Pot, meet Kettle.
The young lord cheerfully rolled into the room, not bothering to look behind him as he reached to shut the door behind him. Vinarian hadn't been spending much time in Pridehawk. He supposed it made sense--he and Shar'diel were trying to get settled in Dalaran, but deep down Sal'ithaene was hurt. After all this time apart, you would think his best friend would be interested in hanging around, and the larger elf seemed to enjoy working with the dragonhawks and walking through the gardens. However, there was always an air of discontent looming about Vii's head, and Sal'ithaene would often catch him staring away from the Estate--at the sea, at the Pass, at -nothing-. The rogue he had known was more than happy to sit and quietly chat, and now the Blood Elf was near twitchy and anxious, always needing something to do. Why did he hate it here so?
Sal would give the boy his own two arms if he needed them--the rogue was unaware to what lengths the young lord would go for him--and yet the chasm that had quietly formed between them was steadily growing into a canyon. He left like he was trying to fill it up using a bucket with holes piercing the bottom.
Nevertheless he was pleased that Vinarian had shown up and had asked for him, immediately setting aside a stack of paperwork he was going through to wheel himself into the receiving room. Perhaps the holes in his bucket could be patched, and Vinarian would be more wiling to work on remaining friends instead of a friendly passersby. The smile on his face lasted all of a minute after he was inside and noticed the heavy, serious expression on the larger elf's face.
So much for having a good day.
"Are you actually going to tell me what's wrong this time?" The lord of Pridehawk asked smoothly, keeping his voice calm and unaffected. Despite this, the rogue took it personally, his ears pinning back at the barb.
"Nothing's wrong. I just need to tell you something."
"I'm all ears." Sal'ithaene settled his chair near the loveseat Vinarian was perched on, his large hands clasped between his knees. With his slouched body language, he knew Vinarian was going to finally admit something--something that would probably pile more hurt on top of the hurt the rogue had already served him. His eyes bore down on the handsome face littered with whiskers and framed by wild thick locks of ebony-colored hair.
"...I'm going to be...a student." The rogue said slowly, as if judging and weighing his words. "I'm going to be involved in some...observations. Observations...I think, about my behaviors? I need some answers...Dra'kelis is going to help me, while simultaneously getting the knowledge he wants about how elven minds work. Maybe he can help me figure out some unanswered questions I've had about myself for the past...Sun--I don't know how long."
"Who is this Dra'kelis?" The disabled elf before Vinarian was growing cooler by the moment--as if shifting to another personality entirely. He sat aloof in his chair, eyes half-lidded as his language became careful and formal--a warning that shit was going to fly, and probably soon. Vinarian's expression grew harder.
"A warlock."
Silence blanketed the room.
"...so let me get this straight," the brown haired elf murmured, tilting his head as he pushed his chair closer. "You're going to an individual--a Blood Elf I presume--who engages in the use of fel magic and consorts with demons--to observe your "behaviors" like one would watch a dragonhawk. He's going to judge how you act against previous knowledge--whatever these "behaviors" of yours are, to get...answers--are you fucking stupid?"
His calm left him.
"How well do you know this Dra'kelis? And why the hell would you agree to such a thing, are you some lab rat to be poked and prodded? What the fuck are these "questions" anyways, and besides Vii--the only one that can answer them is -you-. No one else can figure you out but yourself--and guess what? Sometimes that takes time and a lot of insight. You can't expect someone to watch you walk and talk for a week and then give you answers willy nilly. Nevermind all that--A WARLOCK. Are you fucking out of your MIND? Do you even know what a warlock does? They CURSE you so that you die the most agonizing painful death imaginable--and they -love- it. They suck mana and fel from their demons, tainting themselves until nothing's left--demons they can barely control!"
"Funny," the rogue retorts, his voice raising a little. "Funny how you explode over a warlock when you have a Troll in your home--don't you hate Trolls as much as you do warlocks?--here to help you try to walk again. Funny how you speak against demons when you had nothing against the Prince siding with the Burning Legion!"
