The golden coins and chains softly clinked under Aldanith's hands. He rolled over on the pile of gold in the middle or his room, topped with cushions and blankets, and sled off it with the elegance so typical for him. The sun behind the two windows in the stone was slowly setting, and many candles, burning in his chamber, were glowing with dim light, reflected by the silver and gold, scattered around.
His left hand sunk into his hair and slicked it back, although it fell back into his face just a moment later. He was certain about his decision... The person who he chose for his second-in-command and successor, was a good choice, and he believed that Deacon will be able and will lead the outlaws with an iron hand just as he did.
He grabbed a shirt, laying nearby, and put it on without any greater concern than rolling the sleeves up. A bright fire burned in his chamber, but it was quite cold in the main hall of the lair. The door, leading into the room, banged behind him, and he quickly walked down the stairs into the underground hall.
There were numerous outlaws in the hall, since it was time for dinner for many of them, and the noise of their conversations and clinking and thudding dishes was echoing between the walls. There was smoke from the candles and fire pits, above which were roasting beasts, and the smell of ale and beer was only a step from being too strong for Aldanith's keen senses.
He walked to the closest outlaw, and leaned over the table. "Get me Deacon. I want to have a word with him." he said calmly. The dark elf immediately stood up and nodded, searching for the outlaw in the hall.
The hall was about as noisy as you'd expect at dinnertime with a bunch of criminals. Small scuffles broke out here and there over a scrap of food, though there was enough to go around if you wanted to be honest. Still, they were all thieves and greed ran deep. One such argument was stirring at the table farthest from the boss's room.
Two men had grabbed a large hunk of bread at the same time and were debating on who deserved it more. They were about two seconds away from raising their fists over it when a soft 'thunk' sounded. The loaf was pinned to the table by a sleek throwing knife. Both elves stopped to stare at the man seated at the head of that particular table.
A look of boredom was on Deacon's face as he admonished them both. "Uncultured swine, you're like animals."
A delicate hand appeared over one of their shoulders, plucking the knife from the table and taking the bread with it. "Silly children, when you don't behave mommy and daddy have to take your toys away."
"Desire, don't say naughty things." Deacon smirked, hand held out as his twin sister brought both knife and reward to him. A moment later someone came up to him and told him that the boss wanted to see him. Well wasn't that interesting. "Desire, if the children misbehave while I'm away, spank them for me, would you dear?"
"My pleasure, brother."
Rising to his feet with a smirk, his twin sister immediately took his seat; he left the bread behind, but put his knife back in its hiding place. Weaving his way through the hectic hall, Deacon made his way to where Aldanith was standing. Giving a loose salute, he grinned at the leader of their merry band of misfits. "Evening Boss, what can I do for ya?"
Aldanith kept his cold, uninvolved grimace, and without saying a word, he gestured Deacon to follow him up the narrow stairs. His feet were completely noiseless on the steps, and he took them by two, as he used to, not wasting any time. The heat was rising in the corridor as they ascended, and Aldanith eventually took his shirt off.
He never felt comfortable wearing anything but armour... And why even wear anything when you're not outside? It was common for him to walk around bare-chested, with only his gauntlets, bracers and shoulderguards.
They approached the wide wooden door, covered by iron bars. Aldanith stopped, and crossed his arms on his chest. "You know why you're here?" he asked silently, aiming his piercing, hypnotizing gaze at the other elf.
Well he hadn't exactly expected a cheerful greeting, and Deacon easily took the cold, stony silence in stride as he was gestured to follow. Taking the steps two at a time was no problem, light on his feet and bursting with thinly-veiled curiosity. Their boss could be as much of a grumpy sourpuss as he wanted, no reason for that to rain on Deacon's parade.
Though it did seem a bit odd that he was being led up to Aldanith's room. What tantalizing business was going on? He was eager to find out as they approached the door, and he wondered if he would actually be going inside.
