~BEGIN: AUTHOR'S NOTE~
Ahahahahhahahaha. The story sure has been cute up til now. Who wants to see Negate royally fuck it up? =)
~END: AUTHOR'S NOTE~
*BEGIN CHAPTER 13: SULKING*
//SET LOCATION: NORTH EAST TIRISFAL GLADES
Two cursed darkhounds darted across the road before Crusaders Jibreel, Ex, and Janelle so intent on ambushing the tiny rat they had encountered that they scarcely noticed the humans. One beast latched onto the animal's head and the other his tail, ripping the tiny creature in two, then letting the pieces fall. They did not eat the animal's meat, instead killing the rat for the sheer joy of killing, before wandering away to locate another such victim.
"I hate demons," Ex muttered, watching as the wicked creatures pounced away. "Evil little things."
"Now there's an understatement—these things give me the creeps!" Janelle replied with a hard shudder. "Never used to be around before Arthas went crazy… Oh, are you two from here originally?"
"No, no, I was actually born in Stratholme originally, but raised all over… Jibreel we're not exactly sure of," Ex answered, sparing Jibreel, who did not comment, a sideways glance.
"Not sure of? Why not?" Janelle pressed amiably.
Ex glanced again to Jibreel as if looking for permission to discuss something so personal. When Jibreel gave no hint or reply, he simply went on. "Well, Jibreel was orphaned when she was young. Actually, that's how we met—she was raised by my uncle on my father's side, and then after he died, she switched hands three or four times before settling again with my uncle on my mother's side. It's been tough to track down anything on her
"Ah! How sad! Are you looking very hard?" Janelle asked, turning her face to Jibreel.
"Actually, I didn't care too much until a couple years ago, when someone lead me to believe I might have a birth sister out there somewhere. Since then…" Jibreel let the sentence trail, speaking her first words since they'd left the bodies of Captain Vachon and the majority of his underlings behind.
"Well, I can help you look, if you want!" Janelle beamed, flashing a broad smile. "My father was a linguist, so logic dictated he'd do book and record keeping, I guess. If your real family believed in the light, and most humans do, I'm sure we can dig something up."
"A linguist, huh?" Ex whistled. "Bet that comes in handy."
"Your father doesn't speak Orcish by chance, does he?" Jibreel asked suddenly.
"Sure! We both do," Janelle replied with excitement, pleased to see that Jibreel had come away from sulking.
"I don't suppose you could teach me?" she ventured, biting her bottom lip.
"Me too, it'd be useful," Ex concurred.
"Well, sure, but under one condition—Jibreel, you can't mourn for Captain Vachon anymore. He… just trust me, that fraud had it coming."
The holy warrior turned her face away, sighing. "That I can't promise. He wasn't perfect, but I still failed him."
"Then at least try to forget about him and put your energy towards defending Captain Melrache. I met him before, he's a good man—isn't he, Ex?—and deserves your devotion. Plus, we get a ton more backup since we're so close to the Monestary. We're under a better camp now, and things will be different." Janelle offered sunnily.
Jibreel closed her eyes, smiling lightly as she imagined the demise of that warlock and undead girl who had, thus far, foiled her at every turn. "Damn right they will be."
//SET LOCATION: BRILL
Fabricate could not help but laugh lightly as the warlock dived behind the Forsakenness, smirking wickedly. "I must say—it's a pleasure to see you as well."
"Be silent, devil woman! Crawl back to the sulfuric molten pit from which you spawned!" Negate insisted, hiding safely behind Lisys.
"Ah, Negate? …Do you know this woman?" Lisys asked quietly, head tilted. The stranger was pretty—so much that her usual sheepishness kicked in and she sincerely wished that Negate was not hiding behind her so that she could hide behind him.
"You didn't tell her about us, Negate?" the attractive mage pressed with an appealing smile, taking great pleasure in taunting the other elf.
"Us!? I barely knew you an hour!"
"Oh, so she's that kind of friend," Lisys moved aside, suddenly uninterested in protecting him.
"No—I—she! This viper tried to kill me!" Negate stumbled, gesturing angrily toward the scantily clad mage, causing Lisys's expression to shift back to alarm.
"Tried to kill you!?"
