Word Count: 1100 Summary: Syya just wants to look out for the bosslady. (It’s not that she’s jealous.) Warnings: stalking

@daily-writing-challenge

Syya watched from the window of her room in the inn the Last Cent Cavalry had been operating out of since bosslady had relocated them all to Dalaran. Everyone had been surprised by the decision, but when Rethea had stated simply that access to more factions outside of Kul Tiras meant more money, every last one of them had followed her. They’d been here a week, and business had yet to pick up, but Rethea had been leaving consistently every day, having meeting after meeting.

Her social calls left a bad taste in Syya’s mouth, but she had to admit that Rethreth was working hard to come through for everyone in her employ. For every day she spent drinking and fucking around, she spent three establishing new contacts. And in the gaps of time between those two things, she kept speaking to property owners.

Why? Was she looking for a physical headquarters for their group?

Rethea fell out of sight from Syya’s window, so she just opened it and vaulted out, letting her wings stretch just enough to coast her down to the street. A brief moment of staring through the walls showed her exactly where to go, because Reth had that accursed voidwalker with her, as usual. Tangnuz had realized long ago that she was following his mistress, and had been a tattletale thorn in Syya’s side ever since.

She’d learned from experience, however, that the two of them only focused on what was close around them. Sure, Rethea had the occasional tendency to look off into space and then turn and stare directly at her sometimes, but it’s not like Syya was a rogue. Illidari stood out in crowds, more often than not.

Syya followed Rethea into the nice part of the city, full of the tall buildings that more often than not housed mages with more money than sense. Her boss looked at a slip of paper in her gloved hand, verified an address, and then slipped through a nearby door.

Syya was just about to do her staring through walls trick again when a heavy hand settled on her shoulder. She spun around immediately, and came face-to-face with leather-clad, lavender-skinned tits. Syya would know that rack anywhere: it spent a lot of time crammed in her face when she needed healing after a contract job. Her neck craned, and she looked up into narrowed golden eyes instead.

“Warn a girl, Indraste.”

“That’s what I’m doing, Syya.” The smile the company’s healer gave her was unpleasant enough to match her own. “Rethea says you’ve been following her.”

Syya took a step back. “Just looking out for the bosslady.”

“She can look out for herself.” The druid’s voice was firm, and that unpleasant smile had settled into a deep, full-lipped frown that was one flash of teeth away from being a snarl.

“Can she? She got kidnapped at the Faire, of all places.”

Indraste crossed her arms. “And you’re looking more and more like the next person who’s going to try.”

“Are you kidding? You should see the people she’s been–”

The druid hissed, teeth baring, and Syya shut up. Indraste’s voice was cold when she replied, “Syya. When she went missing, we had to wash all of her clothes, because they had your stink all over them. You broke into her room. You used her things. And now, you’re following her, telling me the people she’s around are creepy? Look in a mirror.”

“…I just want what’s best for her.”

“No. You just want her.”

Syya’s eyes went wide, and she stared up at Indraste, fists clenching. “…What?”

“Everyone you work with knows. She knows. Even I know, and I’m barely ever here. I can smell it on you when you’re around her.”

That made Syya incredibly uncomfortable to hear. Druids and their fucking noses. She shifted from foot to foot, wings flexing, jaw clenching behind her mask. As genuine anger rather than annoyance began to course through her veins, she felt herself begin to salivate, wanting to give into the demon within, rip her mask off, and bite.

Syya was willing to bet Indraste would have a difficult time healing the wound if she gave in. But she couldn’t do that to a healer who worked for free, not if she wanted to keep her job.

(Was it so bad to be interested, even if she were willing to admit that she was? Syya knew Rethea had issues with impulse control, and she could understand that better than most people. She and Andennaris had bonded together over feeling like monsters and being afraid of losing control, and if it had worked for them why couldn’t Syya try–)

Her voice went sharp. “Why do you care? She’s just your brother’s–”

“She’s a friend.” The druid punctuated each word like a blow, staring down at her impassively.

Syya tried to process this for a moment. The fact that Indraste might like Rethea as herself rather than as her brother’s romantic interest had never crossed her mind.

“…She’s stupid. She puts herself at risk.”

