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Amadaun

Morrowind

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For a long moment, Cla’nee stared over the grass, once again overwhelmed by the beauty of the place. Then she remembered what she’d come barreling out here for. She glanced over her shoulder. The door sat innocently on the rockface, and for an instant, she was just as overwhelmed with the desire to go back, throw herself at Venos, and beg that he forgive her and she didn’t mean it.

 

But then…what if he had?

 

“Y-you can go away,” she told the door, voice trembling. “I-I don’t need you r-right now.”

 

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the door slowly began to fade – or rather, began to become the stone. It sank into the rock, forming itself to the creases and bumps, until she could only barely see an outline of what could be a door in the lichen. Lifting a hand, she touched it. Rock. Solid stone.

 

No way back.

 

Gods. What have I done? Cla’nee scrubbed at her eyes, trembling. Oh Gods. Sithis. She took a shaky breath. Pick up your pack, put on your robe, go think.

 

She swallowed. Okay.

 

She checked to make sure that every one of her daggers was where it was supposed to be as she slipped her robe over her head. Her fingers found the leather tie for her hair…You should wear it down more often. It makes you look…softer, I guess…

 

Her throat worked and she quickly re-braided it. Her hands moved on to her pack. It was like the figures and the ledgers. If she was writing, adding, counting, she didn’t have to think.

 

The money was there – good. She wouldn’t have to worry about starving. However long she planned to stay. If she even wanted to stay.

 

Slinging her pack over her shoulder, she looked around. For a moment, she felt desperately lost and alone, furious with Venos and Aradhel – mostly Aradhel – terrified, and sad, and so hurt that she kept thinking she was going to throw up.

 

Why…why did she have to actually go anywhere? She could just…walk into the ocean. Or see how long it took for her water-walking spells to run out. That way, no one would find her. They wouldn’t be hurt. She would have just…taken a boat somewhere, maybe. And just not come back. Take the whore out of everything. She wouldn’t keep ruining things, and she wouldn’t have to watch Aradhel with Vilandon.

 

She should have killed the bitch before running. Killing a Silencer would be a good way out of the Brotherhood, right? Her feet walked her down to the beach. But she hadn’t, and there was no way back. Maybe Vilandon would come to his senses if she was gone. The water was lapping against her toes. Maybe Cass would find someone who wasn’t a whore. Maybe…

 

Holy shit, they have slaughterfish here too!

 

Stumbling back from the flurry of scales, water, and teeth, she tripped over her own feet and landed in a floof of sand. Okay. Maybe not the best of plans. But…

 

She burst into tears. She had to get away. Away from Aradhel and whatever lies she’d told Venos, and whatever she was planning to turn Vilandon into. At least until she could figure out a way to kill her. But where could she go? Who else did she have?

 

Claes.

 

Of course.

 

Back to the Guild. To this Guild Guide person. She could go to Sadrith Mora and find out about Claes.

 

Scrambling to her feet, she straightened her pack and swiped at her eyes. She had to hurry before the others figured it out. She would find her family.

 

 

 

 

 

 

OOC: Ooookay. *sigh* As an author, I should be happy. *smacks Cla'nee HARD* Let's see where this goes.

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OOC: *crawls out of the woodwork and sits down firmly in Cla'nee's path*

 

NO.

 

*points at the door-rock*

 

BACK.

 

:tongue:

 

(must flee to early lifeguarding class. Aargh.)

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Guest theinfamouskat

OOC: My inner-Venos is crying.

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Guest q21

ooc - waves bye bye to Cla'nee... I'd offer to send Sebs to go find her... but... well...

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Guest theinfamouskat

OOC: Frankly, I'm pissed at Cla'nee. The second Venos figures out what happens, he's going off the deep end. Like, the DEEP DEEP end. Like, I'm figuring out another course of action, ie: other characters who will lash him to the bed again so he doesn't do anything stupid. Drama King. Jeez.

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OOC: I KNOW. >_< But she's terrified and hurt and not thinking straight at all. I'm really not sure what she's going to do.

 

 

 

* * *

 

Gods, she felt sick. She replayed the conversation she’d had with Venos over and over in her mind as she walked up the outside of the canton. How could he think things like that? How could he believe Aradhel over her?

