Welcome to Randland!
This story is going to be written from everyone's point of view separately, just like the real story ::aww:: So...ENJOY!
A decision
It was a cold and windy day in July as Nynaeve Al'Meara sat looking out her window at the clouds gathered around the tower from the small, unfurnished room she shared with Lan Mandragoran, her husband.
"Burn that Light-cursed boy! When I get my hands on him, I'll make him regret the day his mother ever kissed his father! I don't know WHY those goat-kissing Atha'an-Mier taught him the weaving of the winds anyway!"
Lan sat on the bed opposite her. He was used to her brainless twatterings. "Nynaeve, Rand was adopted. I don't think they could have spawned him by kissing, anyway."
Nynaeve's face grew dark, as smoke filled the room. Coughing, she opened the window. "I was talking about Aran-gar! Light, you think I want to touch Rand? Do you know where he's been? Out in the barn, with Min! All day! What is going on? What's that smell? Where's that flaming smoke coming from?
Lan opened his mouth, ready to make a remark on 'flaming smoke', when a tall, ordinary-looking man crept into the room, hoping to remain unnoticed. "Gray man!" The words were barely out of Lan's mouth before his sword sliced through the other man's torso.
Nynaeve stared at the growing pool of blood around the dead man. "Lan, that was just the Alhambra guy."
Lan sheathed his sword and sat down on the bed, pretending nothing had happened. "So, Nynaeve, you don't want to touch Rand, but your not afraid of touching Aran-gar?"
"I'll just throttle her-er, him with my braid" The door swung open to admit a short, formerly blonde girl with hair.
Lan looked up hurriedly, standing as he did so. He spun to face Nynaeve, gesturing to the corpse. "How could you? You know better than to indulge your homicidal tendencies! " Heather tapped her foot and gave him The Eye. She stepped over the body of George, the Alhambra guy, and sat on the bed Lan and Nynaeve shared, then realized that was a bad idea, and transferred her butt to the floor, instead.
"Robert Jordan just got a check for the Wheel of Time series, so we're going to take it from him and do something fun! 'We' meaning Sarah and I. You all still have to finish paying for that castle you burned to the ground."
Lan was wearing a not-so-out-of-place look of stupidity on his face "What castle?"
"This one. It's on fire. Padan Fain dropped his joint. Oh, by the way, you might want to get out before you die" Leaving it at that, Heather jumped out of the window, because she knew Sarah would channel and catch her. Sarah had no such intentions for Nynaeve and Lan, though. They fell with twin plops onto an all ready stoned-looking Padan Fain, who would have protested despite the fact Nynaeve was sitting on his head
Lan got up and tried to pretend he didn't have a concussion, but spoiled the effect by trying to dust off his coat and falling on his face.
"You know," said Elaida tentatively, knowing she would probably be smacked, "we have like, 20 people here who can channel. THEY could put out the fire..."
Minutes later, the building is extinguished, and Elaida and Padan Fain are carted off for hospitalization. Stepping out from her hiding place in Lan and Nynaeve's wardrobe, Aran-gar disdainfully twisted her mouth while removing the jock-strap from her head. So, Nynaeve was going to make her regret being conceived, eh? She flung her hand about trying to dislodge the small piece of elastic undergarment, which seemed to have found a true, meaningful relationship with her left hand. She growled under her breath, then out loud. 'I'd like to yank that braid right out of her head,' she thought, before remembering what happened the last time she had done that. She shivered, remembering the thick piece of hair following her around wherever she went until Nynaeve grew a new one. She heard footsteps, and hurriedly ducked back in the wardrobe.
"-don't like avocados! I don't CARE if it increases my sex drive, they're nasty!" The door slammed, and Aran-gar peeked out the crack. Nynaeve was looking at the jock strap Aran-gar had managed to disengage. "What is my jock strap doing out? It looks sad." She bent over and picked it up, wrapping it around her head like a bandana. Lan twitched on the bed. Nynaeve casually back handed him. "I'll make you some guacamole" The jock strap made a twittering sound, and Nynaeve smacked it. "You're too moody," she snapped, "you've been moody ever since Moiraine died. You've been even moodier since she came back. All you've wanted to do is practice swords with Rand, and that just doesn't seem clean." The jock strap sank it's teeth into Nynaeve's scalp, and she ripped off a bed post and bashed the jock strap with it, which was also painfully close to her head. She just succeeded in grinding the 100% wool into her forehead. Aran-gar snickered gently.
Nynaeve's head whipped around. "Did you hear that? The closet thinks it's funny! I'll show it!" She ran full speed into the wardrobe and bounced off, then tried again. The jock strap continued to gnaw at her head, and Lan decided he probably couldn't use his sword to get the jock strap off, since he, in all probability, wouldn't succeed without taking off part of Nynaeves head too. Heather casually walked in and surveyed the scene.
"Do you want me to get the jaws of life?" she asked Nynaeve, who was wrestling with the wardrobe. "Ajax! Come!" The jock strap sprang off Nynaeve's head and onto Heather's shoulder. She smacked it aside, and it skittered under the chair. "The check was bigger than we thought. Apparently, all eight of the books were New York Times bestsellers, so we decided to take you all to...Randland!"
The room was filled with less enthusiasm than she would have liked. Aran-gar mentally jumped up and down, then physically, which resulted in the wardrobe emitting a queer thumping noise and hopping across the room. Heather opened the door, and she toppled out, with roughly five bruises on her face. She feebly waved to Nynaeve. "I was just looking for...the...dirty magazines Lan keeps in here."
"They're under the-Hey! My husband does not keep dirty magazines!" Nynaeve went over and sat on Lan's lap protectively, which caused him to convulse and the bed to collapse
"I think you guys are mature enough to handle it..." Heather turned and walked out of the room. She left an ominous silence in her wake