#zavreena

The Weasel is a strikingly intelligent familiar, known for its sneakiness and cunning through any situation. They are actually, being a predator, very strong and determined fighters. However, one with a Weasel familiar may be easily subject to temptation or an impulsive, do-now-ask-questions-later mindset. They tend to speak their mind, and have a knack for sarcasm or pulling pranks. Though your cleverness may help you find a quick way out of conflicts, don't trust your luck too much.

A Weasel familiar helps their master find clever routes, keep them precise with their wording, and makes sure that they have a few tricks up their sleeve. ~~***~~ This familiar represents -Cunning -Cleverness -Mischievousness -Confidence -Quick thinking -Intellect

QUIZ IS HERE

Tagged by: @eye-of-kuu

Tagging: Anyone who wants to do it!

Z,

Where are you? How are you?

I worry about you more than you understand. I don’t know if you’re now, or if you’re later, or if you’re before; it’s distressing. The idea of you getting stuck somewhere in time leaves a sick feeling in my stomach that I cannot properly describe. Please keep me updated so that I know you’re at least coming and going from now. And that you got this. That would be nice. For once.

Dalaran is, more or less, the same it’s always been.

One of the younger human students that likes to frequent the library has taken to accusing me of dabbling nefariously in dark magics. Her professors find her presumptuousness amusing, but I simply find her irritating. I’ve told her several times, yes, I do work in dark magics, that’s my job. And for it, I’m policed more heavily than the prisoners in the Hold.

She remains unappeased, and intent on finding a way to have me removed from the city.

She wasn’t like this before Umbric and the change. I suppose something about my bluer skin unnerves her.

I do wonder, though, if it’s a prejudice she’s simply hidden until she had better reason to voice it. I suppose nearly being consumed alive by the void is as good a reason to complain as any, for an idiot... ignoring, of course, that I survived it, free thought intact.

How are your whispers? Are you fully in control? I’ve found a few new simple warding and stifling spells I can send you, if you’d like to try them.

Oh! A sizable donation of Azerite came to the Alliance not long ago from---some adventuring group or another, something about a lamp maybe? Anyway, the Alliance has gifted part of it to the Unidentified Magics research team that I work with on occasion. A fascinating development! It’s been great fun experimenting upon it. Thus far we’ve found no similar properties in any other known magical substance, from now or deep in our histories. There have certainly been magical substances lost to time, but it’s so very rare to come across an entirely new one.

Some of the smithies have been crafting weapons infused with diluted versions of the Azerite. If I can find a nice pair of daggers, I will see what I can do to have them sent to you for collecting. Or playing, I don’t really know what you do with all the weapons.

All of my love, Z, and Korvyn sends his love as well.

Please be safe. You’re all we have.

Gadgetzan.

It was nearly summer, not that it mattered in the desert. The heat waved and sizzled off the dunes, the sun stared hotly and tauntingly overhead, the too-close ocean lapped and licked the sand just outside of town, and the goblins milled about in their linens and leathers like nothing was amiss--no matter the time of year.

Fucking goblins. The city smelled like machine oil and fried food and sweat. Zavreena hated that smell; she much preferred the clean air and arcane of Eversong, but she supposed that was fucked, so she took what she could get. And anyway, the acrid grease odor of Gadgetzan was something she could take comfort in: as long as it smelled like oil and grease, she was in the present time, right where she should be.

Today she sat in a metal chair under a canvas overhang and drank a Kaja Cola from a straw, heavy black boots kicked up onto another chair at her small table. She slouched and slumped, people watching. The excited trill and throaty, toothy chatter of Thalassian caught her ear, and her head turned, blue-grey eyes squinting toward a group of purple-and-silver clad Nightborne led by a pair of clean-and-untainted sin'dorei in clean robes, smiling and laughing and explaining the city, carefree in their freedom. Light but the shal'dorei accent was weird as shit. Sinking further into her seat in the shade, taking a deeper drink of her Kaja Cola, Zavreena scowled at the sin'dorei from afar. And she scowled at the Nightborne too. She just scowled. Fuck that. She should have gotten whisky for the cola.

"Zavvy! Baby!" A goblin woman in a too-tight vest and pants that barely covered her ass sauntered up and pushed the ren'dorei's boots off of the extra chair, sliding into it in front of her and grinning.

"Jezzka," Zavreena said flatly; it was neither a greeting nor a question, but a flat statement of fact.

"Ain't been in too much lately, Zavvy! We miss ya face, doll." There were no women in all of Azeroth who wore as much cosmetic as goblin women. She was painted so heavily that Zavreena was fairly certain she could scrape it off with the blunt of her dagger, and her hair didn't move; Zavreena wondered how that was even possible, for hair to be quite so stiff. Jezzka didn't appear to notice the stare. "We got a game goin' on tonight, Zavvy! Hearthstone an' poker for some real gold--got some heavy hitters comin', chance ta buy in and come out lookin' like a champ, eh?"

"I'm uninterested, Jezz," the ren'dorei said just as flatly, taking another sip of cola through the straw and attempting--unsuccessfully--to peek around the goblin woman at the elves. They were marveling at the fighting cage, chattering amongst themselves in their strange accent, some taking notes and others simply smiling and laughing and looking like ignorant fucking fools.

"What? You? Not interested?" Jezzka’s smile fell dramatically.

"I'm not here to waste my gold on your establishment tonight."

The goblin woman's eyes got big enough that Zavreena could have counted the red veins. "What, do I look like I don' need ta eat today or somethin'? You gotta buy in, ya one of our best gamblers!"

