#malanorei

She had invited Ruthe, Brother Alaban Rutherford as he would have preferred to be called, for his talents with the light. Norei had omitted most details regarding their destination and purpose. She was certain Ruthe would follow through regardless of how little she let on. He was a man of the clergy and when called upon, he served dutifully. Norei had wished many times before that he might come to resent her, to look disapprovingly down upon her life, and eventually break ties with her. Yet every time she slinked back to the Cathedral, battered and bruised, Ruthe failed to press her on the circumstances of her wounds and instead quietly and compassionately tended to them. She hated that about him, he took so little and gave so much enabling her greediness and only asking in return that once a year Norei abscond into a confessional booth and pour the muck of her sin into his lap. Ruthe had come to find that coaxing stories out of her was a losing battle. Eventually enough time would pass and the guilt and shame would build its way up into her throat until she overflowed. Only then would she allow him to wade through the grime, break her open, and finally reveal the smaller terrified woman within.

To ask him to surrender an entire weekend away to Norei’s plans- that was asking more than to simply be a confidant and her personal medic. She knew she would owe him and so she’d hoped that for once, just this once, maybe she could have seen a glimmer of the man behind the priest. She wished he’d arrived late at the docks that morning, or not at all. Maybe then she could see a ray of humanity inside of him. Maybe then she could feel whole again, but Ruthe had arrived not a moment late or a moment early. Perfectly on time.

“We are not welcome here, Ms. Tremaine.” Ruthe’s eyes focused on the island’s only inn as he grimaced.

“Norei,” she interjected to correct him before continuing on, “And don’t tell me you have never been an unwanted presence before? I’d have figured the feeling was familiar to you, Ruthe.” Norei shot a patronizing grin up at her companion. Any attempt at humor now seemed better than the silence. She knew that he would not appreciate it but, at least he could acknowledge her effort.

The two pressed forward into the building’s shelter, ignoring the lingering eyes of the townsfolk outside and their hushed musings. They did not belong, Ruthe was correct. Norei had put tremendous effort into looking perfectly drab that weekend, her usual attire and frequent array of leathers left behind in Stormwind. No, this weekend she had sworn to be a perfectly unidentifiable smear in the world. Simple shirts and a few sweaters, none of them Flynn’s, accompanied by a few thick pairs of pants and a single set of brown boots. Ruthe dressed as he always had, vestments finely crafted and clearly indicative of his profession. A trade that had no meaning or weight here. As far as Norei could see the stragglers of Kul’Tiras were godless folk, just like her. She felt apologetic in part for not having forewarned him of the locale or how suspicious the inhabitants may be of them. Maybe then he’d have packed more appropriately, but it was too late to change their situation now.

The first floor of the inn opened to a small bar. Several tables that appeared to have been uninhabited for years greeted patrons first. Just beyond them stood a counter whose backdrop appeared to be an endless array of liquor and various alcohols, its master a single human of about fifty. Across the bar sat his own personal audience, a collection of three barflies. They all craned to give a good look over at Ruthe and Norei, if not perturbed by their presence then deeply interested. The room triggered a nostalgia for her, of a place she had never been to but knew well enough. The bar was a miasma of stale cigarette odor. Despite the establishment’s ‘no smoking’ signs, years worth of seafarers had left their stories here.A thousand impatient hands had broken each of the bar-stools and railways over the years. Each had a different fix, chairs nailed or glued and railings sloppily soldered back into place, each fix gifted by hands that kept the stories of those impatient ones alive. The bartender and those barflies worshipped the spirits in that bar, making certain everyone who passed through this place knew how old they were. Everyone worshipped, even if they didn’t know it.

“A room, two beds please.” Ruthe was the first to close the gap to the bar, all he saw were silly pastimes and an unrelenting sadness. He couldn’t see it quite like she did and she forgave him for that. Norei’s eyes connected with a few of the patrons, they no longer had their ashtrays with them, but the practice was still Tirasian. A spirit still lived, even without its shrine.

The barkeep hesitated to break from the protection of the counter before proceeding to collect a single brassy key. Norei seized this opportunity to whisper gently to Ruthe, “Relax. We are fine. These are simple people, they know everyone in this town. They don’t know us. They’re allowed reasonable suspicion.”

Ruthe couldn’t read the stories in these places as she did. He grunted a response, “Yes, Ms. Tremaine. As you wish.” Maybe by the time they found what Norei was searching for he’d understand. Ruthe spent too much time in places maintained and cleaned rigorously. His home eradicated the shrines nightly. A home barren of any natural stories.

“Thank you. May the light bless you.” Ruthe offered a polite smile to the barkeep, sincere but begging for acceptance. Norei turned to study the flies once more. Their hands were worn and calloused, burnt around the nails, irritated and red. She wanted to walk into their den, to ask each what they loved and what they hated. Norei wanted to read their stories. She wanted time away from Stormwind, time away from her own stories. She could recognize only the surface of spirits here and Ruthe did not permit her time to delve deeper.

“Ms. Tremaine, our room. You should rest your shoulders, set your pack down.” He waved a hand to usher her along, so she played her part. This was not the time nor the place to be defiant, to stand out. Here she had no stories, she was just a woman. These shrines were not hers, she only wanted them to be. She wanted to get away from a life and people she loved immensely, who were all just trying to stay clean. Homes pretending no one lived in them, people pretending to be fine, just as she was.

The duo shuffled upstairs to their room where they both quietly deposited their belongings before redirecting back outside. Ruthe’s reluctancy grew with each step, he wanted out. He didn’t want to have this place carve a tale into him, but his righteousness would not allow him to abandon Norei. This amused her far more than it made her sympathize, she’d hoped for so long that he would just do the ‘wrong’ thing. After all, they were there because Norei had wanted to understand Flynn, to see what it was he’d seen in this place that made him resent it so. She wanted answers despite being unwilling to give her own. They were there because she was doing the ‘wrong’ thing. Ruthe’s response to this had been as she’d expected, disappointment shrouded behind the thin line of his lips.

Norei was feverish in her attempts to locate Flynn’s parents that first day. They covered most of the population they could find within the first few hours. Hopeful and occasionally overjoyed at the prospect of a familiar face. Yet every single one had been lost within the minute details. Blue eyes that lacked flecks of green, a chin that wasn’t chiseled quite the right way, lips that didn’t hold the same life Flynn’s had. Norei begun to believe that perhaps her pursuit had been all for naught. Perhaps her blind confidence in coercing her passage here had come at the price of being swindled. Maybe this had not been the home of the people she’d been looking for. Maybe the Walters had been long since decamped to a far more private destination.

