please do not be inconsistent i find it infuriating // keep calm, work hard and STOP MIMIMI !!!
Несколько коротких драббликов от Lady Fellshot.
Редко я видела Джарлаксла, спокойно играющего в карты.
The Dealer
Jarlaxle considered his open portable hole on the bed and sighed in resignation. I really do need to go through it. Need to make sure that Kimmuriel didn't slip anything "helpful" in it.
He began by slipping on a monocle that would allow him to see magical auras. The drow fully realized that his psionic lieutenant might opt for something unrelated to the Weave to track him, but he could at least eliminate some of his belongings from the list of possible suspects.
An hour later, a neat arrangement of tools, devices, potions, elixirs and wands sat across from a large disarray of clothes in various bright jewel hued fabrics and leathers. Separated from those were various innocuous items ranging from cotton rope to a large woman's bustier. Jarlaxle picked up a small, plain grey zurhkwood box. Well, this doesn't look suspicious at all... he thought sardonically as he opened the simple latch.
A worn deck of playing cards greeted his suspicions. Aside from an enchantment to keep them whole against the ravages of time, the cards emanated nothing overtly threatening to Jarlaxle's monocled eye. I thought I had gotten rid of those centuries ago...
He pulled the deck from the box and flipped through them quickly, wary that something might have been slipped among them. Failing to see anything untoward, the drow shuffled the worn cards to see if the preservation spell on them had deteriorated.
After a few slips, Jarlaxle's long nimble fingers remembered the skills that had once kept him fed, clothed and in the good graces of the first person he had called his partner. The mercenary flipped cards up and caught them, cut the deck in the air and spread the deck in a neat arc on the smooth floor before gathering them up to reshuffle them again with more flourishes.
A grin started to sneak out over the mercenary's face and a curious feeling of lightness stole its way into his mind, pushing Jarlaxle's current set of worries aside. He continued shuffling and reshuffling, airing the musty smell out of the stack of thick papers and relishing the even percussive rolling sound of the cards slapping against each other. I don't care if this is a trap courtesy of Kimmuriel. It's been far too long since I last did this. I've forgotten what fun it is!
Jarlaxle laughed softly as he sat cross legged on the cool floor and began to deal the cards out. A hand of solitaire, perhaps and then putting all my things away... A moment later his breath caught and his delight evaporated like liquor in the midday desert sun as he stared at the old cards before him.
Instead of a hand for one, a game for two lay before the mercenary.
He suddenly remembered the last time this deck of cards had been used. He remembered the person, his partner, sitting across from Jarlaxle with scuffed boots propped up on their salvaged table, next to his weapons belt. He remembered the way his partner idly flipped a throwing dagger in his hand, the way the blade glimmered between his fingers before he settled down to play a hand.
Jarlaxle remembered the last time his best friend in all of Faerûn laughed in unrestrained delight, the harsh baritone smoothed out by shared levity. Before I sent him on the mission that doomed him.
Jarlaxle looked morosely at the cards he had dealt for himself. A matron, a mage, a weaponsmaster, and a high priestess, all in the suit of webs. Full house. Seems like I always ended up with the upper hand. I wonder what he would have had...
The mercenary flipped over the second hand one by one. With each card he turned over, he felt his melancholy lift a little. By the time he saw the last one, Jarlaxle smiled with a lingering twinge of sadness. A set of four aces lay on the floor opposite him. You won, you crazy, sneaky, irreverent bastard. You really won.
He carefully gathered up the cards and put them back in their plain grey box, shaking his head at his memories. The drow started shoving his belongings back into the gaping hole, saving the card box for last. He debated putting the small wooden item back amongst his other equipment or leaving it under a pillow for the chambermaids to discover after he left.
I have to remember, Jarlaxle decided as he dropped the box into his portable hole. I need to remember how dire the stakes are.
He folded the hole up neatly and tucked it into a vest pocket, over his heart. And to realize that sometimes they're just too damned high to bear.
Insomnia
Bruenor paced the inner tunnels of Mithril Hall. Most of the residents slept, leaving apprentice metalworkers to tend the bellows fires, ensuring they never went out completely. He nodded to each of the young dwarves as he walked past. He did so every night since Catti-Brie and Regis had passed. Sleep had apparently abandoned the dwarven king since.
He felt strange. On the rare occasions he stopped to think about it, the dwarf realized he had had this hole in his heart, had always had it. Bruenor stopped. Since we thought the boy dead by yochol, he realized.
His circuit took him up into the guest quarters next. The rooms that Drizzt had shared with Catti-Brie were unoccupied and had been so for weeks. Last I heard, the elf was avoiding all contact. At least Hralien's keeping an eye out for him. Damn elf, he did this the last time too...
