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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | After an evening of dancing and revelry with some of the elite of the sin'dorei, Syarra and Roper return to the Scryer's Tier to dissect the evening, catch up on what the Death Knight spy has been learning about some of their DK targets for PR, and figure out how they're going to approach the lion, er, lynx's den. 7200-ish words. |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
After the Sin'dorei Dance Party.
Roper has kept up the Sin'dorei mannerisms in what might be nothing more than pure amusement at holding onto them right up until they enter the room of the Scryer's Tier, the door once more shut and locked behind them, abandoning the persona's body language so precisely timed with the way he drops back his hood that it feels almost like the cloth over his head was enchanted with the ghost of a Sin'dorei male and he has been freed of the possession.
"Well, that was fucking fun," Roper drawls, and he sounds genuinely amused.
Syarra lets out a sigh. "It went well, I think. No one kicked us out. My sister didn't attack us."
"She's not being as careful as she should be," Roper says, as he unbuttons the suit jacket. "She's forgetting she shouldn't be able to see exactly what she's doing — just enough that someone's gonna notice sooner or later that she can tell exactly where a lion's mane is. And there was something on that mage's face that looked a little too…calculating and coming up with some real answers. 'Geth.' You trust him to keep it, if he puts it together?"
Syarra hesitates. "He thinks she's a warlock. I told him that's not it and I had it under control."
Roper snorts, as he turns to Syarra, leaning back against the table as he slings the jacket over the chair. "Careful with making promises there. I was able to provoke her enough that I got a glimpse of fucking…something. Just a hint, but she let her own monster peek out at me, and that was around the kids."
"It worked, then, with the mail?" Syarra takes off his jacket, setting it across the table. "She didn't attack you at the party, so I assume it didn't go so badly."
"Yup. Took her a bit to actually show up. I was there on and off. She's definitely not only here. The thing that got to her the most was that I brought up that she'd stabbed you," Roper says, watching her with interest as she bares her shoulders. Scandalous. "She tried to get the kids to turn against me, but didn't fight dirty enough for it. She knows it was me, though. And we…" Roper exhales a harsh breath. "Tripped on one of the kid's pain. So I walked away."
Syarra frowned. "Is that what made her slip? Or the child?"
"No, kid was after. That was what made me have to just…" Roper finger walks his right hand across the air. "She hadn't quite figured it out yet, until I brought up the stabbing. Seemed to think I might have been interested in 'Sil' — I know who that is now. Human, and part of Cobalt Company. He was involved in the Battle of Light's Hope. 'Silvestre Silentstep.'"
"What is Aze doing surrounding herself with humans?" Syarra murmurs in thought. "And being kept by one?"
"As opposed to keeping one?" Roper drawls, leaning more against the table, his body language an open invitation as he watches Syarra. "Don't know. If they're involved though, it's not here, or not often."
Syarra crosses over to the other side of the table reaching out one hand to touch his shoulder. "That's different. We're partners, and it just made more sense for me to… well, I suppose it could be a similar reason for her."
Roper looks amused, leaning his head closer to her hand. His voice goes a little softer, the rasp a little stronger. "Hey, I know what's real." He gives her a lazy, slow smirk. "I don't mind the impression it gives, or playing the part out there, especially if it makes people underestimate me as nothing more than your arm candy, and makes them pay more attention to you. Can't get a shadow without someone standing in the light."
Syarra nods. "If I'd introduced you, it would have raised questions." Then she pauses. "What did you see, though? Her monster. Did she threaten the children?"
Roper reaches out a hand to her hair, a lopsided smile ticking up by slow increments. "You were perfect tonight, Sya. It's why I," A tiny hitch, just the smallest delay, "Like working with you." There's a longer pause as he looks at her before he answers, "Caught a flash of something, with Aze. Her hands went strange. And no, the threat was to me. She gives an actual shit about the kids. It's not faked. These kids would know. They can tell when someone doesn't give a fuck about them. We…" An exhale, as his eyelids flicker. "We always know."
"Aze and a bunch of children. I would not have imagined," Syarra leans toward him. "She likely means well, but the Aze I knew did not have the knowledge or the dependability to care for a child. And yet I'm the one awkward around them now."
"Are you?" Roper tilts his head. "Trouble with Drelai?"
Syarra frowns. "Were you watching?"
