#tristenne

@daily-writing-challenge

Red ashed his cigarette over the side of the Lady Lillium, lazily leaning an elbow against the wooden railing as he stared out towards the open sea. She had been docked for a while now in their private, hidden port, but that didn’t mean she should ever be left alone. At any given time there would be at least a few crewmembers keeping watch, and more often than not they were the ones that didn’t have anywhere else to go. 

Red fell into that category. He was, technically, homeless - by choice, of course. Money wasn’t an issue, he had plenty of that from the job, gambling, and brawling. Most of it was spent on clothing, body modification supplies, drugs, and the storage unit where he kept his belongings. The rest was given away to various charities or to those around him that could put it to better use. He had no need for most of it, nor did he have a need for a place to call home: The ship was home enough. Inn rooms were easy to come by, or if in a pinch, he could always drop by Gabbrialla’s apartment to grab a rest and a shower. 

After having spent the first part of his life having to play by the rules of the noble class, this vagabond lifestyle suited him well. No home, no romantic relationships, only a small handful of close, trusted friends: It was a huge change from the young man that he used to be. He was so naïve to the ways of the world back then, and the ones he trusted and loved the most completely fucked him over. Never again. Growing up among the nobles, a part of him had expected it from his so-called friends and even his brother, but he had been completely blind-sided by his fiancée's deception.

Bianca. 

The name was poison on his lips. There was a good reason he didn’t speak of her to hardly anyone, it made him physically ill. The things she had done to him, the things she made him do; had any of it been real? Once upon a time he thought that he was in love with her, but looking back on it now he couldn’t help but question what was real and what was all in his mind. Even from a young age she had been very powerful in that aspect, and took every opportunity to abuse it.

He shook the thought from his mind, chasing it away with a quick snuff of dusts from the bullet-shaped charm hanging around his neck just as the next distraction pinged his communication device. He kept the thing on silent for the most part, allowing the chime to only ring through if it was coming from the crew’s emergency channel. Apparently it was time to start preparing to head back into the Shadowlands. The military were already en route, and knowing how these things went, mercenary crews wouldn’t be that far behind. There was always more than enough that needed to be done.

He sent off a message to Gabby and then hesitated as he stared at the next name. Sana would want to say goodbye, even if things had grown incredibly awkward between the two. Well, incredibly awkward for her maybe. The mushy confessions of love and longing through text, and occasionally in person, had made him extremely uncomfortable and she knew it. She knew it. That was always the part that bothered him the most. He wasn’t sure when or why she took this sudden leap of trying to be his friend to trying to be something more, but it was difficult to be more when there was hardly anything to build upon in the first place.

After that difficult conversation, he felt a relief not to be receiving those messages anymore. She had been doing herself an incredible disservice by her actions and words these past months; maybe now, things actually had a chance to improve. He typed out a quick message to her and stuffed the comm back into his pocket, returning his focus to his cigarette.

‘Probably leaving soon’

Day 23 - Friendship/Storm @daily-writing-challenge​

It had now been eight years since he got thrown from the Lady Lillium during that massive storm.  Eight years since everyone assumed him dead for a month.  Eight years since his friend and crewmate, Benzi, lost his life.  Last year was the first time he returned to this location in Kun-Lai Summit.  He had come alone then, and drank the night away, at least until the dark clouds arrived.

This time was different; this time most of the crew accompanied him as a way to remember and celebrate.  ...But there was another reason too.  They all knew that soon enough their time would be swept away into the next war, or whatever was waiting for them.  Red knew something was going to happen. Something was very broken within the life cycle, and when one piece stopped working, eventually the rest would as well.  Given that whatever was happening was in the Shadowlands, the questions of the day were: ‘How will this affect us?’ and ‘Will we even be able to help?’

“Maybe Benzi will save us all.” Red mused with a slight smirk. “With Rashi, Selug, and Kados as well.”  Other members of the crew that had been lost since he joined.

“Are you kidding?  We all know Benzi has his face buried in a pile of blow, Rashi’s is buried in a pile of hookers, and Selug and Kados have theirs buried in each other.” Felonous commented from nearby.