Fabricate tossed her hair breezily, laughing with a clear, high note that brought attention back to her. "Oh, he's exaggerating! We were just having a little fun in the lake. It's all a misunderstanding, honestly."
"Misunderstanding!? You clearly stated you would drown me and take my magic!" Negate growled, infuriated past fear.
"Oh my," Lisys whimpered, eyes wide behind thick leather.
"You honestly think I meant to kill you? Come now, I was only playing!" Fabricate cooed, running her tongue over her lips sensually. "I actually came to apologize for the whole incident—I feel just awful. Please, please let me make it up to you? Come away with me—we can do whatever you want," she finished with a sly wink.
"I want to live, but thanks for the offer," Negate scoffed.
Lisys eyed the male, impressed by his rare display of self-control, until the heat of Fabricate's hand upon her shoulder cut through her consciousness, causing Lisys to stiffen all over. "Ah, Miss Fabricate…" she whimpered.
"Come on now, if you don't trust me, your little friend here can come along—make sure I don't try anything funny. She can even watch, if you two are in to that sort of thing…" Fabricate breathed appealingly, in part to Lisys, noticing the undead was adversely affected by her touch. "I just feel so terrible, I lie awake at night thinking of ways to make it up to you…"
"Ah… what… happened, exactly?" Lisys managed politely though squirming in clear discomfort.
"Stop it, stop it, stop it," Negate ordered, swatting Fabricate away from the very flustered Forsaken. "Leave Lisys alone, she's not worth any magic to you. I accept your apology—may have even been tempted to accept your offer—except that you also tried to kill a friend of mine a few months back in Silvermoon City—which you said you hadn't visited in years—so I really can't trust you," he advised as he pulled Lisys away from the crazed elf and back to the inn.
"But--!" Fabricate interjected, but he did not stop, leaving her seething.
Once safely within the building and away from Fabricate, both parties sighed with relief.
"What was she all about?" Lisys asked on the way up the stairs as soon as her rational thoughts returned to her.
"I…" Negate took a deep breath, then exhaled, deciding that the truth would be the best course. "After that raid dragged me to the Undercity, I met up with that wicked siren who lured me into the woods with promises of dirty fun, but instead she took my map and tried to drown me. I barely escaped thanks to Jublop and… then I met you."
Lisys frowned at Negate, shutting the door to their room particularly hard. "Promises of--!? You deserve every misfortune that has befallen you, Negate Voidbreaker! Certainly the elves teach their children the dangers of strange, flirtatious women!?"
Negate rolled his eyes, only half-listening to the undead as he gazed out the window, relieved to see Fabricate had gone. Why would she hunt around Brill, anyway?
Lisys exhaled unhappily—of course, he paid her no mind. "Why did she try to kill you, anyway?"
"She's not right in her head and hurting for magic, on her way to wretched more than likely," Negate answered.
Lisys took a seat on the bed, removing her boot and wiggling her toes. "Magic? Wretched?" it felt strange to have nothing to do, but she enjoyed spending downtime with Negate more than she cared to let on.
Negate smirked. "You really are clueless, aren't you? Surely you know my people are addicted to magic."
"I'm not clueless," Lisys whimpered, arms crossed. "Of course I'd heard that! … I just don't really understand it…" she muttered.
"What's to understand?" Negate questioned earnestly, sitting across from her. He honestly didn't mind teaching the pitiful girl about his people. It was his personal opinion that the whole world should know of the greatness of Quel'thalas, and besides, her curiosity was cute.
"How can you be addicted to something like magic?" she asked, tilting her head. "What happens if you don't get it? Can you get unaddicted to it?"
Negate laughed lightly. "Well, years ago we had the Sunwell—you've heard of that, yes?" she nodded, so he went on, "that was a constant source of arcane magic. The whole of Quel'thalas was essentially bathed in it. No one really knew we were dependant on it—until the third war, of course, and it was gone. As with any substance, tangible or otherwise, it affects everyone differently. 'Unaddicted' might not be a good word, but it's possible to control it—some high elves don't need it at all."
Lisys leaned forward, eyes widening behind thick leather with fascination. "What about you? How does it affect you?"