 

The worst of it all was that if he asked Vilandon about it, the boy would probably just agree with everything he said, because he looked up to him so much. Why was Venos treating what had happened as a good thing? Why didn’t he understand? Of course Aradhel had been frightened about the apple and had thrown it away. She’d been caught.

 

Again, Cla’nee’s steps slowed and she almost turned back. She needed to kill Aradhel before she hurt Vilandon ever again. She had to keep him safe.

 

Even as she thought it, she started walking forward again. What was the use? Venos would get mad at her and Vilandon would cry, and no one would understand that it was because Aradhel was a heartless, manipulative bitch who’d gotten away with it once – even been encouraged by the one person Cla’nee thought she could trust – and she’d only hurt him more now that she had permission.

 

And Venos would still be telling her it was all right when Vilandon started screaming for Aradhel to stop and she had to sew him up afterwards. Because that was all part of the game. The one Vilandon knew nothing about. The one with the collar and the chains and the broken wrists…

 

Her stomach rolled and she leaned back against the wall, gasping for air, her back twinging with pain. She pressed a hand to her sweat-soaked face, forcing herself to breathe. She couldn’t cry. She couldn’t cry or be sick or pass out. She had to do what she’d been taught and push all her feelings away again until she reached her goal.

 

A few more breaths and she opened her now-dry eyes. Okay. Don’t think about them. Any of them. They don’t matter now. Nothing matters now. Just get to the Guild.

 

She made her way to the top and forced herself to slow down and relax. She listened to the music of the street musicians, not even recognizing half of the instruments they played, but enjoying the sounds nonetheless. Briefly, her mind pushed forth the recent memory of sitting here with Vilandon…

No.

 

She shoved it back again. No good. No use. No nothing. With deliberate care, she turned her back on the music and walked to the building with the brilliantly-painted Eye of the Ritual. Once again, the Breton woman met her at the door. After the greeting, her face creased slightly. “Ah…excuse me for asking, but weren’t you just - ?”

 

“That was my sister,” Cla’nee lied smoothly. “I was wondering if you could explain this Guild Guide thing to me…?”

 

“Oh, well…just come this way.” As they walked, the woman explained, “It’s like a permanent Mark-Recall spell set up between the Guild halls. The Guides activate it for those who wish to travel – for a certain fee, of course. You must be from outside Morrowind to not be familiar with them.”

 

“Cyrodiil.” That was a safe truth – she had no idea of the workings of the Guild in other provinces. “My sister and I are looking for family, and, well…can I ask you a favor?”

 

“Certainly.”

 

“Um…well, I kind of want this whole thing to be a surprise, finding this person. So if…if a red-haired Imperial comes looking for me, don’t tell him I was here or where I went. Claes might be family of mine and I want to surprise him. Can you do that for me?”

 

“Of course, dear.” The woman smiled. “Anything else?”

 

For a brief moment, Cla’nee wanted to tell her that if she saw Aradhel to have the bitch arrested, clapped in chains since she enjoyed them so much, thrown in the ocean or shipped off to Moriva. But again, pointless. If she was lucky, she’d never have to go back again. “I’m fine.”

 

“Well, then it’s right over here, and…” She glanced at the Imperial woman standing beside the raised pad. “Ten septims, is it?” The woman nodded and Cla’nee dug the coin out from her pack, handing it over. “All right, dear, if you’ve never done this before, it might be a little disorienting. But you’ll be fine.”

 

Swallowing, Cla’nee nodded. “S-Sadrith Mora? Can I go to Sadrith Mora, please?”

 

“Very well. Just stand there and – ”

 

The woman raised her hands and Cla’nee felt like her entire body was being pricked by needles. She managed a single gasp, and then the world went black.

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* * *

 

?Thanks,? Cla?nee muttered, leaning back in the chair, pressing the cold cloth to her face. ?S-sorry about that.?

 

?No, it?s fine,? replied the Guild Guide, an Altmer woman. ?It happens sometimes if you?re sensitive.?

