(2024-01-22) All the Time in the World

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Author:	Saaron
Summary:	Finn meets with Dark Cleric Oryena in the Brill cemetery to ask her for a favor.
Rating:	T for Teen

Oryena makes her way through the Brill cemetery. She walks past a dug up grave, and stands up straight, her back against nearby piled up empty caskets.
All is quiet… until… Finnegan slips out from behind a gravestone, immaculately dressed. "Now, Oryena, before you say anything, I want to apologize for being overdressed." He shoots his cuffs. "I'm afraid I've just come from a meeting."
Oryena doesn't seem surprised by Finnegan's apparition, and she is just as overdressed, wearing black robes and a matching miter on top of her short, purple hair. She politely bows her head to Finnegan, wordlessly.
Finnegan smiles warmly, waddling through tall, rotted grass, pushing some of it aside to bow lowly to his companion. "You look rather lovely yourself, might I observe," he muses with a chime. "However have you been, my dear?" he inquires, giving his mustache twirl. He seems unfazed by her sewn lips, blinking casually up into her face.
The Forsaken gently grabs her own wrist as his question, checking on her missing pulse. She then extends a hand to him, offering him to tell her how he's been instead.
Finnegan bursts out into a fit of giggles upon her response, before he adjusts his monocle. "Well, as a matter of fact, I'm getting married. She's a lovely gnomish specimen. I've grown quite fond of her, I must confess." He looks from Oryena to the coffins behind her. "You wouldn't mind terribly if I were to sit, would you?"
Oryena does look down on the gnome at the mention of his betrothed - matters of love are not really her thing. She does then turn around to consider his question. Although she has a deep respect for the dead, these coffins are empty now. She extends a hand to her side, inviting the gnome to take a seat.
He inclines his head in a nod. "Thank you." He waddles over and hops up onto the empty coffins and turns towards her, lightly swinging his little feet. "And do mine own eyes deceive, or have you recently acquired a new thread?" he inquires mischievously as he eyes her, running a finger along his lips.
Oryena turns slightly to look at the gnome, her hands joined against her stomach, standing with a presence her slouching peers often lack. She humbly inclines her head. Yes indeed, the previous one had broken has she took it of for a mass.
"It's quite ravishing." He says, peering thoughtfully over her features. "I must say it complements your hair quite well. But! Nevertheless." He clasps his hands together. "You'll have to forgive me for troubling you, as I haven't come on business, I'm afraid. I've come to ask of you a favor. One, specifically. Would be so kind as to conduct my ceremony?"
He giggles. "Or, more apprporiately, shall I say 'ours?'"
Oryena bends her wrist twice in a 'Oh, you!' gesture. She raises an eyebrow at him inquisitively, about to ask if he's talking about his funeral. However, the mention of a ceremony for 'them' helped her understand what he meant. Still, she points at her ring finger, to unsure he is asking her to lead his wedding ceremony.
Finnegan seems to understand in an instant. "Well, it's not secret that I'm fond of you. For a number of reasons, I might add," he begins almost flirtatiously, wiggling his eyebrows and possibly on accident, his mustache. "Though, it also has something to do with this place. Capitol City. It's all quite romantic to me, even still. The architecture, the splendor, the history …" He grins and waggles a finger. "And while you were no more human than I, I wouldn't assume it's outrageous to state that you're now a native of this land."
"All in all, I think the Throne room would be … perfectly acceptable for my plans."
The Forsaken simply ignores the flirting, and begins rubbing her chin, thinking about this. Officiating a wedding for two gnomes right above a Horde city… What an alluringly display of fearlessness that would be… Plus, she also considers Finnegan a friend, and what are friends for if not to lead their wedding ceremonies in an off-limit place? Oryena ponders at the offer, now tapping her clawed finger onto her bony temple.
Finnegan waits patiently, brows lifted amicably, little shoes still swinging idly as he sits atop the pile of coffins.
"All the time you need, dearest."
Oryena raises a hand to the sky and a rolls her marigold glowing eyes at the mention of time. First a High Elf, then a Forsaken. She's always had plenty of that.
Finnegan giggles faintly, covering his mouth with a gloved fist. "Apologies," he muses lightly. "And, if it may sway your decision, I solemnly swear I'll be up to no mischief in the Undercity, afterwards." A blink, smile lingering. "This time."
After much consideration, the undead woman decides that, like religious rules, laws can be bent and broken by her own will and power, and there is no better way to claim it. She inclines her head at Finnegan.
He clasps his hands together! The sound doesn't travel far in the stale, dense air of the graveyard. "Stupendous!" he chimes. "Having you conduct it will be marvelous. It'll be small, intimate, just her, myself, and -yourself- now. I shall owe you a favor, Ms. Nightsea."
It's hard to convey that he should refer to her friend as 'Dark Cleric Oryena' without breaking her vow of silence, so she'll let this slide with him. She elegantly places her elbows on the empty coffin, and her chin on top of the back of her hands. She stares at the gnome, narrowing her eyes, considering how to best write her speech.
Finnegan leans back, comfortable under the gaze of this undead Quel'dorei. After a moment, he smirks. "Look at that mind. Already racing with ideas, I'm sure. And what about you, since last we met? Have you found yourself enjoying companionship, or a kind?"
Oryena silently scoffs, taking a step back from the coffins. She waves a hand dismissively. She's a busy undead woman.
Finnegan brushes some bone dust off of his legs and inclines his head apologetically, hopping off of the smale pile of coffins. "Of course, of course. And I'll pass word along in regards of date, time, and all that manner of business."
"Thank you again, dearest Oryena. I knew you'd be up to it!"
Oryena bows again, this smile with what some may consider a smile in her eyes. With another swift move of her hand, she invites him to take his leave. You never know what people might think, if they saw the two of them here.
He adjusts his monocle with a smile. "Yes, yes, of course. I suppose I'll be seeing you soon." He bows lowly. "Until that time, dearest Oryena."
Unless interrupted, he slips backwards into the tall grass, and disappears.
She bows even lower, relatively to her height. She begins walking back to the center of town, her hands back on her stomach. looking up, thinking again about her speech.