Crimson eyes gleamed as he met the gaze, a smirk twisted on his lips. "I'm guessing that it isn't for a tea party."
Aldanith laughed. "More likely a wine party. I bloody hate tea." he smirked, and opened the door. Leading Deacon into the shadowy chamber, filled with piles of gold, scattered on the stones and hung on the stolen furniture, he threw the dark shirt somewhere afar.
There was one wide bed, hanging on chains from the ceiling, in a smaller semi-circular niche on the other side of the room, weapons and armour on the walls, several smaller tables, chairs, hunting trophies and other expensive (but none actually bought) furniture, but the most dominant feature was the large pile of gold in the middle. Aldanith used to sleep on it like a dragon, covered in dark furs and exquisite fabrics, and it was even larger than his actual bed.
He just passed the gold, and led Deacon to a smaller chamber. There, a large wooden desk stood in the middle, and around it were countless shelves with scrips, scrolls and books. Again, there was gold around, and a great, ornate throne behind the table. The dark elf nonchalantly sat onto it across the armrests, leaning against one, and letting his legs hang over the other.
An opened bottle of mead stood on the table. He grabbed it, and took a drink from it, gesturing Deacon to sit down on the other chair in front of the table.
Deacon joined in on the laughter for a moment. Breaking Aldanith's stony glare was a personal triumph for him. It was a real downer when everyone was so cranky - killed the buzz of the ale and the high of another successful day of trouble-making.
As they walked through the room, his red eyes lit-up at the tantalizing glitter of gold and silver. What he wouldn't give to just snatch as much as he could carry. That would be incredibly stupid, of course, and so he shoved his itching fingers in his pockets. There would be plenty of opportunity for stealing such treasures from someone else.
They entered the smaller chamber with the desk and he flopped into the chair in front of the desk, though he eyed the throne without even attempting to hide the admiration that gleamed in red eyes. "Nice chair, Boss."
"It takes a lot of talent to steal a chair." Aldanith laughed, and dropped the bottle back onto the table with a loud thud. "If you can find a goblet in this mess, pour yourself. But I drank from the bottle." he offered him with a wink, and stretched his arms nonchalantly.
"So, you know what are you doing here? Not many people are invited up..." he shrugged, and hung one of his arms on an ornament on the throne, sticking out from its side. "I can assure you it's nothing wrong with you..."
He enjoyed playing mind games with his underlings - most of them were dumb as stumps in comparison to him, and quite easily tricked, though Deacon was an exception. A quite pleasant one... And that's what made him choose. He didn't want a complete idiot to take care of about a hundred of outlaws while he's away.
Deacon smirked, but did not laugh. Depending on the method, stealing a chair really wasn't all that hard. Go in, kill the family, take every chair, china, and tapestry, leave the walls bare. Not so hard. Not that he was going to make such a comment to Aldanith, he rather liked his head right where it was at - firmly attached to his shoulders.
"Ah yes, the ultimate question...why am I here?" He threw one leg over the other, lounging back in his chair and steepling his fingers to peer at the other elf thoughtfully before speaking. "I know that I've broken no rules to need reprimanded, and you confirmed that I am not here because of a transgression, so that leaves only one or two logical options for this visit.
"The first would be that you wish to entrust me with an important task, mission, or duty. As I am probably the most intelligent, handsome, and capable man in our group - aside from you, of course - that seems the most likely. Or for some reason you have deemed me a threat - unlikely - and wish to eliminate me."
Grinning devilishly, he peered at his leader without a hint of trepidation. "A good guess?"
Aldanith gave him a disappointed glance, and took another drink from the bottle. "I may have overestimated you, and you may trust yourself too much, Deacon. Both guesses wrong. If I wanted to give you a mission, I wouldn't have taken you upstairs... And neither would I do so if I wanted you dead. I don't want mess in my room..."
He put the bottle down. "The reason why you are here is, actually, better than you may have expected. You showed me quite exceptional abilities, and you're not a bloody idiot like every other bas- person in here." His arm outstretched to the table and he softly scratched its slightly singed edges.