Negate's placid expression broke slightly. "Ugh, I'd rather die than live without it," he grumbled, running his hand over his face almost guiltily. "I considered ending it more than once immediately after the destruction of the Sunwell. I would have, if it weren't for Negatory."
Somehow, Lisys's eyes widened even more so. "That is… a beautiful story!"
"I'm not so sure about that," Negate scoffed, bag shifting from his shoulder and falling to the floor with a startlingly noisy thud.
"What's in there?" Lisys asked, her gaze shifting to the heavy bag.
"Speaking of the past..." Negate muttered, yanking a heavy book from the bag. "I forgot all about this—it's an accounting record I found at the Agamand Mills. I kept it so I could check for your name, but I forgot about it until now. I always wondered what dismal wages pitiful humans were paid. What's your last name?"
Lisys's demeanor shifted mysteriously to a more heightened state of nervousness. "Oh… is that so?" she questioned, squirming a bit uncomfortably. "Grind. Lisys Grind…." She muttered.
"Grind… Grind… I like it, sounds dirty," Negate muttered out loud as he opened the book, coughing lightly at the dust cloud that ensued.
"It is dirty," she whispered quietly to herself, not intending for him to hear, then added louder, "Ah, it looks to me like a few pages are missing; this might be a waste of time."
"I'm not seeing it—they did pay you, didn't they? You should be right above the Farthings…" Negate questioned, tilting his eyes back to her. It wouldn't really surprise the elf if someone had successfully talked meek little Lisys into slave labor once upon a time. Then he started, as if some strange fact of greater importance struck him suddenly. "The Agamands were human, weren't they? Why is this in Thalasian?"
The Forsakenness tilted her head. "Well, it wasn't uncommon for the rich to teach their children a multitude of languages. Thalasian is particularly tough to learn, I understand—"
"Required a private tutor usually, didn't it?" Negate asked, shifting his eyes back down to the book.
"Mmmhm, so the wealthy, nobles and the like, would keep anything they didn't want the commoners reading in Thalasian. I guess they didn't want their workers to know how dimly they were paid if one of them ever got a hold of that book," Lisys giggled.
"Hm, well, it hardly matters if they couldn't keep accurate records. Are you sure you worked there?" Negate questioned, lifting his eyebrows.
"Positive," Lisys answered, her mood washing away as she stared at the ceiling, the floor, and anywhere but Negate. "—ah! I know, you could try Lisys… ah…"
"Lisys Ah?" Negate questioned impatiently. "What are you muttering over there?"
"I'm not muttering! I just… suddenly… can't recall what my married name was…" she returned with nervous ire. Since the Lich King ripped away a good portion of her memory during her rising at the hands of the plague, it did not surprise her that not all of her memory came back—most notably, she could no longer speak or comprehend Common. But why on Azeroth could she recall her maiden name, Grind, but not her husband's?
Her thoughts shattered suddenly as the book Negate had been digging through previously hit the floor, along with his jaw.
"Your what?"
"My name changed after I got married! Doesn't it work that way with elves, too?" Lisys asked, a bit alarmed by his surprise. "that's the only reason I ever came to this town all those years ago—could you imagine tying the knot under Priest Sarvis? Ugh…"
Negate shut his mouth, swallowing hard as his eyes nearly watered from the strain of remaining open so wide. "To WHOM? You told me back in Deathknell that you never 'tried for anyone'!"
"I—I didn't!" Lisys stuttered, "He tried for me! … Successfully!"
"Who!?" Negate insisted, now on all fours at the very edge of his bed. The suspense was killing him!
"Oliver!" the Forsakenness answered as if it should have been obvious. "As soon as I turned eighteen, I—"
Negate cut her off abruptly with an eruption of laughter, losing his balance and falling to the floor. "The Deathguard!?"
Lisys frowned, nodding her head firmly. "Yes! …What's so funny?"
"Nothing—just!" Negate gasped, wiping a tear from his eye as he forced himself to calm down. "You two are the most socially awkward people I have ever laid eyes on! What the hell was the courtship like?"
Lisys ran her fingers through her hair repeatedly, again thankful for the thick straps she could hide behind—regardless of how they hurt her face. "Well, it was normal! You know, he took me places and bought me things and… Well, you know!"