Norei trudged down the side of a cliff onlooking the most eastern beach. Her footsteps heavy and her shirt soiled from the hours of reconnaissance they’d done. The fabric was stiff from starch and stained from the filth of this place, it didn’t cling to her from sweat, but all the same it felt like a straightjacket. Ruthe followed behind with a more graceful and practiced descension, watching Norei carefully and noting the obvious signs of her frustration before choosing wisely not to engage. The girl gave a pregnant pause, bending over and collecting a single rock. She hurled it downwards so it bounced over each plateau and descended out of view, to what she could only hope was its inevitable death. She wanted very desperately to pretend this would sate her frustrations. She wanted to persevere onwards with her head held high. Instead her chin dropped and she glared downwards at the rocky structure she teetered upon, feet occasionally swinging to kick at dirt. Ruthe found a comfortable section of rock just beside her and stood patiently while he glanced out over the water. His left hand rose to rest over one of her thin shoulders.

“We should go home, Ruthe.” Norei spat the words with clear disdain.

“We’ve only just arrived. If they do not live here then consider it fate. A lost connection would not be the worst result of this weekend, Ms. Tremaine. Why is it you fear not finding her?”

The girl's eyes narrowed and shifted to stare out over rolling waves, her feet still kicking occasionally at the rock beneath her. This was her debt and Ruthe was collecting. She owed him. “I’ve made a fool of myself if I’m incorrect,” she mumbled the words passively.

“Is that all?” Ruthe’s brow raised precariously high up onto his forehead. Norei only wished she could bat it off and clear his sage expression. She resented how much he knew about her already. He didn’t need more.

“Fuck Ruthe! Not everything is deeper than what it I say it is OK? I’m not a fucking book of emotions!” She brushed his hand off coldly before turning to descend a few more steps,looking once out onto the strip of beach immediately to their right. Her irises widened and focused onto something in the distance.

“You used to be,” Ruthe let on softly before following her, “Why is it that version of yourself is no longer allo-” A small porcelain finger suddenly smothered his lips. Silencing him effectively, so much so that he couldn’t help but feel particularly offended. She’d owed him this one simple pursuit of virtue and here it was being dismissed forever.

“This is incredibly unbecoming of someone like you, Ms. Tremaine. You do not engage in serious dialogues often but you’ve invited me here. You must know that I am honor bound to ask-” His words were silenced again but this time by a hiss of air from her lips. She’d never shushed him before. Even in her most dismissive of moods she’d always maintained her own brand of ‘banter’. His eyes shifted to locate the item of her sudden attention. A small speck of a human lingered somewhere far off on the beach. He craned his head and focused, a woman aged and worn enough to reasonably have had children of Norei’s age wobbled up and down the strip of beach while staring impractically down at the sand. Occasionally she’d stop, almost tipping over, to scoop something up between her fingers before depositing it into a pouch held loosely in her digits.

“That’s her.” Norei’s words were decisive as she dropped a few more feet down the slope. Ruthe stared in disbelief over at the pip of a woman. He had hoped when Norei had revealed her reasons for coming here that their efforts would turn up fruitless. As Norei descended to a innocuous perch he couldn’t help but feel an abysmal sense of defeat. This place wasn’t going to carve a tale in him.

She was.

Three days of watching the woman was more than enough in Ruthe’s opinion. Three days allotted anyone who possessed even a slim fragment of sanity the chance to recognize the woman was dying. Yet every morning Norei rose, pulled him limply from his bed, and herded him down to this rocky alcove. At first she’d seemed in disbelief about the progression of Mrs. Walters sickness, as if she held out hope that the severity had been exaggerated to her, that just maybe the woman was salvageable.

That was all before the tortured and forlorn looks out to the sea gave way to long and wailing cries. They’d been far enough away that the sound was muffled but not hidden. Ruthe looked away each time. It pained him, these were not moments he’d been permitted to watch. These were ghosts that haunted her and would follow alongside her long and ambling death up and down that beach. She had not asked anyone to lay witness, and he felt sickened with the prospect of being an unwanted spectator to her failing memories.

Unlike him, Norei stared. Each wail bore across her back, a lashing of a life forgotten. A life she had nosed her way into. She took each one with an air of stoicism that Ruthe felt did not bode well. Norei couldn’t see the scars forming in her skin, but he could. She could see the stories written in grime. But he could see the stories written in flesh.

“Tell me what you can do,” Her voice startled him. For three days they’d sat in silence, a dutiful audience for the ballad playing out before them. More than that, the question itself startled him. He knew the answer and so, he believed, did she. Yet even after all of the beatings she’d taken in the past seventy two hours, he found it hard to believe she’d withheld enough hope to think there was any line of action left. Ruthe diverted his gaze back to the wiry frame, watching the dip and weave of her body, as Mrs. Walters re-discovered treasures left behind by her own hands.

“Do you think this is wise?” His tone was firm and even a bit scolding. Not entirely his intent, but it served well.

“What?”

He exhaled at her confusion, breaking his eyes away to study her face. He’d always regarded Norei as being an uncomfortable kind of beautiful. The kind that very well knew just exactly how attractive they were and so they allowed the world to stare, for mouths to hang, and they practiced patience as people gawked. She’d become accustomed to a world that developed slowly around her. Accustomed to a comfortable amount of time given to process her emotions, but now as the mist of a restless sea rained over them, he couldn’t see any of that. Today she was not beautiful. Today she looked like just all the other folk here did. She’d read their stories, she’d observed their shrines, and she’d given part of her soul to each of them.

“Do you think this is wise, Norei?” His tone shifted as all formalities dropped and his features hardened under the sinking pit in his stomach. “To interject yourself into this pain, do you think it’s wise? This is not Rose. You don’t get to pretend like saving his Mother redeems your own. You don’t get to make this about you, Norei. You are adopting pain because you’ve convinced yourself you can fix it. And even then you’re not doing it because you care. You’re doing this because you’re in love with reckless abandonment. You need excuses to validate why you feel like your actions will never matter. There is nothing to do. You know there’s nothing to do. You just want to hear me say it. You want to pretend like you gave it your all so you can whine about how the whims of fate swindled you again. Fuck you, Norei. You don’t get to write this narrative, you don’t get to smear yourself all over his pain. Fuck you.” The rage poured out of him like a carbonated drink. Each bubble a pent up fury waiting to burst. He wasn’t certain if it’d ever settle.

Norei stared up at him, clearly confused and awestruck, “What is it I get to be then Alaban?”

“Yourself. You get to be you- If you’d asked me before we came here who Norei Tremaine was, I’d have said; ‘A woman of great potential shrouded by a past she’s unwilling to let go of, but will ultimately triumph over’. But now? Now all I can possibly say is: ‘A woman destined to die alone, with only the chip on her shoulder for company.’” Ruthe rose from his position on the rocky incline and began his ascension. Norei allowed him the proper and polite amount of time one should give a person who’d just released their pent up rage of three days. Her trot back into town was slow and tiring. She knew up in the inn Ruthe was fuming on a bed unwilling, even after everything, to leave.

She stopped in the center of what could have reasonably been called the town square, examining each of the buildings around her. There were cracks everywhere. As if the cobblestone pathways and the wooden buildings both wanted to crumble, the grime inside each of them gushing out into the island where it would dry up and inevitably blow away into the sea. Eradicating what should’ve been forgotten, what should’ve never been written. Norei tried reading another story there, but there were none.

