![](http://cobalt-company.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/writing:2023-01-19-something-to-hold-onto/style="margin:/medium.jpg) |
| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | Roper and Syarra meet in Roper's quarters aboard The Revenge on Day 2 of the Ebon Blade's Northern journey to plan for the worst, and confess that they each won't let the other one be voted off the Revenge metaphorical island. Romantic RP log. 3100-ish words. |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
Roper glides in next to Syarra, from one moment to the next, setting a hand briefly on her arm, "Follow me," he says, and there's that beat, that pause before he over-drawls the, "Please." He doesn't pause for her answer as he continues down the lower deck for a cabin near the front of the ship.
Syarra falls in behind him, and murmurs, "I've been over every step of this ship that wasn't locked, there's no surprises. At least, none in the environment."
Roper chuckles, and keeps his voice so low that only someone with keen hearing walking so close to him would hear it. "And I've been everywhere on the ship, fucking locked or not. There's nothing I didn't expect to find." He turns a brief grin at her, the light of his eyes still so bright they almost obscure the outline of his iris. He gives her a flourish of a bow at a door — presumably his room, as he slides a hand along the wall, thumbing something. There's a click, and Roper unlatches it.
Inside is a reasonably sized ship cabin. There's enough room for two people to stand, a small desk that can barely seat a single person, the stool attached to the floor, and a small bed built into the wall that looks as though it'd be a tight squeeze for two adults. There's nothing that says 'Roper' about the room except for the fact that there appears to be some sort of complex trap or pulley system near the door.
"Easy to defend," Syarra says, stepping into the cabin and turning toward Roper, looking down at the mechanism. "Hard to escape. But it's only the second day. Past… what, day five? We stay on the deck, unless things get ugly."
"The halls'll get dangerous, yeah. Close quarter fights, and possibly invisible gnomes." Roper says nothing more until she steps inside, shutting the door behind her, and latching it locked. The mechanism appears to be something to account for the difficulty with a lock. Like most ships, the door locks from the inside, rather than the outside. It is definitely something Roper made, based on how new the materials are, and the fact that several pieces look gnomish.
He steps in close enough that the leather brushes up against the saronite, moving a hand for her hair as he leans in to set his cheek against hers. "Hey."
She closes her eyes and shifts toward him, then stops before the saronite armor can cause any damage. She says with some reluctance, "I don't even know if it's safe enough to take off the armor. Probably not. These people are our allies, but most of them would rip us apart with very little prompting."
"You could here," Roper suggests, closing his eyes. He inhales to blow out a harsh sigh. "For today, anyway." He moves only slightly away enough to run a gloved hand along the armor. "Anyone that was fucking stupid enough to try to get in here, by the time they got in, you'd have it back on."
Syarra pulls away, but only to start to remove her armor, piece by piece, placing it in a corner of the small cabin. "What do you think, so far? Will we hold together as a force against the Lich King?"
Roper steps back just enough to give her room, his hands reaching out to help with the armor. "Assuming we don't resort to cannibalism?" Roper drawls, and shrugs his right shoulder in a lithe motion. "No idea yet. I don't have anywhere near the kind of information I want. Mograine's got enough pull to get us here, on a ship. That's good. But, his attitude that every single one of us is replaceable? I don't know how loyal some of us are to that, how focused we can be without hearing a voice in our heads. What do you see? You know people, teams. Does this look like it should, to you?"
"As good as can be expected," Syarra says, setting the rest of the armor on the pile. She turns back to Roper, closing the distance and running one bare hand along his cheek. "The ones who came have a purpose, and that may see them through. And you saw how they came together with the singing. That was a good move."
Roper gives her a bright grin. There's still something about his features that seems relaxed, as though he's not holding so much tension in his expression. He turns his cheek more into her hand, blinking slowly. "Purpose doesn't get us far enough if we're scattering, some pulling and others pushing. I can give a fucking push, but I'm not going to keep it going." It's bordering on a metaphor with his work for the Ebon Blade. "You might want to get ours working on something. 'Training should focus, as possible, on developing creative solutions that require teamwork.'" He flicks his brows up as he quotes her book.
"It would be excellent if we were to come across another ship," Syarra says wistfully. "A Scarlet ship, maybe. Just imagine. Strategy, teamwork…. fun."
Roper laughs, shaking his head a little as he reaches both arms around her, his right hand snaking up her back for her braid's end. "I couldn't find out where they went. No one seemed to know enough, and too many rumors went entirely different directions to pull it into something real. It would be their own fucking fault if we did come up on them in a few days." He moves his head side to side. "The real luck might be finding a Scourge ship. Information, purpose…" He winks his left eye in a slow drop. "Fun."
"Mm," Syarra says, leaning into him. "More purpose, but maybe less fun. But it would be good if there were something outside this ship. Something to unite us."
"I'll look for a really big fish," Roper drawls.
