All things considered, it wasn't a bad place to live. It was longer than it was wide, almost as if it had been a simple albeit generous hallway in a past life. The door seemed fitted on as an afterthought and the corners of the far wall creased and cracked far too suspiciously to have been part of the original design. There were no windows but a single window-shaped square of plaster that was just a shade lighter than the rest of the surrounding wall. Dust and detritus from the street puffed inside in tiny, curious gusts, and gathered in the hard lines along the floor. A broom, resting in a corner beside the door, watched with bristles clogged and defeated.
Given that there wasn't much to house there besides a cabinet of well-worn clothes and a bed that was not much more than a pallet padded with a generous few layers of rough blanket, it was not a bad place to live. The man who held the keys - lalafellin, simply dressed, hooded eyes - reminded her again and again that he charged a fair price for being within walking distance of the markets. She had not tried to suggest otherwise but the man, small and dusty as the rooms he rented, seemed to brighten considerably while deflecting any perceived question of quality on his part. She allowed him the pleasure all the way from his small shaded office at the other end of the row.
Delial shifted her weight from one boot to the other. She was an intruder here and had its occupant still been in the area she would have never dared cross the doorway. That he stayed there had not been a secret: the gil she left moon to moon was easy enough to follow, with virtually no effort made to conceal its use.
“Like a fella what has punctuality,†the lalafell was saying from where he had parked himself just outside. “But rent is rent and rent needs payin’. Now, I’ve been real generous about it--â€
“You have,†Delial agreed. She could not tell if there was an unusual amount of dust coating the surfaces of the room, given how freely it entered. It was neat and orderly otherwise, each and every of his few possessions placed precisely where they ought to be.
“-- and it’s just not reasonable,†continued the landlord, albeit with a satisfied nod, “To lose my living on account of a boy what up and left with no rent paid at all! None!â€
“None?â€
“None.†The landlord sounded aghast. Delial was more concerned with checking the drawers, however, and carefully sifting through rows and piles of neatly folded garments. “An’ let me tell you, I got mouths to feed! My family needs a home, too, same as any other.â€
“A predicament, of course. And this is the first time that this has happened…?†Her knees creaked and what she hoped to make a graceful kneel to examine the contents of the bottom drawer ended with an ungraceful flinch and crack as her knee slipped and hit the hard floor harder than she would have liked.
“Ha!! This is Ul’dah, rem… oh,†paused the lalafell, clearing his throat. “Well, with this fella, certainly. Came over, what, two years ago? Didn’t ask no questions, didn’t give no trouble. An’ he paid.†The last word was stretched out and Delial was certain narrowed eyes were pinned upon her back.
“I expect so,†she said. Deneith had actually done it once, taken Harvard off the street with that Qaeli woman, with Stormchild, and shattered what little sense of safety he might have had living so near the walls of Ul’dah. He must have seen the refugees every sun. Did he help them? Did he know Greyarm? Is that where my money has gone?
Did sending him away from the Resistance push him further into its arms?
“What’re you sniffing around for, anyroad?†The landlord huffed, aggravation edging into his voice. “I can’t be standin’ around here all sun. Got work to do, same as anyone else!â€
Delial stood stiffly, grateful that the stinging in her knees distracted her from the slow sink of her heart. The question and it’s questioner went ignored as she turned and scanned the room once more. To say the walls were in perfect condition would have been much more kind than the truth, and were one truly of the mind to crack plaster and stone to conceal something behind it then it would not have stood out at all. Her brother was not the sort to place undue damage on something that did not belong to him, however. That left the bed.
“Vanishing has become quite fashionable,†she said. Delial had to force herself to commit to jostling the single pillow, light and lightly dented, and to feel through and pat down the blankets. (He would have fussed at her, slapped her hands and stomped his feet. Dust motes and sunlight and a red-faced boy, the youngest of three, and no no no--) “Many friends of mine have gone without a word,†she continued with the shake of her head. He might have thought her to be regretful. “But one does not simply cease to exist, no, not unless one truly wished to. Even then, there are things left behind.â€
“Don’t know nothin’ about that,†said the lalafell, his tone dipping lower. Delial did not look at the man but she thought she caught his previously withering gaze direct itself elsewhere out of her peripheral vision.
The Highlander said nothing. Her hands tugged the neat creases free from where they had been tucked between the pallet and the thin mattress, and then she lifted. Stuck between the slats was a small wooden box, no larger than the palm of her hand, and with a gentle tug she pulled it free and let the mattress fall. It clattered in her hands as she turned it and slid the lid free.
(He wouldn’t look at her, even as she pressed it into his hands, whispering promises into his ear: This is for your own good. This will keep you safe.)
“I won’t abide robbery,†warned the lalafell, but Delial hardly heard him. There was a rushing in her ears and a chill in her heart, and she had to ignore the quake in her fingers. A slender pouch of coins rested atop a few browning scrips of paper, letters if she would have had to guess, but it was the ring that she lifted out. It was wrought of a cold, dark silvery metal, the face of which was dominated by a square cut black gemstone flanked on either side with engravings of griffons with talons raised and wings outstretched. Her breath left her in a hard gust, as though she had received a blow to the gut, and she nearly forgot to suck in more air.
No, no, no. He would not have left this, not if he left. Passage, food, and lodgings easily paid. He would not leave them if he had the choice. Her innards twisted as fear and fury fought inside her, and numbly she shoved box and ring alike into her pack for fear of dropping them, losing them again just as she lost--
“I said, won’t be abidin’ robbery,†growled the lalafell again, this time his voice coming from somewhere just in front of her. Delial focused just briefly on his greedy eyes eyeing the ring before, with a swiftness that caught herself off guard, she stepped around the shorter man and out into the ill-kept lane. The Twelve must have thought to bestow some small mercy in that she could not feel the pain in her knees until she was already in a dead run out into streets, kicking up dust and the screams of an angry lalafell echoing farther and farther behind her.
