Silver across the Meadow
Emmrich Volkarin | Rook Mercar
Rook gets ready to take down some ghosts on the beaches of Rivain.
part 1/2
AN: I did not edit this nor will I ever.
Rook had never been fond of the heat.
Of the inevitable sweat that slicked her skin and dampened the most uncomfortable parts of her clothes. She hated the strong summer days back in Minrathous- how the crowded cobblestone streets would smell putrid and sour- of Tevinter sweets from bakeries that kept their doors open until nightfall, that sickly sweet scent weaving with the rotting garbage that lined the streets. It soured her stomach until she felt weak and annoyed but too proud to plug her nose. She could taste the cloyingness in the back of her throat with every inhale, could feel the rays of the sun against every inch of her exposed flesh, as if she were being cooked alive.
Perhaps that was why when Myrna had asked for her help in dealing with a haunting in the coast of Rivain, Rook had instinctually frowned. She could see the surprise in the Mourn Watchers face, the slight tilt of her lip as it curled into a grin.
The Viper had once told her that she was incapable of lying. That her face gave everything away, like a child who hadn't learned how to temper truth into silence. She didn't believe him then, but she could feel the tips of her ears warm now as she tried to fix her face into something less...disgusted. Maybe he had been right. Not that she would ever tell him that.
"Not a fan of the Coast?" Myrna asks, her voice smooth and warm. "Or have you suddenly found yourself afflicted by the undead?"
"The undead I can handle," she shrugs, wondering if all Nevarran's were awfully proper with their sarcasm or if that was simply a symptom of the Necropolis. "I'm not exactly looking forward to getting sand all inside of my clothes."
"A pity. perhaps we can arrange for something more appropriate for the Rivaini temperament? Lighter fabrics and fewer layers. Would that soothe your... apparent suffering?"
Under any other circumstances, Rook would have fallen for Myrna and her dry sense of humor. But she already had a thing for a master Necromancer with slight emotionally stunted tendencies.
"Pardon my surprise, but I can't imagine a member of the Mourn Watch willingly wanting to leave the catacombs of the Grand Necropolis. Especially somewhere with unfiltered sunlight."
Myrna doesn't seem affected by her joke and Rook holds back her pout.
"We are privileged enough to often be targets of the Lords of Fortune." she hums, almost like she finds the fact that the guild of treasure hunters sneaking into the Mausoleum somewhat amusing.
Though, thinking about it now, it kind of made sense. The dead always carried some sort of accouterments of wealth. If one was desperate and immoral enough.
"A shame how most of them tend to get... lost down here." She finishes, sighing in faux sympathy. "The Necropolis can be most confusing at first, don't you think so, Rook?" she smiles and it's almost unnerving in a way.
"Is that your way of telling me not to go exploring later, when everyone's asleep?" Rook points her thumb over her shoulder, towards one of the many entrances. "Because I heard wandering unattended through catacombs is a perfectly sound recreational activity. Don't worry though- I promise not to steal anything, I'm not fond of heavy lifting."
She tilts her head in response, smile sharp enough to cut. "I suppose I should be grateful your vices are limited to sarcasm."
"I'm told that I am also insufferable in prolonged doses." she adds with a shrug.
"Professor Volkarin must be far more indulgent than I imagined," Myrna muses. "Most men would tire of...insufferability." She pauses, eyeing Rook with a detached sense of curiosity. "And yet, he speaks of you with a certain persistence. Quite curious."
Rook feels the tips of her ears start to burn, traitorous as ever. The thought of Emmrich Volkarin- brilliant, unflinchingly skilled, with that calm, commanding presence and features sharp enough to catch her breath- being aware of her at all sends a small, almost guilty thrill through her chest. He was so much older, so far above her in every way, and yet the idea that he might think of her even once made her heart clench.
It was maddening really, how she longed to be closer, to be noticed by him in a way she wasn't sure she knew how to voice. Or maybe she just wasn't ready. She could deal with day to day rejection- but there was something scary in emotional vulnerability.
The thought of there being a possibility of Emmrich wincing in disgust as she poured her heart out to him scared her more than facing another Archdemon.
She forces a shrug, mouth twitching into something halfway between a smirk and a scowl. As if what Myrna had told her hadn't affected her in any way. "Ah, well, if he's not weary, I suppose even the best of men must lower their expectations. Standards tend to slip given enough time."
Myrna studies her in silence for a long moment, eyes measured and unreadable. It's not exactly uncomfortable, but as talented as Rook was at reading people, Myrna was quite... discernable at times.
"Shall we get you that change of attire then? I'd hate to keep you any longer." She finally says, breaking the silence.
Rook quirks an eyebrow. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"
Myrna's lips quirk into the faintest smirk as she starts to walk towards her left, prompting Rook to follow. "Is it not apparent?"
"Ouch," Rook says, feigning hurt while keeping a few steps behind Myrna as she leads her up a set of barely lit narrow stairs. Suddenly, something very important comes to mind and she pauses.
"Myrna?" she calls out and waits until the older woman turns to face her. "We're not, by any chance, borrowing these from some unfortunate lord's corpse are we?"
The smile she gives her in return is unreadable. It's the kind of smile that makes Rook physically uncomfortable, and for a moment, she wishes she hadn't asked.
Much to her surprise, not that she was complaining, the clothes did not have to be pulled from some decaying corpse in some foreboding corner full of fog and spiderwebs. They were handed to her by a young Rivaini Mage that Myrna was personally training- She introduced herself as Sym.
