The stirring of a pasty woman beside her awoke Sylrisa. Her eyelids fluttered open, confusion washing across her features momentarily until she eyed the abhorrent clutter in the room. She held a breath in her chest while she waited for Merry Rogers to settle. After what seemed like ages, she exhaled, slipping out of the bed and towards the door of the bedroom.
Typical clumsy movements were masked with great deliberation of where to step and how to get to the door without waking the large hound nearby. She felt her ankle give beneath her but quickly caught herself on the back of the couch, slinking the rest of the way to the entrance into the apartment. Once outside, tension melted off her shoulders.
She bounded down a short flight of stairs, nearly letting out a shriek as a figure materialized next to her. An elf clad in dark leathers stood beside her. His amber hues slowly rolled to regard her.
“Daughter,” he drawled out. The cloth mask covering his face crinkled with the movements from his lips. She was met with scrutiny, gaze picking apart her composure. “I came to see if you were well.”
Some of the apprehension in her posture melted away at the familiar voice. “I’m fine. But Merry could’ve died.” She replied, irritation hanging heavy around her.
His gaze narrowed and honed in on her left earlobe. The mention of Merry was quickly disregarded. “Where is the earring that Olivia gave you.” It came as a flat assertion but the slight quirk of his eyebrow alluded to the inquisitive nature of the statement. “… And your ring is missing. I see now why I was able to finally scry your location.” Amber hues swept over her form, finding trinkets and baubles that she normally carried missing. “Did Woody’s men take them from you.”
“No.” There was a pause as she considered how to proceed. “They w-were stolen from me a few days prior,” she acquiesced in a low mutter.
Illdraes’ nostrils flared; the cloth clung to his face. “Your reason for staying with Rogers then, I presume.” His words were gruff ―disapproval hung heavy on his features. “Why not tell me.” As he continued, his tone grew softer, borderline wounded by the thought of not being privy to this information prior.
Her ears flattened against her skull. Guilt dripped onto her features. “You would’ve blamed her,” she stammered, fidgeting with her fingers as her gaze fell to the ground. She couldn’t look him in the eyes. “And I thought y-you’d be furious with me. Scold me for being careless.”
“Blamed her ―Rogers.” The elf mused out. He decided not to entertain the notion; his daughter was entirely right, of course. “Why don’t you trust me. I only wish to keep you safe, dalah’surfal.” Carefully, he reached a hand to her face, brushing the flesh of her cheek gently.
Panic flooded her as his hand drew closer; it wasn’t him specifically she was afraid of ―she was just on edge after the events of the last few days. Her head jerked back, gaze tipping up to meet his defiantly. “You’re w-working with him! The man who shot Merry.” A frown marred her countenance. “His men beat me unconscious,” she stressed. “How can you work with such a ―a monster?”
His hand folded back to his side, gaze never straying from her. “His business was with Rogers, not you. You were aiming to set him ablaze. Of course his men subdued you. It’s fortunate that you were not shot. I’d advise in the future you not involve yourself in their altercations. If you keep to the wayside, they won’t harm you.”
“You advise,” she repeated, staring at him with a blank expression. “You w-want me to just stand there while my girlfriend is gunned down in front of me.” The elf stated, quirking her head to the side.
His nose wrinkled ―girlfriend. It was all he could do to stifle a rising scoff. “Yes,” he replied simply.
Silence hung heavy between them. Amber and silver gazes met, peering dully at one another.
It was Sylrisa who broke the stillness. A sneer spoiled her complexion; elongated fangs glinted in the moonlight. “W-What’s wrong with you!” She demanded, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “She could’ve been killed, an’da. I won’t watch while that happens. ―Why are you defending such a barbarous man?”
Emotion was devoid of his features; he simply quirked a brow. “She initiated the conflict. Your friend punched him. In their line of work, violence is met with violence.”
“And that makes it o-okay to shoot her?” She hissed out, baring her fangs.
His ear twitched. “I warned you of her when you first became involved,” he drawled out, shaking his head. “This is what you chose to surround yourself with. As long as you hold such company, you put yourself in peril. They will drag you into their petty affairs. You risk your blood being spilled as payment.”
Warmth billowed in her chest ―unadulterated rage. “Y-You’re just like her,” she spat out vehemently. “Just like mother. You rationalize your cruelty towards others in the same fashion. Your moral principles hinge on w-whatever suits your motives at that moment.”
The careless guise wrapped around Illdraes was discarded. “You dare compare me to a woman who slaughtered my innocent child.” Inky shadows clutched at his clawed digits; they swarmed hungrily.
She tipped her chin up and peer up at him indignantly, clenching a fist at her side. Her silence spoke to her assertions; she’d not claim them as false. Violet ichor dripped from her palm where her nails had pierced through the flesh.
“Very well,” he breathed out tersely. The shadows evaporated from his fingers. She was met with a distant look. “I have played along with this charade long enough, Sylrisa. You wish for your independence ―to lay claim to your own decisions. You have never seen me as your father, just as a disappointment. Go run to your mother next you find yourself in trouble, or better yet, to Elindrina.” The name was spat out, lip curling in distaste beneath his mask.
“Do not expect me to clean up your messes for you if you won’t even dignify my suggestions by listening, much less admit that I was right about your friend.” He turned on his heel, shadows flickering around his form. “Collect whatever belongings of yours remain in the shop by tomorrow night. The locks will be changed the following day.”
She sucked in a shaky breath, lips contorted into a grimace. Water welled on her lower eyelid, threatening to spill down her cheek. “I will never forgive you if you w-walk away now,” she stated.
“That ―I am counting on.” His words rose to meet the air as mere whispers. He whisked away into the night by cover of shadows.