"Don't you DARE speak to me of our Prince," the noble thundered, bringing his hand down on the armrest of his chair. "It is NOT our place to judge him--and I'm having a shaman in my home to use the spirits and elements to -heal- me, not engage me in some sort of weird social experiment!"
"If I had said he was a priest, would that be any different?" The rogue's voice is more restrained now, as if he was trying to calm himself down.
"No--because you don't -need- it, Vinarian. Stand up for yourself--grow some fucking balls. You don't need whatever he's offering--and it's questionable at best. What did he do to convince you? Pay attention to you? There's nothing wrong with you that requires outside intervention--you just need to find a path and stick to it. The rest will come in time. But NOOO--what the fuck does it matter what I say? You don't give a damn about my opinion--all you think is that I'm a damn pervert who just wants to fuck you. A pervert that's CRIPPLED out of love for you, a pervert that wants to give you your own home, and part of his business so you'll have some financial security for you and your sister--because you're my friend. You've become nothing but a leech, Vinarian. An ungrateful leech."
The rogue's eyes went wide, and his mouth opened in vain, but the young lord cut him off before he could even dare to defend himself.
"I don't know what happened to my friend. We could sit around a campfire and bullshit for hours a time ago but that's gone now. As soon as you're here you want to leave. Why? You claim I have enough on my plate, that I'm busy, that I've done enough--Vinarian I have to keep myself busy because otherwise the loneliness would EAT ME ALIVE. I don't have my friend here so I must keep busy--why do you think I insisted you stay here with me? I want you here, I want you around, I want us to be -friends-. But you continuously push me away and run off to your new and "better" friends--you're moody and distant and what you do is half-hearted. I got more enjoyment out of your sister's company than I have from yours in -weeks-. All we do is argue anymore because you're being secretive, and you do a poor job of hiding your unhappiness. You will not talk to me, and the rift between us is soon going to be too great to mend and keep our friendship going. What the hell has happened to you, Vinarian?"
"...I am afraid you're just being nice to me because now that I'm starting to open up sexually you want a piece of me. I am afraid you wouldn't understand my issues--or you would merely dismiss them and not even take me seriously. I don't believe you would offer support or advice because you're absorbed in yourself and what you do. You've been pushing to get the business back on its feet, you've been pushing yourself to get back up on your feet--you you you you you. It's all Sal and his world and the way he wants it. It used to be that you would lead and I would follow...but now I'm sort of stepping off the path and trying to find my own way. I figure you didn't care to really find out anything about me because so far I've rejected your advances."
"You are so stupid," Sal'iathene sighed sadly, expression softening as he stared at the elf before him. "That is not the truth at all, and your paranoia is going to be the end of us, Vinarian. I haven't done anything to warrant your paranoia, and you know that. Am I really the same person I was then? You said it for yourself, I've changed--you've changed, we've all changed. I'm having to adjust to you and approach you differently from before...so why can't you do the same for me?"
The rogue merely hung his head, hands reaching up to bury themselves into his hair. For several long moments the lord of the manor watched the larger elf before he began to work his wheelchair back towards the door. Ears perking at the sound, Vinarian jerked his head up to look at Sal'iathene's back.
"Wait, Sal, don't go--" the rogue began helplessly, his voice weak.
"You're going to do whatever you want, so I'm not going to bother trying to get you to see what a mistake you're making. Send that Dra'kelis to me--be sure to note that it's a friendly invitation to my home, as I'm curious to hear what he has to say about this."
His chair paused at the door, a long-fingered hand resting on the handle momentarily.
"And don't return to Pridehawk unless you want to be here. I'm tired of dealing with your sullen ways. But if you don't come back here within a month's time, I will assume our friendship has ended and I'll resume complete ownership of the cottage and the business. Also, take Brat with you. It's irresponsible of you to dump him onto me when he is yours to attend. Oh, and don't worry about the work in the stables--I hired someone to replace you weeks ago. Good day, Vinarian--I'm sure you can show yourself out?"
He was gone, the door shutting softly as the rogue stared in bewilderment.