A few more turns in the corridor brought Bruenor into the more populated guest rooms. Usually at this hour all was quiet in here as well, but the quiet sound of paper pages flipping against each other behind one of the doors piqued his curiosity. Wonder what Feather-hat's doing at this hour, he thought as he knocked on the door.
A friendly tenor voice answered, "It's open."
Bruenor walked in to find his houseguest in a fine woven shirt of leaf green and eye searing purple trousers sitting at a plain table, dealing out a hand of solitaire with a faded set of playing cards. Red eyes regarded the dwarf tiredly. "I see you haven't been getting any rest either."
The dwarf shrugged and took the chair opposite Jarlaxle. The mercenary began his game as Bruenor continued, "Seems better to keep movin' iffen I can't sleep."
"My reverie has not been easy as well," the drow responded lightly. He put down two cards and continued with his game.
"I'm for thinking you've a few skeletons in yer closet, there." Bruenor frowned at Jarlaxle.
"No more than anyone else," the mercenary shrugged. Another handful of cards slipped onto the table. "Surely you've had friends that you've failed before."
"Aye." The dwarf leaned back and watched the drow set a few more cards down. "Still tryin' to get used t' the idea of ye with friends."
"It happens more often than you think," Jarlaxle looked at the deck spread out on the table. "The cards came from a friend."
"And where is he?" Bruenor asked, suspecting the answer.
"Long dead." The drow stared morosely at the cards.
The dwarf cocked his head to the side, curious. "Ye still have th' cards though."
Jarlaxle shrugged. "A keepsake."
Bruenor watched the drow carefully proceed through his game for a few minutes. Finally he asked the question that had been bothering him for the past few months. "Why are ye here?"
"You didn't not invite me..." the drow smirked.
"That's not what I meant and ye know it," Bruenor grumbled.
The smirk disappeared faster than it had appeared in the first place. For a moment the mercenary said nothing, instead gauging the dwarf's stance and attitude. Bruenor glared right back. Jarlaxle blinked and said softly, "The stakes are too high."
Bruenor frowned at the unexpected response. "What?"
Jarlaxle ignored the query and with swift, deft movements scooped all of the cards up back into a deck and began to shuffle it with the speed of a professional dealer. After cutting the deck, the drow dealt out two sets of seven cards and left the rest to the side. He picked up his hand and asked, "What games do you know?"
"Miner's Crutch," the dwarf blinked. What in the hells...
"I might be rusty at it," Jarlaxle heaved a theatrical sigh.
Bruenor caught the grin in the mercenary's eyes and decided he was not going to get a straight answer and yielded to the inevitable. "What are we betting with? I won't be risking me kingdom with ye."
The mercenary grinned broadly. "I was thinking of stakes no higher than buttons and pocket lint actually."
The dwarf found himself grinning right back. "Might be that I can wager some fine buttons against ye."
"It's settled then!" Jarlaxle laughed as he pulled some lint from his pockets and put it on the table.
Bruenor chuckled as he pulled a wooden button off his shirt and set it in front of him. "What's the exchange rate?"
"We'll figure it out later," the drow said merrily as they both began to play.
A Job Interview
A Bregan D'Aerthe meeting room.
Jarlaxle: (businesslike) So what can you do for Bregan D'Aerthe?
Kimmuriel: I can read minds.
Jarlaxle: Oh really? (amused) So what am I thinking now?
Kimmuriel: ... You have a shield of some kind. An external shield if you want me to be specific.
Jarlaxle: (taps his eye patch) Good to know that when I ordered this thing made "all concealing" it actually is. What else?
Kimmuriel: I can excite the energies in an object until it explodes.
Jarlaxle: (unimpressed) I can do that with whole noble houses with more spectacular results. Try again.
Kimmuriel: (Getting a little worried) Teleporting?
Jarlaxle: (yawns) Which any wizard can do with a spell. Really, you are starting to bore me.
Kimmuriel: (irritated) Then what would you like me to do?
Jarlaxle: (opens a drawer, pulls out a spoon and holds up the utensil)
Kimmuriel: You must be joking.
Jarlaxle: No, I don't think I am.
Kimmuriel: This is humiliating.
Jarlaxle: No, this is an audition. Humiliating would be if there were other people around. Now do you want in or shall I dump you back with your female relations?
Kimmuriel: (makes a small gesture and the spoon bends at a right angle) You win.
Jarlaxle: (grins) I always win. And in this case, so do you. Welcome to Bregan D'Aerthe.
