Rhowen-Prea
03-12-2006, 10:30 PM
(( Just a note : This is that little cross-over fanfiction thing I was talking about. Obviously, it has no real IC bearing on the WoW world as we know it. More information is posted over in the General Discussion forum. All characters used with players' permission. Feedback would be -greatly- appreciated. First time I've ever tried something like this. Enjoy! ))
Brardith sat in the back booth of the greasy spoon, tapping the fork nervously against the rim of the coffee cup. Steam had quit rolling off the coffee nearly fifteen minutes prior. The waitress had tried to take it from him, probabaly to get him a new one, but he'd refused. He pulled his fedora down on his head to hide his face. Memories from back when he was a kid told him that the air here used to smell of salty sea air, being nestled right on the bay. Booty Bay, that was what they called this place, this part of town. One of the few neutral places in the grand city of Azeroth that the gangs could get together and discuss their alliances on neutral terms. He'd left his badge at home. Cops were the last people who were safe in the the neutral territories.
It'd been raining when he woke up, and it was still raining now. The rain coursed down the windows, and he could swear it left oil in its wake. He eyed the cook lounging behind the counter. The short, disfigured, green creature hadn't moved his stare since Brardith had walked in. They all seemed to be united, those things, and they called themselves the Steamwheedle Cartel. They'd come up out of nowhere, a few years back, exerted their dominance fiscally over a few select locations, and called it quits. Firmly entrenched, no one questioned their authority on their terms. When he walked in the door, twenty minutes prior, Brardith experienced that sinking feeling that they knew he was a cop, and he had approximately ten seconds to live. But they hadn't killed him yet. Which only meant they hadn't figured out there was a cop on their territory.
Minutes passed like hours. The pumping of blood in his ears was deafening. And then, a stretch limo pulled up to the curb. Brardith's heart sunk. He would never get used to these meetings.
*****
Rain pattered on the windows like insistent fingertips on a table top, nervous, antsy. But the woman sitting across from him was all cool possession. Aelendil grinned to himself. Arms were folded across her chest, head turned, staring out the tinted windows through sunglasses. She was silent; she hadn't moved since they got into the car. The limo pulled to a stop outside of the diner. He turned his head and slid the divider open, between their seating and the driver's seat.
"Hey, Lan, just wait here, okay? We shouldn't be long."
The driver nodded, lifting a hand to scratch at an elongated ear. "Gotcha, boss. Mercutio an' I will wait right here." The squirrel on his shoulder chittered a response. Ael could swear the rodent was glaring at him from that one robotic eye.
The elf turned his attention back to the woman across from him, Elven like himself, and found himself admiring the way she pushed her breasts together, upwards, when she crossed her arms like that. The pale blue flesh of her body darkened just slightly in the deep canyon of cleavage, showing just above the deep neckline of the deep-purple satin top she wore. He had to restrain a smirk. A hand reached out as he leaned forward, and tucked a lock of blue-black behind her ear, fingertips trailing the length of the ear that still remained. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and murmured. "Allow me to get the door for my lady." She made no sound of acknowledgement, dark lips twisted into a pouty frown.
He opened the door and climbed out, a combat boot splashing in a puddle off the curb. His own sunglasses were brought down out of his hair, and he situated them on the bridge of his nose. He scanned the neighborhood quickly; nothing of remark, save for the roaming pack of bouncers. Steamwheedle didn't tolerate violence in their territory. You started shit, you ended up in a pile of it. Ael reached a hand inside the limo, and was glad to feel hers slip inside of it.
Rhowen slid a leg out of the limo, high-heeled, strappy shoe falling steadily on the sidewalk. His eyes wandered up a leg, colored dark by the nylon, to the edge of a matte black leather miniskirt. She rose out of seat, out into the rain, ankle-length black trench falling into place around her. All the black made her flesh glow, he thought, like illuminated by the moonlight. It was a very romantic thought. It was completely out of place here. He knew, hidden inside that coat of hers, same as his, was a gun. She cleared her throat, gave a twist of her head to crack the vertabrae in her neck, and stepped forward in front of him. Ael straighted the motorcycle jacket he wore and fell in behind her, opening the door of the diner for her.
They passed the booths, one by one, to the place where the lone man sat in the back. He was leaning in a corner, fedora pulled down to mostly hide his face, and he generally looked like he wanted to disappear. Aelendil grinned a satisfied smile. He loved watching the fuzz squirm.
She slid into the booth, all smirks and confidence. Sunglasses were removed and set on the table, and she folded her hands on the table in front of her. Ael took his place, standing, next to the booth, on her side of it, leaning against the side of it. Blue eyes watched, pleased, at the way her hair fell over her neck when she canted her head, the way she fingered the mangled remains of her right ear. It's what she did when she was trying to look particular dangerous. He found it adorable. When she spoke, her voice was surprisingly upbeat.
******
"Detective McBrardy."
Brardith lifted a hand to the collar of his shirt as if to loosen it. He was visibly sweating under the pressure but tried to manage a grin. Rhowen leaned back in the booth and slung an arm up over the back of it. He had to give himself credit - for as uncomfortable as he must look, his words were steady.
"I love the black leather," he said, his voice dry. "It's very stylish. Very "new-age retro bounty hunter." It suits you both. I shouldn't be surprised."
She gave him a sickeningly sweet smile, so dripping with innocence it came across as nothing but cruel. "That's what we are, don't you know, and that's why you're here talking to us, instead of hunting us down, isn't that right?" He averted his gaze, but she brought her voice down and got serious. This wasn't play-time. "What's the job?"