"Ahhh…" Negate pulled himself up to his feet, straightening his robes as he loosed the last round of chuckles. "Then you got married, then you died and your face rotted off. Poor guy, no wonder he left you."
The undead started slightly, jerking her eyes to the warlock, so surprised she was not immediately sure how to respond. In the space of five words, Negate easily made up for days without harsh insult. Finally, as if in a daze she lowered her face again, muttering sincerely, since she suddenly had no energy for pretense, "Actually… I wasn't pretty when I was alive, either…"
"Pardon?" Negate ran his fingers through his ponytail subconsciously.
Lisys stood listlessly and began for the exit, mumbling blearily on her way out. "I'm going outside… I won't go far, you won't have to look for me," she managed, then shut the door on his response. Lisys did not want to be alone—far from it, but she suddenly found herself incapable of facing Negate, and Eliza Callen would notice Lisys's off mood instantly and expect an explanation. Unfortunately, she did not want to lie to Eliza anymore than she wanted to admit the truth—that Negate was an asshole.
An uncontrollable, rotting loneliness swept through her as she recalled, with bitter humor, that her tear glands quit working after she died.
Meanwhile, Negate strode quickly toward the large window between the desks, watching as Lisys sulked out the inn, eyebrows lifted. For some reason, it seemed strange to him that she would run off—in the past, it'd been her tendency to stick skittishly by his side.
"Damn, I wonder if they honestly did separate," he grumbled, subconsciously smoothing his hair. If it were the case, then he'd owe Lisys an apology—one of his absolute least favorite actions on Azeroth. He turned around again, running any alternative he could think of through his head, scarcely noticing until he had crossed half the room that an attractive undead woman stood in the open doorway.
Claire Willower, thin through the waist and thick through the right places—as were most undead women—had wild, blonde hair that made Negate wonder as to its texture, should the opportunity to grab a fistful present itself, and soft purple lips. The elf vaguely remembered winking at her the night before while he and Lisys, dead-tired, dragged themselves up the stairs.
"Can I help you?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow.
She smirked in such a way that indecently reminded him of Fae Adams, an acquaintance back home. "I should hope so. You kicked me out of my room a few days back and still haven't given it back."
"Ah, that was you? Well, Lisys and I will be out by tomorrow—" Negate began dismissively, but she cut him off, entering the room and pulling the door closed behind her.
"Lisys, is that your girlfriend that just took off?" she questioned, closing the distance between herself and the elf.
She wasn't shorter than he by much, but the apparent inability to stand erect exaggerated the difference. Furthermore, the way she leaned forward meant her breasts were less than a hair's breadth from pressing his chest.
Negate scoffed lightly, forcibly keeping his eyes on Claire's face, "No—I'm afraid you've entirely misinterpreted. We just travel together."
"Ahh… what a relief…" Claire exhaled, lightly tracing the gold patterns stitched into his robe. "After you displaced me, I should say you owe me a favor, and ever since you caught my eye I've been thinking…" she carefully placed long, boney fingers on his shoulders. "Before you think me too forward, you should know: I was born to a little working class family and spent my whole pathetic existence picking up after the dirty rich. Now that I'm dead, I want to have fun."
Negate briefly considered pushing her away. Something about this situation seemed unsettlingly familiar—hadn't sex appeal gotten him in serious trouble once before? But Claire looked harmless enough, and he did throw her out of her room… "What did you have in mind?"
Claire daintily wrapped her arms around his neck, wetting her lips before pressing them hard against his.
Negate slid his arms around the tiny waist belonging to this complete stranger as he, too, ran his tongue over her lip experimentally. Never had he really wondered about what an undead girl would taste like, but if he had he probably would have imagined something unpleasant. On the contrary. She tasted of fel and shadow, necromancy and taint. If 'forbidden' had its own taste, he believed it would be something akin to hers.
He broke their lips only to remove her top, part of a plain brown ensemble that looked better on the floor anyway, and meeting no protest, he pulled her backward unto the bed with him.
Claire came out on top, straddling the elf's waist. She pinned his shoulder with one hand, the other tugging and unfastening his robes. As she worked furiously, eager to expose more of his gorgeous peach-light skin, the boney tips of her fingers pressed into his chest, causing her to pause suddenly. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise—he felt so different she almost couldn't place the sensation. Mesmerized, she trailed the digits along his skin.