"Nope, I was a world away," Roper says with a lopsided grin. The drawl goes deep, an amused sort of light teasing. "You asking for my spy secrets again?"
"She was an orphan, is she one of the ones you talk to?" Syarra looks at him curiously. "I don't think I scared her, she was just… looking for me to be something I'm not sure I remember how exactly. I tried."
"I haven't talked to her yet," Roper admits, brushing his fingers along the side of neck to her left shoulder. "She's not one of my useful ones. But no, you were seen by another one of mine, watching for Cobalt. You could bake them cookies. Aze is likely going to bring them some. I had to redirect the kids away from reporting on Cobalt in front of her, so I put them into finding a place for you to bake. Aze's room doesn't have a kitchen either."
"Does she know the children are watching for Cobalt?" Syarra asks and then shrugs. "It probably doesn't matter, Aze isn't Cobalt. Did they have any brilliant kitchen ideas?"
"Not unless she's been asking them. She might, now that she knows I've been around. I've scattered my trail, but she’s been at them longer than me. They might have more loyalty to her than keeping my questions out of it." Roper shrugs. "But no. They didn't know. They're street kids. If they had access to their own fucking place with a reliable kitchen, they wouldn't be dependent on the orphanage. Houses with kitchens are a thing other people have," Roper says.
"True for us too apparently." Syarra frowns. "Here, at least. I can still go to Silvermoon. But anyway, your children were right. I met with Colson and Mordecai. I think it went well."
There's a flicker of something in Roper’s face, something that wavers before his brows draw in. He looks almost angry, except it's clearly no longer a reliable expression on his face. "Oh yeah?"
"He smiled once," she says, sliding her arm around his waist. "And the conversation never took a… dark turn."
Roper leans into Syarra, his brows raising. "He…smiled?" A beat. "At you, or at…his priest?"
"At…" she thinks that one through. "In my presence, not at Mordecai. I told him we were together."
Roper’s expression moves, as though the spy is spinning through several thoughts too quickly for any of them to fully manifest. It ends in a huff of an ambiguous sound, as the right side of lips pull into a smile. "Good."
"I tried to fill their minds with the idea of us doing happy, innocent things. Though not as blatantly as that sounds. And I didn't lie." Syarra says, before he can ask.
Roper chuckles, as he shifts his arms around her. "Innocent things?" He drawls. "Goodness gracious."
"You know, ice skating for Winter Veil, with no mention of broken hands…" Syarra smiles dryly. "If we want to convince them to trust us, the path is through Mordecai, I think. He was much more open. I'm not sure how, maybe some donations to the orphanage or the infirmary…"
There's an obvious curl of disgust of Roper's lips, before he tips his head back. "You'd think, yeah. Fuck, I think even I managed to charm him, despite everything. Except." Tap, tap, tap. "That every single meet that I'm aware of with a Death Knight that Colson's been part of, there's the fucking priest with him. The Colson I knew would have come alone to meet you, especially in an open area like that, when you said you would be. Which means that's probably not Colson's idea. And…"
There's a faint hint of a smirk on his face before he settles in closer to Syarra. "There was a time when Colson looked at someone like me and wanted that, with all the fucking wheels underneath. I wouldn't underestimate the priest as being as soft a touch as he seems."
"You think it's an act, then?" Syarra looks more curious than concerned. "If so, it seems nearly an invitation to convince him. Try here, not there. And he seemed to feel guilty about reading my journal."
"Not an act. He wasn't lying, when I could see it. Just that it feels like there's more behind it. He stepped in front of Colson between him and me, as if Colson wasn't the fucking paladin." Roper shrugs his left shoulder in a slight movement. "He might be willing, up to a point. But he also may be just as suspicious of us as he should be."
"And as for your journal," Roper adds. "They knew you were up and running around when they got it, and how to get it back to you through me. So he went ahead and kept it, knowing that. Guilt, maybe, but that was apology, rather than permission."
"I forgave it, anyway," Syarra says. "I'd rather use what forgiveness I can offer to buy goodwill. Then, maybe that's where to push, even if there's more under the surface. If we can disarm the suspicion then all we need to do is… continue to be trustworthy."
"Maybe, but it won't be through me. I'm too fucking obvious. Unless I went as someone else, not me. And that's…risky." There's a pause, and a hesitation in his voice. "What'd you think about Colson?"
