Chapter 1: The Liability
Fall
The blood elf female was barely an adult.
No, she was fully an adult, and barely seemed to recognize the fact herself. Her mind lapsed so far behind with regards to how she should properly conduct herself by now, and her reckless disregard to actually knowing better finally caught up. A few months prior to today, she told herself that she would take advantage of some goblins' immense intelligence and near-minuscule degree of sensibility.
"Counterfeit," she whispered from across the table, the chair she was sitting in seeming to loom over the girl and threatening collapse around her at any moment given the sheer stupidity of this new project of hers. The glow in her eyes was dim at best, and given the poor lighting provided by one quickly-dying candle, did nothing to make her appear less moronic for ever thinking this would lead anywhere except towards trouble. Her naturally darker skin tone aided her in melding in with the shadows, though. It almost seemed natural that given the tight, black leather outfit she was wearing and the two sword strapped securely along her belt, she would be affiliated with such a dingy, ill-kept tavern such as Ratchet's. And yet, she thought she simply did not belong, and was swooping in to stick it to some stupid outlaws. In her head, she was simply testing the waters; simply playing.
Awkward.
Her hair was short, then, and flowed freely, albeit neatly to closely frame her slightly round face. She had a wry, arrogant smirk on her not-even-slightly-puffy-lips, and had it not been for the absence of a generous coating of crimson on her nose, cheeks, and tips of her ears, she would have been mistaken for being drunk. But she knew better than to drink while on business. This Blood Elf didn't seem to quite get over living in irony just yet. If her scrawny frame did anything, it was, perhaps, aiding her in appearing wicked. At least. No one would dismiss a smirking Blood Elf, that's simply unheard of. She is a good bluffer, to be fair.
"That's a dangerous topic to discuss, Legs, is this why you wanted to set up a meeting this late? I need my beauty rest, ya know," the goblin chuckled, his voice shrill, even careless, except that his undersized eyes were staring into the rogue's ever so closely. Oh, he was interested.
She beamed at him, relaxing back against the chair which seemed to grow more uncomfortable if only to haver her shut. Her. Face. "It's also very lucrative, wouldn't you agree?" She absently reached down to grab a poorly wrapped cigarette from her pouch, letting out an amused, spontaneous giggle when one of the goblins sitting behind the one facing her flinched. Delicious. The rogue pulled out the cigarette, and gave it a playful wiggle, then used the same hand to wipe the tip of her nose gingerly. Perhaps she enjoyed danger. Or maybe she really was only a moron. She didn't care. She trusted her skills. Her legs were both tucked beneath her, making for quite the sight: A slouching, smirking, and now soon to be smoking Blood Elf sitting cross-legged and conducting business with goblins late at night... Her sister would have a heart-attack. Little sister. What did she know? ...Actually, it's best that she doesn't know anything for now. "And why not?" she canted her head to the right, her smile softening instinctively while willing him to bite.
"I wouldn't know where one would begin humoring such an illegal activity." he seethed, smirking. The spark in his eyes seemed to be ignited, like hers, by the audacity of trying to pull off such a move.
She slouched forwards, holding the cigarette over the dying candle and allowed the fire to infest the tobacco. She pulled it back towards her mouth to seal her lips around it and take a short, hard drag. Her small shoulders fell as she exhaled through the nose, ever-fascinated by how the smoke always came out her nose in such a rushed, explosive way. Almost funny, "Winterspring?"
Needless to say, the absolutely moronic rogue ended up being caught trying to make off with the counterfeit coins early one morning...