 

Cla?nee peeled up the corner of the cloth to stare at her, but the woman seemed to be earnest. She?d made it to the other side in one piece, but had promptly passed out, right into the Guide?s arms. She wasn?t sure if it was stress or exhaustion, or if it was that damned magical sensitivity acting up again like the woman said?but damned if her head wasn?t going to explode.

 

?So is there something that we can help you with?? came another voice, this one hissing and low. Argonian. Or an Imperial with a nasty throat condition. ?Do you wish to join the Guild??

 

?N-no. No. I?m?? She sat up and pulled the cloth from her head. Yep. Argonian. ?I?m looking for someone. His name is Claes.?

 

The Argonian?s face lit up. ?Ah, yes, yes ? the young man who is now aide to the Council! He is not here, unfortunately. He has been in the Imperial City since becoming an aide. We are very proud of him here, very proud. What is it that you want with him??

 

?I ? ah ? I?m?? She faltered for a moment beneath the intense slit-pupiled stare. ?I?m trying to find my family and he?s the only lead I?ve got.?

 

?Family?? He stroked his chin. ?Well, I ? ?

 

?You do look a terrible amount like him,? the Guide told her with a kind smile. ?But?well??

 

?He told us that his sister, the one which would be your age, is dead. He found out when he returned to the city. I understand they had a lovely funeral.? The Argonian shook his head. ?He does not wish to speak of her when he returns on assignments. Not at all.?

 

Coldness stabbed through Cla?nee. He thought she was dead. Her family thought she was dead. They?d never believe her if she showed up now. They?d never accept her anyway. He probably didn?t want to talk about her because he found out that she really had been a whore. Embarrassing at best. A disgusting blemish at worst.

 

What had she been thinking? ?Oh.? She rallied a little. ?B-but surely he has cousins or ? ?

 

They both shook their heads. ?I?m afraid not.?

 

?Oh,? she repeated. Well?that?s it, then. I?m alone. Cass doesn?t want me, Vilandon doesn?t need me?and my brother wants nothing to do with me. I guess I shouldn?t be surprised. Something inside of her seemed to break very quietly, leaving her empty. Her next words sounded dull and lifeless to her ears. ?Oh. Well?I?i-is there a place for me to stay around here??

 

?The Gateway?are you all right??

 

?I?m fine. Just a little disappointed.? She forced herself to sigh, shrug, and smile. ?Back to the drawing board, huh??

 

* * *

 

She barely noticed the buildings as she walked through the city. The buildings that Venos had told her about, painting such wonderful pictures in her head. She just?didn?t care anymore. They didn?t matter. Nothing did. She had no one left.

 

?Long journey,? she told the innkeeper as she handed over her money in exchange for a room and a bottle of cheap wine. ?Just been a long, long journey.?

 

He seemed unconvinced, but handed over the bottle and a glass and pointed her room out to her. She shut the strange, round door behind her and caught herself asking it to lock. It would have been funny if she could have brought herself to laugh.

 

Setting the bottle on the table, she slumped down next to it and stared at it, beginning an argument between her healer?s instinct, and the urge to get drunk and walk off a cliff.

 

She decided to compromise by just getting drunk.

 

 

 

 

 

OOC: Yeah, she gave up fast, but she's really depressed...and I get to write drunk Cla'nee again! Wheee!

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Guest theinfamouskat

Vilandon stormed out into the setting sun of Vivec. He could had killed Venos for getting Cla'nee worked up enought to run away. He could have killed her for actually running. What were they thinking? Both of them? And of all the things for them to argue about, it had to be over him. Wasn't he grown enough? He didn't need the two of them hovering over him, worrying all the time. His father had been bad enough back when he was a boy, and...

 

His father. That was a reunion he wasn't looking forward to. But the Guild at Wolverine Hall was the best place to start. If that was the last place her brother had been, that was likely where she would begin. If not, then he'd have to pick up the trail somewhere else.

 

* * *

 

Vilandon had forgotten the toll transportation spells had on him and had to take a seat the moment the guild came into focus.

 

"Vilandon? Is that you?"

 

Oh no.

 

"It is you!" A pair of arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him out of the seat and into a tight awkward embrace.

 

Vilandon sighed. "Hello, Iniel," he muttered tonelessly.

