"Ouch, not so tight!"

Cecilia winced as Delebria tightened one of the braids on her head, twisting it even further and tying it with an elastic band.

"It has to be tight so the curls will remain long enough for the party," the retired nightblade explained to the retired sentinel. "Your hair is too fine otherwise."

"Not like dwarven hair at all," added Unelia as she leaned against the wall in the common room of the house. She had switched between reading a small gazette circulated through Astranaar weekly and inspecting Delebria's painstaking work.

"Honestly, I would have been fine just tying it in a ponytail or something. I don't think I've had my hair done since arcane magic was still legal," Cecilia remarked as Delebria twisted another one of the tight braids.

"Arcane magic is legal again, technically, but I know what you mean." Inspecting the last of the braids, Delebria stepped back and slipped a kerchief over Cecilia's scalp. "But you aren't doing this for you. You're doing it for everybody that wants to see you back."

"What everybody is this? It's only our small group, you guys can't just see me dressed casual?"

It was already nearing the early morning time, and Cecilia had fought the preparations for the homecoming party for as long as she could. Being a martial society, the night elves were sticklers for organization and punctuality. Unelia had prodded Cecilia into buying a new outfit days ago - something more concealing than the leathers currently popular with younger Kaldorei - and had tried to pin the younger sister down to have her hair done from the early evening. Having spent the past decade among outlanders who largely lived without such restrictions - most humans outside of Stormwind and orcs outside of Orgrimmar still had difficulty with concepts such as waiting in line and taking one's turn - Cecilia had been strongly affected by their habits. If anything, the strict organization would make more sense for beings with short lifespands, and the lack of attention to time would make more sense for elves given their long lifespans. Duty to Nordrassil had changed them, however, and Cecilia had been shocked to learn that for a party which was supposed to begin at five in the morning, Unelia actually expected them to show up at five in the morning.

"We want to see you making extra effort for us," the elder sister said, breaking Cecilia's train of thought. "That's what social gatherings are about."

Delebria stretched her worn fingers, grimacing in an exaggerated fashion as she did so. "Trust me, it will be fun. Perhaps we aren't as wild as what you saw spending years on a goblin passenger ship, but tonight we're going to party like it's the year negative nineteen ninety-nine before the First War."

Unelia bristled at the mention of her sister having worked for the Steamwheedle Freight Service. Cecilia was unchangeably tied to the goblin cartel now, not only having been pulled out of poverty through working security for them along with Irien and Sonja, but also having bought the duplex on land owned by a relative of their trade prince and with a loan extended by a cartel-owned bank. There was no turning back, but her association with a non-factional entity that put money before morals obviously bothered Unelia to no end.

Deftly changing the subject, Cecilia sought surrender, not wanting to disappoint anyone. "Just for you guys, I'll try this curly hair thing tonight, and you can have fun watching it while bouncing on my toes," she joked much to Delebria's delight. "Maybe on the next visit I'll even let you paint my nails."

At the last comment, Delebria frowned. "I was planning on doing that next!"

"Hey, don't push your luck. I'm getting my hair done for the first time in a literal eon and even decided to wear a dress - Irien, forgive me." The last comment was meant as a joke due to the dislike of pomp she shared with her best friend, though her sister was already perturbed.

"Forgiveness is from the divine, not those on Azeroth," Unelia reminded the younger sister firmly.

"You're right. Goddess, forgive me for wearing a dress," Cecilia joked again.

"You said you like the dress."

Eyes focused on the gazette, Unelia radiated a rare uptightness as Cecilia realized that her sister's taking offense was over more than the sewn fabric itself. Feeling contrite, she crossed the room and forced Unelia into a hug. Though her reserved older sister didn't enjoy such displays, she didn't fight it and didn't even seem startled by the kiss on her forehead - another habit Cecilia had brought back from the outside world.

"I love the dress and I loved picking it out even more," she said with a warm smile. "It's nice to loosen up and accept things being different sometimes, isn't it?"

The double meaning wasn't lost on Unelia, nor was the attempt at trucemaking. She patted the younger sister's arm and tried to sit on the chair Delebria had moved in front of the mirror in the common room. When Cecilia refused to let go, Unelia refused to lower herself to the immaturity. Which only spurred Cecilia even more intensely to a type of behavior she normally wouldn't even indulge in with Irien.