Syarra gives a brief exhale of a laugh. "The hunger still isn't strong, though. The fight at the Sunwell is definitely helping."
Roper starts unraveling the braid. "It's why I want you here, with me. For at least a bit, while it's still mostly just me in here." He gives her a small, wry sort of smile. "It started again today, while I was on the rigging in the morning. I can feel it coming on again, but for now." He leans in to set his forehead against hers, inhaling deeply. "I can almost just feel you, and nothing else in my head."
Syarra closes her eyes and smiles faintly. "We'll get through it. I hope this doesn't derail all the things we had set in motion. All of that should give us something to come back to, after. Once he's dead."
Roper shrugs, a quick lift and drop, as he works through the braid. "If shit gets derailed, it gets derailed. It's fucking annoying, but sometimes you just have to pick it back up and shove it back on the rails. Other times you find new shit that's better." Braid undone, Roper strips off his gloves, tossing them onto the desk. He gatherers some of the curls on each side to drag them across her shoulders to the front, leaning back to look at her. There's something oddly soft in his expression. "There. '‘To remember beauty, since we’re headed somewhere so hideous.'"
Syarra reaches up one hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "There wasn't any question of going, though. Even aside from proving the Ebon Blade, I don't think I could not." She looks at him for a long moment, and then asks, "Will Alaisa go to Northrend?"
"Don't know. She's got combat skills, but this isn’t really her kind of assignment." Roper frowns slightly. "I get the feeling he keeps her in Stormwind, more than anywhere. She's got the most flexibility there. I've been keeping myself out of investigating him. He's not having me tailed. We're keeping it civil. For spies."
"Keeping it civil, that's good," Syarra nods. "Aze might be going, though she wouldn't give me a clear answer. She claims she was at the Sunwell. I didn't see her."
"I didn't see much of fuck all after that dragon. It was just…" Roper inhales deeply, his features softening in memory. It takes him a moment, as he wraps a length of hair around his left fingers before he asks, "She sound like she was lying to you?"
Syarra doesn't answer for a moment, maybe also remembering the suffering dragon. Then she gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head and says, "I don't think she would lie about something like that. It means too much to her."
It's easier to catch, up close and with the mobility of his facial expression, that sharpening in Roper’s eyes, as he latches onto the information and squirrels it away. "You think the Coterie is going to send people over? I know Cobalt's already angling for it. They got in fast with the Alliance before as well, with the Portal."
"I don't see Geth and Elowel jumping at the chance for a week-long boat journey," Syarra says. "My guess… some will go. Others will wait for instant travel."
Roper shakes his head. "Trouble with waiting for luxury is that people remember who was there first, not third or fifth." He raises his brows and the right side of his mouth moves in a hint of a smile. "Sometimes you have to suffer to get what you really fucking want."
"If there's one thing we know how to do, it's that," she says. "We're with the first, so we may cross paths with Cobalt. If they get passage."
"I'd bet on them getting out here," Roper rasps. "If I was a betting man. I'm not. They'll be there, probably right on our fucking heels." He leans in again, aiming to set his chin on her left shoulder. "Fuck. Three days, maybe four, and I won't even be able to get within a few feet of you, let alone touch you," he murmurs it, and there's a flicker of actual pain that pops and fades in the space of a breath.
Syarra lets herself relax against him, curling one arm around his back. She tightens the arm slightly in time with the brief pain. "We'll survive. And if we're not entirely whole at the end… it's an entire continent of life and undeath, and most of it will not be off-limits."
"I won't let you — " The words hit the air, fast and unplanned, before Roper breaks off the sentence. It's too late though.
Syarra tenses, but doesn't pull away. "You won't let me…. what?"
"Ah, fuck." It's barely audible and Roper exhales through his teeth. His jaw works slightly, and in the fine motions of his face, there's evidence to give some clues to his thoughts, as though he's weighing his options, considering how he might lie or spin the truth, and deciding on a course. He inhales, and blows out a breath heavy enough to stir strands of Syarra's hair. Decision made.
He drops his right hand down for hers, and moves it to set it on his collarbone, in an echo of another time. The husky note of his voice makes the lower tone sound like a whisper of secrets, and the words sound like the truth unspun.
"I won't let you starve enough to go over that edge."
Syarra presses gently against his collarbone, but shakes her head. "Not all prices are worth paying. If I get to that point, pick someone else. We'll trap them in here and then…"
"You can't. If anyone found out, no one would ever trust you again," Roper says, his voice so soft, the sibilants hushed. "You can't." There's almost a smile in his eyes, but the rest of his expression is deadly serious. "But I could. A Shadow does what's necessary. I lie, I cheat, I kill for you. And I will. If it comes down to it. I'll risk what I have to. It's not months, and it's not exactly a cage, but it is only fucking fish." He strokes a finger slowly along her hand on him.