 

Iniel pushed him back. A full-blooded Altmer, she was a few inches taller than he. "Now, we've had this discussion before, Vilandon. You can call me Auntie Iniel." She smiled warmly. "Or are you too old for that now?"

 

A sharp melodic voice rang out from the other side of the room. "If you're here for your father, he's not here." A loud clack as she slammed something down on a shelf and set to dusting the next item. "And if you're here for Tusamircil, he just left with your father's shipment, so you've come too late."

 

Iniel let out a sharp breath, hands still on Vilandon's shoulders. "Don't mind Ari. She's just so happy to see you."

 

Arielle scoffed and slammed another soul stone down on the table. "Hardly. It's only been two years. What's another year or two?" She looked up from the purple gem she was dusting, motioning at him with the cloth. "You know, he thought you died in that last push for the Red Mountain. Had Temple Priests digging through records just so they could tell him you resigned. A letter's too good for a high-ranking Ordinator? Or are you really just that cold?"

 

Vilandon winced as though struck. "Ari, I didn't--"

 

"Well, while you went off looking for your inner... whatever you were looking for, he nearly went crazy," she snapped, slamming the gem down and picking up another. "If he didn't have Celasarae..." Another slam and she finally looked him in the eye. "Left the guild, you know. Retired. Tried to get in contact to invite you to his send-off and that's how he found out you were gone. Just left without a word to anyone, not even the Temple. And suddenly you show up again? You've got a lot of balls--"

 

"Arielle!" Iniel gasped with a laugh. "Is that anyway to talk to a guest?"

 

"Hardly a guest," Ari snapped, tossing the rag to the table top and making toward the nearest door. "Certainly not a friend." And with that she slammed the door, knocking a painting loose and sending it tumbling to the ground.

 

Iniel cursed under her breath and held out a hand, calling up a levitation spell to keep the painting from breaking on the floor. With a sigh and a wave of her hand, she returned it to where it hung and turned to face him. "Sorry about that... she's been like that since..." She swallowed. "Well, since forever, actually, but it's gotten worse."

 

Vilandon didn't say anything. "How have things been?"

 

"Oh, they've been," Iniel murmured, picking up the rag and tossing it in the corner with another pile of dusty rags. "Sales are down, potions are in high demand, the crops are thriving, praise the Nerevarine..." She gave the ridiculous giggle of an older woman and waved her hand. "The usual." She sobered some and murmured. "How have you been? I imagine since you, ah... up and left the Temple that--?"

 

"I was in Cyrodiil for a while," Vilandon said mutely.

 

"Cyrodiil! How exotic," she said, straightening the shelves. "Well, I've heard things have been interesting there as late as well." Another giggle. "Trouble does seem to follow you, doesn't it?"

 

"It certainly does," Vilandon mumbled.

 

Iniel turned to face him, smiling and taking his face in her hands. "Oh, you've grown up so much!" she said, pinching his cheeks. She sighed and shook her head. "And there I go rambling... but my dear, what brings you here? Certainly not me." She motioned over her shoulder. "Certainly not Arielle, I would hope. Dear's a lost cause." Another giggle.

 

"A-Actually I'm looking for someone," Vilandon said quietly as the door behind him opened. "A Breton? About yea tall, dark hair, brown eyes--"

 

Iniel waved a hand and giggled. "Oh, dear, you know we have Breton's through here all the time. Can't be helped."

 

"Not a guild member, though," Vilandon said quietly. "Might have been looking for a family member? Someone named Claes?"

 

"Claes?" Iniel asked. "The Breton Enchanter? Why, my dear, he was just transferred to Cyrodiil a week or so ago... you're friend is a little too late--"

 

"But still here."

 

The voice was deep and raspy. Vilandon turned to see Skink-In-Tree's-Shade, the Argonian Guild Leader walking into the room. The Argonian gave him a once over. "She asked about Claes and then about lodging. Sent her to the Gateway Inn."

 

Iniel beamed. "Oh how perfect! That's where your father will be!"

 

Vilandon groaned inwardly. "I... should be going."

 

"Alright dear," Iniel said, giving his back a rub. "Come back soon. Don't be such a stranger!"