Negate seized her wrists suddenly, startling her eyes back to his. A wicked smirk overtook his features with a certain darkish quality that the undead hadn't seen before. She wasn't certain if it was just that she thought him so attractive, the way her fingers throbbed against his skin, or a combination of the two, but something about him suddenly made her shy.
"Nervous?" he teased, holding her wrists between his fingers in one hand while he pushed her shoulder with the other, switching their positions. After five days with Lisys, the temperature difference did not phase him. "Don't worry, little girl, I'll be careful," he snickered condescendingly.
Xwx
Head hanging, Lisys slowly forced her way up the stairs, face completely obscured between her black hair and leather. Previously, every ounce of her had been possessed with a cycle of illogical, unhappy thought—how could anyone be so insensitive? Or was it that she was too sensitive? Should she blame the elf for assuming Oliver split because she was so grossly defective? Was she really that deformed? At one point, she felt like she should throw herself at Negate's feet and thank him for putting up with such a useless, hideous girl like her, then at another she thought she should demand an apology and order him to make this up to her somehow, and still other pieces of her wanted to run away from this town and back to the very Deathguard in question. At all points she wanted to be held, but who in the world cared about her enough to look past her ugliness long enough to even get close?
After exhausting herself jumping one thought to another in disconnected not-order, a common coping mechanism kicked in and nearly shut her thoughts down, leaving her to only the most basic logic, which told her that the sun had gone down and she should return lest the elf worry… if he gave a damn, anyway.
The innkeeper waived impatiently at the undead upon her entrance, but Lisys ducked up the stairs quickly, pretending not to notice. As she rounded the corner the door to the room she shared with Negate opened and an undead by the name of Claire Willower exited.
Mild surprise registered on Lisys's otherwise gloomy features as she shifted aside to let the other pass. "Claire?" What was she doing in her room?
"Oh, you!" Claire answered immediately, pausing to face the other. While Negate had assured her that he and Lisys were merely traveling partners, she still felt as if she'd done something wrong. "How are you?"
"I… am fine, thank you," Lisys answered quietly, a bit unnerved. Claire wasn't even this chipper while she was still living.
"Well, it's been interesting seeing you again! Perhaps I'll run into you later!" the other woman nearly sang before disappearing around the corner and down the stairs.
Almost curiously, Lisys strode forward with renewed purpose, pushing open the door to see her traveling companion was fixing his hair. In a tone that could nearly be mistaken for confidence, she ventured, "What was Claire Willower doing in our room?"
Negate's face snapped to attention at the sight of Lisys, whom he'd previously forgotten about. While his judgment of time was probably skewed, he could see that the sun had set outside, meaning she'd been gone for quite a while. With his luck, she was likely just outside the room the whole time and would catch his lie, but he thought he should try anyway. Anything to avoid another lecture on the dangers of strange and flirtatious women.
"She had this room before you and I—I actually threw her out—but she left something, so I told her I'd help look for it," he lied, doing his best not to sound pleased.
"Oh," Lisys answered, tilting her eyes back down as she made her way for the bed. It wasn't that she didn't believe him, it was more that she didn't care about the situation enough to form an opinion at all. Without speaking or even glancing to Negate, she removed her boots, bracers, and all other unnecessary garments, before hopping into bed.
As sensitive as Negate was, her melancholy was such a deviation from the norm that he noticed instantly, and, stranger still, he could feel it tugging his own temperament. "…Lisys?"
"I am very tired," she answered quietly with her back to him, pulling the blanket up to her chin. "If you don't mind…"
Her answer, from the way she said it to the words she used, affirmed his suspicions: something was amiss. "No, of course not… I've letters to reply to, but…"
"Sure, just keep the light low please…" she returned, gloom multiplied as the comforter muffled her voice.
"Good night," Negate offered. Expecting her to return the courtesy , he watched her lying perfectly still beneath the quilt until her breath evened out and she was asleep. Whatever it was, he sincerely hoped it would clear in the morning.
