Declan grinned as he spotted his fellow Gilnean, sitting in the same spot at the end of the bar with a glass of whiskey and that same battered, old, stained notebook he was always scribbling in.

"Ahoy! Lochlan" the thief called out, that grin only growing as he watched Lochlan stiffen and growl to himself. The older Gilnean had a bit of a grouchy temperament, but on the whole, Declan found the man to be decent none the less.

Of course it didn't hurt that Lochlan had also won him a great many bets.

"How ya be, Lad?" The thief dropped onto the stool beside the swordsman and clapped him on the back.

"What do you want, Declan?" Lochlan grunted, draining the remains of his glass and holding the empty up to signal for a refill. "If it's about forging you lockpicks, the answer is still no."

"Nahh, t'aint f'hat, Lad. I's were figurin' since you's gettin' married soon n'all, I'd let you see some o'me new finds, aye? Might see somef'hin for yer lass, eh?" He held up a small leather pouch and swung it tantalizingly from side to side.

Of course, the look offered by the older male was something to be desired. If it got any flatter he could level Stormwind.

"Let me guess, all for the low cost of one set of new picks." Lochlan waved a hand. "I said no, Declan."

The thief feigned being wounded, covering his heart with a hand. "You's t'ink so little o'me." Declan sat forward and hastily began to open the pouch. "Honest John, Lochlan. I's gettin' married m'self! y'know how much m'lady loved t'wee engagement gift i's got her? I's just bein' a good friend." He found what he was looking for and grinned. With a flourish he held up a tiny ornate vial of golden sand. Entwined around the glass of the vial itself was the golden scaled body of a dragon, wings outstretched on either side and a snarling maw clasped around a a thin chain.

The light tilt of Lochlans head told Declan he had the mans curiosity, offering the vial over for the other Gilnean to take a closer look.

Lochlan gently accepted the vial, though the moment his fingers touched the glass, the vial gave a pulse and shattered, spilling sand and glass all over the counter.

"Uh... what was it?" Lochlan grimaced, glancing over to a horrified Declan.

"Wha--" The thief stammered, staring at what remained of the Vial of sand. "What... what did you...?"

"Ah. I'm going to guess this little trinket was magical..." Lochlan scooped the sand and shards of glass into his palm to give back to a still frozen Declan.

"Should have told me. I don't mix well with enchanted things" He sighed. Declan looked about ready to cry, plucking at the remains still in Lochlans palm.

Well this was awkward.

"I'll uh, I'll just go get started on those Lockpicks for you, yeah?" Lochlan said, waving that his refill should go to the shell shocked thief as he grabbed his notebook, dumped the sand and glass pieces of the vial on the counter and started to head to the door, leaving Declan still pawing at the remains of the vial, murmuring about how hard it had been to find.

"Shit..." was all the swordsman could say, scratching the back of his neck. "Better make him two sets..."

( ty @nocturnedreaming and @rodanthemargrave for the ask. Sorry it was so late! Not my best but I hope you enjoy the interaction)

The Void Elf’s eyes light on the flourish of the thief’s fingers, eyeing the coin as a smile bloomed to her cooled visage. There was only one rogue that called her such a terrible name. “Better than last we spoke, Bourbon Boy. But it has been a while, hasn’t it? My leg’s managed fine, though I do favor the ankle now. Business for me has shifted anyway to a more...managing role.”

Safrona started to pour the favored sin into a glass tumbler as they sat. “ And you? Staying out of trouble, or running from it?”

For every 💭 I receive, I will write one thought my Muse has had about yours.

💭 Bourbon boy, you are ridiculous. But a good kind of ridiculous. Don’t die anytime soon.

💭 I wonder how he and his woman are getting along? What was her name again…? Need to keep them in mind for the Month of Love.

💭 I might let him convince me to go on one of his little expeditions one of these days. I need to get a handle on my business first though, hire on more runners to make more time for myself. And make the time for that sort of excursion. I certainly could use a change in the daily grind.

