#istar 'im an asshole and i know im being one but i cant help it' of eryri

[feminurge]

the urge works in strange ways; it awakes at times that make little sense, and seems to find respite when it would be more logical for it to howl. this moment is of the former category: his retreating back has her clenching her teeth and holding her staff with more strength than necessary.

still, she follows.

when the drow drops to his knees and fails at opening the door, it is the same animosity that has her loudly dropping her pack. the whole display of annoyance is only short a sigh, which she keeps behind the wall of her teeth, as her eyes roll back and she starts taking a few steps away.

it is only when a response is offered that she turns back toward him, surprise dissipating almost as immediately as it rose within her. "well. we do deserve a break, then." then, attempting to dissipate the cold fingers the urge has tightened around her neck, she finds herself pressing against a wall-- regardless of the state of said wall. "is that a drow thing?" she asks, which isn't exactly the polite way to state such questions, but it is better than silence, or worse. (in her current state, she is afraid of what worse could entail)

he realized perhaps that he had displeased her,   but shrugged it off.  she had told him to do something with her attention.  had she expected him to plead with her to follow,  like a dog?  perhaps once he would have had to,  to make requests so pathetically,  but he swore never again.

sol'rys moved in on the bedroom door and checked the handle.  nothing stirred on the other end,  but it was locked.  frowning,  he shrugged his pack from his shoulder and onto the ground,  kneeling beside it as he rooted around for a set of thieves' tools.  finding the correct picks he inserted them into the lock and started to work on the pins.  (base roll 6 + 4 dexterity = 10.)  nothing.  scowling,  he started again.  

he noted not without amusement that he was clearly far more comfortable in the dark,  oppressive as it was,  than she.  the surface was a perilous place for a drow,  but the strange darkness had its charm for a man accustomed to using it for protection.  outside of the sun his eyes no longer ached.  “late day,  i fathom,”   he responded easily.  he did not know how or why,  simply that it felt right.  “beside,  more gold is progress enough.  i run out of arrows.”