"You remember, you told me once that if anyone ever did to you what Theris survived, not to get in that cage with you?" It has the lilt of a question, but it doesn't sound like a real one. Roper meets Syarra's eyes. "I'd get in the fucking cage, Sya. If there wasn't another option, if it was get in there or watch you lose yourself to the Hunger, I'd kill whatever I had to, and I'd get in there with you."
Syarra closes her eyes, shakes her head, something like pain in her face. "Don't. I told you I'm not like him. It wouldn't matter how much I l…" she chokes on the words, and then continues, "I wouldn't be able to stop, if I were that far gone. Reputation can be repaired, eventually. Betrayals are forgotten."
"I'd have a plan. I'd have a way out," Roper continues, in the same soft insistence. "And if it's me, I won't fight back. You'd go slower, not trying to destroy me as fast as possible." He doesn't blink, his attention so fixed on her face that he would miss something in the room, if there was anything else in it. "And I won't let you get that far gone. But that's…there isn't any fucking price I'm not willing to pay to keep you — this you." A wry, pained looking smile moves his lips to the right. "That future where you go over and might not come back is too fucking bleak, Sya."
"That's what I…" Syarra tightens her arm around his back and opens her eyes, but for a long moment she seems to be looking through him at something distant. There's confusion in her expression, the look of someone struggling with a riddle whose answer seems to be just out of reach. Then she comes back to the present, and meets his gaze with something like hesitancy. "Maybe… I understand. I don't want it to come to that, for either of us. But if it does… I don't plan to lose you."
"You won't." The smile pulls into the hint of a grin, a touch of the drawl creeping into his voice. "One very obvious strike against me, and near misses aside, if there's one thing I'm good at it's surviving. I'll do what I have to." He tilts his head forward, eyes still on hers. "But I told you, one way or another, you and I get off this ship, and we do it fucking intact." He shrugs his right shoulder slowly. "That's the only thing I can say happens. Everyone else's fate is still up in the air."
Syarra lets out a breath, some of the tension going out of her body. "Well, we can prioritize the well-being of the ones we know. The rest…" she shrugs.
He nods. "I have the likely targets already. I'll see what the next few days bring." Roper seems to be considering something. There's a hesitation in his face. And he taps a slow beat against Syarra's hair with his left hand.
"What is it?" Syarra asks, watching his expression. "Another plan?"
Roper laughs quietly, but there's something in his eyes that could almost be fear, but it's too gentle. He shakes his head. "A question. For a puzzle piece I don't know if I want to know."
"Now that you've brought it up," Syarra says, with a faint playfulness to the words, moving her hand away from the break point of his collarbone, "I feel like you have to ask. Otherwise, you'll leave my curiosity unsatisfied."
"You know the answer to it," he says, with a huff of an exhale of a laugh. He tilts his head to the side. "Probably," he allows, the grin stretching into something fond. "You just don't know that I want to know it, yet." He flicks his brows up in a flash of amusement. A Riddle!
"Something I don't know that you want to know, but I probably know," she repeats, looking at him with narrowed eyes. "If it's related to what might happen in the next week, I'm not always the best at predicting. To some extent, mana addiction gave me a good primer, but it isn't exactly the same."
Roper gives a brief laugh of delight, and leans in closer until it's almost difficult to hold her gaze without going cross eyed. With anyone else, it would seem like he was preparing to kiss her, but he stops short of it. His voice is low enough to not carry beyond them at all. "No. Nothing so fucking practical."
"Something impractical. Something off the ship?" she asks, pitching her voice to match his volume. "About… feelings? Colson, Aze, Celaven…?"
Roper looks at Syarra, and it's obvious in the softness of his expression how far the Sunwell has pushed back the Hunger. There's something almost alive in it, that hope in his eyes, before he angles his face away as he sets his right hand against her hair and leans in to set his cheek against hers, lips near her ear, as he barely vocalizes, "Not them. Me." A beat, and a decision made. "You're not like him. It wouldn't matter how much you…what?"
Yes, he caught that. Because of course he did.
"Love," she whispers, and it sounds like an admission of guilt. "You. But I don't even know what that means, most of the time."
There's an intake of breath like she's stabbed him, and as he pulls back to stare at her face, it almost resembles pain — except for that look in his eyes; that is not pain. He mouths it first, as though he can't quite catch his breath enough to say it out loud, before he repeats it, audibly, in so quiet a voice it's like a soap bubble in the air, "I'm happy." For a moment, brief as it is, if not for the tone of his skin, the glow of his eyes, he seems alive.
It doesn't last for long. His hand on her hair tenses as though he's trying to hold onto it, but the emotion slowly drains away, pulled back like the tide, by the power that sustains him. He makes a soft sound, just before it's gone completely. A twist of a smile, and the words offered out like a dagger for her to hold over his back. "I love you."
The uncertainty flows out of her expression when he speaks, and for the space of a breath there's a genuine smile on her face. She pulls him in close, and says quietly, "That's something to hold onto, when all we can hear is the monster screaming inside."