Kimmuriel: (sighs resignedly)
Редко я видела Джарлаксла, спокойно играющего в карты.
The Dealer
Jarlaxle considered his open portable hole on the bed and sighed in resignation. I really do need to go through it. Need to make sure that Kimmuriel didn't slip anything "helpful" in it.
He began by slipping on a monocle that would allow him to see magical auras. The drow fully realized that his psionic lieutenant might opt for something unrelated to the Weave to track him, but he could at least eliminate some of his belongings from the list of possible suspects.
An hour later, a neat arrangement of tools, devices, potions, elixirs and wands sat across from a large disarray of clothes in various bright jewel hued fabrics and leathers. Separated from those were various innocuous items ranging from cotton rope to a large woman's bustier. Jarlaxle picked up a small, plain grey zurhkwood box. Well, this doesn't look suspicious at all... he thought sardonically as he opened the simple latch.
A worn deck of playing cards greeted his suspicions. Aside from an enchantment to keep them whole against the ravages of time, the cards emanated nothing overtly threatening to Jarlaxle's monocled eye. I thought I had gotten rid of those centuries ago...
He pulled the deck from the box and flipped through them quickly, wary that something might have been slipped among them. Failing to see anything untoward, the drow shuffled the worn cards to see if the preservation spell on them had deteriorated.
After a few slips, Jarlaxle's long nimble fingers remembered the skills that had once kept him fed, clothed and in the good graces of the first person he had called his partner. The mercenary flipped cards up and caught them, cut the deck in the air and spread the deck in a neat arc on the smooth floor before gathering them up to reshuffle them again with more flourishes.
A grin started to sneak out over the mercenary's face and a curious feeling of lightness stole its way into his mind, pushing Jarlaxle's current set of worries aside. He continued shuffling and reshuffling, airing the musty smell out of the stack of thick papers and relishing the even percussive rolling sound of the cards slapping against each other. I don't care if this is a trap courtesy of Kimmuriel. It's been far too long since I last did this. I've forgotten what fun it is!
Jarlaxle laughed softly as he sat cross legged on the cool floor and began to deal the cards out. A hand of solitaire, perhaps and then putting all my things away... A moment later his breath caught and his delight evaporated like liquor in the midday desert sun as he stared at the old cards before him.
Instead of a hand for one, a game for two lay before the mercenary.
He suddenly remembered the last time this deck of cards had been used. He remembered the person, his partner, sitting across from Jarlaxle with scuffed boots propped up on their salvaged table, next to his weapons belt. He remembered the way his partner idly flipped a throwing dagger in his hand, the way the blade glimmered between his fingers before he settled down to play a hand.
Jarlaxle remembered the last time his best friend in all of Faerûn laughed in unrestrained delight, the harsh baritone smoothed out by shared levity. Before I sent him on the mission that doomed him.
Jarlaxle looked morosely at the cards he had dealt for himself. A matron, a mage, a weaponsmaster, and a high priestess, all in the suit of webs. Full house. Seems like I always ended up with the upper hand. I wonder what he would have had...
The mercenary flipped over the second hand one by one. With each card he turned over, he felt his melancholy lift a little. By the time he saw the last one, Jarlaxle smiled with a lingering twinge of sadness. A set of four aces lay on the floor opposite him. You won, you crazy, sneaky, irreverent bastard. You really won.
He carefully gathered up the cards and put them back in their plain grey box, shaking his head at his memories. The drow started shoving his belongings back into the gaping hole, saving the card box for last. He debated putting the small wooden item back amongst his other equipment or leaving it under a pillow for the chambermaids to discover after he left.
I have to remember, Jarlaxle decided as he dropped the box into his portable hole. I need to remember how dire the stakes are.
He folded the hole up neatly and tucked it into a vest pocket, over his heart. And to realize that sometimes they're just too damned high to bear.
Insomnia
Bruenor paced the inner tunnels of Mithril Hall. Most of the residents slept, leaving apprentice metalworkers to tend the bellows fires, ensuring they never went out completely. He nodded to each of the young dwarves as he walked past. He did so every night since Catti-Brie and Regis had passed. Sleep had apparently abandoned the dwarven king since.
He felt strange. On the rare occasions he stopped to think about it, the dwarf realized he had had this hole in his heart, had always had it. Bruenor stopped. Since we thought the boy dead by yochol, he realized.
His circuit took him up into the guest quarters next. The rooms that Drizzt had shared with Catti-Brie were unoccupied and had been so for weeks. Last I heard, the elf was avoiding all contact. At least Hralien's keeping an eye out for him. Damn elf, he did this the last time too...
