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| Details |
| Author: | Luridel |
| Summary: | Death Knight Lidris of the Steamwheedle Cartel pays a little visit to Mordecai Aspenwood to talk to him about his brother's debts. One man's warning is another man's threat. Please see content warnings. ~1400 words. |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
Lidris-that-Was remembers Mordred Harbrooke.
It’s so easy to underestimate humans, and Lidris-that-Was made that mistake once and never again. That mistake was far before Mordred Harbrooke was even born, and entirely unrelated to the situation at hand. Lidris-that-Is needs relevant memories, because Mordred Harbrooke was a smooth son of a bitch and always had an escape route or three up his sleeve. Lidris does not plan on underestimating Mordred’s little brother.
Mordecai Aspenwood. An unassuming little thing, easily spooked. Is he legally obligated to pay his dead brother’s debts? Probably not. But Ritzy wants her fucking money, and Lidris wouldn’t have put it past her to have illegally altered the contract. That’s not Lidris’s problem. That’s going to be Mordecai’s problem. He’s an Aspenwood, now, he can afford to pay up. Probably. Might have to borrow some money from Mommy and Daddy-in-Law to do so, but, again, not Lidris’s problem.
Lidris’s problem is that he has to personally deliver Ritzy’s ultimatum to Mordecai Aspenwood and then get out of there before his paladin husband who happens to have gone fabric shopping in full plate gets back.
Knock knock, little kitten.
“Coming,” says the man’s voice from the other side of the door.
Not even a ‘Who’s there?’ for Lidris to play with. No fun at all. But at least the little priest is coming to get the door. Lidris won’t have to break in.
The door opens, and Lidris wedges his foot in it immediately. He’s wearing the nice shoes, with the nice suit, and Lidris watches Mordecai’s gaze start at his feet and travel up his body. Freshly-shined black shoes, black pants, the briefcase held in a white-gloved hand, a neat black jacket over a white shirt, and then the face of Lidris-that-Is, the pallid corpse with the burning blue eyes, framed by strands of black hair. A dead man walking. Lidris sees the priest’s expression go tense with recognition and delicious, delicious fear, and he freezes like a prey animal.
Perhaps everyone seems like prey these days, because Lidris-that-Is was reborn a predator, but he isn’t here to hunt. Not even a scared little human priest treat. Lidris is better than that. More than that. He has to be. The fear is enough.
“Hello, Mordecai,” Lidris says, letting just a bit of the echo creep into his voice. “May I come in? Don’t mind if I do.”
The priest takes a step back. Lidris pushes the door open enough to slide through the gap and then eases it shut behind him.
He recognizes the tabard laid out neatly on the bed immediately. Blue backdrop, white wings: Cobalt Company. Speaking of people Lidris doesn’t want to fuck with, here’s another, more obvious reminder that Mordecai Aspenwood has powerful friends and allies. The green short-sleeved robe that the priest is wearing is wrinkled enough that maybe he slept in it. It looks like he hasn’t gotten dressed for the day yet. Even better. It’s easier when they’re taken off guard.
Mordecai takes another step back. If he were to continue walking in that straight line, he would be on a collision course with the chest at the foot of the bed. Maybe Lidris can get him to back up into it. That would be funny - but no, he has an agenda to accomplish.
Lidris steps forward again, maintaining the same amount of distance between them. “I’m here as a neutral representative of the Steamwheedle Cartel to deliver a message to Mordecai Aspenwood on behalf of my employer, Ritzy the Safe,” he says, a smile creeping onto his face.
Mordecai goes pale. “I…”
“That is you, yes? Mordecai?” Lidris confirms, even though he knows he has the right man and the right room.
Mordecai nods. “Y-yes, um. What’s… the message?”
“Welllll,” Lidris draws the word out, “I do want you to remember that I’m just the messenger. Alright? So don’t blame me.” He waits a beat and then strolls around the side of the bed to reach the room’s little table so that he can place the briefcase down. He flicks the clasps open one at a time, waiting to see if Mordecai will approach.
Reluctantly, his hands clasped tightly together, Mordecai inches closer to the table so that he can see.
Lidris sets a file folder on the table. “Have a seat,” he orders, and Mordecai immediately moves into a chair. “Good boy,” Lidris says, leaning a hand on the back of the priest’s chair and leaning in closer to watch the reaction, which is rather telling: the priest flushes red all the way to his ears and recoils in shock as if Lidris just slapped him.
The glare is adorable, like watching an angry puppy who doesn’t realize that Lidris could just pick him up by the scruff and toss him across the room if he were so inclined. Or perhaps he does realize that, and it just makes him angrier.
“You see, Ritzy wants her money,” Lidris says, and flips the folder open to the document on the top of the pile. “And your brother never paid her back her money before he died. Can you guess where I’m going with this?”
Mordecai makes a choked-off sound, eyes on the paper. He’s looking at the amount of money listed near the bottom.
“I’m sure you do. You seem like a smart boy.” Lidris knows better. He knows better than to deliberately try to rile this priest up. Mordecai has powerful friends who could turn Lidris into corpse paste if they felt like it was justified. Lidris is just here to be the messenger, today. He doesn’t want to be shot.
Mordecai glares at him. “I’m not…” The protest dies in his throat as he makes eye contact with Lidris, and he looks quickly back down at the table.
“Ritzy’s giving you a month,” Lidris says, tapping the relevant portion of the document. “If you haven’t set up a payment plan with her by then, she’s going to escalate. Is that clear, Mordecai?”
“Mm.” The sound he makes is very faint.
“Ritzy wants her money, Mordecai,” Lidris says, leaning in closer to the human’s small little ear. “Do you understand me? This isn’t a threat, kitten, it’s a warning.”
Mordecai shoves his chair backwards and stands. Lidris has to dodge, and were his reflexes not as good as they are, he would probably have taken a chair to the leg. “It sounds like a threat to me,” Mordecai says flatly.
Kitten’s remembered that he’s got claws. “Oh, feisty,” Lidris says, and takes a step back with his hands raised in a placating gesture. “I’m not here to pick a fight, I swear. I’m here to make certain that you understand what Ritzy wants from you. Do you understand what Ritzy wants from you?”
Mordecai reaches for the folder on the table. His hand is shaking. “I understand,” Mordecai says, clutching the folder to his chest as he takes a step back through an open doorway leading to a little bathroom. There’s even a bath in it. Three cheers for Dalaran’s running water and sewer system, lucky little rich boy.
“If I could get your signature,” Lidris begins, just as Mordecai slams the bathroom door shut. He hears the click of a lock.
What?
Did the priest just lock himself in an even smaller room just to get away from him? He knows Lidris could break that door down easily, right?
“That’s not very polite,” Lidris says, pouting, and collects his briefcase. “Fine, no signature. Have it your way.”
There’s no response from inside the bathroom.
“I’ll just show myself out, I suppose?” Lidris takes a moment to survey the room, but he’s not here to steal anything. He’s got a reputation to maintain as a neutral party, and it would be obvious who the culprit was.
With a dramatic sigh, Lidris lets himself out by way of the balcony door, leaving it wide open behind him. It’s a short jump down to ground level, and when his ankles and knees make alarming noises, he just reaches for the runeblade concealed in his jacket. A pulse of a blood rune and the corpse is as good as new.
Lidris winks at a pair of startled-looking draenei in the back courtyard, sweeps them a courteous little bow, and strolls on out of there. Ritzy won’t like that he didn’t get a signature, but it won’t make a difference in the long run. What she really wants is money, after all.