People Talk

Leather padded footsteps tapped-tapped across the wooden floorboards of the Golden Keg as Wynevra made her way to join Emrys' side. Her lips were affixed into a familial, familiar, frown. Another tap-tap, as fingers went to his shoulder to announce her presence.

"Em." she called him. A nickname for a child.

"What?" He raised a brow. For once, the faux-paladin wasn't clad in his plate. A black dress shirt, neatly pressed, with red tie and slacks. He turned his head- few would have the audacity to approach him like so, and his guess was correct.

"Were you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what, exactly?" His world had become a spin since he returned from his mission. A pile of letters on his desk: of resignation, of AWOL notices; investigative reports he still had to sift through, and a Dear John letter to boot. Soon after he returned, he was allowed a name change and given land to lord over. He could feel the stress ageing him, the lad of just over twenty-two summers feeling the entire weight of a Duchy, land, and life on his shoulders. His words were flat, uneven; like a tom cat roused from sleep and edging on anger for it.

"You're a Lord, now. Addy did it for you? You changed your name, too?"

That drew a sigh from his lips. He hadn't even told her. He roused his weight from his casual lean to something tall, proud, and at his full height. He looked down at her. "Again..." he started, "Duke Adorlan Matheredor. And yes, he rewarded me for my years of *loyalty and service*." Tone shifted as he gave the reason for the promotion. Brow relaxed then, laureling with pride and lips tilted in a small smirk. He still had his wine, which he held by the bulb of the glass while he crossed his arms. "How'd you find out?"

Wynevra's eyes dipped for a moment, to his hand, before she looked back at him. "People talk, Emrys. It's a fairly public thing. Whispers of a Southshore farm boy raising up the ranks you've had. It's...impressive." The compliment was loaded, as the woman leaned against the bar top by the small of her back. She set her thumbs into her pockets. She wasn't impressed, and knew there was some assistance there in the threads of fate and timing.

"Are you spying on me?" He narrowed his gaze down at her.

"What? No." she snipped. She was always quick to anger, and so, her bristle at the accusation was in line with her character. "How could I even? You hardly leave the consulate, or Ebonfall. When you do muck about the city, you're usually with your entourage that I can't approach." Lips turned into a pout. Eyes a little hopeful.

"So, you're spying on me." He reaffirmed. A roll of his eyes, and tilt of his chin. He shifted then, setting his center towards the bar as he sipped from his wine. He set the glass down.

Wynevra unhooked her hand from her pocket, to reach out to set a kind palm towards his shoulder. She didn't get the opportunity before Emrys swatted it away.

"You don't touch a Lord without permission, Wynevra." he lowered his tone and turned his attention back to her.

"You're my brother. I can --"

"Legally, not really anymore. Look at us. We don't even look the same! And now, we don't even share the same name, nor rank. If I could remove our shared blood from my veins, I would." Venom. Disdain. His emerald gaze went cold, hard, as his brows. "Now, be grateful that I'm not ordering you into the Stocks. I can do that now." He shifted standing tall at first before leaning now to whisper in her ear. "*I can make you disappear with just some signed paperwork."*

Wynevra didn't know how to react to that. She stood still for what felt like an eternity. Quiet moments ticked on the clock near them. The hair on the back of her neck raised, her skin prickled, and for a moment- Wynevra felt like it was the Dollmaker speaking to her. Like a flustered bird, she stepped back and looked away. "At least I'm *trying* to fix us. I just want to be on good terms with you and the House again."

The smug bastard raised to his full height and readjusted his glasses by the center of their frames. "And you assume I want either of those things to happen. You forget, *I'm the Inquisitor*. It's *my* judgement whether an offender like you gets their ban lifted. I am the judge, jury, and occasionally executioner." A cocky smile, lackadaisical in its' expression, as he waited to revel in her presumably pitiful demeanor for that one.

"No wonder your girlfriend left you. Twice." Wynevra retorted. She didn't stick around to receive the punishment for that one. There was already space between them, and she stepped off from her lean at the bar to depart.

And suddenly, he felt very hollow. His confidence parked itself somewhere deep inside of him to make way for white, hot, intense rage. Had he been holding his wine glass, perhaps he'd break it. He white knuckled and clenched his fists, while the vein in his neck announced its' presence under his clenched jaw. If only they weren't in this crowded bar. If only he needn't be a faux-amnesiac. The things The Void, The Dollmaker, Emrys; would do to that insolent woman. For now, she had the final word; and the pair of snakes had traded another one-up on the other. He watched her leave, rage building with every step she took away.

He turned to face the bar and set his fingerpads to the counter. He pressed his grip into the wood until the skin around his fingernails turned white. His pendant struggled to keep the rising magical aura about him down, but for now, it held. How he wished to allow his temper to reign free, to allow Light and Shadow to explode from him and remove the witnesses in the bar.

That was the thing, though. People talk, and the actions of the blonde and red-head hadn't gone unnoticed. Patrons sipped from their drinks, Colin had been in earshot for some of it. While some words had been lost to the murmur of the crowd, body language told stories of its' own.

"Leave it to a felon to notice when jewelry goes missing..." he whispered to himself. He took a breath, let his tension leave him. He was grumpy again as he smoothed his hand through his bangs to straighten them. He'd lost his appetite for his wine, and, soon; he'd leave too. Back to the consulate, back to Ebonfall, and back to his now empty bed.