"I don't feel like dying any soon. But if that was to happen, I need a successor... And someone to command this band of retards while I'm away. Also, my successor will become my apprentice, and will inherit all my wealth if I'd kick off. I feel like everybody in here is stupid as hell, and I don't want someone like that to get all this bloody gold. You have some brain. I want you to be the second-in-command, and my successor and heir."
His ice blue eyes glinted from beneath the scruffy wisps of his stark white hair, sliding down his face, as he bent his head back, and drank a little more from the sweet mead.
Trust himself too much? The very notion was preposterous. In a lawless world the only person you really could trust was yourself, and he honestly didn't think he was being overconfident or arrogant. Still, he bit his tongue and let Aldanith speak. Arguing with the boss wasn't going to get him anywhere and it could be painful.
Of course the smirk was wiped off his face as he was told what was really going on. Rather he arched a brow coolly at the other elf. It was really hard for him to keep such a composed expression. That wasn't really what he'd expected. Not that he didn't think he was the perfect man for the job - he totally was - but he'd never thought himself particularly close to the leader.
Clearing his throat he tried to keep his tone in his usual light and cheerful barb. "Oh my, what an honor. I do admit that I would love to get my hands on all this gold at some point, and it's true that most of those downstairs are little more than weak-minded apes. Such a wise leader to choose me."
Aldanith chuckled, but it was a hard sound, cruel and bleak like his own cold heart. "A hand on this gold? Eyes, maybe. But I'm not meaning to die any soon. Plus, you must realize, that I am still your superior." he said, stretching his neck, and he reached up, showing the intricate patterns that adorned his gauntlets. A chain with an iron pendant sled to the side of his chest as he bent himself into almost inhuman poses.
"The training is mandatory. If you have ever seen where I exercise - you will soon be, too. I want you to train an hour a day at the very least. I spend there three hours every day, and I expect you to show dedication in improving your abilities." He twisted his head to the side, staring at Deacon. "And I want you to study. You'll get a separate room, but you have to have a time table compatible with mine, and I want to know what you're doing to become a good potential leader. Understood?" He raised a brow, and grabbed the bottle again.
Few people planned on dying, what a stupid sentiment. Only the weak looked forward to dying. Deacon was slightly irritated, did Aldanith take him for a fool? Of course he knew that the elf before him was still his superior, he'd never implied that he wasn't. Dealing with the boss was so much easier when he wasn't around. At least now he knew what it must be like for people when they were being looked down on by him.
"If you train three hours, I'll train five. Don't underestimate me, Boss, I will push myself to the very limits of elven ability if that's what it takes." Thank god he could read and write, the studying would be tedious, but doable. "You just tell me where and when, I'll go on any schedule you need me to."
Nobody would ever accuse him of not trying hard enough or of failing. Deacon would never let that happen.
Aldanith grinned. Even on his fair face, it was a twisted grimace. He'll make Deacon train until all his strength is drained... And then take him, break him, and mend what will be left into a stronger man. Just like he was broken so long ago...
"I wanted to see your reaction. I train all day. And you will, too. If you plan on pushing yourself to the limits... I will make you go beyond them. Wake up before sunrise, and fall asleep after midnight. If you can't take it, I will find another to take the place... But I put my hopes into you. You're one of the few gifted people in this pit." he said, and elegantly sled off his throne. He unsheathed Bloodstorm, and pointed its tip at Deacon.
"Now stand up and show me what you can do." he growled.
Deacon smirked as he listened to what Aldanith intended for him. No one would be taking his place. There wasn't another soul in this miserable group of flea-bitten vermin that could match him, either in wits(his sister came close to brains, but not even remotely brawn) or skill with a blade. The only one was standing before him, pointing a sword at him.
Standing smoothly, he laughed softly. "I like your style, Boss. Always have. Men like us have too much to do to waste time. Don't hold back, I sure as hell won't."