A few more turns in the corridor brought Bruenor into the more populated guest rooms. Usually at this hour all was quiet in here as well, but the quiet sound of paper pages flipping against each other behind one of the doors piqued his curiosity. Wonder what Feather-hat's doing at this hour, he thought as he knocked on the door.
A friendly tenor voice answered, "It's open."
Bruenor walked in to find his houseguest in a fine woven shirt of leaf green and eye searing purple trousers sitting at a plain table, dealing out a hand of solitaire with a faded set of playing cards. Red eyes regarded the dwarf tiredly. "I see you haven't been getting any rest either."
The dwarf shrugged and took the chair opposite Jarlaxle. The mercenary began his game as Bruenor continued, "Seems better to keep movin' iffen I can't sleep."
"My reverie has not been easy as well," the drow responded lightly. He put down two cards and continued with his game.
"I'm for thinking you've a few skeletons in yer closet, there." Bruenor frowned at Jarlaxle.
"No more than anyone else," the mercenary shrugged. Another handful of cards slipped onto the table. "Surely you've had friends that you've failed before."
"Aye." The dwarf leaned back and watched the drow set a few more cards down. "Still tryin' to get used t' the idea of ye with friends."
"It happens more often than you think," Jarlaxle looked at the deck spread out on the table. "The cards came from a friend."
"And where is he?" Bruenor asked, suspecting the answer.
"Long dead." The drow stared morosely at the cards.
The dwarf cocked his head to the side, curious. "Ye still have th' cards though."
Jarlaxle shrugged. "A keepsake."
Bruenor watched the drow carefully proceed through his game for a few minutes. Finally he asked the question that had been bothering him for the past few months. "Why are ye here?"
"You didn't not invite me..." the drow smirked.
"That's not what I meant and ye know it," Bruenor grumbled.
The smirk disappeared faster than it had appeared in the first place. For a moment the mercenary said nothing, instead gauging the dwarf's stance and attitude. Bruenor glared right back. Jarlaxle blinked and said softly, "The stakes are too high."
Bruenor frowned at the unexpected response. "What?"
Jarlaxle ignored the query and with swift, deft movements scooped all of the cards up back into a deck and began to shuffle it with the speed of a professional dealer. After cutting the deck, the drow dealt out two sets of seven cards and left the rest to the side. He picked up his hand and asked, "What games do you know?"
"Miner's Crutch," the dwarf blinked. What in the hells...
"I might be rusty at it," Jarlaxle heaved a theatrical sigh.
Bruenor caught the grin in the mercenary's eyes and decided he was not going to get a straight answer and yielded to the inevitable. "What are we betting with? I won't be risking me kingdom with ye."
The mercenary grinned broadly. "I was thinking of stakes no higher than buttons and pocket lint actually."
The dwarf found himself grinning right back. "Might be that I can wager some fine buttons against ye."
"It's settled then!" Jarlaxle laughed as he pulled some lint from his pockets and put it on the table.
Bruenor chuckled as he pulled a wooden button off his shirt and set it in front of him. "What's the exchange rate?"
"We'll figure it out later," the drow said merrily as they both began to play.
A Job Interview
A Bregan D'Aerthe meeting room.
Jarlaxle: (businesslike) So what can you do for Bregan D'Aerthe?
Kimmuriel: I can read minds.
Jarlaxle: Oh really? (amused) So what am I thinking now?
Kimmuriel: ... You have a shield of some kind. An external shield if you want me to be specific.
Jarlaxle: (taps his eye patch) Good to know that when I ordered this thing made "all concealing" it actually is. What else?
Kimmuriel: I can excite the energies in an object until it explodes.
Jarlaxle: (unimpressed) I can do that with whole noble houses with more spectacular results. Try again.
Kimmuriel: (Getting a little worried) Teleporting?
Jarlaxle: (yawns) Which any wizard can do with a spell. Really, you are starting to bore me.
Kimmuriel: (irritated) Then what would you like me to do?
Jarlaxle: (opens a drawer, pulls out a spoon and holds up the utensil)
Kimmuriel: You must be joking.
Jarlaxle: No, I don't think I am.
Kimmuriel: This is humiliating.
Jarlaxle: No, this is an audition. Humiliating would be if there were other people around. Now do you want in or shall I dump you back with your female relations?
Kimmuriel: (makes a small gesture and the spoon bends at a right angle) You win.
Jarlaxle: (grins) I always win. And in this case, so do you. Welcome to Bregan D'Aerthe.
Kimmuriel: (sighs resignedly)
@музыка: I feel you anyway