//SET LOCATION: BALNIR FARMSTEAD
Saiynt Cisneros's plate leggings clanged together as she swung one leg over an old, broken fence to straddle the wood comfortably, arms crossed as she surveyed her surroundings. "Hm! Kinda reminds me of my bullshit life befoah I killed people, if you ignoah the Scourge everywayuh…"
Everywhere was almost an understatement: scarcely an inch of the massive field before her was untrodden by some bloody, oozing mockery of life, or equally disturbing apparition, sulking about as if unaware of its own passing.
Sihner too leaned on the fence, quietly observing their surroundings until Saiynt 's arm extended quickly to point straight ahead, accompanied by a quiet gasp.
"Ey, check it out! Iss her, idn't it?"
The man traced the tip of her finger toward an old, broken wood wagon, half submerged in dirt as if the field intended to claim its decaying form for its poison nutrients. Perched atop the wagon was a woman and two men, the latter of which looked very much like any other corpses wandering the field. On the other hand, the woman was an anomaly: tall and slender with dark tresses spilling from what was once an uptight bun to grace her moon-white shoulders. Though her white dress was blood-soaked-see-through and torn at every other stitch, she sat ladylike style with her attractive, bloodied legs folded elegantly to the side.
Between claw-like hands the woman clutched one zombie's arms as she tore out his festering bicep with her teeth, grinding the muscle in her mouth until she could swallow. Such was her power over these lower creatures that, even as she devoured their bodies before their very eyes, they did not attempt to flee. On the contrary they were attracted to her, and more such piteous creatures shambled to her in hopes of attracting her attention, even that of her mouth.
"Amazing," Saiynt breathed, itching away desires to run toward the woman herself. "I'm going to try it, too!" And with that she tackled the nearest bleeding horror at the knees, gnawing shamelessly at its legs.
The creature cried out, as would a pained animal, and fought her like the devil.
Sihner watched his partner's unsuccessful attempts to replicate the stunt briefly before turning his attention back to the feasting wench, letting Saiynt be.
Well aware of their presence since their arrival the woman watched Sihner approach her carefully, releasing her meal, much to his disappointment. "Sihner," she exhaled, placing a hand to her chest with an edge of excitement,
"Jaqlyn," he returned stonily, extending a hand to help her from the rotting wagon, which she accepted, floating gracefully down toward him.
"Do you remember me?" she questioned, her voice clear and easy. "You must not, if you're letting me touch you."
Completely uninterested in reuniting with his murky past at this time, Sihner did not encourage the woman to remind him. He did note, however, with some irritation that she kept his hand in hers, even after she was safely on the ground next to him. Just as he was about to claim it back, a particularly ghastly cry from behind shifted his attention over his shoulder, where Saiynt had ended the existence of some pitiful ghost attempting to interfere with her experiments.
"It's joyless for you, isn't it? Death, torture—almost makes you squeamish. You're not suited to this like she is," Jaqlyn half-whispered with her chin atop his shoulder, rubbing the palm of Sihner's hand with her fingers. "How strange that our great, dark king would send a man like you out to Sylvanas's backyard—or does Saiynt's fanaticism keep you loyal?"
"The Lich King wants you home," the knight answered plainly, leaving his hand in hers for the time being. He neither looked to her, nor made a point to look away from her. "Don't piss him off."
She laughed cruelly, running her tongue over her upper lip. "I believe you are more replaceable than I am. If I do not return, it's your ass, not mine."
Hardly in the mood to play this game, Sihner pulled his hand away to grab the hilt of his sword where it rested on his left shoulder blade. "Go home or I'll scalp you."
"Ahhh…" Jaqlyn half-moaned, wrapping her slender fingers around his bicep to gently pull his arm back to his side. "I wish I'd married you, Avarett never said romantic things like that… oh! Mason Andy's dead, by the way," she added suddenly, as if the thought had just occurred to her.
Sihner wordlessly released the hilt of his sword and allowed his arm to be tugged downward, a heavy frown set hard on his face.
The witch watched his features carefully, a light smirk over-taking her own. "That bothers you, doesn't it? Like a thorn in the base of your skull… and you're not sure why…" Like serpents her arms encircled his as she laid her head carefully on his shoulder. "I will return to The Acherus in due time, but I want to see you again."