Syarra thinks for a moment before answering, then says, "Very detached, maybe intentionally so. Civil, but his heart wasn't in it. It felt almost like… his priest was there to provide a counterpoint. Watch how I look and speak to someone I genuinely believe is a person. Now watch how I look at you."
For some reason, this makes Roper laugh, but it's bitter and cold. "Yeah. And he knows it. There's guilt there, but it doesn't change it. You want to work on the priest… you could try. Money won't do anything. The Aspenwoods could probably buy the infirmary. And the orphanage. And the fucking bar. But… the priest is the one who's friends with Aze. Might be harder to take him from her, with the lead she has on you there."
"It's not zero-sum," Syarra says, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not taking anyone from anyone. Look at the problem differently. They're connected, so progress with one may translate to the other. But… how? What do we have to offer an orphanage, or an infirmary? That they will accept?"
"It's not zero sum, it's about hierarchy. His loyalty and what he's willing to believe, or do, will come down to whose side he's on. You could try to get through him to turn opinion, but since she's higher up to him, he'll put her first, every time. It'll influence how willing he is to give you anything. So you gotta be careful. If you're trying to get an asset out of him, a connection you can use, she's got more pull than you. And she sees you pulling on him, it'll backfire." Roper tilts his head back. "I'm just long gaming it. Not trying to offer anything, just do whatever I'm asked, every time. Reliability and compliance, just your neighborhood friendly fucking undead monster."
"Okay, fine," Syarra says, pulling away. "You know them better than I do. I'll just leave the Aspenwoods, unless they ask me for anything. Focus on Aze, and on Silvermoon."
"Not warning you off, just giving you the information I have, and what I'm doing, so you know where I am. I haven't seen anything they need enough to offer it, but I told you, I can't be anywhere near Colson Fucking Aspenwood." Roper lets her go, with obvious reluctance, his hands clenching slightly. The rasp is barely a whisper in his voice. "You also have your priest, as an in for another string in Cobalt. Celaven. I can't touch him at all, any more than I can Mordecai. Too fucking obvious."
"Why not?" she asks, picking up the jacket from the table and crossing to the coat closet. "You've met him now, as often as I have since all this started."
Roper crosses his arms, and there's a touch of amusement in the slight lift of his left brow. "Because I'll come across as jealous and resentful, every time."
Syarra trails to a stop in front of the closet, and turns back to look at Roper. "You do know, though, we were never together. Not like that."
Roper flicks his brows. "But you liked him. Liked the way his Light felt. Enough for it to linger, with an echo. Remembered what that necklace meant to the Other Syarra enough to wear it, as you." Roper's mouth twists slightly in almost a smile, an odd combination of something bitter and hopeful in his eyes. "And it sticks in me, every fucking time I think about him. I can't fucking shake it off, even when I know better."
Syarra turns away, carefully hanging up the jacket before answering. She turns back to Roper with a sigh. "I doubt I would like how his Light feels now. And if I reach out to him, it would be to build a contact, and only that."
"I know. Intellectually. Tactically." Roper spreads his hands briefly before he crosses them again. "But I can see it. I'll be fucking stupid about it, in the moment. Even tonight, I knew there would be a better approach. But the thought of having to stand there, and watch anyone fucking come up to you with interest…" Roper shakes his head. "So if they come away with anything at all of me, let them see my hand on you."
Syarra laughs, crossing back to him and holding out her hands. "With the dancers, and that girl with the lion, and all the others, I doubt you needed to worry. But they'll remember."
Roper takes her hands, pulling her closer to set them around the back of his neck. "I know. And you might be surprised, whose interest you catch." Roper pauses, before he flicks his right brow up and down. "Alaisa thinks you're fucking pretty, and not just your looks. Interested enough to tell me that she'd stay backed off, on my behalf, unless you rejected me."
"Lady Alaisa?" Syarra says, raising her eyebrows as she joins her hands behind his neck. "That, I did not predict. I made a better first impression than I thought."
"We're friends for a reason," Roper drawls. "But all the same. Just because I know you could fucking use what you have as a weapon, doesn't mean I can pull it off standing right there, as myself." Roper studies Syarra's face like he's enjoying a painting in a well lit museum.
"I'll keep that in mind," She says, with a hint of a smile. "Any other news on your side?"
