#tinnaire

Another lovely piece by @janainaart! Thank you so much!

“It is not something that just started this year, but it feel grateful that it is growing into a closer friendship. I haven’t taken the time to really explore certain sides of me in too long and this relationship has become very important to me.” “Spending time with Tinnaire and getting to know one another has really made me feel a bit more grounded into my life in Silvermoon. It is another benefit that came out of my deciding to become a mercenary when I wasn’t sure how to move forward. Honestly? That decision may have been one of the beneficial I have ever made in many ways.”

(Thank you Anon)

What if Laeynna had been more attracted to Tinnaire than Anderos (SP) ?

Do you know that before this ever found its way into my inbox, I actually thought about this a lot?

Of course I could envision it. Laeynna liked Tinnaire from the very first moment that she met her, but it was very much in that, 'wow, I think this woman is very neat and I would like for her to like me, as well.' Laeynna still feels that way. (Through time and circumstance, I easily could have seen it growing into more on her side.) But for the sake of hypotheticals...

May DWC Day 7 - Captivate This is referencing Vixannya's gallery opening/afterparty

It wasn’t the first time he had seen the now infamous portrait of the man being crushed by what appeared to be parts of Dalaran. Vixannya had given all of her employees a personal tour of the gallery prior to the event, since many of them wouldn’t be able to see everything the night of. But it felt different being among others witnessing it for the first time, now able to focus on the various reactions instead of his own existential dread. 

Annya’s work often had a way of shocking and appalling, it was her purpose, but this was brought to a whole new level. People were already on the edge thanks to the Radiant Song, but this frightened many. So much had already happened to and within the beloved city. On their earlier tour, he spent a good ten minutes scrutinizing what could be seen of the crushed soldier’s uniform. That was something that would change over the years and while he had no idea what future designs may look like, he knew enough from recent events to recognize this was a current style. Of course that didn’t mean anything, they would likely still use this same uniform design for years to come.

He explained as much to Tinnaire, his plus one, and watched her reaction with curiosity. It was a heavy subject, one that loomed over the entire room. People wanted to discuss it, they wanted to contact their relatives and friends, but they also didn’t want their entire nights ruined when they knew the afterparty was there waiting for them. It was fascinating to watch everyone attempt to compartmentalize everything so quickly. It was Annya’s intention, no doubt, with duality being a theme.

As expected, the remainder of his evening was quite enjoyable, but he had always been excellent at compartmentalizing. Tin and he explored all the various nooks and crannies provided by the hostess, he personally found the underground among the roots the most captivating. There were some things one did not grow out of as a child, and that was exploring maze-like areas that provided fun little surprises around every corner. 

It was almost a shame he had to work half the night, but that thought was easily pushed aside when he remembered the gold this particular gig brought in was worth it. Providing escort services at this type of event was always an interesting time, especially since the majority who requested such services had never done something like this before and occasionally had a friend or two join them for moral support. He finally exited the building as the sun was peeking over the horizon, sending off a message to Tin ensuring the rest of her night went well and she got home safely, and also thanking her for joining him and being delightful company. He smiled to himself as eyes drifted up towards the tall Dalaran spires, remembering the painting. Oh, right. That was possibly going to become an issue sooner rather than later. He needed to decide what he was going to do.

@daily-writing-challenge Warnings: Mentions of demons/blood/gore

Dajjalen stood hunched over in the shower, allowing the warm water to beat down upon the back of his head and wash the blood, and felblood, down the drain. It had been a long time since he actually fought a demon, and he had forgotten just how clever and cunning some of them could be. Despite it all, the sayaad didn’t stand a chance against him. She may have gotten a few lashes in, but he was immune to her charms and could easily overpower her. 

Unfortunately, he had been caught off guard with the unexpected presence of another demon that decided to come through his portal. Typically an easier kill, the felhunter was a surprise and unable to be kept within the summoning circle meant for the other. It did a fair amount of damage, mostly to Tinnaire, the woman that hired him, and then scampered off and vanished. She would live, although Dajjalen couldn’t help but feel guilty. He should have been able to handle them both. There was nothing he could have done once it exited the circle; he was stuck there too until Nimneth, the sayaad, was slaughtered. A problem for later, if it ever decided to return to this plane.

He took care of her with relative ease, and then natural instinct and craving took over for something he had gone so long without. With teeth and claw, he tore and stripped flesh from the sayaad, swallowing chunks whole after having realized just how starving he had been for the past few years. It was a repulsive sight, but suddenly finding himself within the throes of hunger desperation, he didn’t care if Tinnaire was watching. The sudden surge of power and gratification was overwhelming to the point of euphoria. He would take on a few of her powers for the next day or so, and the occasional creeping thought, but it was worth it. Contentment was hard to come by these days.

Toweling himself off, he threw on a pair of loose fitting pants and stepped out of the bathroom just in time to see Aerden return home to their shared apartment. There were times when the young man reminded him so much of his late son, especially now that Aerden was older and looked a bit more matured from when they had first met. He never shared that information with him. That wouldn’t be the right thing to do, especially since Aerden was officially adopted by his biological father Pollux recently. 

It was nice, he had to admit, that there was someone to whom he could offer advice and to watch grow. He missed being part of a tight knit family, and the nostalgia of doing simple things like playing cards or board games with Aerden could be overwhelming at times. As much as he wanted to be reunited with his family, what he now knew of the afterlife suggested it may not even be possible. What a load of bullshit death turns out to be.

