Checks and Balances (prelude to Profit and Loss)
Feb 5, 2024 17:21:50 GMT
Anthony and Andy Davy like this
Post by Zola Rhomdaen on Feb 5, 2024 17:21:50 GMT
Zola paces anxiously around the bedroom. She looks back and forth between the Daring skyline out the window and the newly arrived Tebrin, leaning against a wall with his arms folded, his red eyes following her with a glint of amusement. Heret Velnnarul had just approached her on the street with an alarming emergency — a curious case of an Amnian merchant boss gone missing — yet her mind is stuck like fabric on a hook on one small part of the details: the merchant disappeared on their way to Aeschira.
Having explained the situation to Tebrin, she fixes her gaze on him. “So I guess my question is: is it safe for me to go to Aeschira at this moment?”
There is a long pause as he seems to be calculating in his mind. “That shouldn’t be too problematic. No one outside the Rhomdaen house— Well…even most within the house don’t know who you are yet, so as long as you don’t go around waving your swords and shouting your heritage, it shouldn’t upset our plans at all. Your mother — your true mother, that is — isn’t exactly letting on that you’re back on the scene and that dear old Dad has already fallen foul of the returning ‘true heir’. It’s not without risk, of course. If you want to go, be prepared it might pose some…interesting ramifications down the line when we do make our move.”
Zola purses her lips. “Okay, that’s fair, but what about the fact that I look exactly like the First Priestess and sole heir of House Rhomdaen? Well, except for, y’know.” She gestures at her glimmering crown of crystal and the disfigured half of her face. “It would raise some questions, wouldn’t it?”
“It could. Maybe that will be enough to throw people off. Maybe being seen more will draw more attention. That would be the ramifications.”
“Right.” She nods in understanding. Ramifications. “Well, that solves my conundrum faster than I thought. Thank you. If we do go into the Schira Sprawl, I promise I’ll be very careful. Honestly, I think this is worth the risk — we’ve been given an opportunity to build a relationship with the OMTC and we should take it. Maybe it’ll open up some trade options for us in the future.”
“A very valid reasoning.”
“However—” Zola whirls around to face Tebrin. “I think we should find the time, before the coup, to make my existence known to the rest of the house and its…peons. Ugh, no, I don’t like that word. Servants? Anyway, my point is: what would you think if someone you’ve never heard of before aggressively takes over your workplace, kicks out the boss, and declares herself the new boss? It doesn’t exactly inspire loyalty… I read about this in the histories.” She beams proudly at the last remark, as if reading history books is an achievement for her.
“Oh, sweet surface child…” Tebrin coos mockingly. “Do you think all who rule are loved and loyal? Most of the peons won’t even see nor speak with their rulers… They are small cogs in a much grander machine. As for what I think… Well, you just described what amounts to aeons of life in the Hells, so I think it will work out just fine.”
“I am not expecting to be loved, Tebrin, certainly not upon first meeting. I just want them to know me and my cause, whatever they may think. In case I’m not being clear — I intend to rule in a different way from my mother. From all the other matrons.”
He smirks to himself and shakes his head, but otherwise doesn’t reply. Frowning, Zola opens her mouth to scold him yet again, but a sudden thought stays her tongue for a second. She thinks back to what he said just seconds ago and her frown melts into a look of puzzlement.
“If you’ve lived for aeons in the Nine Hells, why’d you call me a ‘surface child’?” Her one good eye looks him in the face, taking in his fine, angular features once more. “…You’re half-drow, aren’t you?”
“I never said it was aeons of my life.”
That was as straight an answer as one could get from Tebrin. “So you are half-drow, half-devil? You grew up in the Underdark?” She pauses again as another realisation strikes. Her amber eye widens. “Wait… Is…is Zarzuul your father?”
Tebrin scoffs. “All very interesting, but in the end, highly irrelevant, I’m afraid. All you need to know is I am the one who can get you where you want to be.”
Zola gives him a long, silent stare as she studies his expression and his body language, but he seems about as opaque to her as ever. Still — as much as he loves being needlessly enigmatic for the joy of annoying her, he’s never been this deliberately evasive.
She goes to sit down on the edge of the bed, right across from where he is standing, looking up at him with a soft expression on her face. “I guess— You’re not wrong. But I’d like to know more about you, even just a little. We’re going to be spending our lives together after all. I’d like to know more about the man I’m marrying. But if you’re not in the mood, that’s okay.”
Tebrin smiles. It’s not quite soft or caring, but not filled with malice or humour either. A strange kind of smile that feels at odds with everything she knows of him so far, which is admittedly little.
“There is much riding on this, Zola,” he says. “You’re clever, attractive…dangerous in your own way. But don’t let the softness your mothers instilled into you make you lose sight of that. Especially if we are going to meet your birth mother. The people who will need to know you will know you. And you can tell them exactly how noble and loyal they should be to you.”