The only remaining story she could find was back at the docks. The rickety structure was surrounded on either side by coastline, separating the island from the sea. A single fisherman’s chair, likely never used for its intended purpose, sat no less than twenty yards off. It was an ashtray. Hundreds upon hundreds of cigarette and cigar butts surrounded its legs. The miasma had no room to fill, no roof to keep it contained, so it didn’t reek. She hadn’t noticed the coastal ashtray until she walked into it. Norei wondered how many of these butts told the same story as Ruthe and hers. A friend wondering why he was here. Why he couldn’t tell the person with him to fuck off. A scared woman pretending she understood more of the world than she did. Maybe many of these were just the remains of a satiated night. Norei rifled into her bag and produced her own cigarette, a vice she couldn’t remember why she’d held onto. Maybe her butts would be the first stories of a coerced woman. Maybe these were the cigarette butts of coerced men. She couldn’t tell.

Ruthe hadn’t come out of the inn after forty-five minutes. Norei had gone through her entire stash of smokes at that point. The longer she waited the more she could feel herself carving a tale into him- into everyone. A story she didn’t have the right to narrate. It wasn’t worth it anymore. She needed more cigarettes, and she needed to not see the shrines anymore.

Rose, on the other hand? Rose was a kind person. Not by design, or because someone had come along and told her she ought to be, and not even because she believed she was. If Philip had one strong and sure opinion of Rose, it was that she was kind because life was not. If he’d ever regarded anything more peculiar than this trait in any man or woman, he couldn’t remember it now. No, Rose was a startling entity to him then and forever. She had clearly spent years mastering and honing the exact craft that was now whittling away at her. Destined to die, whether it be on his gryphon that very night or several years down the road, by the fruit of her labors. She knew firsthand life was not kind, because despite all of her tireless efforts to do good--or rather to be good, life did not distinguish between the sinner and the saint. Phillip would live and Rose would die, this was a fate that perplexed him long after their time together ended.

 They'd only spent one day traveling and Rose hadn't the energy to say a word to him. He'd sloppily attempted to scrounge up some chit chat regarding the Kirin Tor’s recent victories in Icecrown, but his words were clunky and unintentionally sharp so Rose had neglected to indulge him with an argument. That was often his takeaway from conversations, pleasantries were confusing and people were generally mistrusting of intent. Even now as they braved the dark of a cave, just bordering Wintergrasp, Rose did not fuss over him with small talk. Her body slumped against the cool side of the cave, just a few feet across from the fire he'd constructed. His shadow cast across the walls, large and intimidating behind them, while Rose’s was a feeble lump cowering a few feet from his own.  He thought it particularly humorous that even then, after all the running, all the hiding, he was still the monster in the dark.

 ‘Your true colors always shine through’, someone significantly more sage than him had once said. Philip wondered if, for years to come, that person would realize their anecdote would be endlessly adopted and grafted into people's lives. Never at home among strangers words, just lost in the chaos of people's shared burdens. Would this have upset them? Phillip imagined he’d be upset if his life's most cherished sentiment had devolved into a shitty turn of phrase.

 He permitted his mind to wander like this for some time, thumbing a journal as he went. He was more than accustomed to the fleeting nature of Rose’s energy. One second there and then suddenly not. In fact he’d become so accustomed to the ebb and flow of it that he almost hadn't noticed her dying.

 Her energy rescinded into the distance and he hummed patiently, flipping between a few pages. Almost a minute went by before a creeping emptiness filled the space around them. His eyes shifted from the text and towards her bundled figure.

 Nothing.

 He leapt up from his seat and dove for her person. A clamor of his supplies knocking around filled the cave as his limbs launched him the short distance. She was cold and stiff under his fingers, as lifeless as she'd ever be. Philip's hands shook to no avail while his mind raced to curse life and the endless cycle of bullshit it'd laid out in front of him. He rest Rose out flat, the heel of his left palm finding the center of her cleavage before quickly clasping the other palm over the former and pushing down firmly with his body weight, repeating several times, while looking expectantly for the rise and fall of her chest. Nothing came. He was certain that if Rose was fighting, it was against him and not with him. He tilted her head back and gently lifted her chin, cursing himself for what would come next. His index and thumb pinched the button like structure of her nose while his lips formed a tight seal around her own.

 Resuscitation was not romantic. All of the romance novels in the world had underplayed how severely un-romantic it was in fact. This was only confirmed by the sputtering coughs that Rose's throat eventually gave way to along with the spittle that flew up at his face as she sucked up all the remaining air the world had to offer.

 “Don't do that!” She declared after a few minutes. Philip’s eyes widened and a flare of anger rose deep within the pit of his stomach.

 “Excuse me?” He hissed, awkwardly scooting across the cave floor to create a sufficient gap between them.

 Rose sputtered some more, “Why would you do that?! I figured your people knew better than anyone to let the weak die in peace!” Phillip stiffened under her words. His complexion paled as he considered the line; ‘your people’. His very own words catching in his throat. He had not fathomed that in all of Rose’s infinite wisdom she may have pieced together exactly who or what he was.

 Rose regarded his surprise then with an unprecedented air of frustration. “Do you think I’m incapable of sight? I’m dying, not blind. I’ve seen the tattoos, I’ve clearly seen the blood red armor, do not tell me the Scarlet Onslaught have convinced themselves they live undetected by the world?” Rose shifted to stand, forced by the exhaustion to prop a slender arm against the cave wall for support.

 “Do not presume what I am, Rose.” Philip retorted without hesitation, his words quick and his tone once again sharp without intention.

 “Presume? I am speaking to you now, I have traveled with you this far. Should I be left to think you have the insignia transcribed on your flesh for what- a fun story? A trip to the lake over a hot summer is a fun story, your people’s atrocities are not such a fond memory to lay rest upon.” Rose’s own tone mirrored his with surprising conviction. Forcing Philip to stutter for a moment before he rose slowly to his feet and began collecting the supplies he had disturbed during his leap.

 “The Scarlet Onslaught has maintained the same goal for years. Were your precious Kirin Tor not also waging war against Arthas? Do not attempt to convince me you have gained no value from our efforts against the scourge.”

 “Do not convince you-,” Rose interjected to suck at her teeth, “Oh, yes! How we have benefited from you zealots! The countless adventurers who died at your hands because you could not distinguish friend from foe. All who stand in your path, hm? Were those not Ms. Abbendis’ exact words? For how well you all obey orders you would have figured the events at Havenshire could have been prevented!”

 “The fall of the Scarlet Enclave was the failure of fool hearted men like High Commander Pureblood. Should I be punished for the oversight of those clearly unfit to lead? You should know better, Rose. The world gifts those intended for greatness with the burden of righteousness and so we persevere. The weak fall of their own accord, by their own failures. Am I expected to feel pity for them?” Philip's jaw stiffened, had he not intended his words to be so venomous, he had far surpassed the point of return. He knew this and Rose’s body language only served to confirm his assumptions. Her fists curled tightly inwards, her shoulders drew upwards, and her blue eyes set upon him impassively.

