Mariella Wendell had had a long day.
The young and somewhat petite, but tough raven-haired woman trudged up the hill leading away from the Murloc-infested shores that hugged the southern end of Southshore.
Immediately, the first structures of Southshore, mostly piers and fishing shacks, slouched into view in the coming darkness. Mariella had spent the entire day, from sun up to sun down, single-handedly running off the small gangs of Murlocs that continually attempted to set up small camps on the shores near town. This duty had been bestowed solely upon the unfortunate Mariella for the past several weeks and the Southshore guardswoman was growing increasingly resentful of the task. However, she held her tongue when around Sergeant Dean and carried on her orders obediently.
Now, exhausted and smelling like Murlocs, low tide, and a Goblin fish market she reached the top of the hill only to be confronted by Southshore's beloved Sergeant Dean.
Immediately, the guardswoman snapped to attention and saluted him.
"At ease, soldier," he said with a charming grin and wink. The sergeant's cheerful demeanor did nothing to improve Mariella's sour spirits. Slowly, she returned to her slouched and aching state, her helm tucked under her arm.
"Good evening, sergeant. May I assist you with anything?" she asked politely, tucking a lock of ebony-hair behind her ear. In doing so, she caught a whiff of her bloodied gauntlets and fought back a grimace of disgust.
"Actually, yes. I would like you to join me and some of your fellow guards down at the tavern tonight for a round or two of drinks."
Mariella was quiet for a moment, contemplating the offer. She couldn't decide what sounded better: a soft, warm bed to sleep away her aches and pains or a few mugs of some strong drink to wash them away. She finally chose the latter.
"Aye, sir," she said without thinking. The sergeant let out a warming chuckle that sent peculiar tingles throughout Mariella's battered body.
"That wasn't an order, Mariella. Come only if you wish to," he said with an easy smile. Mariella's cheeks burned and she nodded quickly.
"I do. I mean, I- uh… wish to come," she replied lamely, then hastily added, "Sir."
Mariella could tell the sergeant was holding in another chuckle for the sake of her dignity and only grew more embarrassed.
"Good, I was hoping you would. Now, go get cleaned up, my lady." With another wink, he turned away but not before chuckling and adding, "And that's an order."
Mariella stood rooted to the spot, staring after her sergeant and feeling slightly dumbfounded by what had just happened. She liked the pleasant, feminine feeling that accompanied being referred to as 'my lady'. Hardly anyone addressed her in that way, usually she was just known as 'Wendell' by the other guards and 'Mari' by the few female friends she had.
Her mood slightly lifted, she stepped a little livelier as she made her way to the barracks' bath house.