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Firelight danced off of polished wooden walls, adding orange lightning at the backdrop of the red-embered glow. The fireplace responsible hosted two large, soft and red  armchairs before it, both placed down upon dark red carpet. Between the armchairs a simple stand featured several bottles of expensive alcohol and an ashtray, all of which remained untouched for the time being.Â
A grey-haired Highlander man sat in the left chair -- rather comfortably, at that. He was a bit short for those of his kin, but his broad frame and hardened features made the mark of his clan unmistakable. Granted, he was dressed crisply in stylish Ul'dahn business attire. Loose, long-coated and adorned with gold trimmings and precious gems. An eye-patch concealed his left eye -- but not the horribly deep scar that cut through his forehead and cheek both above and below it. The other eye stared lazily into the fire, the reflective silver having adopted the red glow. Relaxed though he was, his body language spoke well enough of expectation.Â
There was a knock on the heavy oaken door to the room, which bid no movement from him save his mouth. His voice was gravelly, yet held no shortage of authoriative confidence. "Come."
The portal was opened with not a sound, and an elegantly dressed Highlander woman entered. She was far younger than he -- yet still bore the presence of a person of ten and twenty. Her own colour choice was blue; a deep, evening shade of it that dominated the outfit, down to the earrings and the jeweled clasps that held her long black hair in one. The dress had left her arms bare; it was there, without the smoothing cover of blue material, that the harsh musculature and scars of battle showed -- at least, until halfway down her biceps, from where a long pair of gloves finished the outfit.Â
Ordinarily the old Highlander stood in the presence of a lady -- but for some reason he remained seated, still staring into the fire with barely any regard for her at all. Had it not been for the minimal beckoning gesture toward the adjacent armchair, it may have been easy to say that he'd missed her entrance entirely. Nevertheless, she swept toward the chair and sat without complaint.Â
"Help yourself to anything you like," He offered calmly.Â
The firelight clashed with her brown eyes as she turned to look at him a bit warily. He still hadn't looked in her direction. "No thank you, I don't partake in any of this."
"That's fine. Do you know why I've called you here?"
"I can't rightly say that I do, but I did attend the function you requested me to. It was...pointless, and stupid. Almost insulting, how those people live while others suffer." She seemed to catch herself then, "Though I understand why you do it."
"Of course you do. Moving on, I called you here because I don't think Fyrhaerz will last long on the board. When he falls, I need you to take over. I trust you not to fall." The man's hands clasped on his abdomen, a fist cupped in a palm. "Will you do this for me, Oda?"
Oda turned her gaze away from him and tipped her head back. "The resistance needs me, Gunnar. You've done much for me, but I don't know if I can turn my back on this. The time is getting close."
Gunnar simply sat there in silence, his eye still on the fire.Â
"...but if you supply my group with weapons and armour -- even a few mercenaries..."
"Consider it done."
"They can't know that I'm consorting with an Ul'Dahn businessman."Â
"I'm not Ul'Dahn. I worked for this position so I could help in this way," He reasoned, "I'll muddle it as best as I can, but if people protest I need you to reason with them."
Oda turned to look at him again -- she allowed the incredulity onto her features easily enough; after all, he wasn't looking at her. "You're putting an awful lot on me here."
"It isn't without its reward."
"Or risk."
"That's how these things work, Oda. Do this for me, and you will get everything you need. Both for your group, and for your ambitions." The palm on his fist gestured subtly with fanned fingers. Whatever Oda's ambitions were, they were enough for her to lean back and consider in momentary silence. Gunnar was patient, though it wasn't long before she relented.Â
"How long do you think Fire Heart has?" She asked carefully.
"Not long," He answered with confidence -- vague though as it was.
Her pause was again drawn out. "Alright. I'll take that time to prepare. If his students survive, I want them. They can do so much better than him."
"I'll arrange it," Gunnar promised.Â
"Then we have ourselves a deal," Oda declared. With that said, she got to her feet. Gunnar seemed to take issue with it, though he didn't move. "Where are you going? Sit with me a while. You must be tired after the gala, and I could use the company."
Oda froze; even through the sweeping evening gown the tension in her body was obvious -- most prominent at her exposed shoulders and neck. Still, she managed to take a seat again...this time with her eyes firmly fixed upon the fire. "I don't need convincing any more, Gunnar, I said I'd do it. I won't turn back on that." In a complete departure from her self-assured tones, her voice wavered. The fire seemed to be the most interesting thing in the realm.Â
Next to her, Gunnar slowly began to turn his head in her direction. He was blurred in her peripheral vision, but she could already see the white of his awful grin, and sensed the terrible silver of his eyes. Her breath quickened, but she steadied herself and centered her spirit -- she was strong enough to endure his pressure, his presence. For a while. Yet, every reminder of it filled her with terror, and that terror fuelled her obedience. Oda was very aware of how much Gunnar revelled in that.Â
The glass bottles next to her began to crack, and even the fire seemed to struggle. The wood of the chairs they sat in creaked, and the air quickly gained the consistency of thick syrup.Â
"You're a monster," She whispered.
"Never forget it."
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