Nero rolled her eyes at Roen's reaction. He could tell from the way her face twitched and threatened to scrunch into a scowl that she was repressing a harsh rebuke, and that annoyed him far more than it should have. It took some effort for him to quell his own sour remarks about her naievete.Â
What did she think? That this would be easy? That they could have gone through with their plan by simply kissing babies and shaking hands? It was not long ago that the paladin had fervently argued in favour of the inherent goodness she saw in Nero. He hadn't the courage to point it out to her then, but it seems now he did not need to: at that time, she had seen only what she wanted to see. She had pleaded so desperately for him, her idealism shining like a beacon. No amount of pleasure was lost when Nero saw that idealism shimmer and dim ever so slightly, even as she glared at him.
"When next you see your compatriots in the Sultansworn, Miss Deneith, ask them this: what do you do when there is an evil you cannot defeat through just means? Shall you commit evil to destroy evil? Or would you remain steadfast and righteous, even if that meant surrendering to evil?"
The corner of Nero's lip curled. Even as dire as their situation was, he wanted to be smug. He wanted to sneer at her. He felt some measure of pride in proving Roen wrong; it was petty and it was childish, but it still felt immensely satisfying. The words were on the very tip of his tongue, yet he knew he could not let them escape.
Welcome to my world.
The echoes of activity from beneath the scaffolding broke the smuggler from his arrogant reverie. He merely grinned. "Whoops," was his painfully meager reaction. "Guess they didn't like the fireworks. Have they never seen a leg be a routine? You'd think there'd be some more cultural taste around here..." Nero drew the hood over his head. The ones who had seen his face--the Brass Blade and the bandits--were dead, but the less risks taken at this point, the better.
"But yes, it's time to go." A quick jaunt to the crates and a swift prying of the top revealed that they were indeed what Nero was looking for; sacks of potatoes, leathers, clothing, and so on. The smuggler smiled. "Finally, some luck," he exclaimed. "I suppose I could have been a bit more subtle about the whole 'blasting people to Dalamud' part of the plan, but we haven't invented silent fireballs yet. Work in progress." The jokes never ceased coming out of his mouth. He couldn't help but find the whole situation endlessly amusing, and incredibly thrilling. Nero hadn't been in an adventure like this in a while. Too much time had been spent haggling with merchants and crooks or simply sailing the waves on the Forte, which was all well and good, but it had a hard time beating the adrenaline and excitement of something like this.
He turned his head to the paladin. "Bring the cart around. We should probably move before the party starts near us." Nero grunted as he began to lift the first crate.
What did she think? That this would be easy? That they could have gone through with their plan by simply kissing babies and shaking hands? It was not long ago that the paladin had fervently argued in favour of the inherent goodness she saw in Nero. He hadn't the courage to point it out to her then, but it seems now he did not need to: at that time, she had seen only what she wanted to see. She had pleaded so desperately for him, her idealism shining like a beacon. No amount of pleasure was lost when Nero saw that idealism shimmer and dim ever so slightly, even as she glared at him.
"When next you see your compatriots in the Sultansworn, Miss Deneith, ask them this: what do you do when there is an evil you cannot defeat through just means? Shall you commit evil to destroy evil? Or would you remain steadfast and righteous, even if that meant surrendering to evil?"
The corner of Nero's lip curled. Even as dire as their situation was, he wanted to be smug. He wanted to sneer at her. He felt some measure of pride in proving Roen wrong; it was petty and it was childish, but it still felt immensely satisfying. The words were on the very tip of his tongue, yet he knew he could not let them escape.
Welcome to my world.
The echoes of activity from beneath the scaffolding broke the smuggler from his arrogant reverie. He merely grinned. "Whoops," was his painfully meager reaction. "Guess they didn't like the fireworks. Have they never seen a leg be a routine? You'd think there'd be some more cultural taste around here..." Nero drew the hood over his head. The ones who had seen his face--the Brass Blade and the bandits--were dead, but the less risks taken at this point, the better.
"But yes, it's time to go." A quick jaunt to the crates and a swift prying of the top revealed that they were indeed what Nero was looking for; sacks of potatoes, leathers, clothing, and so on. The smuggler smiled. "Finally, some luck," he exclaimed. "I suppose I could have been a bit more subtle about the whole 'blasting people to Dalamud' part of the plan, but we haven't invented silent fireballs yet. Work in progress." The jokes never ceased coming out of his mouth. He couldn't help but find the whole situation endlessly amusing, and incredibly thrilling. Nero hadn't been in an adventure like this in a while. Too much time had been spent haggling with merchants and crooks or simply sailing the waves on the Forte, which was all well and good, but it had a hard time beating the adrenaline and excitement of something like this.
He turned his head to the paladin. "Bring the cart around. We should probably move before the party starts near us." Nero grunted as he began to lift the first crate.
