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Behind the Curtain

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Ninorra waited in the courtroom.

A few people already started filing out; young Sin'dorei, a few older ones, one noticeably older elf with his daughter by his side seemed amused by the proceedings and indeed, the half-elf at the center of this debacle had been supremely entertaining. In what appeared to be an example of grace, the judge suggested that Mardalius Anterius, the half-elf exiled from Silvermoon for crimes of which he was not guilty of, actually regain citizenship by marrying a member of their society. Ninorra smirked to herself. Marriage had certainly changed her own circumstances, it was reasonable enough to imagine that they could change his. If he were interested, that is.

"The Honorable Judge requested that I become a symbol for you all. She said that Silvermoon needed an outsider who was also one of you to break the mold of xenophobia that holds you like shackles and fetters. I have decided that I shall do so, but not by bowing before their mandates, for to do so would betray all that I am. I am an individual, a free man, and I will not let this court nor this government dictate how a lawful citizen may attain his rights, which were unlawfully stripped. I will do as she asks by showing you what we were, what I was raised to be. I stand tall and prideful, though I do not blindly do as I am bid by those who name themselves my betters, for that is the mark of a slave. If you, the people, yearn for change, I encourage you to demand it, by becoming the change you wish to see. Do not let them in their high spires determine your lives, for your lives do not belong to them. They belong to you, and those you choose to share them with. Not those you are instructed to share them with. Thank you."

How sweet of him, the warlock thought to herself. That he would give up his chance to become a member of their community was a sweet sentiment. Surely he deserved the chance to be with his people, half-blood that he was. She waited, then, for the crowd to thin before making her move. Situated in the back of the courtroom, to the left of the judge and tucked in a corner, sat a Sin'dorei with a scroll and a quill. He was recording what happened in rapid scrapes, long blonde hair tied into a tight braid at the back of his neck so as not to obstruct his writing. She kept a close eye on him, and waited.

Eventually, he stood and made his way toward another door opposite the judge's chambers. Ninorra took this as her opportunity and rose from her seat to follow him. There were no guards, no one to stop her from following the severe looking man to his cramped office, where scrolls lie in neat piles as he transcribed them. Decorative paintings hung on the too-small walls, tightly packed together, as if to hide the darkness of his windowless room. It would come to no surprise to most people that a court reporter would be given such meager trappings. He was surprised, however, when Ninorra walked inside of them.

"Can I help you?" He asked with a raised eyebrow, thin and blonde and perhaps plucked too narrow.

Ninorra grinned like a hungry cat and closed the door behind her. "Why yes, I believe you can. Lord Arryton Dawnbreeze, yes? My name is Lady Ninorra Bloodstone." 

The warlock introduced herself with a bow and a flourish of black robes, stylishly tailored after being pilfered from an eredar with enormous hips whose measurements were strangely similar to her own. Ninorra's appearance was more or less in fashion with what so many of her kin wore, with the exception that she somehow managed to convince her tailor to remove a few inches from the neckline and expose pillowy tanned breasts beneath a necklace of dark red gems. One of those gems seemed to glow in tandem with her eyes.

"Lady Bloodstone," Lord Dawnbreeze said dryly, his eyes glancing from her robes to the ostentation of her chest. He didn't seem much impressed by the parade of flesh, but it certainly grabbed his attention for a split second. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Well I came for dear Mardalius' day in court," she explained, sitting down opposite of the man in a strangely plain chair. Obviously whoever furnished his office did not care to indulge the reporter's sense of style. "The poor dear, he really is a very kind boy. I have known him some time with Sanctuary."

Dawnbreeze frowned. He was a reporter, not a judge. Any kind of information he had was trivial at best. "What about him?"

"Well, I was wondering if you could give me a bit of insight," Ninorra explained, folding both hands over on knee as it crossed over her thigh. The warlock's hands were dainty, if not garishly decorated with gold rings and long fingernails painted gold and red. "You see, I was wondering why on Azeroth anyone would consider marriage a reasonable solution to his little problem. Especially considering the fact that it has, in my research, never been offered as a means of gaining citizenship before."