“Everyone puts themselves at risk. It’s what people do. And do you really think she’d want you to swoop in and save her, if something did go wrong?”

Syya looked toward the building Rethea had disappeared into. “…No,” she admitted, both to the healer and to herself, voice going dull.

Indraste grabbed her by the jaw and tilted her head up to face her. Syya hissed, and the instinct to bite returned, so she clamped her teeth shut. She made eye contact with the other woman, eyes squinted and sullen.

“Stop this,” Indraste said, “She’s not interested.”

“Neither am I!”

Syya struck out at the druid, fist aimed for her bare stomach. The other woman took it in stride, grunting lightly before releasing her face. Once free, Syya took a few steps back. She was usually itching for a fight, but starting one with a druid over a foot taller than her with magically reinforced gloves? No thanks.

She felt herself wilt, and hated the feeling. “What, are you going to kick my ass now?”

“If you hit me again?” Indy nodded once, seriously, fists clenching at her sides. Syya did some brief math, and then decided to cut her losses.

“Fine.” Syya turned her back in Indraste, headed towards the inn, before adding, “But if you’d seen who she’s been spending time with, you’d be worried, too. I’d hate to have you as a friend if this is how you care.”

“I can worry about her and still not follow her,” was the cool reply. “If you want to help her, do your job.”

Word Count: 723 Summary: Reth deals with the fallout of some emotions. Warnings: None

@daily-writing-challenge @raevenbehindthemuse because I'm terrible. <3

Rethea finished bundling things into her pack, taking a moment to look out the window of her inn room. Since it seemed dark enough, she trudged down the stairs, through the main room, and out into the coolness of a Kul Tiran night. She found a free spot on the road that didn’t seem particularly flammable and then summoned Empress, who came into the world with a rear and an annoyed snort. She soothed her fel horse for a moment, focusing on the feel of her fur and the heat beneath her fingers.

“Ready?” She asked once Empress had acclimated to her new spot.

The horse didn’t respond, so she mounted up and got them going, up the coast, to a spot that she’d been avoiding for weeks.

Once the beach came into view, Reth slid off Empress, holding onto her pack for dear life. She stared down the beach at the water, and was briefly overcome by the voices.

Back to make another mistake?

He didn’t care. He just wanted to fuck.

Who would want to be near you? You know what you are. Frigid monster.

Reth squeezed her eyes closed and took a few deep breaths. He had cared. She had part of a geode and many good memories to remind herself of that. But what she didn’t understand was why he was gone.

If he’d told her, she would have accepted it. She was his boss, but she was a person, and….

Light, had she done something wrong?

Reth stepped away from Empress, dropping her pack hard to the ground. That off, she hauled her robes over her head, leaving her in a loose shirt and her underwear. She shivered; it was a lot colder than it had been the last time she was here. But there was a remedy for that, wasn’t there?

She let her illusions drop, idly inspecting one hand as it went cold and deeply voidblue. On this skin, her painted nails glistened like stars. But as the warmth faded from her skin, so did the need to shiver. So in this newfound comfort, she rummaged in her pack and pulled out a bag.

Once it was in hand, she began walking into the water, casting a spell as it hit her waist. She kept going until she was completely submerged, eyes closed, well aware that the water around her was glowing as she disturbed the plankton. She knew how pretty it was, here. She knew how the plankton shimmered when they were disturbed. 

She didn’t need to see it again.

Once she was deep enough in the water for her hair to be truly furious, writhing like she was some sort of naga, she opened the bag in her hands. Star Moss flowers immediately floated free, striving for the surface of the water around her. Her fingers felt through the bag, making sure that every single one of the dozens of blossoms she’d collected were free.

That done, she cast the bag aside, and let her eyes open, watching the blossoms struggle through the water. Some reached the surface, and some became saturated just beneath the water’s edge.

Reth closed her eyes again, ignoring the sting of the salt, taking a deep, magical breath.

And then she called down all the fire she had within her.

Her eyes opened, and she watched the water around her hiss into steam, the plankton within it popping out of existence, dulling the luminescence of the water. The water began to boil, and she shifted her attention to keeping herself from being damaged as one by one, the Star Moss around her withered and turned to ash.