"Isu, I get it. You can let go now."

"But I love you so much, big sister!"

Delebria covered half her face with her hand, trying not to laugh as she searched for something else to look at.

"Alright, I need to get my own hair done now."

"But I love you so much!" Cecilia cackled as she squeezed Unelia even more tightly.

"This is immature."

"Because I love you so much!"

Unelia finally tried to walk to the chair, and Cecilia released her grip only enough for Unelia to shuffle slowly without actually breaking the hold. She pursed her lips to fight the laughter back, trying in vain to preserve the facade of seriousness.

"Isurith!"

"Give me a kiss!"

"Isurith, stop this at once!" Unelia commanded with the reluctant laughter audible in her voice as well. She lowered herself to the point of struggling when Cecilia literally puckered her lips and rotated her head in circles rapidly, threatening to force it on her older sister. "This is undignified!"

"You know how you can make this stop!" Cecilia chortled, and Delebria actually gave them her back as she started laughing out loud.

"You're twelve-thousand years old, this is foolishness!"

"Baby I'm a fool for you, something something something!" Cecilia sang, forgetting the lyrics to a cheesy tune some of the gnomes in town had been humming.

Seeming to tire from the childishness, Unelia pecked Cecilia on the cheek and was released into the chair. As she grinned to herself, Cecilia ticked another mark on her mental scorecard in preparation for the eventual serious discussion her sister was torturing her with. She was finding it easier to focus on her surroundings and the joy of visiting when she was able to take small, playful jabs here and there.

Cecilia shook the thoughts out of her head. "Delebria, can you spike Uni's hair up with some of that gel you have?"

"What?! Don't listen to her!"

Laughing heartily before they got started on the hour it took to cut and oil Unelia's hair, the three former soldiers in the Sentinel Army all relaxed and chatted lightly as the time flew by. By the time all three of them had finished, Delebria realized they were now late for a gathering that was to be held at her own apartment.

"Ah, I have to go get things ready!"

Admiring the light curls in her hair that made her feel like a giant teenager - she didn't quite enjoy that feeling but she enjoyed the effort Delebria had put into it - Cecilia tried to teach her friend to relax the way she'd learned to.

"Come on, nobody is supposed to show up exactly at the stated time. Where's the fun in that?"

"No, Niorith will feel embarrassed, you know her. We have to prepare the place so we can surprise you!"

How quaint it was that her people, being so used to routine, had no issue telling someone openly that they planned on surprising them. As much as Cecilia loved being back in her homeland, some outlander habits had rubbed off on her so thoroughly that she occasionally felt like an outlander just being there. She helped Delebria gather her things and hurry on her way, off to prepare some surprise that Cecilia promised herself to pretend surprised her.

Seeing that Unelia had already started getting dressed in the changing room above the kitchen, Cecilia followed her up and reached through the curtain and fished for the dark azure dress she'd chosen. There hadn't been time to have anything tailor made, so Aeolynn, owner of Astranaar's sole traditional Kaldorei clothing store, had suggested it for her. Ignoring her sister's protests, Cecilia pulled the dress out before Unelia had finished changing and changed right there on the other side of the curtain. She thought she'd done a fine job, but it apparently was not so, as she found upon seeing Unelia wearing a plain white gown the beauty of which mismatched her slight frown.

"Your dress isn't on straight!" she said, though her tone hadn't crossed the line of sounding rude. Unelia held the loose folds of fabric between her fingers gingerly as she made adjustments too subtle for Cecilia to really notice.

She held her arms out straight, marveling at the feel of authentic silk from Winterspring and smiling as she experienced more vague flashbacks of her former life before the Sundering. They were so fleeting and delicate that she savored them whenever they came. Most night elf women didn't dress this conservatively anymore, and the feel of Kaldorei handiwork on long sleeves and a nearly ankle-length dress brought her back.

Everything looked much larger, even Unelia. Cecilia was the tallest in the family, so she must have been young at the time. She was wearing a long sleeve dress and some woman she felt must be a friend of the family had brought her to the granary - their people still survived on whole grains back then rather than berries, nuts and tubers as they did from the Sundering until the Third War. Cecilia was holding something in her hands but it wasn't a basket. It was heavy and had tick marks on it. A clay tablet...papermaking hadn't been invented yet when she was a child. The tick marks reminded her of the mental scoreboard in her head and she smiled.

