"Several bells to port," came the gruff response over the linkpearl. "Everything alright, Captain?"
No, everything was not alright. Well, in a manner of speaking, it was. Or was it not? Nero didn't know anymore. The dock creaked as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. He hadn't even noticed that Roen had run off while still in possession of his sword, so distracted was the smuggler. The chainmail beneath his tabard rustled as he forced himself to sit down cross-legged in an attempt to calm his nerves.
The memory of her soft lips meeting his still lingered uncomfortably in his mind. There was a purpose to that, yes...but the rash action seemed to backfire. The kiss was meant to confuse her, and it seemed to have succeeded, but so too did it put Nero at odd with his own emotions.
He considered himself the definition of a manipulative bastard. He'd easily done something like this before; Vail, in his infinite wisdom, had imparted the importance of being able to make an enemy a friend, or to at least confuse them enough that they would not interfere. Flirtations and seduction were hardly beneath him. Yet, why did this particular instance seem to instill such wary anxiety in him?
It was his initial intention to have invoked the possibility of an emotional attachment in Roen. The exasperating woman, naive as she was, had accepted his plan without questioning. When the bloodier stages of his scheming came to fruition, she would likely be shocked or feel lied to or some other irritating notion. Romantic affections were more trouble than they were typically worth, but Nero didn't feel that he was above using them to his advantage.
"Did you ever consider, that I did not use my sword upon you because...of who you were?"
Nero shook his head. He knew her well enough at this point to know that she was serious...or a very, very good liar. To the smuggler's cynical mind, she was an anomaly. The pure-hearted souls of goodness typically considered him a necessary evil, a role he was more than happy to fill. Yet here was this enigma of a paladin who desired nothing from him--no favours, no payment, no self-interest--but for him to...be better. There was nothing but infuriating, aggravating selflessness from her.
Or was that it? Suspicion flared around the edges of Nero's mind. It was possible...unlikely, but still possible that this was her way of using him. Had he been beaten at his own game? The very best liars were those who had managed to convince others that they could not lie. Was this Roen's way of turning him to her purposes? Was he simply overestimating her?
The questions opened the way for more questions. Why did he care in the first place? Supposed he found out that Roen was dead tomorrow. Nero searched his mind for what his reaction would be. Pity, perhaps. Some manner of sorrow, absolutely. Would he grieve? They had only known each other for a few suns, and those suns had been fraught with disagreements, arguments, heated clashes in ideology. What was she? What was Roen Deneith to him?
Nero took a moment to place the linkpearl in a pocket before leaning over the edge of the dock and dunking his burning face into the cool seawater. He hadn't even noticed the growing ruddiness in his cheeks, and Llymlaen's bounty was a welcome to relief. Pulling his head out of the water, he shook like a dog, the fiery orange forelocks dripping with moisture. "A means to an end," he muttered beneath his breath. The very last thing the smuggler would do is let his emotions get in the way. Whatever he felt didn't matter. If it interfered, he would have to quell them by any means.
He placed the linkpearl back in his ear, using the collar of his tabard to dry his face. "Everything's fine, Garalt. How is the Forte?"
"Minor damage, nothing that a bell of repairs can't fix."
"Store the cargo in the usual location, and tell Arturieaux as soon as possible." Nero sighed, wiping the seawater from his neck and face as best as he could. A long silence from the other end of the linkpearl preceded a suspicious question.
"Who was that woman, Captain?"
"No one you need to worry about. She's going to help me free Satz," Nero said evasively. Garalt's silence was all the smuggler needed to know about his opinion as he stood up. With the Second Forte out at sea, returning to Limsa Lominsa at this juncture wasn't an option for at least a few suns. Commanding the ship would have been a wonderful distraction, but he sighed again as he began to make his way back to Ul'dah.
His plans may need some changes.
No, everything was not alright. Well, in a manner of speaking, it was. Or was it not? Nero didn't know anymore. The dock creaked as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. He hadn't even noticed that Roen had run off while still in possession of his sword, so distracted was the smuggler. The chainmail beneath his tabard rustled as he forced himself to sit down cross-legged in an attempt to calm his nerves.
The memory of her soft lips meeting his still lingered uncomfortably in his mind. There was a purpose to that, yes...but the rash action seemed to backfire. The kiss was meant to confuse her, and it seemed to have succeeded, but so too did it put Nero at odd with his own emotions.
He considered himself the definition of a manipulative bastard. He'd easily done something like this before; Vail, in his infinite wisdom, had imparted the importance of being able to make an enemy a friend, or to at least confuse them enough that they would not interfere. Flirtations and seduction were hardly beneath him. Yet, why did this particular instance seem to instill such wary anxiety in him?
It was his initial intention to have invoked the possibility of an emotional attachment in Roen. The exasperating woman, naive as she was, had accepted his plan without questioning. When the bloodier stages of his scheming came to fruition, she would likely be shocked or feel lied to or some other irritating notion. Romantic affections were more trouble than they were typically worth, but Nero didn't feel that he was above using them to his advantage.
"Did you ever consider, that I did not use my sword upon you because...of who you were?"
Nero shook his head. He knew her well enough at this point to know that she was serious...or a very, very good liar. To the smuggler's cynical mind, she was an anomaly. The pure-hearted souls of goodness typically considered him a necessary evil, a role he was more than happy to fill. Yet here was this enigma of a paladin who desired nothing from him--no favours, no payment, no self-interest--but for him to...be better. There was nothing but infuriating, aggravating selflessness from her.
Or was that it? Suspicion flared around the edges of Nero's mind. It was possible...unlikely, but still possible that this was her way of using him. Had he been beaten at his own game? The very best liars were those who had managed to convince others that they could not lie. Was this Roen's way of turning him to her purposes? Was he simply overestimating her?
The questions opened the way for more questions. Why did he care in the first place? Supposed he found out that Roen was dead tomorrow. Nero searched his mind for what his reaction would be. Pity, perhaps. Some manner of sorrow, absolutely. Would he grieve? They had only known each other for a few suns, and those suns had been fraught with disagreements, arguments, heated clashes in ideology. What was she? What was Roen Deneith to him?
Nero took a moment to place the linkpearl in a pocket before leaning over the edge of the dock and dunking his burning face into the cool seawater. He hadn't even noticed the growing ruddiness in his cheeks, and Llymlaen's bounty was a welcome to relief. Pulling his head out of the water, he shook like a dog, the fiery orange forelocks dripping with moisture. "A means to an end," he muttered beneath his breath. The very last thing the smuggler would do is let his emotions get in the way. Whatever he felt didn't matter. If it interfered, he would have to quell them by any means.
He placed the linkpearl back in his ear, using the collar of his tabard to dry his face. "Everything's fine, Garalt. How is the Forte?"
"Minor damage, nothing that a bell of repairs can't fix."
"Store the cargo in the usual location, and tell Arturieaux as soon as possible." Nero sighed, wiping the seawater from his neck and face as best as he could. A long silence from the other end of the linkpearl preceded a suspicious question.
"Who was that woman, Captain?"
"No one you need to worry about. She's going to help me free Satz," Nero said evasively. Garalt's silence was all the smuggler needed to know about his opinion as he stood up. With the Second Forte out at sea, returning to Limsa Lominsa at this juncture wasn't an option for at least a few suns. Commanding the ship would have been a wonderful distraction, but he sighed again as he began to make his way back to Ul'dah.
His plans may need some changes.
