Annabelle Worthshire

[[ Music ]]

Annabelle sat at her brother’s bedside, the goblin gramophone purring out the lilting jazz that she had bought out of Karazhan.  Her finger tapped on the ivory cigarette holder, and her lips remained pulled into a taut frown.  It was only when she heard the whet coughs from the bedridden man did she stand up and set the cigarette in the ceramic tray, moving over to slide the porcelain bowl up to his lips.  Brackish bile and blood poured from his lungs, and as he wheezed, she dabbed his forehead with a dampened cloth.

It was an improvement.  A night and day improvement compared to how she had shown him to Mister Summerland.  It was only by the doctor’s good graces that her brother was even alive, and she was certain of it.

“Annie,” he mumbled, his tone gravelly, and she hushed him gently.  Connor gave her a tired glare, none-too-pleased with being shushed in his own bed, although he fell silent.  She knew he knew his mistake, and she knew chastising him for it would be futile.

“All is well, dear brother of mine, just please focus on gaining your strength,” she crooned to him, although Connor, ever as stubborn as he was, fought to sit up.

“No, Annie, I need to start-”  He began to cough once more, violently enough to force him to gag and dip his head against the bowl.  Annabelle rubbed the back of his neck as more of that brackish bile rose up from him.

“No, you need to rest, you are incredibly sick right now, and you are lucky to even be alive.  Mister Summerland is the only reason you have had a ghost of a chance these past few days.”  Her tone was more scolding than she intended, but it did cause him to relent- and her shoulders relaxed as he eased himself back onto the pillow, grimacing lightly whilst his eyes lilted shut.

“How did I get back to Stormwind?”  He finally asked, and Annabelle shook her head.

“I’ve not the faintest idea, one moment there was a knock on your door, and the next two men in black leather brought you to the door.  I knew better than to ask questions.  They were kind enough to set you in bed.  I made up a story as to how you returned, and sewed you up the best that I could until I could retrieve the Summerland gentleman.”  She petted his hair, thinning her lips idly.  “Conny you promised me you’d not go alone- why did you go alone?”

He looked up to her, a small glint of guilt in his eyes, although he refused to answer the question.

“There was a business meeting with Mister Hudson- damn it all, I missed-”

“I attended for you.”

He looked up to her, although he wiped his eyes.

“Light damn me, I will explain to him that I took ill-”

“I already have.”

He stopped, regarding Annabelle for a long moment, before he hissed lightly and shook his head.  “He thinks it is just an illness, yes?”

“Conny you know I wouldn’t lie to him.”

Connor balked, and he tried to sit up again, although as before, he grimaced and began to cough, the words being forced out amidst them as he covered his mouth.

“He’ll think me incompetent-”

“Conny that isn’t it at all- in fact when he asked why I was vexed he seemed rather concerned-”

“And you told the lot of them?”

“Of course not, Conny, my voice was only for Mister Hudson- only he and Mister Summerland know of your condition- and even after that I’m sure that Miss Grimwald and Mister Xerathi will know.  I told Mister Hudson what had happened, as I’m sure you wouldn’t have wished to lie to him either, and I think after you recover well enough you should discuss what happened with him-”

“Absolutely not, if I can’t do this on my own-”

“Connor- stop.” 

Her brother faltered, gaze snapping to Annabelle as he regarded her with a gaze akin to a spited predator.  She took a sharp breath inward, the silence between the two piercing the room like a blade and her fingertips plucked the cigarette and its holder up from the ashtray, taking in a slow drag, before exhaling the plume of smoke.

“It’s already done, Mister Hudson wants information on Father.”

She looked to Connor and as she watched him wilt, the blossoming sympathy gripped at her throat.  Her hand reached out to rest on his shoulder.  After another long moment of silence, she offered him a smile.

“Why not let your new family help you stamp out the old.  It will be the boldest way to send Father a very clear message.  I’m sure you know what that is.”