"It's lovely to dress like this again, isnt it?" Unelia asked in reaction to her sister's smile.

When she opened her eyes and shifted from past to present, Cecilia saw that whatever miniscule adjustments had been necessary were complete and there was a sincere look of affection in Unelia's eyes. It wasn't the first time during the trip, but it was much less frequent now than prior to their parting; even during the monotonous, indicernible days of the Long Vigil, Unelia had been the most caring in the family. Just over a decade after its end, however, and she seemed to have become more distant from Cecilia only.

It was only natural, the younger sister realized as she returned the mushy look to her older sister. Their lives were separate now and always would be. Cecilia, the former xenophobe, racist and supremacist who had embraced the emotionless, feral stupor of the Vigil and initially cursed Tyrande's husband for ending it, had left Kalimdor woefully unprepared, been used and abused by the world and simply stood up, dusted her knees off and tried again until she made her own place for herself. Unelia, the accepting, loving and religious universalist who had sought to forgive and understand both the humans and orcs for their transgressions, had remained in a radius of a day and a half of travel from their ancestral grove. She still hadn't even visited Teldrassil yet as she and Johan had been planning for so long. They were both happy - Cecilia was truly and wonderfully happy for the first time since the War of the Ancients and Unelia was even happier than she'd already been since time immemorial.

But they weren't together. And in the few decades or however long two ancient, ageing night elves like them had left in life, they never would be. And that, as much as the sight of Celonia withering away and dying in the midst of their basically dead ancestral grove, forced Cecilia to fight as hard as she could against the flow of tears right there in the middle of the house.

Unelia once again read her sister well and sensed the emotion welling inside. "You'll need to get used to wearing these again. Because every time you come to visit from now on, you're buying another one."

At that, the two sisters shared a hearty laugh and made their way to descend from the mezzanine changing room. As if to punctuate Unelia's point, Cecilia tried to take far too long a stride in the dress and nearly tumbled down the stairs.

"Ah!" she cried as Unelia pushed her against the wall at the last moment, allowing her to cling to the railing. "How do I walk!"

"It's easy: take baby steps and don't march," Unelia chortled as she helped the suddenly more awkward of the two to the bottom floor.

Cecilia began to actually walk out the door, only for Unelia to flip out. "Wait! What are you doing?"

"I'mmmmm...going outside?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Are you crazy, you just had your hair done! What if outlander males see you?" Unelia had already pulled a shawl from a drawer and wrapped it aound Cecilia's head, loosely enough so that it didn't alter her curls but tightly enough so that her hair, the back of her neck and most of her shoulders were covered.

Only her amusingly incredulous face was visible. "You've got to be kidding me...seriously? What year is this, negative eleven thousand?"

"Isu this is very serious!" Unelia protested, finding no humor in the head covering.

"You do realize that both of our husbands are outlanders anyway, right?"

"I meant unrelated strangers, you know that!" Unelia wrapped her own shawl and led the way out to the street.

Their husbands were already waiting outside, and as different as their appearances were, their bored expressions were exactly the same. Homecoming parties of this sort were usually women-only events, a relic of the Long Vigil when all but a few of the men slept and the sister sentinels returning from their patrols that could range anywhere from weeks to years would be met with raucous parties that broke many of the typical rules of propriety. They were expected, yet the guests of honor would always act surprised. And because such parties were a holdover from a time without men, the tradition as it had evolved since the loss of Nordrassil was not that there would be simultaneous parties for the women and the men. Rather, the women just took over the interior of the living quarters - atypical for a society both martial and matriarchal, though accepted for these events - and the men were kicked outside to mill about and guard the nightsabres. As sorry as Cecilia had felt for her husband and brother-in-law before (her uncle, niece and nephew were at the library and would go straight home from there to sleep after moonset), she couldn't deny that the excitement of seeing more friendly, non-judgmental night elves than just her one best friend had caused her sympathy to subside. Surely the men would be fine if left to their own machinations for a single day, right?

As soon as they turned, the difference in personalities was apparent. Ever the Kaldorei-phile, Johan greeted his wife shyly and blushed pink at the sight of her being dressed up for the occasion. It was rather cute in a quaint way.