 “What an interesting position you have taken on this matter, Philip. To list for me in such flowery and passive ways why it is I should die and then nevertheless to save me. Does torturing me with life fit your rhetoric? Or are you acting upon principle outside of the Onslaught? How disappointing that would be for your persona.” Rose’s words sunk into him like claws, tearing up and down until flesh gave way to bone like a million white flags begging for surrender. Philip towed this line often. The thin border between forcing arguments, causing people to reveal the unique way they etched their sadness and desperation into the dirt of their lives, and the rare opportunity for him to be righteous. To avoid the temptation of breaking the visage of people's ‘goodness’ to re-write their fragmented stories into the same mess of grey and black his had become.

 Rose was ruthless in her pursuit of him however, her eyes never straying far from his own, her body poised and noble. He could feel how the transgression would progress, how maybe even in all his fruitless attempts to run away from his past, regardless of his best intentions, he would fold his hand and she would call. She was the better woman, and Philip? Philip was the bastard in sheep's clothing.

 “Gather your things, we leave at sunrise. You should sleep until then. Conserve your energy.” His tone was subservient to her own, full of the respect she commanded. It was a shameful display in his opinion, but it spared him the fight. It spared him hating himself a little bit more. Rose remained stagnant for a moment, a statuesque testimony to the furor a dying soul could still muster. She watched him, frozen in her stance, before quickly collecting the hem of her dress and turning to slump back down the cave walls. A few moments passed before she obliged to the whimsy of sleep. Philip watched closely, consumed with the push and pull of her aura.

 One second entirely there and then altogether-- gone.

Hans shrugged this line of questioning off, turning not to address the complaining woman, but to reach lazily for his bag. The ebony haired seductress droned on about Hans imperfections, his lack of selflessness, or rather empathy. Hans imagined people had birthed these sort of thoughts out of their own insecurities, had the women never decided to spend the night then mayhaps she wouldn’t feel so rightly annoyed. But, she had and so she did.

 Unfortunately for her, Hans had little time for pleasantries today. He had little time to offer breakfast, to woo her, and to eventually lose her interest. No, today was far too important. He glanced once at the gnomish watch strapped around his wrist, it read noon as he hustled at double speed. Collecting the heavy leather bag, his gloves, and hat- not looking once at the woman in his bed, which in hindsight he regretted deeply- He hurriedly moved from the house and out into the heat of Stormwind.

 The air radiated with a warmth that was not, could not be, intended for living creatures- an oversight by the astral forces that had created Azeroth, figured Hans.  The cobblestone burned through the thin leather heel of his shoes and in return, Hans surprisingly gleamed a smile. A heat wave, a heat wave was good. Certainly not good for everyone, but for Hans it was great. He hopped from stone to stone down the street, giving a playful salute to a crowd of guards. They were less than pleased by Hans’ cheery demeanor, being trapped within a cage of armor, on Stormwind’s arguably hottest day, was not conducive to a joy similar to his. Hans ignored the glares and hushed cursing of his name. He was on a mission that would only be fulfilled when he’d reached the Cone o’ Cold stall. It was a simple establishment based outside of the Blue recluse, only licensed to be open under the monarchy's discretion.

 Several of his mages had already arrived, channeling their powers to summon ice elementals that would serve dutifully to keep the sweet treats cold as they were created. Hans stopped briefly to stare giddily out over the fruit of all his labour, his employees, the nature of utilizing magic just to conjure food, all of it. Many had considered Hans’ use of the magi’s and his own powers to be a disgrace, but those folks weren’t bedding ebony haired seductresses and swimming in pools of gold, now were they?

 Hans shifted behind the counter, swinging a sign on its hinges so it moved from reading ‘Closed’ to ‘Open’. Immediately a small crowd of onlookers cluttered around to form a less than orderly line. Hans ignored the hounding nature of their demands, only driven by the prospect of a good day of business. Eventually, to Hans dismay, the crowd lulled. Customers would wander away with cones of ice cream held proudly in hand, off to find their next adventure for the day.  Hans was a patient man however, he would wait. Keeping busy by ordering the elementals around and staying up to date on the mage’s conjuring needs and specifications. That was until something caught his eyes, a distant gleam of tanned skin kissed by the sun with a pepper of freckles and next to it a glowing white body of creme.

 If Hans had much time for regarding women as attractive, which he adamantly stated he did not, he would have found the two to be particularly good-looking. A thought which, at that given moment, annoyed him more than it delighted him. Hans did not have time for women, with their pretty hair and scantily clad in summer wear-

 He shook his head sharply, trying to expel the thought. He resented the notion that he could be so easily distracted from his ice cream empire. Powerful, respected, and successful businessmen did not have time to be distracted. He told himself this many, many times as the two approached. A faint giggle of chiding remarks being made by the small pale blonde one, the taller and tanned girl only retorting with a bemused smile. He gave his best attempt at a cold blank stare at the duo, feeling pressured to not slip up in his ways.  The blonde woman regarded the leering nature of Hans with a sharp tutt from her lips before she began her order. Hans almost hadn’t heard her, consumed by inspecting the auburn haired one, her lips drawn into a smile of epic proportions. It was built entirely for Hans, or at least he wanted to imagine that was so. Had she ever smiled at anyone quite like that? He’d hoped not.

 “I’m sorry, what?” He broke free from the trance the girl had on him, regarding the smaller one then. She glared before pointing violently at one of his signs, it read ‘Single or Double Scoops’.  The girl leaned over to tap one of her nails on the ‘single’ portion and then quickly flashing him two fingers, Hans stared completely befuddled by the gesture.

 “Oh! Oh, yes. Two single scoops, you got it.” He flashed her a quick thumbs up, a gesture which he had never done before. It felt awkward. He felt awkward.

 “F-flavors?” He inquired timidly, feeling like he was on the precipice of losing two customers.

 “Strawberry and,” the blonde woman paused to look to her companion. Norei had expected to see Izzy still at her side, and she’d been certain that if the two of them could just get their order out to the bumbling buffoon of a man standing in front of her now- Then perhaps, just perhaps, she would be able to uphold her promise of ice cream. Unfortunately Isobelle apparently had about the same attention span as all the woodland creatures she constantly doted over. The girl had wandered curiously in the opposite direction, staring upwards at a tree and a robin perched within its bramble.

 “Right, chocolate.” Norei said confidentially, hoping she could infer Isobelle’s favorite flavor purely from the few months they’d spent together. Hans stammered a quiet ‘Yes, Ma’am’, before meandering over to the magi. He passed along the order before stumbling politely back to the counter and offering the two cones to Norei.

 “Fifteen copper,” Hans mused, his subconscious suddenly beginning to scream. Fifteen copper was a laughable amount to charge for ice cream during the summer. In fact Hans might as well have handed them the ice cream free of charge, fifteen copper didn’t even cover the cone.