The detective leaned forward, sliding the saucer and cup away. "Are you familiar with Edwin Van Cleef?"
Brardith sat in the back booth of the greasy spoon, tapping the fork nervously against the rim of the coffee cup. Steam had quit rolling off the coffee nearly fifteen minutes prior. The waitress had tried to take it from him, probabaly to get him a new one, but he'd refused. He pulled his fedora down on his head to hide his face. Memories from back when he was a kid told him that the air here used to smell of salty sea air, being nestled right on the bay. Booty Bay, that was what they called this place, this part of town. One of the few neutral places in the grand city of Azeroth that the gangs could get together and discuss their alliances on neutral terms. He'd left his badge at home. Cops were the last people who were safe in the the neutral territories.
It'd been raining when he woke up, and it was still raining now. The rain coursed down the windows, and he could swear it left oil in its wake. He eyed the cook lounging behind the counter. The short, disfigured, green creature hadn't moved his stare since Brardith had walked in. They all seemed to be united, those things, and they called themselves the Steamwheedle Cartel. They'd come up out of nowhere, a few years back, exerted their dominance fiscally over a few select locations, and called it quits. Firmly entrenched, no one questioned their authority on their terms. When he walked in the door, twenty minutes prior, Brardith experienced that sinking feeling that they knew he was a cop, and he had approximately ten seconds to live. But they hadn't killed him yet. Which only meant they hadn't figured out there was a cop on their territory.
Minutes passed like hours. The pumping of blood in his ears was deafening. And then, a stretch limo pulled up to the curb. Brardith's heart sunk. He would never get used to these meetings.
*****
Rain pattered on the windows like insistent fingertips on a table top, nervous, antsy. But the woman sitting across from him was all cool possession. Aelendil grinned to himself. Arms were folded across her chest, head turned, staring out the tinted windows through sunglasses. She was silent; she hadn't moved since they got into the car. The limo pulled to a stop outside of the diner. He turned his head and slid the divider open, between their seating and the driver's seat.
"Hey, Lan, just wait here, okay? We shouldn't be long."
The driver nodded, lifting a hand to scratch at an elongated ear. "Gotcha, boss. Mercutio an' I will wait right here." The squirrel on his shoulder chittered a response. Ael could swear the rodent was glaring at him from that one robotic eye.
The elf turned his attention back to the woman across from him, Elven like himself, and found himself admiring the way she pushed her breasts together, upwards, when she crossed her arms like that. The pale blue flesh of her body darkened just slightly in the deep canyon of cleavage, showing just above the deep neckline of the deep-purple satin top she wore. He had to restrain a smirk. A hand reached out as he leaned forward, and tucked a lock of blue-black behind her ear, fingertips trailing the length of the ear that still remained. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and murmured. "Allow me to get the door for my lady." She made no sound of acknowledgement, dark lips twisted into a pouty frown.
He opened the door and climbed out, a combat boot splashing in a puddle off the curb. His own sunglasses were brought down out of his hair, and he situated them on the bridge of his nose. He scanned the neighborhood quickly; nothing of remark, save for the roaming pack of bouncers. Steamwheedle didn't tolerate violence in their territory. You started shit, you ended up in a pile of it. Ael reached a hand inside the limo, and was glad to feel hers slip inside of it.
Rhowen slid a leg out of the limo, high-heeled, strappy shoe falling steadily on the sidewalk. His eyes wandered up a leg, colored dark by the nylon, to the edge of a matte black leather miniskirt. She rose out of seat, out into the rain, ankle-length black trench falling into place around her. All the black made her flesh glow, he thought, like illuminated by the moonlight. It was a very romantic thought. It was completely out of place here. He knew, hidden inside that coat of hers, same as his, was a gun. She cleared her throat, gave a twist of her head to crack the vertabrae in her neck, and stepped forward in front of him. Ael straighted the motorcycle jacket he wore and fell in behind her, opening the door of the diner for her.
They passed the booths, one by one, to the place where the lone man sat in the back. He was leaning in a corner, fedora pulled down to mostly hide his face, and he generally looked like he wanted to disappear. Aelendil grinned a satisfied smile. He loved watching the fuzz squirm.
She slid into the booth, all smirks and confidence. Sunglasses were removed and set on the table, and she folded her hands on the table in front of her. Ael took his place, standing, next to the booth, on her side of it, leaning against the side of it. Blue eyes watched, pleased, at the way her hair fell over her neck when she canted her head, the way she fingered the mangled remains of her right ear. It's what she did when she was trying to look particular dangerous. He found it adorable. When she spoke, her voice was surprisingly upbeat.
******
"Detective McBrardy."
Brardith lifted a hand to the collar of his shirt as if to loosen it. He was visibly sweating under the pressure but tried to manage a grin. Rhowen leaned back in the booth and slung an arm up over the back of it. He had to give himself credit - for as uncomfortable as he must look, his words were steady.
"I love the black leather," he said, his voice dry. "It's very stylish. Very "new-age retro bounty hunter." It suits you both. I shouldn't be surprised."
She gave him a sickeningly sweet smile, so dripping with innocence it came across as nothing but cruel. "That's what we are, don't you know, and that's why you're here talking to us, instead of hunting us down, isn't that right?" He averted his gaze, but she brought her voice down and got serious. This wasn't play-time. "What's the job?"
The detective leaned forward, sliding the saucer and cup away. "Are you familiar with Edwin Van Cleef?"