A Formal Party

Mazikeen sat in a corner of her room in the Silverguard Halls. The Rogue didn’t keep a home of her own, though her mother’s old house (much of it repaired by those who had fond memories and old debts to the healer) was officially under her care. This was how she liked it–permanent homes frightened her a bit: if the need should arise, she liked the idea that she could get up and walk out of a place and not be leaving anything valuable behind.

Now however, those weren’t the foremost things on her mind. The door to the room was locked, and she was curled up in the corner furthest away from it. Any furniture that was orginally there had been pushed out of the way. It would be hard to see her, having made her body so small–but it wasn’t for show, or because she expected any kind of intrusion. Her body language mirriored how she felt: little and confused, backed into a tight space. Her journal was resting against her propped up knees, and beside her, resting on the floor, was a rose that had mostly dried now, after being pressed between the pages of the large leather-bound book.

In one hand she held the quill she was writing with, and in the other a well-crafted, brightly shimmering necklace.

Damn it.

Just, damn.

The formal party was tonight. Generally I’m not one to get well, overly excited ’bout parties. And for good reason, so it seems. I just… just wanted a good night. A happy night. Lisette even convinced me that I should go in a dress, and I did!

Started off well ’nuff. ‘Parently Achates even had a date, which was heart-warming in it’s own way. Zaliron made a scene of that, must’ve laid his pride low. Then he made a scene outta Miralan’s formal attire (though I s’pose it’s kinda hard t’blame him for that–was a bit shocking). Few minutes later he asked me to dance.

I probably should’ve said no, and been blunt ’bout it. Truth is though, much’s I tease Zaliron (gods know I ain’t the only one, or the worst one) there’s a part’ve me that’s curious. Maybe just curious ’cause of how much everyone else seems t’dislike him, maybe curious ’cause for all’ve how he treats Achates and dresses like a king, he’s a fool around women. Instead… ’stead I drew Aysera into it, which I’m sure she ain’t none too happy about. Told ‘im I’d dance with him if Aysera would dance with someone. Didn’t mean for it to be anything more’n playing, but Zaliron took it hard. Guess there’s only so many jokes you can have at someone’s expense ‘fore it sinks in.

Aysera ended up dancing with Erunen, so I kept my word. Zaliron didn’t seem so pleased at first, but after a bit of coaxing he allowed me to keep my end of the deal. We danced for a bit, and he… offered me a necklace that he had made. I was a bit stunned, honestly. I accepted. Why? Damn it.

It was going beyond just being playful, beyond just having a good time. I should have ended it. I had thought, Zaliron of all people, for all his flirting, would understand just wantin’ to have some fun. I should have thought more about it… but… I know I ain’t the prettiest of girls. I don’t paint my face in any make-up, or dress in the best clothes. I know I ain’t what Zaliron would be really lookin’ for, and that doesn’t bother me. I’m a big girl, right? I can handle knowin’ that. It was just nice to feel almost like one of those pretty soft girls for once. Nothin’ I’d like doin’ on a regular basis, but, well, it was nice while it lasted.

The Troll Kaste had come with Ysabelle. I guess she’s made outta harder stuff than I’d've thought, iff’n she’s willing to open herself up to the ridicule that might’ve come down on her shoulders. I’ve got no problem with Kaste, or at least, had none. It’s a tough lot in life, being a Troll that has a lot’ve dealings with Elves, and I’m not fool ’nuff to deny that. Kaste and Zaliron have some bad blood, which I’m sure Ysabelle’s got a stake in if I remember Zaliron’s branding ceremony.

Kaste told me… well, announced it really… that Zaliron had a machine in his basement that he uses to torture creatures, like Trolls, for fun. Achates andYsabelle were quick to assert that yes, this was true, each in their own way.

The ink was smeared here, where Mazikeen stopped. When the nervous trembles of anger ran their course, she began writing again.

I don’t know who to be more angry with–Zaliron becuase of the fact that he would have such a machine, or Kaste and Ysabelle for using the opportunity to attack him. They say that they wanted to ‘protect’ me, and I believe this to some extent…

…but I’m not a fool. I was used. I was the tool they used to get to him–and in public, during a party! Ysabelle even went s’far as to say that she didn’t want to see me ‘bruised up’ or some such, after her husband did the same to her. T’say such a thing at a formal gathering, such an accusation, and what’s more imply that I wouldn’t be able to handle myself–against Zaliron?

What sets my blood to boil is that she said that I could handle myself, just a few moments before the tensions hit their peak. Then she turns around, and says something like this? That kind of ‘conduct’ only makes me that much more sure that it wasn’t about saving me at all. Right then I felt like that damned dress was a joke, the night was a joke. I am what I am, and that ain’t something that’s gonna be manipulated so bluntly.

Maybe it was the wake-up-call I needed though: if I am what I am, that sure don’t include something Zaliron could ever really want. It’d be stupid and cruel of me to pretend otherwise, whether it meant tryin’ to fool him or me or both of us.

And there is that machine. How… gods. Achates was right. Part of me is interested, but every other fiber of my being is in revolt. Rogue business ain’t exactly pretty, and I’ve never fooled myself that Warlock business’d be any better. Knowing this, and seein’ how he treats Achates, I can’t refuse to believe my own damn eyes. There’s somethin’ in him that enjoys feelin’ strong by making others feel weak, whether’r not he says he’d never use sucha machine for “fun”.

But I’d be damned more’n a thousand times over ‘fore I’d play a saint. Most of me’s very clear about leavin’ well enough alone, and letting Zaliron find someone more like him, even if it means him hatin’ me in the long run. But there’s this gods-damned nagging feeling in my gut that’s insistin’ that I’m a liar if I tell myself that I’m any less corrupt; the same part of me that would almost want to see that machine. It’s the same part that doesn’t care if I ain’t what’s best for Zaliron, that says I shouldn’t bother caring whether or not I end up hurting him or he hates me a day from now, and that I should go to him. I tell myself I can’t do that, because I’m not like that, I’m not that selfish. I’m not the kinda person that can knowingly step inside of someone else’s heart and take everything I can, without regard.

So why do I feel this aching in my bones, something crying out hungrily that ‘Like calls to like‘, and I can tell myself whatever I want, but it don’t change a damn thing?

Mazikeen stopped, and rubbed at her temples with an exhausted sigh.

I got the potions from Karios today. She was happy to oblige, in return for my protection of her business. I trust her.

I don’t know if I should wait, but I do know that I won’t. Maybe this’ll help take my mind off’ve Zaliron and that mess. I’ll go to Aysera tomorrow. Doubt I’ll be able to sleep, so I suppose I’ll just go prowling ’bout Silvermoon for a while.

Though obviously tired out of her mind, Mazikeen closed the book. For a while she sat in silence–and a serious of violent shudders overtook her, and for a second it seemed like she wanted to cry. Fighting to regain her composure, the Rogue balled her hands into fists and stood. Tossing the journal to her bed, she opened the window in her room, and slipped out–easily scaling down the wall and then dropping to the city street below.