Roper inhales, setting his hands on her waist, his left hand forefinger starting a slow tap. "Yeah. Got good news, bad news, and fucking useless news." Tap. "First mixed bag: Fionette. Good news is she's hard-core party line: she gets up, she goes out, she fights the Scourge, rinse and repeat. The bad news is, I'm guessing something like Forge, but worse in some ways. She doesn't really talk to fucking anyone. Not the living, not the dead, no one. And that’s on purpose. She used to be in the Dawn, or affiliated with them at least, through one of the big shots, Sevastyn Black. She goes out of her way to avoid them, and him. Just Scourge all day every day. Which means she's not a problem, but I doubt Kit would find anything she recognized in her. Everything I could get off the gossip trains of the Crusaders suggested she ran hot before, and she's cold now."
"Machine of death and violence," Syarra nods. "She may adjust eventually, but it could be a while. I'm glad she's not a problem. What else?"
"Mixed number two: Mourn is off Ralaea, but only temporarily." Tap. "He's certain now she's going to end up in Northrend, and he intends to go with her. Probably fucking walk right into Mondragon's hands, sooner or later. I've gotta work with him again tomorrow, with Alaisa, so at least he'll stop being such a fucking paladin about 'protecting' her. The good news is that he's cooperative, for now, and if we wanted to pull his goodwill in tighter, making sure his obsession survives will do it. Ralaea Westwind is an obvious fucking leverage for him."
"Nothing I can do about it at the moment, but the order stands," Syarra says. "Keep Ralaea Westwind safe."
"Yeah." Roper's upper lip curls in disgust, but he continues, "Third up: Enaliya. The bad news is I still haven't found her. I've narrowed it down to Duskwood. She's definitely there, but I'm probably going to have to fucking comb the woods, or just wander the roads yelling her name at this rate. Ask me to find the name of a single priest with nothing but an initial and a mercenary operation and I will, but I'm no fucking tracker."
"I wouldn't say Aze is either," Syarra frowns, "but I don't know if that's true anymore. Do we just leave her to it, then?"
"Definitely not, because that's part of the mixed good and bad," Roper says and he shifts around Syarra slightly, his right arm moving around her waist. "She might be a problem. What I was able to gather, is that she's been enough of a problem that the higher ups around Mograine have already disciplined her once, for pushing the fucking limits. And whatever she's fucking doing in Duskwood, it's not fighting the undead Scourge out there. Bounties, and there's been a notable drop in road traffic since the Battle of Light's Hope, particularly of lone travelers that nobody might miss," Roper almost drawls it, except there's something dark and dangerously cold in his voice. "So. She's making herself our problem, sooner rather than later."
"Then we could deal with it," Syarra says. "It wouldn't be vengeance, but it might look like it."
"Couple ways it could go, depending on how we play it, and what Enaliya fucking does." Roper moves his left hand slowly along the silk of the dress, up along her back. "But depending on how you want to look to the higher ups…" His voice dips, the resonance echo growing enough to be heard. "'Enaliya, out there on her own, wasting her talents in her own indulgence making a nuisance of herself among the living, until Syarra Sunstrike gets her under control and working for the betterment of the Ebon Blade.'" Roper smirks, as his voice returns to his usual. "A leader, proving exactly how much power she's capable of wielding over even the messiest of fucking knights."
"It won't look as good if I fail, or if I kill her," Syarra says dryly. "And I can't guarantee any outcome."
"Exactly. Difficult card to play. One of those where we don't draw attention to it, and we don't make any promises. If it works, we make it seem like it was the goal all along." Roper makes an expression of mixed annoyance and amusement. "Spinning the story after the fact is part of what I do."
"So you think I should track her down," Syarra's voice has a touch of weariness in it. "In Duskwood."
"No, I think I should track her down, in Duskwood," Roper drawls, as he lifts up a section of her hair. "I think I should leverage her into doing what we want, because as far as she knows I'm just some Knight. Eventually, see if she'll work under you, doing what she fucking should be. And then, if it works, I spin it that it's your name on the credits of the one who turned her around all along. That's part of what you do, baby. I told you, I need someone who wants to be out there in front, and who wants to deal with what happens when people in charge want someone to deal with leading a group of fucking people as a 'reward.' I work better when no one knows what I'm up to, and they don't see me coming for them."
"Okay, but how do you find her?" Syarra asks. "That was your original problem, wasn't it?"