Ignorant fools indeed. Zavreena's dry lips curled around her straw again for another quick sip before a hand raised to point at the group of elves nearby; a distraction, and she knew fucking goblins by now. "Tourists," she said thoughtfully, guiding Jezzka’s gaze away…

And like a lightning bolt, the goblin woman was gone, shrieking too-friendly hellos at the group of purple clad elves, who seemed to be pulling out their purses at the very sight of the woman. Zavreena smiled to herself. Win-win.

"Do you really spend so much money here, Watcher?" The man belonging to the new voice appeared to be a high elf, tanned and toned and golden-haired, except for the strange myriad of dragon-themed tattoos that littered his arms, and the gold-bronze glow of his eyes. He smirked and slid into the chair that Jezzka had evacuated, taking Zavreena's cola without asking and taking a sip through the straw.

Zavreena lit up at this, her posture suddenly straightening a tiny bit. Sorandormu. Already. "I wasn't expecting you for a few days yet, Soran," she said with a small conspiratorial smile, brushing her inky hair from her eyes and setting her chin upon a fist. "You look delicious. The heat works for you. Stay that way awhile, let me play with you."

"You know I'm not in the business of being a plaything for mortals, Zavreena."

"And you know I don't care." Zavreena grinned and slid the Kaja back to herself, waggling a brow at the non-elf man.

"...nor for anyone else, for that matter." His baritone boomed and echoed through the outdoor patio of the cafe, but no one else seemed to notice. The elf-looking man leaned back in his metal chair, crossing thick arms over an equally thick chest. "We do have business to discuss."

"I didn't expect that you'd have the information ready yet, Soran. You know, the ‘deets’." She made air quotes and grinned playfully, but the dragon-man only blinked at her. Deflated, Zavreena's eyes slid from the bronze glow of the man to the goblin woman as she hustled the group of Nightborne; she could nearly hear the solid clink of their gold.

She was quiet for too long a moment. Sorandormu followed her eyes and glanced behind himself at the group, smiling with the smallest trace of sadness. "Do you miss the Horde, Zavreena?" he asked after a long moment, as if sensing that, perhaps, there was more on the woman's mind than work. His expression was flat and unreadable; the words sounded disingenuous, but he was trying. Mortals simply required an amount of emotional coddling that he was unused to.

"Do I m-miss the--do I--what? What? No. No. No of course not. No. Miss the Horde... No. Spikes and red rags--no. I don't miss--why would I miss them? No. Ugh." Zavreena took another long drink of Kaja cola, and then realized it was empty. She frowned and lifted a hand to flag down a goblin waitress for another.

Soran watched her, perplexed. A long moment later he shrugged. "Our usual Watcher in Uldum has gone missing. We believe it may have to do with after effects of the great sword and the Bleeding."

“Don’t tell me. You want me to go find him. Easy enough, I’ll be off tonight.”

“Well, not exactly; we want you to go--”

“Track him. Search around, ask the other ‘mortals’, poke through the san--”

“--take his place.”

Zavreena’s mouth closed suddenly. She stared at her dragon-elf friend, and her ear twitched, the silver rings pierced through it jangling. The goblin barmaid dropped off another Kaja Cola, and Zavreena managed to take her straw from the empty one and deposit it in the new one without taking her eyes off of Soran. “You want me to go sit in the fucking desert.”

“It’s extremely imperative that we have trustworthy eyes on this part of the world right now, Zavreena. No one knows how the Bleeding is affecting the world yet--not even us. Not even when we walk--”

“Ahead, I know, fuck.” The palm of one hand hit the woman’s forehead audibly. She took another long sip of cola. “I know, I know, you told me twenty Lightdamned times. You didn’t see it, blah blah.” She waved a hand to try to get the dragon to shut up his condescending drivel, and Soran closed his mouth, a tiny frown quirking the corners. “So instead you’re sending me to sit in the Lightdamned fucking forsaken desert and do what? Stare at the clouds?”

“Al’akir’s domain is of concern, yes.”

“Fuck. And I thought I was getting a promotion.”

“The last Watcher was a drake, Zav.” It was rare for the man to use a familiar version of her name, and his voice softened the smallest bit. It was a promotion, in its way; a mortal doing a dragon’s work.

Zavreena heaved a disappointed sigh regardless, her eyes rising to meet his. She wished, suddenly--inwardly--that he were an elf too, that the bronze of his eyes didn’t look upon her with such foreign curiosity, even after these few years of working together. She stared at him for a minute. “If I get bored, I’m going to go look for the fucking lizard, okay?”

Sorandormu reached for the cola again, moved the straw aside, lifted it to his too fucking perfect elf lips and downed it, gulp by gulp, setting the empty can elegantly on the table. “Your job is to keep your eyes on the Throne, Zavreena, and whatever anomalies may appear.” He rose, slid the metal chair back under the table--and reached down, grabbing the woman’s legs by her calves and hefting her boots back into the seat. Oh, he was watching. His head tilted unnaturally, and he smiled vaguely, glancing at the Nightborne with their sin’dorei hosts. He glanced back at Zavreena. “You have a home, Zav. With us. There are mortal dwellings in the Caverns, or we can arrange something with the goblins here. You’ve not lost everything.”

Zavreena slouched into her chair, her feet up again, and just stared at him for a minute. Her smile was curt as he backed away, her voice thick with sarcasm. “Not even going to kiss me goodbye?”

The dragon man’s smile grew and he shook his head, turning to disappear into the city’s crowds.

Zavreena huffed a miserable sigh. Here’s to sitting my ass in the fucking sand for the foreseeable future. She fingered the bronze-enchanted clock pendant around her neck, thoughtful.

He hadn’t even paid for that fucking Kaja Cola.

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