 

Vilandon pushed through the door. Arielle nearly jumped out of her skin and fumbled with something before catching it and shoving it into her pocket. Vilandon blinked at her a moment before her features set back into a scowl. "What?"

 

"Ari, w... was that a skooma pipe?"

 

"Oh, like you would care," she snarled, storming back inside the guild and slamming the door shut behind her. Vilandon thought a while about following her and trying to talk to her about it, but it wasn't the time. Right now he needed to find Cla'nee before she left. Or before she did something stupid.

 

* * *

 

Tusamircil set the box on the table between himself and the other Altmer. The mer seated across from him looked up with lazy, tired eyes. "You're late."

 

"A little," Tusamircil murmured. "Just had a few things to do before closing up shop."

 

"Not like I'm in any hurry," Sinyaramen muttered. "How are things?"

 

"They are... How are you and Celasarae doing?"

 

"Doing," he murmured. "Business is slow. No one has any need for enchantments with things as peaceful as they are, so there goes Sarae's profit. No one needs potions now that the blight is over, so no one needs herbs. Besides, people are lazy. They'd rather buy your potions than they would my ingredients."

 

"You should just start making your own, Sinya."

 

The Altmer let out a, 'phfft' and ran a hand through his hair. "Potions have never been my thing. That's always been yours. I don't have the patience for all that measuring and cooking and preparing." He sighed. "But I've got to find something soon, or Sarae and I are going to be in a pinch."

 

Tusamircil shrugged as one of the waitresses brought them both their usual glasses of brandy. "So come back to the guild."

 

Sinyaramen groaned. "I don't want to come back to the guild. I'm too old for the guild... sent out to gather vampire hearts or get rid of a particularly nasty enchantment... let's be honest, Tusa, earth is what I do."

 

"It's true."

 

"My herbs are second to none."

 

"Absolutely."

 

"I should just move to the Isles and start a plantation or something... the Mora's have been hard on me, time to move south... where things are more Imperial."

 

Tusamircil gave him a sidelong look over his glass. "Move to Cyrodiil, perhaps?"

 

Sinyaramen scoffed. "After all that Oblivion trouble? Thank you, no. I figure after all that business with the Nerevarine, I've had enough excitement for several lifetimes." Tusamircil nodded mutely as Sinyaramen sighed. "The Isles... I think that's where I'll go..."

 

"Mm."

 

"Good place."

 

"Sure."

 

"Nice weather."

 

"All the time."

 

"That's what I'll do." Sinyaramen didn't stand as Tusamircil rose. "Same time next week?"

 

"Same conversation?"

 

"As always."

 

Tusamircil smiled wryly. "Sinya, why don't you just move to the Isles and get it over with."

 

Sinyaramen stared at his brandy and sighed. "I don't know..." He chuckled tiredly and muttered. "Someday."

 

"Someday," Tusamircil echoed with a smirk. "See you, Sinya."

 

"Mm," Sinyaramen muttered and returned to his brandy.

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Cla’nee poured another glass of wine. So far, the incessant pounding in her head had gotten no better and no worse. She pressed a hand to her forehead and pulled it away to examine the sheen of sweat on it. Huh. Probably coming down with something. Figured – rarely eating, even more rarely sleeping, around people from Gods-knew-where…

Didn’t matter.

 

What mattered was that the bottle of wine was getting lower and she didn’t feel…well…much of anything. So she needed more. She managed to stand, taking a few deep breaths and finding herself still pretty steady. All right.

 

Money – pocket.

 

Door – open.

 

Maybe if she bought another bottle, she’d convince her body it was a good idea to act drunk, and not just tired and woozy.

 

In the main room, she managed to catch what she thought was a sneer from a middle-aged Altmer sitting at a table. She did not need an Altmer right now. She raised a brow at him. “Problems with the company, old man?”

 

 

 

 

OOC: THis is going to get nasty. I've been jotting down her thoughts for when she talks to Vilandon. They're...unpleasant.

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Guest theinfamouskat

Siyaramen let out a slight breath. "Not at all," he grumbled and began tending his brandy again. The only thing worse than a pretty little Breton was a pretty little Breton with a chip on her shoulder. Better to ignore the creature and drink in peace.

