"This Limsa trader seems to be the only one besides Roen who gives a rat's ass about the people this city has discarded," Nero retorted, breaking the silence he had been maintaining while the paladin had negotiated with Broken Nose. "Trust Ul'dah to kick the teeth of whoever tries their hand at altruism." He had gained control of his words again, but his residual anger still smoldered, and it was with his full consent that his words shot back to the Hellsguard. Regardless of what the Hellsguard thought of him, the smuggler made his message perfectly clear: if it weren't for Ul'dah being Ul'dah, this would have never have happened in the first place.
It would be incredibly inappropriate for him to change demeanours so suddenly, and so the 'offended trader' front would have to serve him for now. Even so, Nero gave an apologetic nod of his head. "I...will endeavour to repair my attitude, should we meet again, ser. You do have my gratitude for your assistance." The apology sounded flimsy, but it would have to do. The corner of his lip curled into a small, yet contrite grin. "Should our next encounter fail to be pleasant, then you may consider my ribs yours for the breaking."
It didn't take any divination for Nero to sense when his presence was no longer welcome; he made a slight gesture to Roen that he would wait outside and allow her to finish any discussion she might have with the Roegadyn, making a hasty exit. Exiting before her was becoming a habit, but the longer he stood in the Brass Blade headquarters, the more his skin began to crawl.
It was with some measure of relief that the smuggler exposed himself to Thanalan's oppressive heat. The simmering mugginess was actually quite refreshing, given the circumstances, and ironically gave Nero some time to cool down. He had his arms crossed again, but his foot tapped the ground restlessly as he leaned against a pillar, indicating a flurry of thought perpetuating inside his mind.
That was a mistake. A massive mistake. An inordinate screw-up of catastrophic proportions. Nero did not have the room or influence to make such enemies so quickly. And if they were friends of Roen, then it was likely that they were at least somewhat trustworthy. It should have been incredibly easy. The smuggler should have been able to easily sweet-talk his way to Broken Nose's good side and be in good standing with a valuable ally.
So what had happened? Why had he lost himself to anger in that moment? Such things were dangerous. Broken Nose would have absolutely refused to assist had Roen not been there to plead him. Was it just repression? Nero didn't consider himself an emotional person by any means; Vail had taught him that reason and logic should always prevail, and that losing one's head meant potentially losing everything.
He was angry. Angry at Ul'dah, angry at the Brass Blades, angry at Vail, but most of all, he was infuriated with himself. That outburst was an embarrassment. It was more than just embarrassing; it was shameful. And Nero had exposed another vulnerability to Roen. The paladin already knew more about the smuggler than he was comfortable with anyone knowing.Â
Nero couldn't help but let out a small, bitter chuckle. Now it would be her turn to lecture him on the values of pragmatism. With that childish tantrum, he'd very nearly ruined their only chances of accomplishing their goals.
Thus, only one thing was in order.
As if on instinct, Nero turned to face the pillar he had been leaning on, gripped it with both hands, and hurled his head at it. An uncomfortably loud thwack that accompanied the impact, and the smuggler fell to his knees, clutching his forehead. "Halone's great frozen ass," the Hyur gasped a mix of exclamation and curse. A tiny trickle of blood seeped through his fingers; the pillar had broken the skin but otherwise done little visible damage besides leave Nero slightly dazed.
In lieu of Vail being there to smack his head with an oar, the pillar would have to do. As of this moment, Nero considered himself cured of such impulses.
It would be incredibly inappropriate for him to change demeanours so suddenly, and so the 'offended trader' front would have to serve him for now. Even so, Nero gave an apologetic nod of his head. "I...will endeavour to repair my attitude, should we meet again, ser. You do have my gratitude for your assistance." The apology sounded flimsy, but it would have to do. The corner of his lip curled into a small, yet contrite grin. "Should our next encounter fail to be pleasant, then you may consider my ribs yours for the breaking."
It didn't take any divination for Nero to sense when his presence was no longer welcome; he made a slight gesture to Roen that he would wait outside and allow her to finish any discussion she might have with the Roegadyn, making a hasty exit. Exiting before her was becoming a habit, but the longer he stood in the Brass Blade headquarters, the more his skin began to crawl.
It was with some measure of relief that the smuggler exposed himself to Thanalan's oppressive heat. The simmering mugginess was actually quite refreshing, given the circumstances, and ironically gave Nero some time to cool down. He had his arms crossed again, but his foot tapped the ground restlessly as he leaned against a pillar, indicating a flurry of thought perpetuating inside his mind.
That was a mistake. A massive mistake. An inordinate screw-up of catastrophic proportions. Nero did not have the room or influence to make such enemies so quickly. And if they were friends of Roen, then it was likely that they were at least somewhat trustworthy. It should have been incredibly easy. The smuggler should have been able to easily sweet-talk his way to Broken Nose's good side and be in good standing with a valuable ally.
So what had happened? Why had he lost himself to anger in that moment? Such things were dangerous. Broken Nose would have absolutely refused to assist had Roen not been there to plead him. Was it just repression? Nero didn't consider himself an emotional person by any means; Vail had taught him that reason and logic should always prevail, and that losing one's head meant potentially losing everything.
He was angry. Angry at Ul'dah, angry at the Brass Blades, angry at Vail, but most of all, he was infuriated with himself. That outburst was an embarrassment. It was more than just embarrassing; it was shameful. And Nero had exposed another vulnerability to Roen. The paladin already knew more about the smuggler than he was comfortable with anyone knowing.Â
Nero couldn't help but let out a small, bitter chuckle. Now it would be her turn to lecture him on the values of pragmatism. With that childish tantrum, he'd very nearly ruined their only chances of accomplishing their goals.
Thus, only one thing was in order.
As if on instinct, Nero turned to face the pillar he had been leaning on, gripped it with both hands, and hurled his head at it. An uncomfortably loud thwack that accompanied the impact, and the smuggler fell to his knees, clutching his forehead. "Halone's great frozen ass," the Hyur gasped a mix of exclamation and curse. A tiny trickle of blood seeped through his fingers; the pillar had broken the skin but otherwise done little visible damage besides leave Nero slightly dazed.
In lieu of Vail being there to smack his head with an oar, the pillar would have to do. As of this moment, Nero considered himself cured of such impulses.