Roper tilts his head back in obvious irritation, although it doesn't seem to be aimed at Syarra. "Time. She's been making regular trips back to City Hall, talking to a clerk in particular about any jobs that involve 'dead or alive.' I park myself long enough, and she'll come to me. If I can get eyes on it, once I know she's picked up a bounty, I can find out what it is. Meet her out there in 'coincidence,' so I'm not just bumping into her. Duskwood is deep in Alliance territory. Darkshire in particular has its own dedicated guard. She's been careful with them, and while they suspect she's a Death Knight, they don't know for sure. I'm not the only one walking around with a hood." Roper twirls a bit of hair around his fingers. "Might be a good time to prop up a 'palatable Death Knight' of our own among them. Theris, maybe. Sit and watch for Enaliya, tell me when she's made contact, and be good at blending into the fucking background so she doesn't notice him watching."
Syarra nods, looking at her hair twined in his fingers. "Theris would be good at blending in, if he's willing. And then you could happen across her on the bounty trail. That could work. And I stay here." She shifts to meet his gaze. "Is there anything I should see to here? The street children?"
"Quel'danas," Roper says, as he wraps a bit of the curls around his fingers, burying his hand fully. "Definitely a priority now. Did you hear about the fucking naaru, M'uru?"
"All the talk in Silvermoon, the traitor prince," Syarra exhales a laugh. "Removal of temptation. I won't be saving a naaru from the Sunwell Plateau."
"No, we don't need to go for the naaru, but it's where the action is, and the Legion is there, going hard. And that's not a difficult spin to connect up the Legion and the fucking Scourge. Cobalt is leaning into it hard. Their newsletter says, specifically, that 'the blood knights are fighting alongside A’dal, and they're welcome in Shattrath. They’ll be fighting on "our side" in Quel’danas, which needs any volunteers who are available.' And so it's definitely the place we want to be seen helping now, and I'm not really a battlefield guy. You, on the other hand…" Roper moves his right hand to Syarra's back, pressing in with a mild force clearly chosen to not cause any pain.
Syarra lets the pressure move her closer to him. "Yes, if it's a matter of killing Dawnblade, I could definitely assist. And not linger over it. I was fine with the Sunfury, clean kills."
"And if you can get it done with your Crimson Coterie, all the better, so they can see it." Roper tilts his head to the side. "They're definitely clever, and fucking dangerous. I can see why you like working with them. Tonight, they made it clear that while you're allowed in, you're not to be part of their 'social.' They didn't even acknowledge you as an acquaintance, let alone a part of their fucking business." There's a lopsided smile forming on his face as he looks at Syarra. "I like your play, though."
"I didn't want to push it when I wasn't sure which way they would fall," Syarra says. "Especially given which way I suspected they would. But which play do you refer to?"
"Watching, waiting, observing what they do, and how they're doing it, until you know what to use," Roper says, letting her hair fall slowly through his fingers. "Flash might get their fucking attention, but upstaging them is risky, especially the woman, Elowel. I don't even know what she said to the Lion Woman, but I'd recognize that posturing fucking anywhere. You could have pushed in, unsubtle as a fucking hammer, and you didn't. Just made nice, letting them see what you want them to see — so. very. palatable." The smile jumps into a wicked looking grin.
"She…" Syarra hesitates. "Elowel is an ally, as far as it goes, but she's very self-absorbed. A death knight acquaintance would not have enhanced her image. And she did ask me to let her handle image. With the lion woman, that was just social maneuvering. Who is the biggest predator in the room."
"Yeah, I saw it. A last parting shot from the Queen to a willing supplicant looking for the acknowledgment of playing the game, and definitely willing to lose just to grab their attention. Lot of flash going on. Makes my job easier, if a little more boring, when they're being obvious about it," Roper says, moving her hair down against the silk of the dress, the drawl touching bits and pieces of his words. "And makes it a lot simpler to hide in plain sight, when you're trying to avoid becoming something of a real fucking mixed bag to a long-lived race: a novelty. Although. What was that woman interested in us about? Briyanthe. All I caught was something about being a healer."
"Oh, she said she had a vision from the Light, that she would accomplish something great for her allies. We were included in that list, so she wanted to let us know to ask if we needed a holy healer for anything. I told her we would, but…" Syarra shrugs her right shoulder. "She seemed disappointed. I have no idea what I might have said wrong."