Khujand, on the other hand, just switched between snickering at the one-hundred eighty degree shift in clothing style and hanging back so he could watch Cecilia's ass as she walked. Which she also found cute in a raunchier, more trollish way.

"So ya gonna wear a veil, too"? he whispered to her through the fabric of the shawl. "Maybe a burka like some of tha centaur ladies use?"

"It's nice to try new things," Cecilia retorted with a flip of the shawl's excess fabric in his face.

"I feel like I'm Tasar Bubla, centaur king of tha wastes. Nobadeh looks at meh wimmenz!" Khujand snickered with an actual caveman thump to his chest.

She tried to glare at him, though it didn't quite succeed due to her grin. "You wear a hood sometimes when it's raining."

"I'm just havin' fun wishya girl, it doesn't mean nothin'." He lifted her hand to kiss it, and she let it lie daintily and limp-wristed within his as the four walked, talked and laughed across town.

With the moon mostly set and the sun out, Cecilia, Unelia and even Johan had to shield their eyes from the light. The streets were filled mostly with humans, draenei, worgen and a few groggy and disgruntled dayshift sentinels along with one or two Kaldorei daywalkers. Astranaar, however, was still very much a night elf city and the whole island was much less active during the daytime. The absence of crickets or owls caused the air to feel unusually still, though by the time they found themselves standing in front of the first of three apartment blocks on the island, the noise from the second floor had already filled the air.

The architecture of the building looked Kaldorei, but apartment blocks had been unknown ever since they abandoned stone as a material in non-military structures after the Sundering. It was strange to Cecilia to see a flat-faced building with the curving arches on the roof typical of their buildings, trying to evoke both style and utility and failing at both. Realizing she was being negative again, she pushed out her thoughts of overpopulation and unemployment and turned to see the benches on the opposite side of the small street.

All up and down were half a dozen Kaldorei men wearing sunglasses and visors, all of them sitting on the benches and looking bored out of their minds as they watched lights flicker and heard women ululating from the second-story window. They were the husbands and boyfriends, apparently, and true to the segregated nature of a night elf homecoming party, they had not only been left with nothing to do other than protect the overcoats and outdoor shoes, but seemed too content to think of something for them to do on their own.

Unelia led Cecilia inside the main door of the building and removed her shawl, placing it in Johan's waiting hands outside the main door as if it were a token bestowed before a long march.

"Try not to do anything too crazy," Unelia told her husband with a smile, and to Cecilia's surprise neither of the two saw any irony in the situation.

With a tartish grin, Cecilia removed her shawl and wrapped it around Khujand's neck, much to her sister's consternation. He continued trying to watch her now I obscured rack as she ascended the stairs inside, stopping only once Johan literally pulled him toward the benches and out of sight.

Up the stairs, she almost stumbled again and her older sister had to shove her toward a hand railing again, lightening up after the flagrant lack of regard displayed by the entrance.

"I thought you're supposed to be retired from marching," Unelia quipped. She looked rather pleased with herself afterward as well.

"Look at you, trading barbs so easily, miss holy roller."

At that, Unelia arched her brow. "Are you making light of-"

"I've making light of the fact that you're easy to bother," Cecilia chortled as she held close to her sister one more time, thinking there was another step when the stairs had actually ended and almost falling again. "Why does it have to be ankle length!"

"Don't blame the dress, you just misstepped that time," Unelia jabbed with gusto.

"It's because I couldn't move freely enough-"

"Hey! You guys are more than half an hour late!"

Both sisters turned to see Niorith out of her patrol armor and in a gaudy green dress instead, tapping her foot with a slightly perturbed smirk on her face. Typically shy when off duty, the colorful getup was unlike her, and although it didn't match the black tattoos covering her joints and face in a sectionized pattern of lines, Cecilia still grinned to see the oddly introverted police officer dressed so boldly. Rather than a tarp as the night elves preferred, the doorway to her and Delebria's apartment had an actual door and it was hanging open. Weaving out from within was the sound of uncharacteristically loud laughing, the beating of tambourines and the smell of Kaldorei moon juice that epitomized the homecoming parties of old, and the gaffe on the stairs was quickly forgotten.

"Niorith, you...are also wearing a dress," Cecilia murmured with a goofy smile on her face.

Niorith blushed but tried to play it off rather than falling silent as Cecilia had expected her to. "Well, what did you think I'd wear? The Vigil is over, we aren't bound to be at the ready for war twenty-four-seven anymore," the Kaldorei cop replied. "Get in here, come!"

