Title: Fireworks
Description: "Sylvanas celebrates the Fourth of July in her own way."
Notes: A holiday-themed short I've wanted to do since last month but never got around to doing until a few days back.
Notes2: Also Lucario (since you're a guest reviewer and I can't reply back), it's up to you if you want to buy Brightwing's Master skin. For me, I probably wouldn't because it doesn't look that much different from her normal skin.

Today was July the fourth. For Sylvanas, it was just another day. Even back on Azeroth, when all the goblins got together every hour to set off as many explosives and fireworks as they could until they set buildings on fire, it was simply that. The only day that mattered was Hallow's End, the time when the Forsaken broke free from the Lich King's control and claimed Lordaeron as their own city. A plebian's holiday was nowhere near as important as that.

For the Terrans in the Nexus, however, it was Independence Day. It was some holiday from their planet where these colonies in a country called the United States of America signed this paper called the Declaration of Independence which stated they were no longer part of this other country across the sea called the British Empire. It happened almost a thousand years ago, if Sylvanas got the galactic date right.

When Nova described it to her, it sounded no different than how people back home celebrated: they ate copious amounts of food; they got drunk off their asses; they pissed in bushes because why not; they vomited from the highest points of a building and watched to see if the stuff would land on somebody; they shot themselves up with drugs or pixie dust and acted like the complete morons that they were. That the living were; the undead had much better standards, and Sylvanas made sure her people didn't get too out of line.

So everyone in the Manor and people from all over the Nexus got together and held one big party that started on June the twenty-first, the first day of summer, and tonight was the last day for it.

It was the worst two weeks of Sylvanas's undead life. Everyone was so happy and sugary. They had a freestyle dance competition where at one point they were nearly falling over each other trying to outdo one another (Zeratul had just about put someone's eye out with his legs kicking in all directions—he said the Terrans called it "breakdancing"). They gave out gifts and showed them off, like tossing around pigskins and foot balls ("They're actually called soccer balls," Nova said, "but only in America do we call the sport 'soccer'. Everywhere else it's called 'football'…or, as I like to call it by its Hispanic name, 'futbol.'") or messing around with those dumb Crashin' Thrashin' Racer cars (Hammer couldn't get enough of driving it all over the damn place, including off the Manor's roof).

It was absolute chaos. The air was so rife with sulfur, food, and positive harmonic energies that it would've made Sylvanas diabetic.

Now on this night they were setting off fireworks. Jaina and Kael'thas had to be ushered out of the grounds because the former kept botching up her spells trying to light up the big red rockets and the latter was too busy being an idiot preening like a sex-starved peacock to care he was blowing his share up in their faces. Which wasn't any better, because the nobles had decided to put Gazlowe in charge of getting everything prepared. Take two steps forward and take three steps back, Sylvanas thought. Oh, pitiful mortals, you never cease to amaze me.

She sat away from everyone as they awed and marveled at the fireworks making colorful, intricate explosions in the sky. At least one Hero had the honor of lighting the fuse of a rocket and see it go off into the blue and black yonder. Everyone except her. They could have their gay ole time. She preferred the cold comfort of her back against the tavern's stone wall, bow and quiver at her side, legs pulled up to her chest where she could brood in perfect, self-imposed darkness.

"So Tychus," she told the man towering over her, "if you don't want me scooping out your eyeballs with an arrow and forcing them down your throat, you'll move them right on up back to the sky…where they belong."

The man gave a throaty chuckle. His teeth clenched a big fat cigar and he held a can of beer. Judging by the sway in his stance, he certainly put more than a few away this night. "I, uh, I just…just think you could use some…some company, ya know?" He hiccuped.

"I don't do company."

"Baby, I can do more than company. We don't need no fireworks—"

"I'm undead, you sicko."

"It don't matter—"

"If the lady says no, she says no." Nova came up from behind him and shoved a mug of steaming liquid. "Here, have yourself some Kafa Press and go dunk your head in water. You smell like a brewery."