“Hey! You wanna go to the beach with me and some friends?” Aerden was always kind to offer an invitation to most places he went, but Dajjalen typically turned them down.

Maybe not today though. “...Sure, why not. I’ll even provide the alcohol.” Dajjalen wasn’t sure which of them looked more surprised by his acceptance.

The Wildswalker stepped quickly into the rustic but eminently cozy cabin on hushed footfalls, snow dusting him from head to toe. 

Remaining at the Yule Masquerade late into the evening, he had enjoyed the orchestra, the wine, the people-watching; but mostly the spectacular view the isolated tower afforded of the northern stars. As he’d mentioned once earlier in the evening, Northrend was so crisp, the night so vast, that stargazing was easy and consuming.

And yes. As had been suggested at the party, the northern lights were also pleasant company when they graced his presence; much like the guest who slumbered peacefully in his bed, wrapped elegantly in the embrace of warm furs.

Adding a couple of logs to the fire, the Nightborne poured himself a small glass of arcwine. His runic markings still glowed extra bright from the potion he’d quaffed earlier in the evening, and the ensorcelled beverage of his homeland served to further extend the effect.

Sinking down, the starlit-elf stretched long limbs out along the loveseat in a way that allowed unfettered observation of the moonlit snowfall from the window, the hearth, and the placid features of the woman who occupied the bed.

One wayward spirit hung in the air; his gift to her (such an oddity, that enchanted carved mask) hovering as a sentinel above the sleeping Thalassian’s form. The other wayward spirit was tucked in; platinum-dyed moon-hair glistening in the fire’s light.

She had been tentative with him, tonight; and ever since that rescue during the height of the Scourge invasion. Admittedly, her courage and tenacity had been marred in his mind by her use of a...manastalker to find him. Without it, though, he would most likely be long deceased, perhaps put down as one of those mindless shamblers even.

He shivered at the thought. The cognitive dissonance still frothed back and forth in his mind as the sea in a storm. She toyed with not only fire but other very dark magics, that much was obvious now. As she had bidden he’d kept her secret - who was he going to tell, anyway? - but still it nipped at his heels. And yet, his chest fluttered at the receipt of her letter despite his general misgivings about demons and parties.

Tilting his head, he regarded her thoughtfully for a long time. Perhaps the pale hair-color hue wasn’t so cold on her after all. Perhaps it represented another one of her many facets, just as the blue moon she masqueraded as went through phases. Don’t we all?

“You may have dressed tonight to honor the Blue Child, but I shall call you Aurora,” he murmured in Shalassian. “Rich depths of dancing color and light, best exemplified in the darkness.”

He toasted her silently, smiling wanly as his gaze slid to the window. Watching the snow fall, his thoughts shifted gratefully away from the mental ouroboros as he considered that twice-born Tauren’s plight and what he could do to help.

For Tinnaire, there was a deep allure in tenebrosity. The forest on a cloudy evening, just on the far side of dusk, with frog calls and fireflies all around her. That moment when she opened the door to her workshop, and the curtains were still closed so shadows tucked around all the bric-a-brac inside, rounding corners and implying shapes. An evening spent on her sofa drawing by candles that had burned low. A bubble bath in the dark. A bookstore just before close. A cemetery under cloudy, storm-swollen skies.

Gloom, some would say. Affecting, she would say. Grey and flat. No, that's not how she saw it. She saw potential.

Tonight, she looked up, having opened the curtains to the sky and fallen asleep on her sofa. She woke gently to darkness and a glimpse of stars over the city’s silhouette. She stretched and rose. Not long after, she ducked out her door and then the gates, pulling up her dark cloak.

She had spent a few nights in Suramar recently, visiting with Jencir, and that had been lovely, but it had felt silvered not shadowed. She had visited the Hearts of Tenacity festival for an evening, but there had been glitter and magic and music. It was not at all a gloaming sort of situation.

Her green eyes flickered back toward the city only once before she slipped between the trees. It felt good to have land under her feet, and not stone. So much stone in Silvermoon.

When sunrise approached her feet reluctantly dragged the walk home. Her heart was light from all the spiderwebs and owl calls she had caught. When she placed her palm to the translocation orb up to her apartment, she felt deep satisfaction. A trip to the woods at night was always restorative.

Tinnaire didn’t think of herself as the type to yearn. She had, very consciously, reached for what she wanted without apology. Her life trajectory had been her choice, and had never been dependent on another--even when she had made mistakes. Perhaps especially when she had made her mistakes. Yearning had always seemed so reliant on someone else’s action. So it was surprising to her, sitting quietly in her workshop with a pile of small leather scraps spread in front of her, to recognize the emotion in herself.

She sat with it, placing her leather punch on the table carefully and setting her hands in her lap.

It wasn’t as unpleasant an emotion as she had expected. It was sort of heavy but with a wistful pull to it that was very romantic, if you could evaluate it objectively. It was a step or two behind hope, but just as far ahead of melancholy.

She yearned.

The thought made her chuff a soft almost cough of a laugh and she stood up and started to pack up for an early evening and return home. Perhaps it was the poet she was on her way to find. His depth of thought and emotion were a bit of a counter-point to her own lackadaisical takes on life. He had grown in her spirit as well as her heart, and she smiled as she realized she simply wanted to spend the evening with him. She yearned for her wildswalker’s attention. Though, if the yearning didn't work, she'd just have to take it. It was Love is in the Air, after all!