Soon, the water was dull, dark, and slightly too warm, full of flecks of petals. She swam to the surface and took a deep breath, letting her hair free from the water it hated so very much.

This is what you do to everything, hissed one of the voices in her head.

Warnings: nudity

Summary: Rethea makes a few interesting life decisions that will definitely not have consequences.

@daily-writing-challenge @themagictrick because the date came up!

—--

“Boss?”

Set the desk on fire.

Why are you still bothering to breathe? You know you’ll die alone.

Worthless. WORTHLESS.

The desk– fire, fire to the desk–

“Hey. Boss.” A large, green-tattooed hand slammed down onto Rethea’s desk, and she jolted out of her reverie, looking up at the Illidari with wide eyes. When had she come in?

“Yes, Syya. My apologies.” Rethea pushed a tentacle back over her shoulder and gave the woman a small smile. “Welcome back. I trust the job went well?”

The Illidari’s gravel-gargling voice grated on Rethea’s ears as she laughed and slumped into the chair on the other side of the desk. “Yeah, it went great. I wanted to talk to you about that, though.”

“Oh?” Rethea set a letter aside and gave Syya her full attention.

“I was thinking… That Sin’dorei you had me steal from looks a lot like you. I was wondering if she’d be grateful to know just who’d done it.”

Rethea squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as the voices went loud and rabid. It had not been a good day, not with them. It took a moment, but she was able to breathe deeply and give Syya a thin smile. “We agreed on ten percent, Syya. I should make it less because you just threatened me, but I won’t. You’ll get the cut you gave your word was enough to guarantee your silence.”

“And if I talk?” She draped her legs over one of the arms of the chair and gave Rethea a bright smile.

“...You don’t want to do that. I take protecting myself very seriously.” Rethea’s hands white-knuckled against the edge of the desk, but she kept on calmly. “And there’s always your reputation to consider here, as well, in addition to our mutual safeties. You were portrayed as quite the bully before I hired you on, to the point that people were beginning to pass you over for work. I’d hate to have to use word of mouth to undo all that character building you’ve been focusing on recently. You’re only just now getting used to having a roof over your head again, yes?”

Syya’s searing eyes narrowed into slits, and she rasped, “Fine,” before rising and stalking for the door. “I’ll bring it in.”

Rethea closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, head swimming as the voices whispered again, calling for Syya’s blood. But she was an employee, for Light’s sake. She had promised to protect them all.

Breathe. Breathe. Don’t set fire to the desk.

She was nearly herself again by the time Syya returned, strong-muscled arms bulging as she carried a chest into the room. It slammed onto the desk between them, and she flipped it open. Rethea carefully ignored the crest on the lid and focused instead on the sheer quantity of coins inside.

She counted out Syya’s cut into a large pouch and offered it up, keeping her face carefully neutral. “Close the door on your way out, please. And don’t put either of us through this again.”

Syya closed the door without a word, and Rethea let some of the tension ease out of her back. Her twin sister was going to know exactly who had done this the second she noticed the money was missing, so there really wasn’t much damage the Illidari could do if she spoke after all.

Rethea ran her fingers through the coins in the chest, smiling thinly as metal clicked against metal. This was certainly one way to get her inheritance. She likely shouldn’t have done it at all, but it was so satisfying to take what should have been freely given by her family. Of course, they wanted nothing to do with her since the Void. And now that this was done, ideally she would no longer have anything to do with them, either.

Rethea picked up a flyer that had been stashed atop a small pile of notes at the edge of her desk and looked down at it, making a thoughtful noise. The burlesque troop that she’d seen a show from several months ago was hosting a silent auction, offering up dates in return for money. She only recognized one name on the list of options. At least she thought she did. Hadn’t Ryland been the one who gave her a cupcake when they’d both been sitting and enjoying food at the market? He’d been easy enough to chat with for the few minutes they’d spoken. And good conversation was one of the main points of a date.

Hmm. She could rarely attend the troupe’s events, but the show she’d seen had been lovely, and she wanted to be able to show her support somehow. Rethea pulled a piece of parchment close, picked up her pen, and began writing down her information, as well as her bid. It was time to make a statement with her money that her family would absolutely despise.

“This is for you, dear sister,” Rethea murmured as she sealed the letter and rose to post it. “May you choke on your embarrassment when you hear.”