There was a collective laugh from the rest of the crew. It felt nice to be able to joke about difficult subject matters; it meant that while not forgotten, it no longer hurt so much. Celebrated, instead of mourned. 

Red raised his bottle, “To fallen friends.  ...And to hookers and blow.”

“Friends, hookers, and blow!” The others cheered in (not so) unison.  

He rubbed the scar on his forehead from that fateful night before laying back and burrowing his feet into the warm sand. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that was telling him that this may be the last time, for a while, that they would be able to do this.

Day 13 - Abandon

@daily-writing-challenge​

It was a relief to finally be free, like the largest weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  The spotlight, the expectations, the constant scrutiny; being of noble birth in Quel’thalas was not an easy task. At a young age, Tristenne Darkmorn decided that this lifestyle was not for him. Not that there was anything he could do about it, his family was too powerful, too connected.  If he ran, he would be found and their family would be punished. He didn’t care much for the family’s reputation, but he did care about the repercussions that would rain down upon him.

The fire allowed him the chance to abandon all that he had once known, and to rise from the ashes as someone new. Over the course of that fateful night, the Darkmorn name had ceased to be. The estate was burnt to the ground and any remaining Darkmorns completely vanished from the public eye. Rumors of all varieties, and one fact which he would never admit to, circulated the population. Tristenne paid them no heed.  In the end, it was chalked up to be an accident.  At least that was the official statement, gold always brought forth the loudest voices.  Tristenne no longer existed anymore, as far as he was concerned. The book on that life was shut and sealed forever.  Thus was born Red.

It was a nickname from someone once close to him.  Simple and generic, with his red hair and his proclivity towards the color in general, no one would really question it. Sure, they may assume it wasn’t his real name, but he also wasn’t planning on being around the sort who pressed. He would leave Quel’thalas in his dust and never look back - of course all of that was easier said than done.

October Writing Challenge Day 1 Words:  Revenge / Burial

He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief, scowling slightly at the scorching heat of the summer sun.  Thankfully the expression matched the solemn mood of the day despite the feeling of relief within.  It would be over soon enough and he could retreat to his room under the guise of grief.

The gathered crowd surrounded the open grave, everyone donning their best and fanciest blacks.  In the middle of a heatwave.  Out in the open with no shade in sight.  How miserable.  Tristenne Darkmorn, as he was known at the time, stared at the closed coffin now slowly being lowered into the ground.  He was vaguely aware of the muffled sobs and sniffles nearby, even the occasional condolences directed his way.  He only offered a nod in response, no words were necessary.  No one expected any from him.  After all, he was in mourning for losing his fiancée.

The next half hour was a blur; dirt and flowers were thrown atop the casket as those gathered began to take their leave until only he remained.  The gravedigger would return to finish the job once Tristenne departed, but there was always that one person who needed the extra time.  Everyone assumed he needed his time alone with her.  They were not wrong, he had a few choice words he wanted to say.

Crouching down at the edge of the still open grave, he twirled the stem of a red rose between forefinger and thumb before dropping it to the ground.  Eyes darted around briefly before he produced a sealed tube from his inner jacket pocket.  Popping the cork, he immediately dumped what appeared to be pinkish colored salt atop the coffin.  Next, after rolling up a sleeve he snagged the dagger housed in his boot and sliced it across his forearm until dribbles of red dripped down into the grave.  After finishing the brief ritual, he wrapped his arm in the handkerchief and pulled the sleeve back down as if nothing had just happened.

“Bianca, I know you can hear me…”  He retrieved a small case from his back pocket, helping himself to a cigarette as he continued.  “Suicide.  That’s what everyone is saying.  Such a taboo word here, no one really talks about it aloud.  They just stand in the corner and whisper with their friends while staring at the parents, at me; wondering what could have happened in her life because she had such a promising future.”  He huffed out a cloud of smoke, the faintest hint of a smirk gracing a corner of his lips.

“If only they knew the truth.”  He flicked his unfinished cigarette onto the coffin before spitting on it as well.  “Bitch.”  Rolling up to his feet, he made his way back towards his family’s estate.  He had some ‘mourning’ to do.