Dawnbreeze sighed. "I can't give you the information you want, Lady Bloodstone. I'm a reporter. I'm not privvy to those sorts of--"

"But you must heart things," she interrupted, leaning in forward. "I am certain that a man of your great perception must hear things. Am I right?"

"Even if I did, you would not be entitled to them," he grunted, drumming a hand on his desk. Dawnbreeze's digits boasted a rather subdued manicure, but the care he took in his appearance was genuine. 

Ninorra smiled broadly and leaned forward a bit more. "Entitled? Surely not. I have never been the type to take advantage of entitlements."

"Ha," the man said derisively, more of a statement than a laugh. "Please. I know all about your entitlements, 'lady' Bloodstone."

"Then you know I'm the type of woman who gets what she wants by offering acts of kindness," Ninorra purred, smirking with ruby painted lips. "An act I can certainly pass your way."

Dawnbreeze's jaw clenched. "I assure you, there is nothing you can give me that I am interested in."

"Oh no?" Ninorra said with raised eyebrows, cocking her head to one side. "Well, that is not what I heard. In fact I heard that you might be very interested in something. Something that your wife is in desperate need of."

A blonde eyebrow twitched, though he avoided her red gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh don't you?" The warlock teased, reaching into her robes to retrieve a small drawstring bag, subtle in its size but boasting important cargo. "Because I could just take this home and she would never see it, or you could take it with you and be her hero. For a while."

The deep sigh of consideration passed through Dawnbreeze's lips like a whistle, and while his face was red, he made no effort to argue. Finally, the elf sat back in his chair and waved a hand. "The boy is a mule. He will likely never breed. This whole idea to have him marry off someone in our society, the judge never intended for him to take it. It's an effort to keep the half-breed out, and even if he did manage to find someone who would take him, it isn't as if he could have children. His mixed blood will never be a part of our city.. but why did you come here to ask me this? You could have figured it out for yourself. This isn't official, it's off the record and has no bearing on his status."

Ninorra sighed herself and placed the bag on his desk. "I suppose I was hoping for something a bit less simple. I can understand wanting to be a part of something you are barred from, as I am sure you know."

"Please," Dawnbreeze muttered, grabbing the bag. "Everyone knows. Nobody cares. So you married above your station. Good. It's an archaic system, but you've done your part to keep your household. What would this boy do? He's half human, and his father is loyal to the Alliance. We didn't write off those mongrels just to bring in their half-breed children with open arms. Even if, someday, he were to find a woman capable of ignoring his disfigurements and marrying him, he would never be accepted. So what is the point of his citizenship? To see the city? To walk the streets like the freakish Horde delegation? They may be here but they are not our people. Nor would he be, even as a 'citizen'."

Again, Ninorra smiled. This time, however, she chose to stand. "It is a shame that so many of our people can not overlook these little differences. I daresay we might even come to appreciate them, with time."

"Appreciating the differences between us doesn't mean we need to lower ourselves to them," the man grumbled, running his fingers over the drawstring bag. "We may change what we call ourselves, but we will never change who we are. Even you, lowborn as you might be. You are one of us. Don't forget that."

Ninorra smirked let a tendril of hair fall into her cleavage as she bowed before the court reporter. "My dear, how could I? May the eternal sun guide you, Lord Dawnbreeze."

Dawnbreeze grunted a goodbye and waited for his door to close before opening the bag. Inside, he found that Ninorra had been true to her word. A limited edition Tiffany Cartier bracelet lie in his palm, something his wife had been obsessing over since she heard of its limited quantities. With another glance at the door, he considered just how much trouble Ninorra would have had to go through to retrieve it in exchange for such trivial information. Pocketing the jewelry, he also tucked away that tidbit of information.

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