Confrontations
Arrens took his steed down to the Cantrips in Dalaran. It was there, he knew, that Tarquin would likely be located, likely having a drink with the local ne’er-do-wells that frequented that section of Dalaran. He’d thought about this meeting well before that night, the words and actions he’d wanted to give to Tarquin. It was he that had slept with Rosie when they were still together. Before he and Aely were an item, he had wanted to physically assault the leader of the Wildfire Riders. Knowing that would likely cause a bounty upon his head, he opted for a more reasonable approach, a chance to give Tarquin a piece of his mind.
But the ensuing weeks had softened him. Being with Aely had made him forget his anger, his contempt. The fact that Tarquin had been exiled from Stormwind helped matters greatly too.
But there he was, his voice on the buzzbox. Clear as day and not a word to otherwise indicate that he’d regretted any of his past transgressions. Arrens’ blood boiled anew.
He entered the sewers, a place he seldom visited. The degenerates of Dalaran society came here. Not the poor, for there were few if any truly poor people within the city proper. No, the sewers were where the backhanded dealing occurred, where dirty money often exchanged hands…and where Arrens knew he’d be able to find one Tarquin ap Danwyrith.
Arrens tied his mount up alongside a post outside the Cantrips & Crows, his voidwalker Klathmoth alongside him. Turning to the shadowy demon, Arrens said, “Orah parn, Naztheros.” Stay here, Klathmoth. He approached Tarquin standing opposite Uro, a Forsaken veteran who made his living as hired muscle. Ignoring the Forsaken, Arrens said, “Tarquin.”
“Professor. A moment.” Turning back to Uro, he said, “As yeh see, Uro, I’m a busy bloke. Keep the money an’ dinna waste m’fuckin’ time any furthir. Yir day’s done.” He blew smoke from his cigarette in the impassive Forsaken’s direction and nodded to Arrens.
“I’ll leave if you’re busy losing to the Forsaken.”
“Jus’ business, mate, he replied. “An’ speakin’ ay which, this a social call?”
“Of a sort.”
They approached an empty table and sat, Tarquin’s lanky frame folding into a vacant seat. “Yeh drinkin’?”
“Not anymore,” the warlock replied, sitting erect, his hands folded atop the table. All semblance of pomp and circumstance evaporated from the warlock, his voice terse.
“Nor I. Wha’s oan yir mind?” Tarquin asked.
“I’ll get to the point quickly. You’ve no doubt heard of my current burgeoning relationship with Madam Aely, yes?”
With a nod, Tarquin replied, “Havers an’ rumors, na mair. Nice fir ta hear it confirmed.” He grinned around his cigarette. “Yeh’ll be guid fir her, mate.”
“I know I will. As she will for me. But allow me to be blunt a moment.” Arrens lowered his voice to barely a whisper, leaning forward upon the table, his large frame casting a shadow from the flickering torches behind him. “If I hear of you going near her to do what you did to Rosie when she and I were together, I will hunt you to the ends of this world and any others.” Tarquin raised one eyebrow. Then the other. “Am I clear, Master ap Danwyrith?”
“Clear as fuckin’ day, Professor.”
Arrens nodded. “Good.”
“Thit about the size ay it, then?”
“It is, yes.”
“Yeh wound me, Caltrains.”
“As you did me.” Arrens replied casually.
Tarquin’s voice turned alarmingly calm. “As yeh did Rosie? Look, mate. Yeh nivir ha’ fuckall wi’ her. Love’s no’ oan the menu at her partic’lar public house, an’ nivir wis. She’s aright wi’ thit. I wis aright wi’ thit.”
Arrens struggled to remain his composure. “As I found out too late for me, it would seem. Regardless, that’s in the past.”
“So it is,” Tarquin responded. “It oughtay’ve stayed thir.”
“Perhaps. It needed to be said, however, so that there was no chance to repeat past…endeavors.”
Tarquin smiled amiably. “Professor, I’ve seen wha’ yeh kin do, so I ken exactly how well ta measure yir threats. Startin’ wi’ the fact that yir makin’ thim. Is thit yir gen’ral approach when it comes ta the lassies? Seems yirself an’ Rosie wir havin’ quite the set ay spats afore she decided she’d had eno’.”
The low blow hurt, but Arrens would not permit himself to show it. “Perhaps. And perhaps things would have worked out over time. Regardless, as I’ve said, that is in the past. I no longer care for Rosie in that manner.”
“Wis it in the past, yeh’d nivir ay come here wi’ yir threats. It’s in yir gut like a bloody stone. Shite happens, Professor. Yeh fancied a lass an’ she fucked off oan yeh, an’ I’m the bloke wis waitin’ at t’ither end. Na by much plan ay mine, yeh mind. Odds are, it will no’ be the last time.”
“No, I wouldn’t imagine you plan for much, do you?”
“I widna pegged yeh fir a man ay limited imagination, Caltrains.”
