Renrael

Different Views

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"This is about girl, isn't it? ... This is about that girl, isn't it?"

Ren tossed the bag of toiletries on top of the clothes. He managed not to grind his teeth as he flipped the cover. The buckles made pleasant brassy noises as he worked on them. He yanked them snug before finally replying. "Yeah. It is."

His cousin tipped up his beer. Renrael kept packing. Without taking his  eyes off the wall--the wall with hundreds upon hundreds of push pin holes--the other man grunted before questioning,  "You sure you need to go to Tol fucking Barad?"

Ren pushed the lid off his own beer, flicking the cap toward the other man and shrugging on his leather jacket. "It's as good as anywhere else."

"It's the ass end of the world and not even relevant anymore. Who in the fel even goes to 'Rustberg Village'. You'll get mold growin' out yer--"

"Guess you won't be visiting then." The younger man shouldered his bag and carefully set his beer down on the table next to the last living member of his family.

There was a tense silence. Neither was going to say it. Ren looked down to see Ian looking up at him. They casually clapped hands and nodded in sync with each other. "Come check on the place once a week or so? I cleaned up, but a check over wouldn't be bad."

"Yeah, I'll do it." The chair legs fell flat and he stood up to follow Renrael out of the apartment.

Renrael didn't look back, but he couldn't suppress the grin as he heard Ian's low mutter about backwater harbor barnacles attaching to bums.

Though the day was like most in Rustberg, Renrael squinted. But it was to see through the perpetual haze, rather than guard against the glare of the bright Quel'Thalas sunshine. He resettled the heavy bag again and moved forward. No matter what happened, he was going to need to get a room tonight. Melisande had confirmed they rented out rooms as well as being a pub. He had those earplugs Melisande had recommended, the arcane sound dampening ones. Other than that giggled warning, he had no real idea what to expect of an inn room in the harbor town Rustberg Village.

He took a deep breath. Ian was right, it wasn't Silvermoon. Renrael scratched behind his ear. Could he get used to all this? Leaving Silvermoon felt heavy. It wasn't going to be the same.

Still, Melisande had clearly come to love it here. She so clearly wanted to share that love for both her work place and work family. She lit up prettily when speaking about it.

And the rain was pretty fantastic. He couldn't imagine ever getting used to it just raining. Without a schedule. Just raining. He shook his head and started forward.

People looked over him while he picked his way along the rough roads toward the Heart of the Raven. Dwarves. Tauren. Orcs. Humans. All manner of people came through here. It might not be as metropolitan or chic as Silvermoon--you'd find no Piffany's diamonds here--but the charm was undeniable. It was like no where he'd lived before. That alone drew his feet eagerly on.

The afternoon was sinking into evening when Renrael  passed the threshold. The tavern wasn't empty by any means, but it was quieter than the night before. He glanced around and didn't see any obvious trouble. The mantle was empty for the moment. His brows  pulled down but he tried to keep the frown off his expression. Wouldn't do to make a bad impression with a sour expression.

Then again, there'd been impressions enough left the night before. Walking in as trouble seemed shaping up hadn't been a specialty of his in a long while, and he didn't relish the thought of it. Melisande had assured him it wasn't the norm. And that it wasn't an attitude to expect from the other people who worked there. Faces without names just  yet flashed through his mind.

The first words he'd heard in the tavern came back as he glanced to the hearth.

"You have a gargoyle."

It hadn't seemed to be said particularly harshly, hadn't really seemed aimed at a barb. Perhaps in bad taste, and could be seen as  mildly offensive, but it was hardly sneered like an insult. If he hadn't been there to see what happened next, he might have assumed it was even a little playful. Bad form, but not malicious.

But he had been there.

If spitting on people for something saying like that was common here, maybe he didn't belong there. Too much attention. Too high strung and tense. Lady Bloodsword had been, Ren thought, justifiably angry. Spitting on someone was a highly expressive taunt and hardly a reasonable escalation in his estimation. That there hadn't been violence had been somewhat surprising. But the demon hunter had slunk away.

Maybe there was more to it than Ren knew. Maybe those two had bad blood. Maybe there was something said before he came in to draw such a sharp reaction.

Maybe.

But he still couldn't settle easy. And a few of the folks had mildly implied his response had been justified make his stomach tense. He rethought through some things. Weighed his choices. Kept his options and opinions open.

Ren turned away from the hearth and managed a smile as the clerk provided him with a key and directions to his  room.

The first thing he did was open the window to the chill of the blustery coastal afternoon. The view from his tiny window was of the pier and the ocean. The same pier Melisande had walked with him on. Renrael turned away from the window and opened his bag. Pulling out his small supplies he glanced up to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He frowned at his reflection.

He didn't want to complicate things. Not when things--everything--was starting out. New beginnings. He needed clearer footing before he took off running. He didn't want to stumble. Not with important things.

He felt his chest tighten. His hand pulled out a small hard paper box. He tossed off the top and looked inside. They were several days old now, but they still looked good.

At least he had chocolate.