Niorith lifted her dress with one hand and began dragging Cecilia inside with the other, and Unelia took Cecilia by the other wrist as though they suspected the guest of honor would flee. Nothing could be further from the truth, however, and when Cecilia entered to find far more people than she had expected, she truly felt touched.

"Yalalalalalalalalalala!" war cried at least a dozen women all crammed into the one bedroom apartment that was too small to be referred to as modest.

Cecilia actually leaped back with a look of pleasant surprise on her face rather than feigned surprise. She'd been gone so long that she literally hadn't heard the war cry of night elf sentinels that also doubled as a greeting at these sort of events the whole time since she'd left home. She'd performed the war cry plenty of times - countless times - during the Vigil, but as with other aspects of her life, the decade since losing immortality affected her mind and soul more than the previous eon after gaining it and she had forgotten how loud ululation was. Before she could even resist, she was bombarded by bows, hugs and even a kiss on her forehead from a neighbor they had never really known that well.

"Nice dress!" joked Aeolynn. She looked haggard and was wearing her work clothes, as though she had literally just closed shop five minutes before arriving.

"And I love the curls!" Ralo'shan said as she reached out and gave one of them a bounce. Seeing the former Eternal Watcher at a party serving alcohol - light, but still alcohol - was one of the biggest thrills of the night.

"Come on, I'm going to blush," Cecilia laughed congenially as she tried to accept the compliments. Scanning the room, she felt a sudden warmth within as she realized that even with her new circle of close friends in Ratchet, she could still have access to many of the familiar faces of her old life if they'd be willing to gather like this every time she visited in the future.

Luara and Thenysil both were there, not as dressed up as the others but trying the best two actively serving officers likely knew how. They were frantic as they tried to organize the copious amounts of food waiting in leafy containers on every flat surface of the apartment, and even with only a dozen people, the lack of seating - even the cushions on the floor had been taken - left the two officers with no option but to stand once they had finished.

"So if you two are here, who's commanding the sentries?" Cecilia asked as the two officers made one of their younger off-duty recruits surrender her seat on the couch for the main guest.

"It's dayshift, let the noobs earn their keep out in the sun," Thenysil replied with a wave of her hand.

As they laughed, the rest of the partygoers hushed as Delebria entered from the bedroom, tambourine in hand as all eyes fell on her. Before she had even realized what was happening, Cecilia found herself from sitting on the couch to being pulled into a standing position again, and a flute had already been shoved into her hands. Everyone cheered as they moved her into an empty space on the floor next to Delebria, and she was again in too much shock and awe to resist.

"What? Wait, what is this?"

Delebria shook the tambourine in response. "Come on, you know that sentinels can't be properly welcomed back from a long march without the return song!"

Balking visibly, Cecilia actually felt out of her element for the first time since arriving. She tried to search for a lifeline, only to find Thenysil grinning at her as if taking revenge and Niorith looking away like her shy old self to avoid being dragged to the front as well. "I haven't picked up an instrument in a few centuries!" she protested.

Her hostess was unrepentant. "There's no form of bonding like shared public humiliation; don't you remember what we used to do to the hundred-year-old trainees at the lodges? Come on, let's play!" Delebria already began shaking the tambourine lightly in a relatively quiet rhythm, and Aeolynn fished out a lute that had been left behind one of the food trays, much to everyone's delight. Pressure mixed with a relaxed feeling as Cecilia reminded herself that nobody expected her to play amazingly, and she let herself laugh a little to lighten up.

Just to punctuate the loose atmosphere, Cecilia turned and literally bumped into the last person she'd expect to be playing music and dancing. Unelia, her strict older sister, had a string instrument at the ready, smiling sheepishly but with her ears pricked up in anticipation. In front of all the crowded partygoers - three more crammed themselves into the apartment just then - the two sisters spoke as though they were alone.

"I never would have expected you to be okay with this," Cecilia giggled like a teenager as Delebria already started beating the tambourine more loudly to the slow tune of the anthem developed for their people several millennia ago.

"Sometimes, there can be exceptions to the rules," Unelia replied just as Cecilia raised the flute to her lips. The rest of the guests began rocking, with some of them even murmuring different lyrics developed uniquely by each grove during the millennia, none of them matching and many of them out of key, but all of them radiating joy as they basked in a relic of their culture so treasured that even the younger among them would ensure that it never slipped away.