He was over the desk in an instant, a dagger in each hand. Deacon didn't go for a direct approach, rather he tried to slide around the sword and catch Aldanith in the side. Not seeing them both bleeding before this was over would be the greatest disappointment he could possibly imagine.
Aldanith laughed, and Frostdeath appeared in his other hand. The blades clinked softly as he clashed their sides together... "Do I ever hold back? No. Hell, only idiots hold back." he winged off.
And after that, he did a very unexpected thing - leaped into the air, and swiftly throwing himself off the armrest of the other chair, he landed on the table. He took a defensive stance, slightly bending his knees and back, and held the scimitars before him.
It was a strategic position, as it was easier for one to defend himself on a high place, than on the ground, and he had much more options up here - kicking, slashing, smacking, everything was simpler. He was prepared for Deacon's attack, standing on his tiptoes, and ready to either jump away, or charge forth any moment.
Why waste breath on words? His opponent had leaped and jumped to the desk, a good position, to be sure, but not entirely unexpected. After all, he'd have taken the desk if he thought he could have held it for more than two seconds.
Jumping to the top of the throne Deacon used it as a launching board, rising into the air and spinning gracefully to come down at Aldanith from above, daggers ready to clash against blades. The reach of the other's swords put Deacon at a disadvantage, but his boss was shirtless, where he had boiled leather armor protecting his chest.
Aldanith's hands, gripping the crossed scimitars, arose before himself and defended him from Deacon's blow, throwing the younger elf off. He was stronger and swifter, but the lack of clothing proved as a disadvantage. He will have to use his blades as both weapons and a shield.
He didn't doubt himself, though. In a quick spin, he jumped from the desk onto the tall armrests of the throne, and balanced on them like an acrobat on a rope.
The blades came together with a sharp clang, Deacon had hoped coming down hard from above would be enough to counter the superior strength of the other, but as quickly as the blades came together they were pushed apart again.
Hitting the floor with a grunt, Deacon rolled and lept right back up, spinning in the air again as he pushed the attack, making a quick strike at his opponent's stomach. Let Aldanith take the defensive position, he much preferred offense anyway.
Aldanith leaped into the air, avoiding Deacon's strike, and in a great spin, aimed to land on him with either his feet, or smite him with the scimitars, as sharp as razors. His feet threw him off the chair, flipping it over, and he was suddenly in the air, like an arrow, fired from a tense bowstring.
He stopped with defense, and once already in battle, took an offensive stance, pushing his opponent into the corner. If Deacon wouldn't roll out of his way, he would surely land straight on him...
It was refreshing to have someone pit against him that was as fast - if not faster - than himself. Humans were slow, cumbersome beasts, and very poor sport. They simply died too quickly. As Aldanith leaped out of his strike, Deacon gave a laugh as he threw himself back, reversing his momentum and retreating a few feet so as to avoid those wicked fangs of steel.
Daggers spun in his hands before coming up, already ready for the next attack to be launched at him. To think he'd only gotten to be on the attack a few seconds before being pushed to defensive action.
Aldanith expected Deacon to get out of his way, and landed on his bent legs, swiftly standing up again, brandishing his blades against the other elf. He was fast... Possibly even as fast as Aldanith himself. Finally some worthy opponent, and not a stupid wild beast, or clumsy, weak human. This was true fun... Especially because he knew his chambers, and Deacon didn't.
It was easy to slip on a pile of gold... This young one will have to be careful not to do so.
His hands arose to smite Deacon with two strikes at once, one aimed at his stomach, while the other one flew towards his shoulders and neck.
A smirk danced on dark lips, blood drop eyes glittered with a twisted mirth as those blades came at him. It was such a rush of adrenaline. Daggers would never be able to stop a direct attack like that, but he knew what to do. Steel met steel in both instances, though his wrists flicked and those long blades glanced across turned blades. A redirect of their powerful swing was the only counter he had.