Arrens leveled his cold gaze at Tarquin. “Master ap Danwyrith, I’m not entirely certain you’re aware of what I’m capable of. Nor what my imagination can conjure.”
“I’ve a fair idea. Eno’ fir ta take a guess.”
Arrens shrugged dismissively. “It makes no difference what you make of me.”
“But here’s the thing, mate. Yir capabilities in the mos’ unlikely situation in which we come ta blows, well. Thir na much matter ta me. What I make ay yeh, Professor Arrens fuckin’ Caltrains,” Tarquin smiled coldly, “is the kind ay bloke wha’ falls fir a lassie an’ takes less’n a week afore jumpin’ ta threatenin’ romantic violence oan all an’ sundry might take yeh fra’ her. As thinks thit Aelflaed Larsdottir, yin ay the finest an’ most steadfast lassies I ha’ ivir ha’ the pleasure ay a strictly familial relationship wi’ is the kind ay woman as’ll leap fra’ bed ta bed oan some smilin’ murderer’s say-so, ‘thout consideration ta her bloody intentions. In short, Professor, I make ay yeh a cunt. An’ I’ll continue ta do so, till yeh make ay yirself summat else.”
“Make of me what you will. It matters little.”
“Thit’s where yir wrong, mate.”
Knowing another outburst was coming, Arrens interrupted. “But if you so much as glance at Aely the wrong way…” He let the words trail off, their meaning clear.
Tarquin leaned forward, still smiling, his voice lashing like a whip. “Hauld yir fuckin’ tongue. Aely’s family. Black an’ red. D’yeh ha’ the faintest bloody understandin’ ay wha’ thit means?”
Arrens nodded. “Yes. And I wonder sincerely if you do.”
“Go fuck yirself. I built this fuckin’ family outay seven refugees huddlin’ in a bloody tavern fra’ the watch. An’ na matter wha’ the Crown an’ the Service an’ thir lapdogs aim ta make ay us, I will watch out fir m’ain. Aely wears the colors. We’ll be thir when she weds. We’ll toast the birth ay her bairns. We’ll stand salute fir her triumphs, we’ll comfort her losses. Those ay us remain will sing the chantries o’er her grave.” Tarquin’s lips drew back from his teeth as he leaned forward, half rising from his seat. “An’ in the course ay this, if any bloke -” his gloved fist crashed into the table, making even a few of the hardened scum frequenting the tavern look up. “- ANY! FUCKIN’! BLOKE!- has the fuckin’ temerity fir step oan hir bloody little toe, an’ she gies us the word, then they will join a long fuckin’ list ay bastards I ha’ consigned ta forgotten fuckin’ dust.”
Arrens sat back impassively and folded his arms across his chest. “Are you quite finished yet?” He could see the blood boiling in Tarquin’s face.
“I’m finished yeh’ll fuckin’ ken it.” He leaned forward, his face a mere foot from Arrens’. “Yeh threatened me, Professor. Aely likes yeh. So wha’s a wee threat betwixt family?” He pushed himself away, yet remained standing.
Arrens looked up at him. “We, sir, are not family. I find it a very difficult scenario to imagine that ever changing.”
“Yir adopted, Caltrains, whether yeh like it or no’. An’ count thit a fortune. Cos’ the day yeh disappoint her, or fuck her o’er, or pull the fuckin’ shite ay which yeh attempted t’advise me agin’…” he continued, “Well, mate, I been threatened by a great many people afore. Go an’ look fir thim now.” Tarquin leaned back and sunk into his seat, his lanky frame practically thrumming like the strings of a fiddle.
Arrens sneered at the man across from him. “It would seem your exile has granted you plenty of time to practice your renowned impassioned speeches, Master ap Danwyrith. My congratulations to you. My words stand. Take them as you see fit.”
“Yeh aready heard my judgement. Yir a fuckin’ cunt. An’ until yeh grow up past it, I’ve na use fir yeh.”
“Nor I you. We agree on that point at least.”
“If Aely does, well, thit’s her choice. ‘Tis the new cent’ry an’ all.” Tarquin produced another cigarette with a flick of his fingers.
Arrens rose from the table, Klathmoth gliding beside him. “Indeed. Well then, now that this business is finished, I bid you a good evening. And do enjoy your stay here. It’s a lovely city, is it not?” He bowed before Tarquin mockingly.
Tarquin looked away, smoke drifting from his mouth and obscuring his narrow face. Even through the cloud, one could still see the gleam of his smile. “Stick it up yir arse, Caltrains.”
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Get to the Choppa!
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Oh he is in SO much trouble.
Yeah. He’s coming to that realization this morning figuring that what was said wouldn’t be left at the table…
I believe Beltar’s words in OOC after Aely told Bricu exactly where to go and what to do there apply here.
“Hammer of /What the FUCK were you thinking/?”
Ooooooooh! Awesome! More! More!
I could make so much money hiring myself out to beat up suitors. I am totally in the wrong line of business.
…
Cyn doesn’t get asked out a lot, does she?
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