The Courier glanced up from the office countertop to narrow her gaze on Declan's roguish grin. Her own smile came tightly, infectious as his own was. "The charms were lovely. Thank you. I managed to talk my Shadow down from hunting you down. You can thank me for that in return."

What Declan and many visitors did not see walking into Empyrean Imports was the Felhunter curled behind the counter at the Void Elf's feet, acting as a footrest for her injured ankle. Professional as ever, she straightened in her seat, considering the man's offer.

"I wont deny that I need the help while I'm...limited," she started, "but working for me, you'll be a little spread all over the place. And possibly on the field. I need someone to be ready for the more emergent deliveries, rather than what I have scheduled. Medical supplies, food, water." A smirk. "Sometimes alcohol even, yes. I don't deliver for the warmongers, but we'll assist those that were in the way of the siege. And try to make life normal for those outside of the wars. I'll have five to six deliveries for you a day guaranteed that need to be shuttled just as soon as the request is made."

"If we agree on a rate of pay, we can get on to signing a contract." There was an appraising glance. "And I'd expect you to wear a touch of scarlet while on duty of course, Mr. Hane."

Declan Hane must have done an excessive amount of studying...or stalking, to end up in the Courier's bedroom uninvited. The Perished's Sanctum that she called home was an abode the living did not set their eyes on unless they were initiated to serve, as she had been. From the portal room Declan had somehow glitched to allow his transference through, to haunted halls awash by violet candlelight, it was clear there was more behind this courier he knew than the mundane world of imports.

As he would find the elf sleeping quite soundly in the soft, dark shadows of her room to place the gift at the end of her bed, Declan made one error in his generosity: failing to realize he was being stalked too. It was no simple demon that stalked Declan that night alone, but a figure grasped by loyalty as strong as Death itself to protect what was his own. Waiting, observing with red eyes for the sneak-thief to make another wrong move and earn a bleeding smile by darkened blade at the throat.

Safrona felt the tightly-wound rope of violent intent from The First of the Perished twisting her awake as his warning simmered in her tethered soul. Though it was certainly worrisome that anyone at all had slipped into the Sanctum uninvited, no harm seemed to be done. And so too, no harm came to Declan, calming the blades that stalked after.

Days later, Declan Hane would receive a small letter from the Scarlet Courier, with a bottle of Darkmoon Bourbon Whiskey, neatly tied by a red velvet bow:

Bourbon Boy,

Much as I appreciate your gift, if this is your way of telling me I should be taking my love to Kul Tiras for a vacation for "new experiences", it would be wiser to use my mailbox like a normal man, and not creep into my bedroom to leave suggestions.

I highly implore you to forget where you found me, and suggest in turn that you not appear there again. I can't be held responsible for what will happen to you next time, if you do.

Cheers, for your boldness. Don't be so foolish and continue finding so many ways to die though. Your woman would miss you if your luck runs out, I believe.

With Gratitude (and some concern),

~Safrona

Bourbon lovers unite any given night.

Fingers picked the remaining bit of tissue with a small smile, eyes lighting on the note with a chuckle. "Napkins, mm? Ridiculous name..." she murmured knowingly, the moniker given by a particular smirking mouth she knew of. Safrona smoothed a touch over the crystal embraced in the wire star's embrace, already imagining a spot in the office in Stormwind to hang it from. "Merry Winter's Veil, Bourbon Boy," she would murmur to the ornament, as if the silly boy were there all along to hear.

{ @bourbonandbadluck }

{ For every 💭 I receive, I will write one thought my Muse has had about yours. }

“Sweet shadows, what does this boy want from me?”

“That voice. Just can’t help but smile, laugh. It’s infectious.”

“I keep forgetting his actual name. It’s just going to be Bourbon-Boy from now on. I don’t think he’ll mind if he’s calling me Napkins.”

“Missing to confession...I’m glad, really. Nobody should be sitting here every single Sunday, selling their soul away to the drink. Or me.”