The half dozen night elf males sitting on the benches out side all shifted between shading their eyes from the sun to watch the silhouettes behind the curtain of the apartment on the second floor and trying to force boring conversations to pass the time. Not to be outdone, the jungle troll and the human seated among them made small talk as well, though feigning interest wasn't necessary.

"Most of my closer family members were already dead by the time I was in school," Johan explained in response to all the questions about his upbringing. "I was raised by distant relatives, so I guess that caused me to turn inward and connect with books more than people."

"So it's not like ya grew up in an orphanage or anythin', then."

"No, our village didn't have one of those anyway. Most everybody had extended family, so if and when your parents were gone, you know, you just moved over to another relative's household."

"Yeah, I can imagine what that's like. Some kids like that get caught up in things worse than books, though."

"Maybe in cities, but this was a village in the mountains. There weren't any breweries and the local jail only saw people locked up once a year, usually for fighting over inheritance. Most of us who were distant or had a lot of free time just had the chapel or the library, both of which were run by this fellow that was also the village teacher."

Khujand had already heard Unelia and Johan's how-we-met story from both his wife multiple times over the past year and his sister-in-law at the dinner table the other night, but the story of how the blone-haired human had ended up deciding to remain in Ashenvale in the first place was better heard from him directly. The two husbands hadn't had much time to talk man-to-man, but once they tried, they found that they had much more in common than they'd thought. Khujand's family was originally non-tribal with no nobility or honorable genealogy to speak of, like Johan's ignoble descent. With a distinct accent not far from that of the Frostmane tribe of ice trolls in Dun Morogh - despite being absolutely pure jungle trolls - Khujand's people were distinct only due to their different way of speaking and nothing else. They had not been a part of the Gurubashi Empire but had paid tribute, and eventually joined the Darkspear tribe not as blood relatives at first but as refugees seeking protection on the Darkspear Isle. Humans were no longer tribal but did have a concept of noble households, and Johan's family was about as far from one of those as one could get. They both had left the Eastern Kingdoms around the time of the Third War - Johan after enlisting and Khujand, again, as a refugee from the sinking island of his people - and they had both remained in the northern half of Kalimdor. The fact that they were born in the exact same year only a few months apart made their marriage to two sisters seem all the more curiously coincidental.

Unlike the other men, the two of them were far from bored, and any racial barriers that may have existed were blown to smithereens as the two realized how much they really had in common.

"And that's how ya learned about tha so-called 'dark elves,' right?"

"Yes, our village librarian, teacher and preacher was quarter-elf and taught me some Thalassian. Despite the denial of both night elves and blood elves, the reality is that their two languages are more like two dialects. When I first met Kaldorei just before Hyjal, I found that I could understand much of what they were saying already." Johan stroked his goatee-beard absentmindedly in the same exact way Khujand often did as he pondered the meaning of life or something like it, the non-grumpy troll thought. "I honestly suspect that the differences among the races are exaggerated so much."

"I get that same feelin' too, man." Khujand was about to stroke his beard as well, but refrained once he realized what he was doing. "I honestly never think about seeyin' my own homeland, though. Dya ever feel like, with all tha history, ya prefer ya wife's culture ta ya own?"

"If, if I didn't feel that way, I wouldn't have stayed," Johan laughed heartily. "I would honestly prefer my children remain closer to their mother's roots than mine."

"Well, I think they're gonna hafta. With half night elf genes, they're gonna live a long time. Ya and me could marry tha sisters cause we found them at a time when they're at tha end of their long lives. They're from tha generation from before tha Sundering, ya know? But otherwise, people like our kids livin' for centuries, people from ya race and mine livin' less than one century..."

"It wouldn't work out. We're actually both lucky to have been born just at the right time, around when the Long Vigil ended," Johan said wistfully as he stared off, obviously thinking of Unelia. "Sometimes I can't believe it worked out this way, for us to be together."

"I know it!" Khujand said with a bit of wistfulness of his own.

Noticing that the night elf men had quieted down and looked bored out of their minds, Khujand leaned over to Nantar, a member of the family of bakers from down the road.

"Hey, Nantar, right?"