 “Fifteen copper, huh?” The smaller woman inquired, her lips forming a grin that stared Hans down. A grin that suggested she knew all too well how little fifteen copper was for ice cream, his mind began to churn. He had a rare opportunity here, a second chance to right his wrong. He’d simply explain that it’d been a slip of the tongue, fifteen copper was far too lo-

 “Fifteen copper,” he repeated, the little voice inside of his head doubling down on its screaming. The girl watched him curiously, examining the stiffening of his neck, the slight twitch of his left eye, and the beads of sweat forming on his brow. Norei was certain he was either having an aneurysm or was just woefully unprepared for speaking to women. Whichever was true, it seemed to amuse her greatly, and for that Hans resented her.

 “Fifteen copper,” the girl stated while fingering a few coins into the palm of his hand. She gave him little time for response, turning quickly and starting with a slight skip and a hop in the direction of Isobelle. Hans ultimately was left frozen in place, eye still twitching, his hand awkwardly cupping the coins.

 Norei ducked and weaved her way through city folk, until locating the bumbling doofus she knew as Izzy. Sliding in next to her, she regarded the item of Isobelle’s affection, a chubby little robin. A few of its chest feathers ruffled, and a few cute cheeps were expended in Iz’s direction. Norei looked to Isobelle, whose face looked as though nothing quite as pure and wonderful as this moment would come along ever again. It was the kind of sickeningly sweet love and compassion that forced Norei to smile herself. She giggled, an uncommon but sweet sound, and gently bounced her hip against the girl’s.

 “Take your ice cream, you doof.” Norei offered the chocolatey treat over, and Isobelle grabbed for it excitedly. A few preliminary licks satisfied her craving, and finally allowed her the means to thank Norei. She squeed a few gracious remarks before stopping cold to stare directly at the pink ball of confection that Norei lapped at occasionally.

 “Ye’ like strawberry ice cream?!” Isobelle chirped, almost too loudly.

 “What? Why’re you so,” Norei paused to furrow her brows, “I like many things, Iz.”

 “Yeah! But ye’ like strawberry ice cream- ‘s so pink!” Isobelle wriggled in place, clearly far more excited at this detail than her companion. Norei’s eyes rolled for about the upteenth time before she quickly turned and started off farther down the street.

“Whatever, Iz.” Norei continued to take the occasional swipe at her treat.

No, she loved him in the way that made her resent herself when she discovered she was dying.

Rose rocked in place as the bow of the ship dipped in accordance with the rough waves of the northern sea. She could feel the eyes of the crew lingering on her, watching her emaciated form with a concern they hadn’t earned. Rose did not appreciate their pity, she was not a thing to be pitied. A great deal of stories were known about those who had harnessed arcane magic in astonishing ways, the concept of magical power like Khadgar’s was a beloved tale for children and adults alike. But no one ever heard the stories of the aftermath. Of those who fought continuously for their magical intuition.

 She had been young the first time she’d ever heard that phrase, ‘magical intuition’. Her very own mother had assured her that it ran in their family, a trait hardwired into their lineage. Rose hadn’t found a way after all these years, even long after the woman's death, to explain just exactly how hard she had struggled to find an inkling of it within herself. Had her mother said it with the intention of embarrassing her? Or, more terrifyingly, had Rose just been a fluke in the matrix of her family's great history?

 She had fought long and hard to master a power which the world made clear was not intended for her. But perseverance and being headstrong trumped even the best of nature’s will. She had been a great mage, of this she was certain. She had served the Kirin Tor well and she would continue until her last days. Perhaps that was what forced Arthur into such pure denial- he knew better than anyone what she’d wanted from life. He’d given up his own ambitions to join the coalition and serve alongside her. Maybe it was this, the desire to not feel as though it’d all been for naught, that drove him to turn a blind eye on her deteriorating health.

 The boat drew into the harbor at Valiance Keep, the crew waded reluctantly out into Borean Tundra’s endless expanse of snow. Arthur had removed his heavy coat, braving the frigid cold, and draped the dense furs over her own shoulders.  He had the same soulful eyes as their daughter, the color of bourbon imbued with a rich honey. She could have fallen into them each time he regarded her, and yet just this once she felt a pang of annoyance. For as much as she was headstrong, so was he. She pulled weakly at his arms attempting to draw him near and return the fabric to his person. Should she have died from the cold then the gods had willed it to be so. He did not need to risk a similar fate on her behalf. Yet as she weakly shifted the arm of each sleeve onto his shoulder she could sense him compromising. He pulled her form, with immeasurable delicacy, into his own, balancing her feet upon the tops of his greaves and wrapping them ceremoniously together in the warmth of its furs.

 For a fleeting moment, she could only imagine him as her own Father. Who had once gently balanced the giggling mass of her childhood self on the tops of his very own shoes, and with the same supreme delicacy Arthur displayed now, aided her in taking her very first steps. Her heart swelled with the familiar pang of love she’d always felt for him, unfathomably deep and expansive.

 She was thankful then for her small stature more than anything, and in turn for Arthur's lack thereof. Her petiteness provided him the means to cuddle her close to him and start in a determined march for the flight master's quarters. Arthur had been a source of great strength for her, a constant in an ever changing world. He provided her a cloak of warmth within his arms, a wall of protection from those that wished her ill, and most importantly- a provider of shade during the blistering months of summer where she'd first fallen in love with him. Had Norei been gifted with any of her traits she was grateful it was the strikingly blonde mop of hair and that very same petiteness. She could not imagine her own daughter with Arthur's thick black hair, or his tall built frame. Though she was certain Arthur himself could never have imagined their child with Rose’s blue eyes or rounded face. No, the features Norei had now were precious details of themselves passed down into a life made all of their own volition. A beautiful creature destined for unbounding greatness.

 He trudged forward, arms wrapped protectively around her, leading them straight towards the stables. The flight master seemed unsurprised when Arthur entered, they discussed in quick and concise words the nature of their deal. A single gryphon, for two, charted to Dalaran and paid for in advance. The Flight Master seemed to agree with these terms until Arthur trudged farther into view and he was finally able to regard Rose. The man’s face fell and he leered warily over the small bundle Arthur kept against his body.

 Rose knew he could tell she was a magi, as weak as her magic had become it still radiated from her every pore. But, that was not what provoked his sudden trepidation. It was the flickering and fading nature of her aura in conjunction with her and Arthur's tabards. Rose knew all of this without looking, satisfied instead with burying her features shamefully into Arthur's chest.

 “She-” the man drew back on the reigns he'd been just seconds away from handing over, “is sick.” His voice had no hesitation, regarding Arthur with spite.

 “We have paid,” Arthur commanded.

 “I do not care,” the man's voice cut in, “I will not be responsible for delivering a dead magi to the Kirin Tor.”

 “Then you will provide her safe passage,” Arthur's voice commanded, sharper this time. She could feel the thick muscles of his abdomen tensing under her grasp, she whimpered in turn.

 “No,” the man's voice challenged Arthur's, “if you know what is good for you then you will find a magi to take her.”

 “She is a magi,” Arthur hissed. He pulled more of the coat forward, shielding the small bit of her blonde hair that poked out from within.