The knight, irritated but not unwilling to compromise, dipped his head once in a nod.
"But I've matters to attend first—why not let the scrappy bitch run around a while? She looks like she's got energy to spend," Jaqlyn advised as she released him, stepping forward. "Saiynt, dear!"
Saiynt turned from the walking carcass she'd been wrestling with the intent to respond rudely, but stopped short. She surveyed Jaqlyn briefly, then as if recognizing her as a superior replied, stiffly but not so much politely, "Ma'am?"
"You're not really going about it the right way," she informed smoothly as would a teacher to her pupil, every word seeping with wicked, malicious intent. "Come to me, little girl—I will show you how."
Saiynt surveyed the woman as if considering it before laughing lightly, turning the other direction instead. "No thanks, ma'am, mine is a head you own't wanna be in. C'mon, mistah, less dip out. Jaqlyn says she'll come home 'ventually, and I wanna fuck around with the Scarlet Crusade for a while."
//SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY
"Nate is coming home! Nate is coming hooome~!" Tory sang, bobbing her head from side to side excitedly. The elated smile planted on her face was so exaggerated that her eyes formed tiny slits that were almost blind to the beautiful twilight before her. Normally, star-gazing was her favorite thing in the world—when she could stay awake long enough to see them. But tonight, the excitement of her brother's returning—not tomorrow, but the day after—far over-shadowed any celestial joy.
"Then I won't be aloone~! And—Vaschel, do you know the best part?!" Negatory squealed, pausing her song to speak to Vaschel, who wouldn't answer her in song, no matter how hard she tried.
"What?" he asked lazily, sprawled out next to the tiny rogue. Either of them rested in a placid corner of the great city, on Dawnn's porch stairs. Negatory sat perfectly upright, bouncing here and there with excitement, while the paladin laid on his back, vertically along the stairs, legs halfway obstructing the walkway.
"He's bringing my new best friend ever with him!" she cheered, wrapping her arms around herself as if attempting to physically hold herself still.
"What? You don't even know her," Vaschel scoffed, certain he was dehydrated, but too lethargic to reach in his bag for water.
Negatory nodded her head in ascent. "That's true—but I know that we will be! And then she'll get married to my stupid brother, and I'll finally have a sister! Ahhh!" her eyes widened until their toxic glow overpowered that of the streetlights for a distance several inches from her face.
"Hm. And then Arthas will send Sylvanas Windrunner flowers and an apology," Vaschel added.
"Ye--!" Negatory started to agree, but she stopped short as a vein popped in her forehead. "Don't make fun of me!"
"Only looking out for your best interests, little girl. She might be scary—not all Forsakennesses are as pretty as Phasilica," he reminded her seriously, eyes closed. When she didn't argue, he opened his eyes and sat up to face her, expecting to see she'd fallen asleep, but instead to find she was smiling at him.
"You think Phasilica's pretty, mm?" she asked, holding his lazy eye contact for a fraction of a second, before footfalls in close proximity turned her attention away. "Dawnn!" she squealed, before rocketing off the stairs to meet the paladin half way.
"About damn time," Vaschel grumbled, finally making the effort to rifle through his bag, since he was up anyway. He found no water, but a strong grain alcohol, that was similar to water in that it was clear. Pulling the top off with his teeth, he decided to make due.
"Hey there!" Dawnn smiled, looking good-natured as always but also a bit tired. Negatory picked up on this subtlety instantly.
"You look exhausted! Is it from arguing with Daynha?" the small girl pressed stealthily, eager to elicit details as to the argument's origin.
"So you saw that, huh? Well, I think you misinterpreted. I gave up arguing with her years ago," Dawnn answered, waving the question off as he accompanied the rogue back to his own porch. "Have you two really been waiting for me this whole time? Light, if I would have known I'd have hurried…"
"It's all right, we really just got here!" Negatory chirped, covering minor disappointment with forced, over-exaggerated cheer. As usual, something important was happening… and no one wanted to tell her about it.
"Damnit," Vaschel grunted out loud as Negatory plopped down beside him once more. Arguing wasn't a good sign at all. "Dawnn, you're so useless!"
