#day222021

Looking up from her book, setting her whiskey down on the coffee table, she gave a wistful sigh and had a momentary stab of self-doubt and even envy. She had good friends who came with very pleasant benefits, but no one courted her. She knew it was a common feeling, the wanting someone to want your attention enough to seek it greedily. She often indulged others about it. She wrote the letters. She brought the whiskey. She suggested trips. She showed up on doorsteps. Tinnaire asked for company, and received it gladly, but she thought it might have been nice to have been asked, too. The affections of her friends she didn’t doubt. But still… Tinnaire shook her head as if to dislodge the unwelcome ennui. It didn’t last long. She would not wallow. If she was lonely and wishful, she should do something about it.

She typed out a message on her funny little radio mechanical communicator and she leaned back against the arm of her sofa to read again.

A message to Seven to open the door in invitation. It had been much too long since she’d seen him. He was always good for making her feel light about the future. A kind perspective delivered with a rakish smile was always welcome. He might enjoy the time away from the Shadowlands, himself. She wanted to hear his stories and what he’d been up to since she’d seen him last at the mercenary camps.

@daily-writing-challenge

*Adapted from RP with @aerdendios​ for his Day 22 as well!*

“So I guess Fio thought that Dori and I were...courting? I wasn’t there for that conversation, but Dori messaged me and asked if I was trying to court her.” Aerden threw a hand up in confusion before plopping it back down onto his lap.

“Courting!” Annya chuckled as she reached for her glass of wine. “Such an archaic term, courting. Are you ‘courting’ her, Aerden?”

“No! I’m not courting or dating anyone! Am I not allowed to invite someone somewhere without it being assumed that we’re dating?” He made a raspberry noise with his lips before reaching for his beer to drown the sound out with a gulp.

“Welcome to high society functions, darling. Assuming and spreading gossip is what we all do best.” She set laced fingers beneath her chin and batted her eyelashes. So guilty of this herself.

He grumbled to himself, slouching back into his chair. “She’s just trying to protect her sister cause she likes me. I like her too, but...y’know.” He shrugged, “I’m not ready, I don’t wanna be in another relationship yet. ...She probably saw us, in that third room.” He wrinkled up his nose, they were being discreet - so he thought.

Annya nodded in understanding, reaching over to pat his arm, “You and I have always been honest with each other, and I can only assume you’re the same way with whomever else you give your time to. There’s nothing wrong with having a few friends that you can also have a little extra fun with. Don’t let Fio make you feel bad about that, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

Aerden adjusted his posture with a slight wince, oof. Of course she was right, but it was difficult for him to think that way. He was still relatively new to dating and relationships in general, and had a lot to learn. Honesty was the best policy, that was one lesson he had learned the hard way, and largely not from his own mistakes. Honesty could have saved him a lot of heartache and anger. He knew how it felt to be lied to and led on, he wasn’t going to do that to anyone else. “I know. I just don’t want to make anyone feel used, and I know that’s not the case for you or Dori, but Pyra…” He shakes his head, “She’s a great friend, and that’s all I can give right now.”

“You’ve told her this before though, yes? Why are you second guessing yourself?” A single brow ticked upwards as her eyes drifted down to his left side. He had been wincing an awful lot since his return, but it wasn’t her place to ask.

“I dunno. I guess that conversation with Dori caught me off guard. Sounded like Fio was angry at her for it. Maybe at me too.”

“Don’t worry about it, hun. She was just grouchy because her date won the ho of the night award at the after party.”

It had been nearly a year since Leo'mar and his father had held a funeral for his mother. He had returned to the city to report in and hear about new assignments. The Horde had need for scouts and intelligence agents. He wasn't sure how he felt about their allies just yet, but it would mean getting to see new parts of the world.

Day 22, DWC 2021

She remembered what it was like the first time she used shadow magic. It was…exhilarating. Watching the strange wisps of dark energy, licks of purple, red, and black dancing between her fingers, each wave and glide moving in tandem with her breath…was entrancing. Despite the concentration it took to keep it in control, it came surprisingly, perhaps concernedly, easy. It felt just as natural as calling upon the Light.

The Light, she found, was…comfort. Even though Ainsley’s holy magic didn’t always feel…warm, it still felt comforting; like a blanket being wrapped around you when sick, or the gentle press of a hand to your forehead. But shadow felt like a sip of cold water after a drought. And you couldn’t just take one, right? You needed the whole damn glass.

She learned to ignore the burn. What was lines of fire slowly crawling up your hand before blooming out to the rest of the body would fade into a pleasant sting after some time. Then the exhaustion would set in and a sharp ache would pierce between her eyes. Her head would fill with noise, muddled and unintelligible, but loud and distracting. Then the noise slowly gained clarity, turning into words…suggestions…encouragements…

Ainsley knew the risks of using such taboo magic. She had been warned against it since the very beginning of her training. She would feel the cold glares of warning her higher-ups would throw her way when she used it—out of necessity and only to help, she would add—that reminded her that she was dancing with the devil. It was too much water; she was…drinking too much damn water.

But when one can’t ignore a thirst when the cup sits right in front of you. Rationing that water is what separated the ones in control from the ones unhinged. But hydration was important, after all. And she supposed there was worse things to drink than water.

