Snippet #2051325

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Adrienne smiled. “I’m glad to hear you say that,” she replied to Drayk, taking a sip of her wine. It was not of the quality she was accustomed to in High Rock, but then this was as much a boon as a detriment, so she kept herself from flinching and crinkling her nose at the bitter aftertaste.

The exchange between the bartender and the woman (probably his wife, though she wouldn’t dare presume), left her with an amused crinkle at the corners of her eyes, and she simply nodded sagely when the man told her he had no information to give. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed Sinder and Van in conversation with two patrons, so she figured it couldn’t hurt to rest for a bit.

Resting her chin in one delicate hand, Adrienne exhaled softly. “I heard you talking to that little boy Orrin,” she ventured mildly, looking over at her friend through he corner of her eye. “You don’t often speak of Cyrodiil.” It was a gentle observation, but there was the hint of a question underlying it. Adrienne returned her gaze to her glass, swirling the dark red liquid within it. An easy tactic, was poisoning wine, because people were likely to take the subsequent sluggishness for the effects of the wine itself. So easy, to convince a man that he’d just had more than he thought, and she’d be happy to see him upstairs, just to make certain he was all right…

Closing her eyes for a long moment, Adrienne took another swallow.

And you don't often speak of High Rock, Drayk wanted to say, but of course he didn't. While he hadn't really tried before, he suspected that Adrienne wouldn't be comfortable speaking of her past. None of them were comfortable with their pasts, in fact, but lately Drayk had found that speaking of it could, more often than not, help to air things out. Help to remind him of where he'd come from, and where he couldn't return. Adrienne was bringing it up because of the story he'd told to the boy on the way in, he knew. He'd spoken of that occasion because... well, he didn't really know the more common stories by heart, the ones that he'd never had any parents around to tell him. So his own experiences had to do. Perhaps strangely, the regret he felt at the alterations in the story were comforting. So long as he could still understand what he had done wrong, he would be fine.

"Have you ever been?" he asked Adrienne. "It's magnificent. Forests like you wouldn't believe. I'll... have to show you sometime. I bet you'd love it there."

Of course, the only way Drayk would ever be able to return to Cyrodiil was with the Mentor's help, considering his criminal history there. And even then, he had his doubts that the guards would let him through on one man's word that he was changed. He could likely smuggle himself back there, but... no, if he were ever to take Adrienne to Cyrodiil, it would be as a changed man, not the scared boy stuffed in a box that he'd been when he left.

"Hmm... I might just have to hold you to that," Adrienne replied, tone light but eyes serious. "High Rock is..." She closed her eyes for just a moment, trying to imagine the landscape. The magnificent bay, the windswept steppes, the sheer cliffs falling away into the ocean. "Hospitable, but not without unexpected difficulty. Beautiful, but harsh when you aren't paying enough attention. Daggerfall is called that because you have to be careful that one does not end up in your back, I think." The young woman's smile was rueful, and she tucked a stray strand of ash-blond hair behind her ear with her free hand.

"Much better wine, though," she continued, wrinkling her nose slightly. It was something of a joke, but there was definitely truth attached to it.

She wanted to ask about the truth of the matter behind the story Drayk had told, but she was not going to try and manipulate him into it. That would feel incredibly wrong, for a number of reasons. No, if he was ever going to speak of it, she wanted it to be becuase he felt comfortable enough to do so. Perhaps if she had a tale to offer of her own... but all of Adrienne's stories were the same, and none of them rang of a sense of adventure. They were all simply... uncomfortable. She didn't have much faith in her storytelling besides, if she wanted to tell them as herself.

Drayk found himself smiling slightly, more to himself than anything, as Adrienne spoke of High Rock and Daggerfall. Mara, but she was beautiful when she did that, that little nose wrinkling thing, and the thing with the hair and the ear and... he felt like a bit of a moron. "Daggerfall sounds way too complicated for me," he admitted. "It's a lot simpler here. In Skyrim they'll get you with an axe big enough to see from a mile off, and right to the face, too. But hey, at least they're honest about it."

He couldn't actually tell her what life was like among the more refined places in Cyrodiil, as he'd never come close to experiencing them himself. Somehow he imagined that the games they played there weren't nearly so deadly as those of High Rock. Or perhaps even the game they were playing now...

"Looks like Sinder made a friend," he commented, idly gesturing towards the table where Sinderion, Vanryth, and Aria sat, in conversation with a large Nord man. "We should probably go see if they've learned anything."

Adrienne contamplated the relative 'honesty' of a battle-axe to the face, giving the matter what appeared to be serious thought before she disolved into laughter. "Yes, I suppose there is something more straightforward about it, though I'm not sure it would hurt any less." Tipping her glass up, she finished the dregs of the wine and set it down delicately, pushing the vessel back towards the inward side of the bar with her first two fingers. Following Drayk's eyes, she noted the situation with a small piece of wonderment. Sinderion talking to a stranger was just one more reminder of how far beyond the norm their situation was. She wondered if that situation wasn't the beginning of some bawdy joke. An Altmer, a Dunmer, and a Bosmer walk into a bar... she'd heard a fair few jests in this pattern since arriving in Skyrim, but she had the unfortunate feeling that one with that start would only end in racism.

Standing smoothly, the Breton lass nodded amicably. "Let's."