Even as he blocked and twisted his body to avoid his boss' attacks, Deacon pushed forward. Aldanith's blade that had aimed at his stomach scraped across leather as it barely grazed his side. He didn't even notice. As he got close Deacon brought his elbow up to strike at the other's face.
Aldanith stepped back in another spin, blocking Deacon's strike with his blade as he moved backwards a little. His forearm parried the young elf's elbow with ease. It was is turn.
When Deacon raised his arm, he left his side undefended, and that was an opportunity for Aldanith. Bloodstorm was aimed at his side, and to assure himself further that he will throw his opponent against the shelves, his knee, armoured in hard leather, flashed to hit Deacon right into his stomach with great strength and speed.
With a snarl Deacon jerked one blade to deflect the strike at his side, having no intention of taking that blade to the gut, but he couldn't twist away in time to keep from being kneed in the stomach, knocking the air out of him as he stumbled back with a pained gasp.
His back hit something and he brought his daggers up to try to defend, not liking having his back to the wall.
Aldanith's lips twisted to a confident smirk as he pressed Deacon onto the wall, but he knew that he isn't victorious - yet. He defended himself against the daggers with Frostdeath, and Bloodstorm once again slashed at Deacon.
With his left foot, he attempted to kick him into the shin to break his balance and make him collapse onto the ground, where he would be more vulnerable. His boots were considerably hard...
Deacon dropped and rolled to the side, Bloodstorm came so close to him he could feel the wind coming off the blade. Rising back to his feet out of the roll he jumped and twisted, landing on the desk, facing Aldanith with a look of grim determination. He didn't want to get maimed today, he really didn't.
In the heat of battle he didn't even notice the slowly spreading dark stain at his side where he'd been grazed by one of those nasty swords. Though he did wish that he at least had his short swords, his daggers have plenty of maneuverability, but having a little more power behind his attacks would have been nice.
Aldanith turned after him only a moment after Deacon narrowly avoided his blow, and jumped up at the table behind the young elf's back in an attempt to push him off it. Not that he would be overly find of two pairs of boots, stomping on the heavy wood...
He raised his hand to slash after Deacon's revealed neck. The neck was the most vulnerable place, unarmoured and not hidden either beneath armour, or hair like his own.
This was getting exasperating! As fast as he moved, he couldn't seem to get a step ahead. Actually, Deacon was pretty sure he was losing ground, rather than gaining or even holding it. Aldanith was on the table behind him a split second after his feet touched the wood.
There was a moment of panic as he realized that the blade was coming for his neck again. Was he trying to kill him? Falling back he dropped from the table, landing on his back on the floor looking up, anger blazing in his crimson eyes.
Aldanith jumped off the table after him, landing on a great pile of gold beside it, but the coins, chains and jewels betrayed him. His feet sled beneath him and he collapsed onto his back. It was far too quick for him to do anything than twist his body aside a little.
His head hit the side of the table, and he sled onto the floor. For a short moment, dark spots danced before his eyes, and he delved into his hair with his hand, pressing the side that he hit on the wood. "Oh, f***. Never fight drunk..." he groaned.
"We can either take this as finished, or continue." he offered, grabbing the bottle of mead, that was somehow still intact, and downing what was in it.
This fight was not ending that quickly. No way was this over, especially not with Aldanith fallen and finally in a position to let Deacon try to take the upper hand. Only fools failed to press and advantage. He was on his feet and launched at Aldanith in less than a second, he didn't even wait for him to finish speaking.
"HA! Had enough?" He asked with a smirk as he attempted to land on top of Aldanith, daggers poised in a downward strike.
Aldanith rolled out of Deacon's way before the young elf would have landed right on him. Not that he would really expect him to stop... That was one of the reasons why he chose him - he knew he isn't going to be a coward.