Roper, perhaps inadvertently answering the question, makes a face of slight scorn. "A 'vision' from the Light as a holy healer?" He doesn't repress the eye roll. "For fuck's sake."
"Who thinks we're her allies," Syarra says more firmly, nudging him with one knee. "I want to encourage that. Though I don't have a space for a healer in any current plans. Does that even work on us, anymore?"
Roper laughs briefly at the nudge, holding up his hands for a moment in a sign of surrender. "There's a reason I wear the hood. Hide the eye rolls," he drawls, but he sobers, setting his hands back down on her waist. "It works, but it hurts like you're going to forget your own fucking name in the pain of it, just white out for a second. I know from experience on that front." A hesitation, and there's that look of anger again on his face. "Colson healed me, on the battlefield of Light's Hope."
"To cause pain, intentionally?" Syarra asks.
Roper shakes his head, and there's a flicker of something around his eyes. His voice goes hollow and he looks over Syarra's left shoulder at the wall. "No. He saved me. From one of the Argents. Stopped her from attacking me, and…healed the wound I got while I was distracted trying to fucking run him through while his back was turned. I still don't know how he even knew it was me, like this, like I was, after years. But he did."
Syarra pulls one hand along her forearm, tightening the loop of her arms around his neck and forcing him closer. "Whatever instinct caused that, then, I'm glad he did. Even if it hurt."
Roper refocuses on Syarra, inhaling slowly, and there's a moment where all he does is look at her, something softening by slow increments in his gaze. "Yeah." An exhale of a slight sight. "So. We can be healed. Just comes at a price, one we pay. Depending on the Knight, some might be willing to pay it, and others might get dangerous and take it out on the healer. I'd handle it, if it were me, but you'd want to vet the rest of any of ours to see how they react. You could even make a show of it, if you wanted a reason to ask for a priest's help, of looking to see who can fucking tolerate the burn and who can't." He taps gently against Syarra's back with his left hand. "If you're looking for allies among the Sin'dorei though, one who is falling in line with the law to treat you like any other member of the Horde, it could be worth a little," A beat, "Light torture."
"I'd say I could handle it, but I attacked Aze." Syarra considers. "Then again, I wasn't expecting it. Maybe if I was braced for it, I wouldn't lash out. Then again, I doubt Briyanthe Roseshine was expecting us to ask her to help determine who's willing to handle a little torture for the cause. If I build some other purpose to invite her along, we can fold that into it."
"And two other priests you could use the excuse of it to open a conversation with, a reason you're contacting them, if nothing else. Even if they say no, you have a back and forth. And it might make them more likely to say yes to a smaller ask, like meeting to talk about 'innocent things,'" Roper says, setting his cheek against her left shoulder. "You have at least one you know can fucking take it, if any of them agree. I can take a lot of pain before something in me will fight back." It might be coincidence that his hands ball into fists for a moment. "But I…don't know if I can actually be healed by anyone else. Before, priests were always telling me I was 'resisting.' Even when I was trying not to, I couldn't not do it. The only person I never did…" Roper trails off, settling more against Syarra's shoulder.
"Well, if Celaven or Mordecai agreed, I would volunteer," Syarra says, resting her head gently against the top of Roper's. "You couldn't be there. I can start with Celaven. He's safer, I think. Briyanthe… I'll try to talk to her again. I still don't know what I said to offend her, so I can straighten that out first."
"She was just nervous, until you said something back, after her offer. What did you say?" Roper makes an amused sound. "In fucking Common." A short beat. "Please. I'll need to work on my Thalassian, if I'm gonna follow along in the future." He traces a small circle on her lower back with his left hand, not likely coincidentally where his hand rested earlier.
"I said that prophetic dreams should be taken seriously, and that we would let her know if we needed her," Syarra would look confused, if Roper could see her expression. "I didn't laugh, or roll my eyes. I was very serious."
"Yeah. That is odd." Roper sounds intrigued. "You sounded careful and serious to me, but then again, I know you." He taps an odd beat against Syarra's back. It might match the cadence of Briyathe's reply. "And you're right. She seemed…offended. I figured it was a rejection, because of it. Why would she be offended by an acceptance…unless she was hoping for a rejection. Now she may have publicly committed herself to playing with fucking Death Knights. But, I don't like the edges of that piece. I'd expect more nervousness and fear, even if she was worried about working with us. She just went cold. Missing something."