 “Your wife very well may have been a magi, but she is barely that now. Do not misplace your grievances on me. I will not be responsible for the gryphon that delivers her dead at the foot of Dalaran,” the man tugged sharply on the reins and turned from the two. Rose could hear his footsteps shrink into the distance as Arthur huffed in frustration. He turned suddenly, causing her quite a fright, hurrying back into the streets of the keep. A sharp gust of wind welcomed them to the impending storm that had begun to brew just outside.

 Arthur raised a hand to shield Rose’s face, bracing the two of them against the powerful winds. A clamor of people rushing to make haste for their departures filled the spaces between howling winds. Arthur fought the current of air and trudged helplessly about, pleading and bartering with anyone he could for safe passage. Few regarded him with more than disdain and those that felt sympathy had little to offer in terms of space or safe travel. He rounded the corner of the stables looking hopelessly for anyone, for anything.

 In the far corner of the keep he regarded a single man, lithe in stature and cloaked in dark red leathers. He stared reluctantly for all but mere seconds before pushing onward. The leather clad man swung a leg over the saddle of his gryphon and paid Arthur no mind as he hustled over. He tugged sharply on the reins, rearing the creature's head to the side so it would start slowly in that direction.

 “Excuse me! Please, SIR!” Arthur exclaimed while hurriedly following in the creatures wake.

 “I do not have passage for you and the woman,” the man stated flatly. The heels of blood red boots dug into the birds side and petitioned it along with urgency.

 “Fine! Please- that is fine! Her,” Arthur stumbled to keep up with the creature as its pace quickened, “p-please. Take her.”

 The roguish man turned his head now, a cowl hid the visage of his face though a thin pair of lips peeked through. He looked to be studying the pair scrupulously before settling on his response.

 “The trip you wish to take is three days worth of flying on even the most well trained of gryphen. Your wife would not make it. You’re asking me to deliver a dead woman to a city,” his tone was absolute and stoic. It was jarring to both Rose and Arthur. More often than not those that regarded her ailment did such with less candor or ipso facto.

 “She,” Arthur hefted a few breaths as the gryphon halted under its owner’s command, “she will make it. She must make it. You have- you need to take her.” Arthur's hand clutched the back of Rose’s head now, a creeping sense of panic quietly consuming her as he did. The man scoffed from his perch up on the bird, digging his heels once more into its sides and redirecting the creature back on its previous path.

 “FINE,” Arthur's voice bellowed, “all the coin in my purse-” Arthur quieted the boom of his voice as the gryphon and its master came to a sudden stall. The man said nothing for a moment, rigid in his place. Cautiously Arthur approached with Rose still clutched tight in hand. The man offered little in the way of words, instead looking not to Arthur but pointedly at the precious life he held in his arms. The man's lips twitched into a tight scowl before a palm shoved itself in Arthur's direction. Arthur stared incredulously down at the piece of flesh before reaching into his coat, just past Rose, and for his coin purse. He offered it over then, the clink of several weeks pay gone in an instant as the stranger's fingers curled over the pouch.

“I thought we’d already had this conversation.” Norei interjected, Arthur’s eyes scanning the back of her head. She was nineteen then, young enough to be annoyed with his concern, but to him she still looked like the his ten year old daughter that he’d read to every summer night. To him she’d always look that way, young and pure. The nineteen year old version of her was too real, too painful.

 Norei’s fingers fiddled with the new tabard, its emboldened gold and royal blue crest took no shame in declaring its affiliation with Stormwind. All would know she was serving the Alliance, and she liked it that way. This had been her purpose, to break free of the constraints of a life entirely sheltered within the city. To become a great engineer, to aid her people in their time of need. She would vow to serve and protect and that fact alone was reassurance she had found comfortable purpose in her life.

 “Will you be on the front..?” Her father's voice inquired once more, she was unaccustomed to this much concern. Her father was a stern man of great conviction and purpose, he had molded her a moral compass and worldview that did not account for doubt. She gave another annoyed sigh, fidgeting with the tabard once more. It was too big. She’d needed to gain at least ten pounds to fill it out.

 “No, Dad. We’ve discussed this,” she said turning to meet his eye line, “they’ve commissioned engineers to aid in the maintenance of their air fleets while they investigate the cataclysm. I will travel where they deem fit, and I will repair. We won't be fighting.” She closed the gap between them to wrap her arms tightly around his midsection. Her father towered well over Norei, and his meaty arms wrapped her into a cloak of warmth that had always left her feeling secure. Arthur himself had turned a cheek to stare desolately at her newly empty room. He had prepared himself for the day his daughter would leave, but nothing could prepare him for how fast it would come, or exactly the way in which it did.

 Norei had begun to peel away from him, gleaming a proud and excited smile. The moment of bliss was short lived, her features fell as she regarded the purple robes and tabard that she’d just held tightly in hand. The symbol of the Kirin Tor was painted in metallic over the fabric,his robes thick and dense in preparation for Northrend’s cold.

 “Are you not…?” Norei managed breathlessly.

 “We must remain diplomatic, Norei.” Arthur’s voice struggled to find the power it often demanded, he refused to allow her to hear the choking nature of his speech.

 “Dip-diplomatic? We are battling over land grabs, we are-” she took a pained step back, “we are at war, Father. Diplomacy does not return the lives of those lost.” Her voice trailed, eyes welling with painful tears.

 “The Kirin Tor are more united than ever, my love. Diplomacy has carried us through the terrors of Northrend. Diplomacy has provided for us greatly, Norei. Please understand.” Arthur’s hand reached for her then, but caught on to nothing. He suppressed a pained whimper as he watched her dodge his grasp. She would not understand, he only wished she would. Boldness had manifested in many forms within his daughter, but more often than not it appeared in the desire for justice, a righteous passion for good.

 “No, I understand. It is fine,” Norei dismissed promptly, “where is Mother? Is she feeling ill today-”

 “She was summoned to Dalaran. She is well,” Arthur’s voice cut in this time, sharp and dismissive. His eyes stared pleadingly down at the girl, wishing she would not inquire more, and hoping she would understand why they could not follow.

 “Will- will I see you again soon?” Norei’s voice cracked with a touch of sadness. Her eyes sliding over the hardwood floors of her childhood home.

 “We will see you again, Norei. Back here, together, as we belong.” Arthur’s hand tucked under her gaunt little chin and brought her gaze back to his own. A gentle smile grew on both of their faces and a quick bump of their foreheads before they collided together again in a hug. It was a fiercely affectionate hold on one another and neither particularly wanted to break from it, but life was fickle. A bell sounded far off in the distance, from the city’s clock tower. The two broke apart quickly as Arthur ushered her to grab her items. Hemming and hawing over her pack and running over a list of pointless items that he just had to be certain she packed. It was almost like the moment had come and gone without him even recognizing it. Soon he was staring out the open window of his living room watching the blonde frock of hair, cut close to her head, flopping gently in the wind as she bobbed and weaved smoothly through the streets.