It took him only a moment to stand up and flash around Deacon to find himself aside him. He leaped into the air, and taking off the wall after a few steps on it, he threw himself onto Deacon's back in a great spin. Bloodstorm and Frostdeath in his outstretched arms were pointed at his back, and Aldanith flew through the air like a wild cat, with the elegance and lightness that didn't even seem human.
This was what he called real fun...
A spectator might have become dizzy watching the pair of them, Aldanith had managed to avoid his attack and get behind him in the time it took to take a single breath.
Deacon twisted his body, bringing his daggers up to crash against the long blades, a smirk crossed his face even as he fell backwards, bringing his legs up to kick at Aldanith's stomach and hopefully use the way his boss was moving to send him flying right over him.
Aldanith noticed Deacon's movement, but instead of simply shielding himself and blocking the attacks, he decided to do something better. Use his current location and pose to launch himself over the young elf.
The blades of the scimitars clashed against the daggers, and hooked underneath them, wile Aldanith's body vertically twisted itself around. The sound of screeching metal filled the air as he pulled Bloodstorm and Frostdeath back to himself, and he gracefully landed on the ground behind Deacon, bent over on his tiptoes. He turned around while standing, and launched another series of lightning-fast slashes, pushing Deacon back. Most of them were aimed at his throat and head, and seemingly deadly, but Aldanith was confident about his ability to stop the blade right before it pierces the skin.
Deacon snarled as the other elf twisted in the air above him, in an instant he whirled around, daggers rising to meet scimitars, the sharp metallic clang of battle ringing through the chamber as he met each swift strike with a counter of his own.
While his expression remained a smirk, there were little tell-tale signs that maybe he wasn't as confident of being able to beat Aldanith. The boss had years more experience - more than five decades worth. Deacon was too busy defending to press an attack.
Aldanith kept pressing on Deacon, trying to push him out of the open door into the main chamber, which offered far more place for maneuvring. The ceiling was high even in this one, but he would prefer not to destroy all the scrolls and books in the shelves. Plus, the big room was not filled with furniture.
He used Frostdeath as defense and attacked with Bloodstorm, dodging the young elf's hits and striking himself, and step by step, he pushed him into the shadowy chamber behind the open door.
A victorious smirk appeared on his thin lips, though he knew it's not yet over. He could not help it - he deemed having this much fun almost impossible.
With each strike of steel, Deacon found himself being pushed back. He hated the idea of being herded like a lamb, but the only option was to keep falling back at the fast and vicious onslaught. The floor was also its own challenge to contend with. The piles of gold scattered about haphazardly provided treacherous footing at best.
His daggers flashed in quick strikes and blocks, over and over again, even as he continued to step back, eyes flickering about for some leverage to use to his advantage.
Aldanith kept pressing on him, and pushing him deeper and deeper into the main room with lightning fast strikes, but the gold on the ground betrayed even its owner.
He stepped onto a small golden plate, but its curved surface twisted beneath him and broke his balance. With the other foot in the air, he couldn't possibly stop himself from falling, and collapsed straight onto Deacon's daggers. He felt a blade grazing the skin above his elbow and his warm blood flowing down his arm.
It was inevitable for him to fall face down straight onto the floor - or on Deacon.
It was really just a stroke of luck in Deacon's favor when Aldanith slipped on one of his many treasures. Oh the irony that the boss' hordes of gold would betray him. Though it could just have easily went the other way around.
As the other fell towards him, Deacon danced back a step then twisted to the side, jumping on Aldanith's back hastening his fall, dagger blades pressed lightly against the back of his neck. A laugh echoed through the room.
Aldanith only felt how he crashed into the ground. He twisted his body aside in the last minute, but it didn't stop his head from falling straight onto the stones and coins. Sharp pain hit him as his head bashed into the floor, and darkness enveloped him right after.
He lost his conscience and sled onto the ground like a rag doll.