Zola ignores the pink heat in her cheeks and nods solemnly. “I understand that. I can’t promise it won’t be a bumpy ride at first, but…I can promise that I’ll give it my all.”
She rises to her feet and closes the distance between them. “I think we’ve spoken enough about that.” Her fingers reach for the buttons in his jacket. “Let’s…stop talking for now.”
Co-written with Anthony
Having explained the situation to Tebrin, she fixes her gaze on him. “So I guess my question is: is it safe for me to go to Aeschira at this moment?”
There is a long pause as he seems to be calculating in his mind. “That shouldn’t be too problematic. No one outside the Rhomdaen house— Well…even most within the house don’t know who you are yet, so as long as you don’t go around waving your swords and shouting your heritage, it shouldn’t upset our plans at all. Your mother — your true mother, that is — isn’t exactly letting on that you’re back on the scene and that dear old Dad has already fallen foul of the returning ‘true heir’. It’s not without risk, of course. If you want to go, be prepared it might pose some…interesting ramifications down the line when we do make our move.”
Zola purses her lips. “Okay, that’s fair, but what about the fact that I look exactly like the First Priestess and sole heir of House Rhomdaen? Well, except for, y’know.” She gestures at her glimmering crown of crystal and the disfigured half of her face. “It would raise some questions, wouldn’t it?”
“It could. Maybe that will be enough to throw people off. Maybe being seen more will draw more attention. That would be the ramifications.”
“Right.” She nods in understanding. Ramifications. “Well, that solves my conundrum faster than I thought. Thank you. If we do go into the Schira Sprawl, I promise I’ll be very careful. Honestly, I think this is worth the risk — we’ve been given an opportunity to build a relationship with the OMTC and we should take it. Maybe it’ll open up some trade options for us in the future.”
“A very valid reasoning.”
“However—” Zola whirls around to face Tebrin. “I think we should find the time, before the coup, to make my existence known to the rest of the house and its…peons. Ugh, no, I don’t like that word. Servants? Anyway, my point is: what would you think if someone you’ve never heard of before aggressively takes over your workplace, kicks out the boss, and declares herself the new boss? It doesn’t exactly inspire loyalty… I read about this in the histories.” She beams proudly at the last remark, as if reading history books is an achievement for her.
“Oh, sweet surface child…” Tebrin coos mockingly. “Do you think all who rule are loved and loyal? Most of the peons won’t even see nor speak with their rulers… They are small cogs in a much grander machine. As for what I think… Well, you just described what amounts to aeons of life in the Hells, so I think it will work out just fine.”
“I am not expecting to be loved, Tebrin, certainly not upon first meeting. I just want them to know me and my cause, whatever they may think. In case I’m not being clear — I intend to rule in a different way from my mother. From all the other matrons.”
He smirks to himself and shakes his head, but otherwise doesn’t reply. Frowning, Zola opens her mouth to scold him yet again, but a sudden thought stays her tongue for a second. She thinks back to what he said just seconds ago and her frown melts into a look of puzzlement.
“If you’ve lived for aeons in the Nine Hells, why’d you call me a ‘surface child’?” Her one good eye looks him in the face, taking in his fine, angular features once more. “…You’re half-drow, aren’t you?”
“I never said it was aeons of my life.”
That was as straight an answer as one could get from Tebrin. “So you are half-drow, half-devil? You grew up in the Underdark?” She pauses again as another realisation strikes. Her amber eye widens. “Wait… Is…is Zarzuul your father?”
Tebrin scoffs. “All very interesting, but in the end, highly irrelevant, I’m afraid. All you need to know is I am the one who can get you where you want to be.”
Zola gives him a long, silent stare as she studies his expression and his body language, but he seems about as opaque to her as ever. Still — as much as he loves being needlessly enigmatic for the joy of annoying her, he’s never been this deliberately evasive.
She goes to sit down on the edge of the bed, right across from where he is standing, looking up at him with a soft expression on her face. “I guess— You’re not wrong. But I’d like to know more about you, even just a little. We’re going to be spending our lives together after all. I’d like to know more about the man I’m marrying. But if you’re not in the mood, that’s okay.”
Tebrin smiles. It’s not quite soft or caring, but not filled with malice or humour either. A strange kind of smile that feels at odds with everything she knows of him so far, which is admittedly little.
“There is much riding on this, Zola,” he says. “You’re clever, attractive…dangerous in your own way. But don’t let the softness your mothers instilled into you make you lose sight of that. Especially if we are going to meet your birth mother. The people who will need to know you will know you. And you can tell them exactly how noble and loyal they should be to you.”
Zola ignores the pink heat in her cheeks and nods solemnly. “I understand that. I can’t promise it won’t be a bumpy ride at first, but…I can promise that I’ll give it my all.”
She rises to her feet and closes the distance between them. “I think we’ve spoken enough about that.” Her fingers reach for the buttons in his jacket. “Let’s…stop talking for now.”
Co-written with Anthony