 “She will serve the cause well,” A familiar voice remarked behind Arthur. His wife ambled slowly from their room where she’d remained behind closed doors. He turned quickly and hustled to her side, his hand slipping protectively to the small of her back and his other guiding her palm into his own. He helped her gaunt form shuffle into the room and towards the window, catching the last few glimpses of Norei before she rounded a corner towards the docks. His wife was undeniably sickly looking, weak and wiry, from her frame to the sunken nature of her eyes.

 “We must tell her Rose, she has the right to know about her own Mother.” Arthur stared blankly at the spot where he’d last seen his daughter. Almost expecting in some cruel twist of fate that he may be permitted just one last glimpse.

 “No, Arthur. We will endure, we will endure without troubling her,” she sniffled, “to endure, Arthur, to simply endure is to triumph. We will endure, for her and for the greater good.” Rose's voice trembled just on the edge of sobbing.

 _____________________________________________________________________________

 Norei shot up in bed, the visage of her dream slowly fading. The haziness of the planes of her imagination becoming a distant speck as the clouds of her eyes shifted and her irises refocused on the room before her. She was heaving large and labored breaths, hyperventilating loudly whilst examining the barren and unfamiliar room she was in. Something groaned next to her, obviously annoyed by all the fuss she was creating, it was then that her eye caught the familiar glimpse of Flynn’s broad shoulders. He was rolled onto the completely opposite side of the bed, one foot dangling dangerously over the edge of the bed and free from the sheets. Her chest fell and rose in sweeping waves of terror, slowly but inevitably subsiding.

 She was an idiot, a complete idiot of a woman. Had she not learned her lesson? Had she not experienced that exact nightmare enough times to know its purpose?

 She had run through the scenario a thousand times, deciding each time just exactly how the moment could have played out. How exactly they had decided to not tell her of her mother's progressing ailment, why exactly they’d done it, and more importantly- how they’d lived with the lie. But somehow, miraculously, through all the iterations her mind always came back to this one. Her first day of deployment, her mother tucked away in a bedroom, her father remaining poised and diplomatic. Her mind replayed it like a collection of family photos, once lost only to be found again, heartwarming but cold.

“Get your fat ass off of me,” Norei protested in a sleepy groan, “you’re gonna fuckin’ crush me.”

“I ‘ave thighs like tree trunks Rei, it’s a condition. Don’t make fun o’ me,” Isobelle whined, before slowly climbing off her. She sunk onto her knees, occupying the empty portion of bed next to Norei. Her pudgy little fingers moved to poke at the blonde woman’s cheeks.

“You- You’re shapely, jackass. No one calls that a condition,” Norei sat up,”people pray for it, so don’t call it a condition. You don’t have leprosy, you dinglebat.” Norei rubbed at her eyes, adjusting to the dim light of her bedroom. She looked over to inspect the rather distressed face of Iz, her features twisted up in a pitiful pout, the girl wiggled her hips with impatience.

“We ‘ave t’save ‘im,” Isobelle repeated.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Norei fell backwards with a distressed yelp, “you keep saying that, but who Isobelle? WHO?” Norei’s feet and arms kicked around in a rage that could only be found in the hearts of women who had been awoken from peaceful slumber.

Isobelle watched patiently, allowing Norei the appropriate amount of time to be pissy, then slowly leaned over to hover above her once more. “Mystic Magee,” Isobelle stated matter-o’-factly. An entirely serious expression about her features, as if by no means was this statement to be taken lightly.

Norei repeated in disbelief, “Mystic Magee?”

“Yes! Mystic Magee, Rei! Can ye’ jus’ get dressed so we can go?!” Isobelle wiggled yet again, clearly impatient with the woman’s lack of urgency for the situation at hand. Norei regarded her finally, noting the bulky grey sweater and thick crimson pants that covered Isobelle’s person. Norei was woefully underprepared for this situation, in fact she was beginning to feel woefully underprepared for having a roommate. Was this what it was like? Being awoken by a cute girl in the middle of the night, and not to have sex but, to save ‘Mystic Magee’? Was this the accumulation of all her hard work? To be woken up from lovely dreams and dragged outside into the harsh reality of night?

That sucked.

Norei sensed the desperation in Isobelle’s voice and with much reluctance, she pulled herself out from underneath her sheets, cursing the freckled girl for willing her person from the warmth and safety of her own bed. She trudged over to a chest of drawers and quickly scrambled to cover herself in a few random garments from within. Isobelle at this point had shifted out of vision, slinking out of Norei’s room and further into their shared home.

“Can you just tell me what we’re saving Mystic Magee from?” Norei called out into the house. She could hear the pitter of Isobelle’s feet as the girl swept through the flat.

“She’s not gettin’ fed,” there was a slight pause, “she’s bein’ abused, Rei.” Norei took this comment far more seriously than the others. She appeared now in the living room, tucking her feet into a pair of boots and staring with deep concern back at Iz.

“What’re you saying? There’s someone being held somewhere against their will? Did you call the guards?” Norei inquired, shoving her heel down into her last boot. Isobelle had her back to Norei, rifling through a collection of books and picking a few out decisively.

“I can’t tell ‘em wot we’re doin’,” She turned and quickly slipped past Norei, disappearing out the door before anyone could get a word in edgewise. Norei stood there with a look of disbelief, and an air of concern. She had in no way anticipated Isobelle to be the person involving her in crimes, and certainly not the type to seek unlawful revenge. She hurried to catch up with the girl, ignoring the strange and misaligned lot of degenerates that made up Stormwind’s nights, struggling to keep up with the girls long gait.

“You’re too fucking tall, Iz-”    

“Sh!” Isobelle interjected, coming to a sudden halt and digging her heels deep into the ground below her. Norei couldn’t help but bump awkwardly into the girls back, a groan and some general cursing opened way to Norei’s eyes glancing around her companion curiously. They’d already crossed over into the Dwarven District and were now staring directly at the archway that led out to Olivia’s pond, watched on either side by a guard. The guards stared placidly at the duo and with well deserved suspicion. Isobelle teetered there awkwardly, doing absolutely nothing to aid them on the matter. Norei groaned a great deal, pushing around Isobelle and grabbing for her hand.

“We’re going to go bang, yeahup. Doing it like wild teens,” Norei led Isobelle by hand between the archway. The comment was brazen enough to cause the guards a great deal of discomfort, grumbling a few patronizing remarks. But, nonetheless allowing them through.

“‘At’s not wot we’re ‘ere for- I mean ye’ an’ me, we’re not gon’ ‘appen, Hoss!” Isobelle stumbled behind Norei clumsily. It was an exceptional amount of work to not trip over Norei’s feet, her steps vastly shorter than Isobelle’s own.

Malanorei groaned, “Iz, I’m well aware we’re not. I was getting us through.” Isobelle’s eyes widened with sudden understanding, her hand squeezed at Norei’s in appreciation. Without any prompting Isobelle shifted to take the lead, dragging Norei in her wake. They rounded the corner of a small house and proceeded toward the farm that sat far off in the distance. Isobelle walked with intention and a great deal of purpose, giving Norei the impression that this entire ordeal had been meticulously plot out. She beamed with an almost maternal sense of pride for Izzy’s skill.