Little shockwaves of giddiness coursed through Deacon, had he really just won? Aldanith lay on the floor unconscious, and he was straddling his back, daggers pressed to exposed flesh. Oh yeah, he was definitely the victor here. Except, well shit, now the boss was on the floor unconscious. Well wasn't that a bitch? It was always nice to win, but this was kind of a fluke, wasn't it?
Sighing, Deacon got up and sheathed his daggers. When nudging the boss lightly with his foot did nothing, red eyes surveyed the room for a moment before he shook his head. "The things I do for these people." He grumbled as he bent down and grabbed the unconscious elf by the arms and dragged him across the room to the hanging bed.
Hoisting Aldanith up, he rolled him onto the mattress before hunting down a bottle of wine from the racks along the wall, after taking a swig for himself he dipped his fingers in the liquid before flicking it lightly on the boss' face with a grin. "Rise and shine sleepy head."
Darkness in his mind got somewhat lost at the stench and taste of wine, and Aldanith opened his eyes with a groan. His head was throbbing, and was he on... His bed? Why?
He glanced at Deacon, reaching for the side of his head. "Uhm... Did I just... Did you...?" he muttered, raising a brow at the younger elf. Only then he noticed the drops of blood on his arm. "Shit. Guess I've lost this." he growled, and wiped the blood off his skin.
"I see you found my wine... You're pretty quick. Though I have to thank you for pulling me up on the bed." he grinned, and reached after the bottle to have a rather large drink from it, too. "Never fight drunk, or you're in deep shit."
Deacon settled into a chair beside the bed while Aldanith came around, the newly appointed second-in-command made himself right at home. "I'm afraid so, Boss. You lost, but don't feel bad, at least it was to me and not some pathetic greenhorn."
He grinned and touched his side, then showed off blood stained fingers. "Plus you got me pretty good. Desire's gonna gripe at me while she's fixing me up." He smirked, his sister was going to shit a brick when she found out that he'd gotten a promotion AND beaten the boss in a duel.
"Finding things is what I do, Boss, and no problem on the bed. I could have left you on the floor, but just cause I whipped your ass don't mean I can't be nice-like about it." Deacon smirked.
Aldanith smirked. "You just got a bit lucky. I was winning. Don't get too confident - if I weren't drunk and if we wouldn't fight inside, I'd have kicked your ass into the dust." he winged off.
"And remember that we're training since tomorrow's morning... If you know what sweating blood is like, then be prepared for twice the hell." he reminded him. He already knew what he had prepared for him...
He took another swig from the bottle, and stretched himself on the bed, nonchalantly unbuckling the gauntlets. "I should call someone to bring food... Or you could." he decided. "Yeah. Go tell the first rat you meet to bring me a plate of meat."
"Yeah, yeah..." Deacon waved his hand dismissively. "Just let me bask in my moment of glory, would ya?"
The younger elf grimaced as he was reminded that training started the next morning. Well, he had said he was up to the challenge, but damn, after over two hundred years you'd think he was trained enough. Though he had a feeling this was going to be a lot more of a bitch than anything he'd done before.
"Sure thing, Boss. One huge hunk of meat coming up." Deacon got up smirking, but hurried to do as he'd been told. As soon as he was in the main hall he was ambushed by Desire, who was glaring at him.
"What in the hell took you so long? These gorillas would know an insult from a compliment, and they're drunk and touchy-feely." She pouted, not liking when the other outlaws hit on her.
"Oh stop whining and fetch a nice big plate of roast for the boss, would ya?" She gave him a sour look and stuck her tongue out at him before stalking off to do as she was told. Not bothering to wait he ran back up the steps and sauntered back over to the chair by the bed.
"My sister is bringing it, but she's a lazy, slow bitch, probably should have asked somebody else." He chuckled, but the Boss had said the first rat he saw...
"I am not slow or lazy, and I'm not your serving wench either." Desire snapped, as she appeared carrying a large platter of meat, bringing it over to the bed and scowling unhappily at her twin brother.