Given that there wasn't much to house there besides a cabinet of well-worn clothes and a bed that was not much more than a pallet padded with a generous few layers of rough blanket, it was not a bad place to live. The man who held the keys - lalafellin, simply dressed, hooded eyes - reminded her again and again that he charged a fair price for being within walking distance of the markets. She had not tried to suggest otherwise but the man, small and dusty as the rooms he rented, seemed to brighten considerably while deflecting any perceived question of quality on his part. She allowed him the pleasure all the way from his small shaded office at the other end of the row.
Delial shifted her weight from one boot to the other. She was an intruder here and had its occupant still been in the area she would have never dared cross the doorway. That he stayed there had not been a secret: the gil she left moon to moon was easy enough to follow, with virtually no effort made to conceal its use.
“Like a fella what has punctuality,†the lalafell was saying from where he had parked himself just outside. “But rent is rent and rent needs payin’. Now, I’ve been real generous about it--â€
“You have,†Delial agreed. She could not tell if there was an unusual amount of dust coating the surfaces of the room, given how freely it entered. It was neat and orderly otherwise, each and every of his few possessions placed precisely where they ought to be.
“-- and it’s just not reasonable,†continued the landlord, albeit with a satisfied nod, “To lose my living on account of a boy what up and left with no rent paid at all! None!â€
“None?â€
“None.†The landlord sounded aghast. Delial was more concerned with checking the drawers, however, and carefully sifting through rows and piles of neatly folded garments. “An’ let me tell you, I got mouths to feed! My family needs a home, too, same as any other.â€
“A predicament, of course. And this is the first time that this has happened…?†Her knees creaked and what she hoped to make a graceful kneel to examine the contents of the bottom drawer ended with an ungraceful flinch and crack as her knee slipped and hit the hard floor harder than she would have liked.
“Ha!! This is Ul’dah, rem… oh,†paused the lalafell, clearing his throat. “Well, with this fella, certainly. Came over, what, two years ago? Didn’t ask no questions, didn’t give no trouble. An’ he paid.†The last word was stretched out and Delial was certain narrowed eyes were pinned upon her back.
“I expect so,†she said. Deneith had actually done it once, taken Harvard off the street with that Qaeli woman, with Stormchild, and shattered what little sense of safety he might have had living so near the walls of Ul’dah. He must have seen the refugees every sun. Did he help them? Did he know Greyarm? Is that where my money has gone?
Did sending him away from the Resistance push him further into its arms?
“What’re you sniffing around for, anyroad?†The landlord huffed, aggravation edging into his voice. “I can’t be standin’ around here all sun. Got work to do, same as anyone else!â€
Delial stood stiffly, grateful that the stinging in her knees distracted her from the slow sink of her heart. The question and it’s questioner went ignored as she turned and scanned the room once more. To say the walls were in perfect condition would have been much more kind than the truth, and were one truly of the mind to crack plaster and stone to conceal something behind it then it would not have stood out at all. Her brother was not the sort to place undue damage on something that did not belong to him, however. That left the bed.
“Vanishing has become quite fashionable,†she said. Delial had to force herself to commit to jostling the single pillow, light and lightly dented, and to feel through and pat down the blankets. (He would have fussed at her, slapped her hands and stomped his feet. Dust motes and sunlight and a red-faced boy, the youngest of three, and no no no--) “Many friends of mine have gone without a word,†she continued with the shake of her head. He might have thought her to be regretful. “But one does not simply cease to exist, no, not unless one truly wished to. Even then, there are things left behind.â€
“Don’t know nothin’ about that,†said the lalafell, his tone dipping lower. Delial did not look at the man but she thought she caught his previously withering gaze direct itself elsewhere out of her peripheral vision.
The Highlander said nothing. Her hands tugged the neat creases free from where they had been tucked between the pallet and the thin mattress, and then she lifted. Stuck between the slats was a small wooden box, no larger than the palm of her hand, and with a gentle tug she pulled it free and let the mattress fall. It clattered in her hands as she turned it and slid the lid free.
(He wouldn’t look at her, even as she pressed it into his hands, whispering promises into his ear: This is for your own good. This will keep you safe.)
“I won’t abide robbery,†warned the lalafell, but Delial hardly heard him. There was a rushing in her ears and a chill in her heart, and she had to ignore the quake in her fingers. A slender pouch of coins rested atop a few browning scrips of paper, letters if she would have had to guess, but it was the ring that she lifted out. It was wrought of a cold, dark silvery metal, the face of which was dominated by a square cut black gemstone flanked on either side with engravings of griffons with talons raised and wings outstretched. Her breath left her in a hard gust, as though she had received a blow to the gut, and she nearly forgot to suck in more air.
No, no, no. He would not have left this, not if he left. Passage, food, and lodgings easily paid. He would not leave them if he had the choice. Her innards twisted as fear and fury fought inside her, and numbly she shoved box and ring alike into her pack for fear of dropping them, losing them again just as she lost--
“I said, won’t be abidin’ robbery,†growled the lalafell again, this time his voice coming from somewhere just in front of her. Delial focused just briefly on his greedy eyes eyeing the ring before, with a swiftness that caught herself off guard, she stepped around the shorter man and out into the ill-kept lane. The Twelve must have thought to bestow some small mercy in that she could not feel the pain in her knees until she was already in a dead run out into streets, kicking up dust and the screams of an angry lalafell echoing farther and farther behind her.
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