The baker's ears pricked up at the sound of his name. "Yes, Khujand, right? From the other day?"

"Yeah man, it's me...listen, we gotta suggest somethin', me and Johan here."

The other men began peering over at the exchange, seemingly happy for anything to focus on other than overcoats, shawls and street shoes. "What is the nature of this suggestion?" Nantar asked with sudden interest.

"I bumped inta this gnome with a pointy hat tha other day. He almost ran under my foot but accused me of tryin' ta stomp him. He said some rubbish about me bein' a spy and I tried ta tell him that tha Alliance-Horde war finished, and tha guy didn't even know about tha Siege of Orgrimmar a few years back."

"I know that guy," the druid Faldreas who occasionally worked with the sentinels on town security piped up. "He lives under a rock. As in, literally, he lives in this burrow on the edge of town that he covers with a rock when he's busy."

"That explains a lot of things!" Johan burst out to the laughter of all the waiting menfolk.

"So what is the suggestion, exactly?" Nantar asked with a sly grin, as though he already knew what it was.

"Well, I was thinkin' of playin' a prank. Nothin' too cruel or spiteful. Just enough ta let him know ta look where he walks."

"You guys might want to be careful about that," Faldreas cautioned. "That gnome is extremely cantankerous. Sometimes he even throws pebbles at people."

"Sounds like he needs ta cool off," Khujand replied with a devious smirk.

Several of the other husbands and boyfriends were leaning in, finding the brutish, not-entirely-welcome visitor more acceptable than before. One of them in particular had stopped using a public fountain three days ago when he saw Khujand drinking from it as well, but had such a change of heart that he had now actually risen from his seat to kneel next to the troll broadcasting an aura of voodoo everywhere just to listen in on the plan better.

"That gnome once slapped my pet deer for grazing near his burrow," the previously wary local said. "Honestly, I feel like somebody should teach that little rabble rouser a lesson. My poor deer is afraid to eat unless I'm standing right next to her now."

Nantar had already figured out the plan. "We keep some chilled water back at the bakery for dough-mixing purposes. I don't think my wife would notice if one of the buckets emptied out over the day."

"But what about the ladies' belongings?" Faldreas asked innocently.

"I'm sure they'll be fine, Faldreas," Johan answered. Khujand had actually feared his conservative brother-in-law wouldn't have been up for dousing an unsuspecting little person with ice water, but his unexpected enthusiasm inspired all seven of the others.

"Astranaar is safe. Besides, why do we always have to sit around listening to the women singing and dancing for these parties?" Nantar said with a hint of righteousness in his voice. "When will we stand up to the matriarchy and demand equal rights?" Everyone - the troll included - snickered at the rhetorical question, though the baker really seemed to mean it.

Geldor Rainsong, the ancient Druid of the Talon, displayed no misgivings about the group's rather mean plot. "I'll shift to storm crow form and be on the lookout."

"I'll go get my bucket!" Nantar said as he hurried off.

"I'll watch everyone's stuff," huffed Faldreas.

"Your loss," Johan remarked with a tone of disappointment as everyone else made their way to the edge of town.

Khujand slouched just a little more as they walked, proud that his plan for some daytime mischief had endeared him just a little more to the local night elves. Perhaps that day wouldn't be so boring after all.


They had been dancing and eating for hours by the time Cecilia and Unelia descended the staircase, their toes and ankles sore with each step. The other guests had ensured that neither sister had been able to sit for too long, one various wellwisher or another always pulling them back up again and at one point they ended up in a conga line that lasted for twenty minutes. Even the goodbyes had been long, as many of the women were so busy that they likely wouldn't see Cecilia again before she left; in a world such as Azeroth, where flying was done on the backs of great beasts and communication was via pieces of paper carried in sacks, the thought of not seeing a friend again for months at a time was daunting. Niorith and Delebria had held out for as long as they could, making no moves to usher anybody outside. Once the final group of revelers had left, however, the hosting couple collapsed onto the floor cushions in the sitting room of their apartment audibly and could be heard snoring all the way in the stairwell within seconds.

A small group of women who had stayed until the very end - it had to be almost ten in the freaking morning by then - surrounded the two sisters as they exited the building, chattering the whole way despite the drowsiness overtaking them all.

While their belongings were waiting for them undisturbed, the same could not be said for the husband-boyfriend amalgamation.