Aldanith chuckled, but it was a somewhat hard, cold sound, and took the plate from her hands. "Sure you aren't, pretty..." he winked at her, and gestured her to leave. "If you excuse us, we have business to discuss with your brother."
His fingers grabbed a piece of the roasted meat and gracefully dropped it into his mouth. He ate with the elegance of a noble, though maybe too excessively exposing his tongue and teeth while he bit into the flank between his fingers. It was definitely far from both other outlaws, eating like beasts, but also normal people. He dined with pleasure from the process itself, and showed it off so much that it came out almost provocative.
"Have some. I'm so not going to eat this all." he offered Deacon, waving his hand at the meat.
Desire's red eyes flashed dangerously as Aldanith took the plate, his words caught him nothing but a haughty sniff and she left with her nose stuck up in the air, hips swaying provocatively as she retreated from the room. Deacon just shook his head with a smirk. His sister thought herself high indeed, but then again, he hadn't exactly discouraged her superiority complex over the years. He was equally as arrogant as she was.
"I think she needs to go out dancing, been too long since she was to put to actual work." He mumbled, thinking about setting up a job for his sister. Idle hands and minds got dangerous, and his sister was more dangerous than some.
Pulling a strip of meat from the roast and popping it into his mouth, savoring the flavor before licking the grease - arguably the tastiest part - off his fingers, Deacon watched Aldanith with a sort of amusement. "You look like you're having way too much fun with your food, Boss."
"Food's always way too much fun if you know how to eat it..." Aldanith mumbled, staring at Desire, elegantly walking towards the door. Her hips were moving in an almost hypnotizing rhythm, and he could hardly pull his eyes away from them. Damn, she was really pretty!
At last, when the hard wooden door closed behind him, he turned his attention back at Deacon. "Uhm, yeah, yeah, you definitely should get her something to do. Better not let the others lay a hand on her, uh?" he winked, and put another piece of meat into his mouth with the same kind of grace as before. The grease, dripping off his fingers, was just wiped into his trousers, and he continued eating.
"But back to the subject." he said, eventually pushing the half-empty plate away. "I have a few questions to ask you... Nothing you should be afraid about. Mostly stuff you know and stuff you can do. Answer honestly, because if not, it can get you into trouble. Everything you say is going to be used..." His ice-cold gaze was aimed straight at him, piercing and hard.
Deacon snorted, watching Aldanith watching his sister. He knew that his twin was gorgeous and seductive, they hadn't called her Desire for no reason, after all. A flare of anger and jealousy flashed in his dark red eyes, not liking the way the boss was eyeballing his dear sister as she left them to their business.
"I don't let anyone lay their hands on her." He said pointedly, and he hoped that Aldanith recognized that he meant him too. It was definitely high time to move his sister out of this cesspool and put her back to working the taverns and inns. Her dancing always produced results, depending on the crowd, quite good ones. Ripping off a room full of mesmerized merchants or lords was easy work for his sister.
Sighing, Deacon rested his elbow on the armrest of his chair and cupped his chin in his hand, watching Aldanith, returning the cold, piercing gaze with one that was more than a little irritated, mostly still thinking about Desire. "Ask away, Boss. I'm an open book to you."
The edges of Aldanith's mouth twisted to a confident smirk. "Good. I don't want you to get into trouble." he said, completely ignoring his first remark. He knew he could get rid of Deacon, if he wanted, and claim Desire for himself, but his need for a good heir and second-in-command was bigger than the beastly desire for a girl that he'd only see for a night or two, anyway.
"Then let us move onto the questions. Nothing personal, don't worry... I've seen your fighting style and experienced it myself, unfortunately only for a short while. I'd only like you to describe your strengths and weaknesses in combat, your abilities, preferred weapons, and so on. I know you can ride a wolf, but what about a dragon? And swimming?" he raised a brow. Many outlaws weren't able to swim, what sometimes proved fatal, and he wanted to make sure that Deacon won't be a victim to such mistake.