They had found her in one of the libraries and she had not questioned why or for what they needed the cloth for.
Rook had offered to pay, knowing full well that while Myrna had mentioned the word borrow- there was no way that she could assure to bring it back in one piece. But she had only raised her tattoo covered hand and told her not to worry.
"I do not plan on returning to Rivain in this lifetime. So please, accept these with no worry." her voice was sweet and dense with the accent of someone who had lived her whole life up north.
With a thank you, she took the folded pile of colorful linen. They smelled like Petrichor. Deep and earthy and slightly sweet, just like the Necropolis.
"Change and leave your armor, I will have it sent to you before nightfall." Sym allowed her to change in the privacy of her room and Rook did her best not to admire the small space. She had never truly been the type to settle in one place long enough to leave behind pieces of herself. Even back at the lighthouse, while everyone else spent time decorating and making their own space comfortable and unique- she was still living out of the sack she had taken when the Shadow Dragons had sent her away.
Pathetic? Perhaps. But it sure made traveling a breeze when all her possessions could be carried on her back.
Rook strips and folds her clothes, leaving them on the corner of a wooden table, fully trusting a stranger to somehow get them back to the Lighthouse.
Rivaini clothing always tended to expose more skin than Rook was willing to admit she was comfortable showing. The trousers fell below her hips, the top only covered the swell of her breasts- unlike the thinner material of the pants, they were, at least, covered in a layer of scales.
That was all. Her arms were bare, her entire midriff was on display, and she was worried that if she raised her arms a little too high her breasts would probably slip out.
She contemplated changing back but it was too late, Sym was already calling for her. Pushing down a growing sense of shame and unease, Rook pulled open the door, ready to tell Myrna that she had forgotten prior arrangements and actually didn't have time to put down an annoying ghost.
But Sym and Myrna looked at her- Sym's brown eyes widening as she flushed red across the face before her eyes fell to the floor. She excused herself, not once raising her eyes as she walked past Rook.
Rook, caught between mortification and the urge to make a joke, for once doesn't know what to do. She was flattered, of course, that Sym had grown so flustered by one single look at her but that wasn't her intention.
"Well," Rook finally muttered, sweeping her hand down herself with exaggeration. "I suppose this is...better? Less armor and more...public humiliation. Maybe I'll learn to stop complaining after I accidentally flash half the Necropolis."
Myrna's smirk was faint, as if she found all of this amusing. " Comfort is a relative thing, Rook. Though I admit, this does suit you."
"Suit me?" Rook echoed, knitting her brows together as she pulled at the scaled hem of her top down as if might magically lengthen. "If looking like a walking scandal is what passes for 'suited', then yes, perhaps I've finally found my calling."
That smirk deepens, her tone smooth and infuriatingly composed. "I doubt a certain Professor would find your so called indecency troubling. Quite the opposite, I suspect."
It took a fraction of a second for Rook to make sense of what she said, but once it finally clicked she barked a laugh that came out a little too loud. "Yes, because someone like Emmrich is so starved for entertainment that he'd settle for me falling out of my clothes like some desperate tavern wench."
"You would be surprised Rook," Myrna's voice was almost teasing. "Men such as him conceal more than one would imagine- desires, vices, attachments. You may be astonished to find what truly tempts him."
Rook feels the corner of her lip twitch in annoyance. "If it were someone other than me," she starts, bitterness thick in her voice, "Then maybe I could believe it. But I don't exactly have much to offer." Her insecurity slips out before she can stop it, making her sound pathetic and right now, with gods to fight and connections to make, she couldn't afford to be weak and pathetic.
It's not that she didn't want to have an effect on Emmrich, she was just being realistic. What appeal did she have? She was, sadly, as stereotypical as it came to being an Elf.
The white hair, silver eyes, with too long of a body. Not that she hated how she looked, but she had grown up as an elf in Tevinter. Disgusted looks and remarks were her normal. And it's pretty hard not to let those things affect you after so many years.
"That is precisely why it is intriguing. A temptation well hidden often proves the most revealing."
The thought of her of all people, being a temptation made her want to laugh. She had too many scars. Too many rough edges, and far too little polish to draw his attention the way she truly wanted. There was nothing tempting about her.
"Right," she says, a finality in her voice that she hopes conveys the fact that she was done with this conversation. She could feel a familiar sense of misery weigh down on her shoulders that she tried to mentally shake off. She had a ghost to find and probably send back. She needed to focus on that.
It was what she was good at.
"This has been fun, lets not do it again. Agree?" Rook tries to break the sudden unease she herself put on her own damn shoulders. Myrna only hummed, letting Rook past by her.
She only gets a few steps in before Myrna's voice makes her pause.
"I shall send Volkarin ahead of you...unless you would enjoy his company during your travels?"
Rook paused, one hand still on the railing to the staircase. For a heartbeat she considered pretending she hadn't heard her. Of course Myrna would say it like...that. She ignored the warmth at the tips of her ear as she glanced back over her shoulder.
"And rob myself of the joy of being announced like some exotic curiosity?" She began to walk, fighting the urge to flick the older woman off. "Send him, I could do without the inevitable lecture of my current indecency."
She didn't have to look back to know that Myrna had that infuriating smirk on her face again.
Rook straightened her shoulders, armor or no armor, she could still play the part that she'd been forced into. Unbothered. Untouchable.
She could survive a few hours of questionable stares.
Maybe.