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"Whatever." She made her way to the bar and bought her wine from an even-more worried innkeep. She smiled at him to reassure him - a smile that dripped away like water when she turned back around. Gods...that Altmer looked just like Vilandon...

 

She shook herself and pushed it away again. Doesn't matter. It could be Vilandon and I still wouldn't care. Just get back to your room and have some more wine.

 

She closed the door behind her just as the main door opened.

 

 

 

 

OOC: Crap. Can't make her get the energy to pick a random fight.

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Guest theinfamouskat

OOC: For the best, I actually have to turn in. Got to go into the magazine and beg not to be fired tomorrow morning. Bleh. *crashes* SEE you al tomorrow!

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Guest theinfamouskat

OOC_EDIT: ... Modcraft is fail. Let me fix this damn thing.

 

 

 

 

 

OOC: v.v Sorry all... I had to sleeeeep.

 

But, I'm back from the meeting, it went quite WELL... I'll be on off and on again throughout the afternoon, but I'll be staying up late since I don't work the 6AM SHIFTS!! *happy dances*

 

So, in trying to find a guy that looks enough like Lee Pace to be Sinyaramen, I think we're all going to suddenly develop an issue with daddy-lust. I'm casting Clive Owen, because Elves age slowly and he could be a total ass and still be sexy. AND he looks enough like Lee Pace to pull it off.

 

clive-owen2.jpg

 

Next one very Sinya

clive_owen_10.jpg

 

 

But in looking for a picture of Lee Pace to show side-by-side... I found something that made my brain stop entirely and now I can't fuction. I had almost forgotten this episode which made me soooooooo happy. *braces for brain asplosian*

200812_omag_lee_pace_220x312.jpg

 

Vilaaaaaaaaaaaandon.... yummmmmmmm...

 

*clears throat and frantically looks around to make sure no one heard that.* ANYWAYS...

 

 

 

Vilandon entered the Inn, already spotting his father, back to him, sitting on the main floor a few tables from the bar. He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes and walking to the desk. Please don't let him see me, please don't let him see me, please--

 

"How can I help you, Mer?" the Dunmer at the desk asked.

 

"I'm looking for a friend, heard she might be staying here? A breton, small, dark haired--"

 

"Name?" the Dunmer asked, opening the register and flipping through the pages.

 

"Cla'nee?" Vilandon said, fiddling with his hands in front of him. "C-L-A-N-E--"

 

"Can't even be bothered to say two words to your old father?"

 

Vilandon shut his eyes tightly, not turning, not moving, not so much as glancing at him. Through clenched teeth he managed to grate out, "hello, Father."

 

"So warm a greeting," Sinyaramen commented dryly. He motioned with his brandy glass. "You see this young man, Angaredhel? My only son. Returned from the dead to mutter, 'hullo, Father,' and do his best to ignore me. What ever in the eternities did I do to deserve such a wonderful, caring son?"

 

"Is she here?" Vilandon asked, keeping his voice down.

 

The dunmer looked up from the book and adjusted his glasses. "Don't rush me, n'wah," he muttered and went back to the book.

 

"But there's only one name in the register!" Vilandon gasped, trying to see it.

 

The Dunmer shut the book. "No one save I looks at the register."

 

"What you want with a Breton girl anyway?" Sinyaramen asked from his table, studying his glass of brady in front of a candle. "Unless you finally came around that that Tribunal stuff was nothing but a load of bollocks."

 

Vilandon finally turned around. "And you wonder why I don't come home."

 

"Last I checked, it was because your mother--"

 

"Step-mother."

 

"--and I were sinners, doomed to burn in the Oblivions for our refusal to repent and come to Almsivi or whatever rubbish," he snapped. "You know I was worried sick about you--"

 

"I've been fine."

 

"--gone off without even a word to the Temple, you could have died and I'd be none the wiser. Not even a note to tell me where you were going. No one knew, not even that friend of yours at the Temple, Mehra? She hadn't heard a word from you. The Temple finally told me you resigned, but even so, where the hell have you been for two years?"

 

Vilandon stared at his father as he rose from the table. His father had always had a good six inches on him and never failed to make him feel small. Vilandon swallowed hard. "I've been out of the country."