Warnings: None Summary: Reth decides to indulge.

@daily-writing-challenge

Rethea stared over at her Laundry Chair, eyeing the nearly endless pile of underthings she collected weekly. Her dress was laid out on the bed, spotless as usual. All she needed to do was decide what to put on underneath it.

And decide if she was actually going to do this. The last time she’d visited the Darkmoon Faire, she’d been attacked. Worse, it hadn’t just been her that had been threatened. But…

Word Count: 800 Warnings: Syya is a bitch. Summary: Syya works for Rethea. She was the one who so helpfully stole her portion of the Emberlight fortune back. Now, she’s, hm… holding down the fort while the boss is MIA?

@daily-writing-challenge

To see Syya's debut, go here.

—---

The innkeeper was staring up at Syya, sweating faintly. “I-I really shouldn’t–”

Syya cut him off, smiling broadly. “The boss just wants me to get some contracts so we can keep the business running while she’s on vacation.”

“She didn’t say anything about a–”

“But she’s paid for the room six months at a time, yes? She’s clearly going to be back. It makes sense that she wants one of us to help out while she’s on her break, yes?”

Syya’s empty, uncovered fel-green eyes bore down on the innkeeper, and he took a step back to the key rack, retrieving one and offering it out. “If it turns out that she doesn’t actually want to–”

She cut him off again as she reached for the key, gravelly voice amused. “You’ll what?”

She turned away from the bar and stomped up the steps without waiting for an answer. She knew what it would be anyway. Time to see what bosslady was up to in her spare time.

The key turned reluctantly in the lock, showcasing that the door hadn’t been used in weeks. When the door creaked open, she sniffed, and could smell her boss’s perfume faintly in the room. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then focused on a chair at the small table in the corner. It was covered in lingerie.

Syya snorted. So was that what she wore under her robes? 

First things first. She did a cursory search for the chest she’d brought her employer a few months back, and was mildly disappointed to see that it was nowhere in sight. Smart of her, to bank it, but not ideal for Syya. It was always good to have more money.

She looked around the room for a moment, then did a lap, floorboards creaking under her boots as she moved through the space. She kicked them off and did a half-flop onto the bed, landing on her back with a loud sigh and stretching out. Her bed felt so much better than Syya’s own– how much was she paying a week?

Her attention turned to the side table, where a leatherbound journal sat, pages very ruffled. She reached for it immediately, chuckling quietly in the silence of the room. “What do you have to say, huh Rethreth?” The nickname sounded rude coming from her voice.

Most of the book was full of boring experiments and notes on results, but there were a few pages that caught her interest. “Can’t control your hair, huh? And you present such a cool exterior.” She grinned at the pages as she kept flipping, then tossed it aside completely when it became more journal and began lamenting that the group’s officers had gone missing. 

That’s why she was here, after all. Syya took one more long, deep breath, splatting out on the bed, before rising and moving to the table in the corner, where she’d seen her boss at work so many times.

Sure enough, there were stacks of potential contracts. She flipped through them, rolling her eyes at the ones Rethea had rejected, and then set about pulling out ones that seemed promising. The rest of them still had to work, after all. When the bosses were away, the underlings would play. Hopefully these were still valid; last week, she hadn’t been certain enough that Rethea was gone to risk doing this.

Briefly, she flashed back to the time she’d tried to extort Rethea for more money after a job, and the cool and calm way the woman had threatened her life. This was a calculated risk, but she had money on the power vacuum not sorting itself out. Either the group was going to implode, or new people were going to step up.

Good things came to those who waited.

Contracts sorted, she turned to the lingerie on the opposite chair, digging through it idly. Fuck, she’d had the worst sense of color. She found a black thong and corset that smelled like perfume and shimmied out of what armor she had on. She tried them on, but quickly found that Rethea’d had a much more generous backside than she did. Conversely, when she worked her way into the top, she found her ribs and shoulders too broad for the corset to fit properly.

“We’re being led by a pear,” she laughed into the mirror, doing a twirl for the drama of it.

Well. She had what she’d come for: the contracts. Syya put her clothes back on, tossing the clothes she’d tested into a corner, and gathered the papers up again. Time to go.