"I'll write her, ask her more about the dream," Syarra says, with finality. "I'll make sure it sounds sincere. And really, are prophetic dreams that much harder to believe than all the other things in our world lately?"
"It's not that it's hard to believe that someone gets a vision. Sure. That happens, I guess. But that they'd come to one random holy priestess too timid to go up to a woman for an introduction? Yeah, just a bit harder to believe," Roper says as he traces the line of Syarra's spine up to her hair. "But, I'm all for an easy leverage. If she's eager to prove it, you've got what you need to push her where you need her to be. Low on the rungs on the social ladder is still one up higher than not allowed on it. I'll take the weird holy priestess over fucking nothing. I'll be nice. Or, well. Something like it."
"I'll see where that road might lead," Syarra says, resting her hand on his shoulder. "And I think we digressed. Was that the end of your news, mixed and bad?"
"From what I went to get? Yeah. That's all I got, until I find Enaliya or figure out Mourn's deal with Westwind." Roper closes his eyes as he moves his fingers slowly through her hair. "From tonight, I probably got what you saw. That your sister was invited to the same fucking thing, mixed news, especially since she's obviously not out with what she is, which means she's testing the water, but she's also starting a lie. Always a risk. That mage, Geth, going out of his way to talk to her and not you, bad news."
"No one asked me to leave," Syarra says, as if in counterpoint. "Good news. And I'm planning to meet with Aze this week. And I will keep an eye on future events in Silvermoon."
"Yeah. Slower, but it's the right call, given where we're fucking starting from." Roper taps against her hair. "If you did want to get their attention, without too much flash, you could dance for them next time." There's a beat and it may be more obvious now when it's not the tactician in him that makes him add, "With me."
Syarra raises her head, tensing. "I'm not that good, Roper, even if you are. I'm not going to shatter a crystal sword like in that spectacular ballet, or scandalize a priestess with my… voluptuous storytelling."
"Wouldn't want to, not for this," Roper says, opening his eyes to pull back enough to look at Syarra. "Sometimes you want to lose, on purpose, because it gets you more. With the woman, Elowel, upstaging her gets you fucking nothing you want. Flattering her, giving her something to give a backhanded compliment to?" He flicks his brows up. "That's all you need, because she's still seen talking with you, and you get to make her think she's won something, and that is a way into the circle where it doesn't look like you forced your way in, because she's still sure she's in control."
"She is good with the backhanded compliments," Syarra says with a brief smile, raising her hand to trail a finger along his collarbone. "Then sure, we could lose a dance contest. I'm good enough to manage that, I think, if I can arrange to get in."
There's a flicker of something on his face at the mention of the not-really-a-compliment, a touch of something like anger that he blinks away. "You'll get it." Roper leans forward slightly. "Do you know why your tail wasn't there? I heard his name, but the rest I couldn't catch."
"I didn't catch a specific reason," Syarra says, one finger sliding toward where his collarbone had been broken before, maybe more out of memory than present intent. "Just that he hates those sort of things."
"Would have liked to get a visual, but at least I've got the other two. Are they…hm. Is he…" There's a pause as he seems to try to rephrase the question as, "Do you…" And then stops again. Roper makes a quiet sigh of irritation. It might be for himself.
"What?" Syarra asks, her brow creasing. "Sympathetic? More or less. Geth might be harder to befriend than the other two, even though he's so friendly in general."
Roper could, potentially, choose to go with this, that it was what he might have been asking. It would certainly be strategic minded. Tactically good to know. It'd be a lie, though, technically.
He makes a faint tsk sound, looking over Syarra's shoulder as he drawls in a way that sounds somehow like he's dragging himself through it, "Attractive. Are they all fucking pretty." A pause as his lower lids twitch, and he makes another sound of annoyance, and it's clear, it's at himself. "To you."
Syarra raises her hand off his collarbone and gives a brief laugh of surprise, though there's something darker and uncertain beneath it. "Are Silvermoon nobles all fucking pretty? I suppose yes. I have heard many humans think…" she hesitates and then forges ahead, "…that sin'dorei are very attractive. I told you I was not especially notable in that regard, so I guess now you see what I mean. Aze had a crush on Geth for a while, till she gave up on it."
"Did you." Not asked like a question, but it probably is, and there's almost a wince on his face as soon as he not-asks it.
