fun place to get drunk, the three of you traipse back to your tiny, shitty apartment in Dalaran.
One sermon on morality and the elven soul later, youâre down one Aeleara and talking seriously about whether or not you and Waraylon think you have souls, or hearts. You claim you lost yours a long time ago, something youâve always firmly believed. He agrees so casually youâre surprised. You cannot stop looking at him; you can't believe you let him alone in your house and youâre not worried heâll stab you. Thereâs something about him that reaches into your center of panic and worry and soothes it. You canât stop wondering how nice he would be to kiss.
You end up being too sleepy to do anything but hold hands. How much liquor did you drink? A lot. You fall asleep on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around your tiny frame. When you wake up heâs gone, a note and flowers -- for you! Directed to you! -- left in his place. He tucked you in the blanket draped across the back of the couch before he left.
You want to see him again and heâs only been gone a few hours. Calling yourself foolish, you hide the note in your underwear drawer.
You put the flowers in a vase and buy special magic powder to preserve their freshness as long as possible, however.