His younger's placid expression broke as he faced his elder offensively. "Honestly!? I told you I didn't think it would get anywhere—just be glad I offered to help you at all!"
"You didn't offer, and you didn't help me," Vaschel reminded, tossing his silver hair behind his head indignantly. "Now she'll just be pissed off that I asked you."
Negatory whimpered audibly, laying her head unnoticed on Vaschel's shoulder. Of course—more arguing about things she was left out of.
"You're such an ingrate! …And you're sloshed! Ugh, take better care of yourself, you've got circles under your eyes!" Dawnn growled. Generally genial and patient, Vaschel had a special knack for getting under his skin.
And the feeling was mutual. "As if you're in any place to judge! By the light, I'd love to knock your teeth out," Vaschel snarled arrogantly in return.
"All right! Stand up! Let's—" Dawnn started, but stopped short. All at once the ire drained from his expression. He bent his knees and tilted his head slightly, then actually smiled.
"The hell is wrong with you?" Vaschel demanded, only irritated more by the dropped threat.
"Hush!" Dawnn ordered, but did not break his grin. "Negatory's sleeping."
Vaschel turned his head carefully, then threw his arm around the little rogue just in time to save her head from rolling off his shoulder. Sure enough, she was out like a light. Despite all of his best efforts to hold onto his combative mood, he could not help but crack a light smirk of his own. "Even in the middle of all that."
"That's Negatory for ya."
*END CHAPTER 13: SULKING*
~BEGIN: DISCUSSION~
So evidently there was some confusion as to what the fuck Angel was. This was frustrating, because I knew exactly what I was talking about—but strangely enough everyone else who read it, including my beta reading bf, got confused. I just figured that maybe he was stupid, but since everyone got confused, the problem must be the story xD
Angel is half-elf, half-human. There.
To fix the initial problem, I went back and mended her description so future readers won't be confused. As always, when I change something, there's a LAST REVISED note at the bottom. You guys don't need to go back and reread since that's all I changed and I just told you all you need to know. But if you wanna reread, I encourage it. =3 Go on, start over, see how far Negate's come.
This chapter took me forever to get done—two weeks and a couple days. The next chapter I can't really predict, sorry. I have a heavy tendency to finish on weekends, and I'd like to have it done by this Friday, but since this one got done late, maybe the NEXT weekend will be more likely. So. Just under two weeks is a good estimate—but maybe earlier, maybe later. Next chapter should be the final chapter in Brill, but then I thought this one was going to be too… xD
-Joseph: Aww. Lisys+Negate are your favorite people? =3 They're cute together na? /me said blablablabla doesn't work I thought.
-Ren: I'd be scared too xD I'd probably scream bloody murder. Lisys is TOUGH though! In her own way. You shouldn't fret, my dear, for all will be revealed eventually! As you can see, Negate did not fall for the same trick twice xDD And the death knights are crazy—Saiynt In the normal crazy way and Sihner in that he's psychopathically uncaring at times :R Persnally I think Saiynt is really cute in her own way. But I'm biased.
I have a holy priest! I'm god-awful at her though. I trust you're better? XD
Phasilica is one of my favorites too! I can't wait until Negate/Lisys hit Silvermoon, then I can use her more. :R
-Escalus: Mmmyeees, those pretty buttelf men. Sooo pushy xD
Now, I'm not disagreeing with you here—Dawnn can be a momma's boy. But I'm just not really sure this chapter expresses it much. I mean, attempting to preserve someone's life is really the bare minimum you can hope for after bringing them into the world in the first place xD
Yes, Cevian is kind of an asshole. And it is genetic xD Avarett is a good guy xDD You'll see more of him in future FBs.
Did that last line make you lol? XD
Now since I can ask you anything… how about this: alliance culture. Wtf is wrong with it. On the Horde, it's generally a do for mages/priests/paladins to buff anyone they see who's standing still for a while if you're close, and then they usually say thank you. On the alliance, I never see anyone buff anyone else and when my bf or I do it, no one says thank you. The alliance is full of prick bastards! Why!?
Your country is the UK? Yeah that makes sense xD
Oh dear, you sure did stay up late xD Finish this? Holy shit that will take a LONG time.
~END: DISCUSSION~