"I…" Syarra pauses again, choosing her words. "I don't think I valued the same things as that crowd. What they had to offer was not what I wanted."
There's something that relaxes slightly in Roper, as he exhales, moving his hand up to her hair. "Oh, yeah? Before. And now?"
"They're walking bags of pain I'm not allowed to tear open?" Syarra mutters, and shakes her head. "I wouldn't, of course. We have a plan."
Roper laughs, tipping his head back a little. "I guess that's an answer of some sort. I heal, at least, if you tear the bag." Roper gives her a lopsided smile. "So I have that going for me."
"It doesn't matter to me. How pretty they are or aren't. The fashion, the dancing," Syarra drops her hand to his shoulder again. "Did you know Elowel offered to help, give tips on how to deflect unwanted advances?"
Roper flicks his right brow up. "Bring a human to a sin'dorei party one of them?" There's the real drawl.
"I haven't asked her for details yet," Syarra says with a faint smile. "But it's true no one tried to seduce me. You didn't miss anything in Thalassian in that regard."
"Good, because I was aiming for fucking paladin levels of unsubtle," Roper drawls, raising a hand to Syarra's face. "I can't…" He licks his lips and makes another faintly annoyed sound. "I used to clean up nice. You know. Had pretty hair, could have done a bit of a show of things, made myself up to not hit your reputation quite so fucking hard when they realize what I am under the hood. Now I can't even fucking shave."
"We could dance," Syarra says, shifting toward his hand. "I think we would be… pretty. As for the rest of it, people will see what I am, what you are. No matter how well we clean up." She pauses, briefly frowning at her own words, then continues. "And I wanted you there with me, whatever the consequences."
Roper strokes a slow line down the side of her face. "You're already fucking pretty, Sya. And I'm not saying that because," a hint of a grin forming up. "Some humans find sin'dorei 'very attractive.' There was one girl who fucking mattered in that place as far as I was concerned. That's not going to change." He curls his fingers in, brushing his knuckles back up against her cheek. "I just can't match you, not like that, not the way I am now. As long as you don't care…or it's good enough to you, then I'll work with it."
"I have what I want," Syarra says, meeting his gaze. "It doesn't matter to me whether or not other people might agree."
There's that brief lighter look on his face, as he presses his fingers along the back of her neck, pulling her in closer. "Good." Roper's voice has the heavy rasp, lower and almost softer, that sort of whisper sound to it. "Because even if you thought you might start to want them, I would make you want me more." He moves in closer, something in his eyes, dangerous but also pleading. "Because I." A hesitation, brief but harsh enough to draw attention to it. "I want you more than anyone. And you said," a bit of a smile as his voice goes even quieter. "If I wanted you, then you're mine. Nothing is going to make me let you go." He tightens the grip of his cold, dead fingers.
In this case, over his dead body is most definitely not metaphorical, hypothetical, or advised.
"I don't plan to let you," Syarra shifts her hands to his shoulders, pushing him back gently. "But if we're going to dance, even to lose, we'll need to practice."
Roper checks his Deathwatch in a quick flick of his hand, before he returns it to wherever he's keeping it in his sleeve apparently. "Fuck, just barely six hours before I need to get to Stormwind." He exhales a sound of profound irritation at the existence of time. "I'd have liked to sleep with you, just…" He shakes his head slightly.
"Alright, we could practice dancing. To lose." Roper moves forward again, differently, to step up next to her, a smooth motion of his hips that rolls his body nearly against hers in time of an imaginary beat of music, sensual and suggestive in the way of a sin'dorei dance.
"Maybe work on my Thalassian, for next time. You could teach me some useful phrases." Roper places his mouth near her ear as he sets himself up in a classic lead, but so close that it would be scandalously intimate in almost all social situations. "Like, how do you say, 'There's no denying that a colorful firework is beautiful, and loud, and that you can't help but look at it in the sky, but when you need relief from the cold darkness, you don't sit by a firework and expect it to have any substance to heat you no matter how fucking pretty it is. You look for a bonfire and revel in its glorious flame scorching you, all the more fucking beautiful for the intensity of it burning in the death of winter's freeze.' Something like that." The drawl returns as he presses his cheek against hers. "As a random, non-specific example."
Syarra takes his hand in hers, amusement in her eyes, and she says, "We can work up to the bonfire. To start with, maybe something more like…" she switches smoothly to Thalassian, "May I have this dance?"