At least, that’s what the voices in her head would say. And she was…inclined to agree.

She brought Tarts Music

The Court was quite satisfied

They all boogied down

@daily-writing-challenge

Taboo ( @daily-writing-challenge​ )

World: Warcraft

Content Warning: Blood and Disturbing Imagery

Zolaar sat alone in the darkness of his living quarters, staring intensely at the slab of raw elk meat he was given by his companions; the blood of the carcass slowly dripped through the funnel below, filling up a goblet he managed to keep with him all the way from Quel’Thalas. The Warlock pulled his mask off to reveal the grotesque mess of warped and discolored skin that he once called his face; his grey lips peeled back to flash his snaggled teeth, while his trembling hand tapped against the table. He let out a sharp sigh once the blood of the meat finally subsided, nearly filling the goblet to the rim; quickly he snatched it toward him, only to knock his head back while he poured the blood into his awaiting jaws; it had been too long since his last feeding, perhaps even longer until his next- but like all things, sacrifices must be made. His black tongue squirmed around in the goblet until he was sure he had consumed every last drop, feeling the warmth of his meal sit like a rock in his churning stomach.

“Zolaar? Are you in here?” Gonthar spoke from the outside of his chambers, shortly before bashing his meaty fist against the door. “I’m coming in.” The Warlock frantically pulled the drained meat off its suspension, tossing it into a nearby cabinet. The Sunwalker entered the dark room with a hand on his claymore, catching a glimpse of the elf’s face as he pulled the mask over his head.

“Y-yes, Gonthar? How can I help you…?” Zolaar asked, standing up as straight as he could; the tauren noticed the goblet sitting idle on the table, but something about the fiendish eye engraved along its side dissuaded him of inquiry.

“I’m making sure everyone is pulling their weight around here.” Gonthar narrowed his gaze at the warlock, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m assuming you aren’t just sitting in the dark, whispering to some unspeakable evil?” The fake laughter that slipped through his mask only unnerved the Sunwalker, convincing him that Zolaar doesn’t laugh often.

“No, of course not.” The Warlock skittishly walked around the table he was standing next to, furtively running his inky tongue against his jagged teeth. “I’ve been waiting for one of my… projects… to give me promising results.” He gestured toward a large black cauldron near the corner of the room, causing Gonthar to gaze at it suspiciously.

“And what’s in the pot?” he asked, before immediately regretting the question. Zolaar lifted the lid, causing it to belch a smoke that quickly crawled along the ceiling toward the tauren; the stench was unimaginable, forcing Gonthar to stagger back as he covered his nose and mouth. “Earthmother’s mercy… what the hell is that?!”

“This…” Zolaar started, seemingly unfazed by the pungent stench while he reached in to stir the liquid inside with a ladle. “Is that tauren’s head Sir Ijiro brought back with him during his hunting. By boiling it, I can extract the fel magic infused within…”

“Why would you do that?!” Gonthar gagged, as his eyes began to water.

“I can create a curse that will help weaken the fel tauren should they attack us.” Zolaar explained, trying his best to speak clearly while the Sunwalker seemingly started dying from the smell that violated his senses; fortunately for the Warlock, he lost his sense of smell ages ago. “If I can discover whose blood they drank to create their pact, I can help ward off these tauren… or perhaps slay the pit lord directly, freeing them. If you could ask Sir Ijiro to get me more specime-”

“I’ll do that- keep up the good work.” Gonthar nearly stumbled out of his chambers, slamming the door behind him as he looked for the nearest bush. Zolaar let out a nervous sigh of relief, setting the lid back onto the cauldron. “That was reckless.” He thought to himself, returning to his chair. Shame washed over him once again, filling him to the brim with sadness. The dark magic he meddled with warped and twisted his body beyond recognition; but they were not ready to see what he had become yet. Nor were they ready to embrace what needed to be done.

DWC - Day 22 - Court

There were plenty of things about his ‘station’ in Glineas that Raxwel found irritating.

The whole premise of ‘courting’ was one of them - primarily because his experience with the practice was focused on the use of his person as a pawn in order to progress his parents’ business ventures.

He knew the drill. He’d be introduced to some ‘lovely’ young woman - he’d be expected to play nice, flirt, say all the right things while his parents discussed how things would progress - or how their interests aligned with those of the poor young girl’s parents - and then once a deal was struck there would be some excuse for why the pairing wouldn’t work. Something that usually required that he not be seen for several weeks.

He hated it - all of it. Being used, using those other families, the lying, the cheating - and he did everything he could to sabotage the venture at every turn.

Sometimes he’d just tell the girl the truth - he wasn’t interested, and really his family wasn’t either - that tended to be enough to cut things off. Sometimes, he needed to do a bit more convincing - get caught one night out on the town with another woman? Easy enough. Act like an ass at the next formal event - also something he had a great deal of practice with. Get sloppy drunk and make an absolute fool of himself in front of the girl’s parents? Also, well within his ability to do.

He hated the practice of ‘courting’, and he dreaded every time it was even vaguely discussed….but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a good time ruining his parent’s plans.