 

Sinyaramen regarded him quietly. "Elswyer?"

 

"Cyrodiil."

 

"Mm. The capitol of Imperial sinners?" he said dryly, leaning against the wall. "Isn't that what you once called it."

 

Vilandon turned back to the desk. "Is she here or not? I don't have a lot of time--"

 

"He's never had any time," Sinyaramen chuckled. "And for a girl, nonetheless? Have you come around and changed your, heh, heathen ways?"

 

Vilandon flushed bright red and glared at his father. "Do you mind?"

 

Sinyaramen smirked. "Not at all."

 

"You're drunk."

 

"Not yet, but that was the intention. Care to join your father? For old time's sake?"

 

"Why?" Vilandon muttered, looking away. "So you can rip me down and then ask me to 'family' dinner?"

 

"See?" Sinyaramen muttered with a sideway glance at the mer at the desk. "Such disrespect."

 

 

OOC: I'll let Nee come out or something. :biggrin:

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Guest theinfamouskat

OOC: @Morrigain: Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeah, I had the same reaction. *grabs the drool mop*

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OOC: Being forced out the door for just a little bit (3 hours max, very likely less), but Cla'nee says she's not talking, not moving and not coming out. *slap*

 

 

Better send him in. The door isn't locked, and she's not really going to respond. At all.

 

 

Also...gah...gah...*drool*

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Guest theinfamouskat

OOC: I KNOW RIGHT? Lemme try to fix that second pic because.... Buhhh... buuuuuuuuuuuuhh... There we go... Mmmmmmmmmmmm....

 

Ah, posting... right...

 

 

"This is her room right here," The Dunmer said, motioning over his shoulder. "If you're going to join her, it's going to be another ten coins."

 

Vilandon went a deeper shade of red. "Th... that's not necessary."

 

"So, who is she?" Sinyaramen asked, unmoved from the desk.

 

"No one," Vilandon grumbled, almost to himself and set to knocking on the door. "Nee? Nee, it's Vilandon... open up... please?"

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OOC: Okay, so...four hours. BAH.

 

 

 

 

Silence. A long silence. No response at all.

 

Finally, with a silent sigh of exasperation, Vilandon tried the handle to find the door unlocked. He pushed it open just a crack. “Nee?”

 

Still no answer.

 

Resisting the urge to meet his father’s gaze, he opened the door, slipped through and closed it behind him.

 

The first thing he saw was Cla’nee’s robe and bag thrown haphazardly across the bed. The short surge of relief for that proof she was there vanished when he turned to see her. She sat at the small table, her back to him – an almost empty bottle of wine at her elbow and another waiting to be opened right beside it. Her face was buried in the hand not holding a glass and she still hadn’t turned to look at him.

 

“Cla’nee?”

 

Not even a twitch.

 

“N-Nee, you have to come b-back, Cass is beside himself, and you can’t g-go find Claes, you’ll get caught, and…and if A-Arden finds you…” He trailed off, suddenly angry. Grabbing her shoulder, he turned her in the chair. “Nee, are you even listening to me?”

 

Hand falling from her face, Cla’nee stared at him for a long moment, expression a blank, eyes drooping and bleary with wine and held-back tears. The circles beneath seemed to have deepened even further and her skin looked clammy and pale, though two unhealthy-looking spots of color remained in her cheeks – probably from the wine, though he found himself wondering if she were fevered.

 

Finally, after studying him thoroughly as though to make sure it was him and not another half-blood, she lifted her hand, middle finger extended.

 

“Fuck you. Who cares?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

OOC: Nee gots issues. :blink:

 

(We had a long talk last night. She's making sense now, at least a little. But she's very, very angry.)

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Guest theinfamouskat

Vilandon's jaw set. "Nee, you're drunk. Now get up. We're leaving."

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She took a long drink, staring at the wall. With some effort she convinced her tongue to start slurring in the hopes it would scare him off. "Nope. An' if you try t'drag me, y'll lose some fingers. C'n still do that. Nothin' for me back there. Not anymore." Another swallow. "Sick 'f it. Sick 'f pretend'n. Sick 'f try'n t'care."

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