“OK, we’re ‘ere,” Iz whispered. The pair had skirted along the fence of the farm’s gate and were turned towards Olivia’s pond. Norei gave a cursory glance around, obviously very confused about what she was missing.

“Iz.. There’s nothing here? Do you mean the farm? Is she in the farm house?” Norei glanced over her shoulder at the shed, taking a few steps in its direction. Isobelle pulled on her hand, forcing her backwards. The freckled girl quickly shook her head and nudged her chin to motion vaguely over at the pond. Norei looked yet again, trying her very best to soak in every detail. Nothing. There was nothing of substantial importance about the scene in front of her, she’d seen Olivia’s pond many times. Each was less exciting than the other. She turned slightly to peer at Isobelle, utter confusion was not a good look for Norei. It did not suit her one bit.

“O’er ‘ere-” Isobelle whispered as she pointed to a specific spot on the ponds shoreline. Norei strained her eyes to look, inspecting every inch as meticulously as she could. It hit her then, she’d been looking for a person- For something in obvious distress. Instead what she regarded now was a turtle. Large enough to come up to their knees , it took slow, painstaking steps towards the water. It was hard for Norei to understand really how exactly one could determine how nourished a turtle was, to her it was a simple line of dead or alive. Turtles seemed resilient, hell the fucking bear people in Pandaria had ridden on them for centuries.

“The- You don’t mean,” Norei stuttered.

“Mystic Magee, Rei! The turtle!” Isobelle wiggled that same impatient little wiggle she always did. Norei stared, eyes bearing down into the girl’s soul.

“ARE  YOU FUCKING KI-” the bellowing sound of her voice was cut off by Isobelle’s hand clamping over her lips.

“Sh! Yer gon’ get us caught!” Isobelle pleaded with a genuine air of concern, or at least one that made Norei reconsider her temper tantrum. Isobelle removed the hand only once she was entirely certain Norei would behave, pulling her hand ever so gently. As they closed the gap between themselves and the turtle, Isobelle scanned their surroundings anxiously. After a few seconds, she bent at the hip and gently tucked her fingers under one side of the turtle’s shell, looking expectantly back up at Norei.

“What?” Norei hissed, looking around dazed and confused.

Isobelle grunted, “Pick up yer ‘alf!”

Norei’s mouth hung slightly ajar, sheer disbelief overshadowing any other possible emotion she could feel in that instant. Yet Isobelle didn’t seem to be joking. In fact she seemed rather annoyed, tapping her foot with great aggravation and flicking her chin to motion at the other side of the turtle. Norei very slowly approached, lanky fingers slipping under the lip of its shell and hefting it upwards. To say the turtle was pissed was an understatement, it was a disservice to all the creatures of the world that had ever been ticked off. See, being pissed had a certain connotation to it, an idea that at some point that aggression- all that pent up anger, well eventually that too would pass. In fact many had regarded Norei as being rather ‘cute’ when she was pissed, little limbs flailing and the bright red color that flushed over her face. It was all very cute, because behind it all Norei posed no real threat. Just a pip of a woman having her go at the world.

But no, this turtle was going to fucking kill someone. This turtle was not cute. In fact had someone been able to imbue all of the wrath of Garrosh, the brooding contempt of Illidan, and the sheer power of Khadgar into one single creature- well, it would pale in comparison to the turtle. The creature made airy hissing noises and thrashed its powerful little legs about. Naively believing all it had to do was create distance between the two women and itself. However, its legs found no footing, kicking wildly at the air below it. This only aggravated it more and in turn it settled on a happy medium- Turning its head ever so slightly and biting at Norei.  The chomping motion came with a sickening snap of its jaw after each reach, thankfully Norei herself was just barely out of its reach.

“What the fuck are we going to do when we get up there?” Norei bobbed her head up towards the archway they’d only just come through moments ago. The pair carried the turtle awkwardly between them as they trudged closer and closer to the steep steps that led back into the city. Isobelle stopped her attempts to soothe Mystic Magee’s wrath and fluttered her lashes in Norei’s direction. The thought had not quite occurred to her, what exactly were they going to do about the guards? She looked dumbfounded back at her companion.

“Uh,” her voice trailed.

“Are- Are you serious, Iz? YOU-” Norei stopped herself. She groaned once more, a sound that was becoming too familiar.

Somewhere far off in the distance someone sat meandering just exactly how much booze was too much booze, another mulled over the fine tuned balance of death and life, but in the Dwarven District there approached two girls from Olivia’s pond. One with a bag bulging twice the size a bag should normally ever be, writing and hissing, and the other waltzing around like a brain dead gazelle. They were the hooligans that made up Stormwinds night, everyone else seemed absolutely normal by comparison.

“Gentlemen,” Norei chirped as she tightened her grip on the wriggling pack that was slung across her chest. Isobelle stumbled on next to her, awkward and very rigid. The two guards looked them over with curiosity, stopping to stare at the strange wriggling nature of Norei’s pack. The women gave them little time to come to a decision on whether to stop the pair or not, instead they quickened their pace. Norei yelping once as the turtle’s jaw clamped through the bag and into her thigh. The two wound through the streets of the city, avoiding all of the lingering eyes of passerbyers, and eventually struggling to connect their key with the small slot on their door.

Isobelle burst in with an excited squeal, motioning for Norei to hand her over the pack. The blonde woman obliged easily, gently opening the pack and allowing the creature to flop out and onto the hardwood floor of their loft. The creature stopped frozen for a moment as it soaked in the unfamiliar territory, then with all the same malice and determination as previously, it began moving in one direction.

“We.. We have a turtle in our living room. Isobelle, we stole a turtle- Did we even steal a turtle? You said it wasn’t being fed?”

“Ooh,” Isobelle clapped and squealed another girlish squeal, “of course she was bein’ mistreated! ‘Ey weren’t even lettin’ ‘er stay in the barn!” Isobelle watched the creature with such glee that it was hard to scorn her in that moment.

“It’s a fucking turtle, Iz. You think they were keeping a turtle as their own? It’s probably- It’s eating our couch,” Norei stopped to stare directly at the creature. It was taking large vicious chunks out of the velvet tufted cushions. Isobelle squeaked in concern, dashing to snatch the stuffing from the creature’s mouth. She shook a finger at it scoldingly, babbling something or other in an endearing baby voice. The turtle had zero fucks to give about Isobelle’s cute nature, in fact the turtle thought Isobelle could go to hell for all it cared. It took several more taunting bites at the couch, hissing at every opportunity it got. Norei was left to watch as Isobelle hurriedly pulled each of the cushions up, snatched the stuffing from its mouth, and threw them across the room.

Norei gawked, not entirely certain that this wasn’t just a fever dream. She was watching her roommate, a beautiful and caring woman, fighting with a turtle that clearly wanted to eat their couch. A turtle named Mystic Magee. She shook her head once, determined to wake up from the dream. Nothing. She shook again, still nothing.

This was her life now; turtles and Isobelle.