"What in the name of Elune happened?!" Unelia exclaimed at all the males in general.

Disheveled but relaxed, the eight men all looked like they'd spent the past five hours wrecking the entire town. They were all sweaty, red-eyed and covered in soot and underbrush to varying degrees, and they all looked exhausted. Johan and Faldreas were both splattered in blue paint and Geldor had tinsel wrapped around his antlers. Khujand and one of the other husbands both smelled of glue and another random boyfriend was passed out underneath one of the benches. Nantar looked fine for the most part, and his shirt and shoes were unblemished aside from sweat. The fact that his pants were missing canceled that out, however, as did the mystery of how he had lost his pants without removing his shoes.

"What...happened?" Ralo'shan asked, stupefied as she tried to unwrap the tinsel from her husband's antlers and only ended up making things even worse.

"By the great winds, we were called," he answered while exchanging giddy, secretive grins with the other males. His floral-pattern beach shirt was mostly unbuttoned, and although Geldor was one of the only fourteen-thousand year-olds on Azeroth with abs, he ended up looking more like he'd slept in a ditch than a suave man who had simply aged well.

Faldreas' girlfriend, also a druid apparently, rushed forward to tend a lump on his head. "But how...? You guys look like you encountered a group of infernals!"

"We were assaulted by a very cantankerous gnome," Faldreas replied, his mana far too spent to heal the lump on his own.

"Yeah, tha plan was a huge mistake actually," Khujand mumbled as Cecilia clasped her hands over her mouth both from the odor of glue and to prevent herself from cackling maniacally at their situation. "My bad. I didn't realize that little guy was so...cantankerous. There's no other way ta describe him."

"I don't think I'm comfortable buying that gnome's carpets anymore," Johan sighed and laughed at the same time. "I never trusted that pointy hat of his anyway."

Without much left to say, everyone said their final awkward goodbyes and parted, though Aeolynn had to spend some time dragging her unconscious husband out from under the bench. Nantar's wife, ever the jealous night elf woman, forewent her shawl and used it as a makeshift kilt for her husband.

Splitting off from Unelia and Johan so Khujand could wash the glue smell out of his mane at a public water pump, the Shadow Hunter and retired old-school Huntress had a few minutes alone before they returned to the house.

"So...I guess you guys had fun after all?" Cecilia asked with a hand still covering her smirk.

Khujand dunked his entire head in Nantar's bucket after filling it, which he did after realizing he had somehow ended up with the baker's property in the first place. "Ya could say that. And I guess ya had fun too?"

"Oh, it was wonderful," Cecilia cooed. "I didn't even mind wearing a dress. Honey, we have to visit home more often."

"If ya want it, we'll make it happen, I can promise ya that."

As he rinsed his mane out, Cecilia yawned and tried to force herself awake long enough to share her decision with him. "I'm going to initiate 'the talk' with Unelia first thing tomorrow morning."

Her husband actually froze for a moment before continuing to wash. "I guess it had ta happen eventually," he sighed. "Ya sure this is gonna end well?"

Cecilia twirled her fingers in the gradually straightening curls of her dark azure locks, mulling it over. Of all people, Khujand knew her hangups over her sister and her reasons for feeling guilty despite not regretting her departure or her new life. There was no need to put up a front around him. "Honestly, I'm not so sure. She's going to be mad. She has a right to be mad. But I just want to get things over with."

Khujand ringed out the excess water into the grass near the pump as he listened for more. Once he was sure she had finished, he stood and took the bucket as they walked back to the house.

"I understand perfectly. Tha big party is past and now we just gotta few days ta relax before goin' back home. There's no reason ta delay it any longer."

Despite the water dripping down his arms, Cecilia clung to her husband's elbow and rested her head on his shoulder as they walked. "I don't know what to say once she gets started, even after thinking about it so many times."

"Stop. Don't think; just feel. A very bright lady told me that, once."

"Mmmmm," she hummed. "Sounds like she knows what she's talking about."

They stared into each others eyes as they walked inside the tarp, smiling with a mixture of calm and apprehension which didn't make sense to either of them. The entire house was silent, and they didn't even bother putting on pajamas over their underwear once Khujand had dried his hair. This time, sleep came quickly. Cecilia knew she would need it in preparation for the discussion she had feared having even across letters, much less face-to-face.