Connor closed his eyes, staring at the bowl on his lap.  He took a deep breath.

“We are no longer his puppets anymore.”

been cheated on | been bullied | told a horrible lie | stolen something of value | overdosed on drugs | been drunk | passed out | cheated | bullied | punched someone in the face | been beaten up | broken a bone | been admitted to hospital | had a near-death experience | been drugged | done drugs | smoked | kissed someone you weren’t attracted to | bled severely | killed someone | had an attempt on your life | made an attempt on your own life | lost someone | loved someone | gone without food for over three days | gone without sleep for over three days | been tortured | been slapped by a parent | been abused by someone who should have loved you | had a panic attack | had a threesome | had sex | had sex with a stranger | passed out from pain | cried yourself to sleep | spent a whole day in bed | hurt yourself | taken your anger out on yourself | taken your anger out on someone you love | been used | used | been terrified | played a cruel game on someone | been dominant | been submissive | felt too many things at once | laughed when you felt like crying

Shoot To Kill

The woman stood at the docks, watching the refugees pour in from the harbor, the sobs and wails of children, women, men alike.  It was a crescendo in a requiem that she knew all too well.  Her dogs remained at each side, lips thinned as steely eyes regarded the wavering forms.  

She remembered Gilneas.  

She remembered the smell of shambling corpses, she remembered hearing the footfalls of the banshee whore’s soldiers. She remembered the weight of a repurposed cannonball holding her to a mineshaft.  Her fingertips drummed against her biceps and a soft sigh escaped her lips.  She regarded her brother as she stepped to her side, nodding off to the bowels of the harbor with a soft hum.

“This is a messy ordeal, isn’t it, Conny?”  Annabelle mumbled as her gaze finally pulled from the surge of refugees and to Connor.  Her brother thinned his lips, before nodding in agreement.

“Messy ordeal indeed.”  Her gaze flicked up to him, before she frowned and tapped her finger idly upon her bicep once more.

“You are absolutely certain it was Father?  He was hooded, I didn’t get a good look at his face, I pulled the dogs into the guest bedroom and grabbed Donner as he came out of the washroom.”  Connor hummed, nodding idly, before he passed the index card to her once he fished it out of his suit jacket.

“His handwriting, his favorite scotch, his signature method of announcing he was finished with his drink... ‘D4′.  The chess move he always started with upon beginning a game.  I’ve no doubt it is my father- but how... well, I’m more than certain the Banshee Queen could tell me if I asked her.”  Annabelle smiled lightly, that rhythmic tapping on her own flesh growing more pointed.  

“I’m sure she could.  She would be the one to bring back that monster.”

“And I’ll be the one to ensure he stays dead this time around.”  Connor’s response was quick and to the point, and her eyes flicked back to him with her jaw set.  

“You’re certainly not going to go alone, let me help you.”

“Absolutely not-”

“You are going to let me help you and that’s that.  I’ve been trained just as vigorously as you have, and by him too.  We were trained for the same thing.”  She stated firmly, her gaze hardening as she glared at her eldest brother.  His cheek twitched once, and that smirk pulled into a sneer.  The cigarillo was dragged upon, and both Worthshire siblings exhaled at the same time.  They looked in opposite directions, adjusting their suits as pointedly as they could amongst the wailing.  It was a pointed silence between them.

“Anna, I do not-”

“I absolutely do not care if you do not -whatever-. I’m going too, and I’m going to sink my stiletto heel right into his festering-”

Connor lifted his hand, tapping his knuckles against her shoulder and she faltered into silence.  A small patrol of guards jogged by with a doctor and two priests in tow.  Only when they had reached a comfortable distance did he reply.  “Fine.  But we do this with clandestine intent.  I clean up messes, I don’t start them.”  Annabelle smirked, that steely gaze growing venomous in its own right, matched by her eldest brother’s own toxic smirk.

“My dear brother, when have I ever been messy?”