“Tristenne.  You need to answer my question.  What were you doing last night at 4am?”

“I don’t answer to that fucking name anymore, call me Red.”

“Fine.  Red, what were you doing last night at 4am?”

“I was fucking some woman named Camliri in my room at the inn.”

“Last name?”

“Fuck if I know!”  He gestures around with his cigarette a bit wildly, pulling the chain that was attached to the handcuffs around his wrist taut with an abrupt *CLUNK* that kept him from gesturing too fully.

“Someone of your similar description fits one of the eye witness accounts from an...incident last night.  We’re going to have to keep you until the witness can come in and do a line-up with us, and we’re going to have to check your alibi as well.”

“Fine.  Fuck it, whatever, I don’t even fuckin’ know what this is for and honestly I don’t want to know because I was busy having the sort of sex you guys wish you could.  Can I at least have some water?”  The dehydration was real, the dusts always did that to him the day after.  He would cooperate with what they wanted him to do but that didn’t mean he had to be pleasant about it.  Anyone in his shoes would be agitated especially since they would likely keep him on drug possession charges.

But an eye witness?   Well shit. Maybe it was for something different. Maybe he should stop hitting the dusts so hard when he’s planning a murder. Hopefully they wouldn’t bring in a Confessor.

THE NIGHT BEFORE

His eyes flew open the moment the sound of heavier breathing picked up next to him and he suddenly sat up, glancing over towards the woman lying next to him.  “Cam?”  He whispered, waiting for any sort of response and when nothing came he knew she must have been out for good.  He glanced at the clock that read 2:30am, reaching over to set it back two hours before sliding quietly out of bed.  Long pants, boots, long-sleeved black shirt and gloves were all slipped on as he pulled his hair back before wrapping a bandana around the lower half of his face. From there he silently departed from the second story window.  

He had a way with the shadows and even if others were around he’d likely go completely unseen.  The names on the list provided earlier were familiar to him, no one he associated with but when you’re around for as long as he was, meeting as many people as he had, spending as much time as he had in the row, you get to know names and faces quite well.

It didn’t take him long to find them and he probably enjoyed it all much more than he should have, but that was part of the joy of drugs mixing with anger.  Men like these assholes didn’t deserve to live anyways, he was simply doing the world a favor.

4:30am and all was quiet in the street aside from the blood-covered man hiding in the shadows that only revealed himself when he reached her front door.  The list she wrote earlier was pressed against her wooden door, each of the four names crossed out with a smear of somewhat fresh blood.  His knife that he had used was drawn back and with a loud *WHOMP* it was stabbed into the middle of the note and into the door to pin it in place.  The noise likely would have awoken her if she were inside, but just to make sure he curled up his fist and pounded it against the door a few times to make certain that she would come and collect the gift he had left her.

Back into his room at the inn and into the shower he went next, washing himself and the shower thoroughly to make sure it was free of blood before putting his bloody clothes aside in a plastic bag to burn later after he left.  4:45am and he crawled back into bed beside the still sleeping woman, glancing to the clock that now read 2:45am.  He slid under the covers and atop her nude form, giving her a little shake in the process, “Cam..wake up.”

The groggy woman groaned slightly and cracked her eyes open, “What?  What time is it?”

“2:45.  I’m not done with you yet, wake up.”  A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, glancing up to the clock.  He was just going to have to make sure that he kept her awake and occupied for the next couple hours, making sure she had a good view of that clock before allowing her to fall asleep once more, no problem.  Later he would reset the clock to the right time after she fell asleep again and slip away before the sun came up.  

It would make for a fantastic alibi.

Despite having the money to buy himself a rather fancy townhouse if he so wished, he never really considered Silvermoon ‘home’.  Often times he bounced around from one place to another, crashing with Felon or with the various ladies he had met throughout the years, other times renting out a room at the inn for months at a time.  Tonight was an inn sort of night.

Sprawled out on top of the covers after stripping down completely, he was jolted awake by the sudden pounding at the door.  It was an inn and these things did happen; people forgot which room they were staying in or got drunk enough to be a general nuisance.