Tychus glanced petulantly between the drink he was given and the beer he was holding. "What the…? You gave me coffee? How…how's that gonna help?"

"Just drink it. You're not yourself if you don't have a cup of Joe." He gave her a bewildered look. Nova shrugged. "Sorry, I don't have any chocolate bars on me. Anyway," she turned to Sylvanas, "Tychus is right about one thing: you need to blast off some fireworks!"

"I don't do fireworks," said Sylvanas.

"You don't do much of anything!" Tychus exclaimed, and as an afterthought took a sip from the Kafa Press. He licked his lips. "Hey, this is pretty good!" He began to guzzle it down.

Nova shot him a withering glare. "At least shoot one," she said. "We kinda got this checklist going on, and your name's the only one that hasn't been marked."

Sylvanas grimaced. "Eh…."

"Oh, and there's a bet, too. Word around the Manor is that Arthas will win at least…uh," Nova calculated on the tips of her fingers, "fifty thousand gold if you don't participate. Guy asked every peasant and noble that had coin on 'em."

Her ears snapped to attention. "And just what is he going to do with that much gold?"

"Well for one thing he's certainly not putting any donations into the funds we need to rebuild the stables you and Hammer destroyed the other day."

"That was an accident and you know it!"

"I know, but tell that to Valla. So are you gonna do it?"

"No."

"Come on! It'll be fun! Look, this is one of the few times in a year where people try to one-up each other! That sounds like something up your alley."

"Not exactly. I just give out the rousing motivational speech and light the Wickerman on Hallow's Eve. There's nothing exciting about that."

"We still have plenty of rockets! Don't we, Tychus?"

"Holy crap, this stuff actually works!" the man declared. The color in his cheeks had completely dissipated and the imbalance in his posture restored. "Oh, uh, what were you saying?"

"The fireworks!"

"Oh, right! Er, yeah, baby, we still do! I'll even lend ya my minigun if our selection don't impress ya! It'll give you all the dakka you want!"

"My what now? No, don't even bother telling me." Sylvanas silenced the man with an upraised hand. "Arthas can bet all he wants. I want nothing to do with this tomfoolery."

Nova scratched under her chin. "So…you're okay with Arthas using his winnings to purchase a week's worth of television and Internet time to create a single screen that says 'Sylvanas Windrunner is a big, fat phony'?" She put her hands on her hips and leaned forward, so that her shadow dwarfed Sylvanas. "Is that really what you want?"

Sylvanas leaned to the side so she could see past Nova. Most of the Heroes were mingling with a bunch of groupies playing around with some cheap sparklers, cherry bombs, and firecrackers. There were even a few that had to be jury-rigged by Gazlowe himself, like oversized gnomish bottle rockets and the bastard offspring of Pandaren bamboo cannons and goblin turrets. Sylvanas bet one wrong move on his part, anyone's part, and half the courtyard would go up in flames. Maybe it would go nuclear, too. Sure everybody would respawn in minutes, but at least the resulting explosive would leave a very nice-looking crater. The perfect picture to take while on the scenic route.

But the selection was just pathetic. Absolutely piddly. The Royal Apothecaries could make something better than that; and as for launching them—the Wickerman was as far as she would go. These things? She felt her lips pull in a nasty scowl.

Suddenly, an idea came to her. She leaned back to Nova, smiling broadly. "No. No, not at all. You're right. I'll shoot some 'fireworks' off. As a matter of fact," she added, seeing Nova's beaming face, "I'll show you one of my own. How about it?"

"Of course!" said Nova, clapping vigorously. "I love surprises!"

The smile got broader. "Then you'll definitely fall head over heels with this one."

Tychus sniffed. "Woman, I didn't know you knew how to tinker. Where'd you learn it from?"

Sylvanas made a little waving gesture with her hand. "Oh, you know, in between the years I got my body off the meat wagon and picked Lordaeron off the ground. I've had plenty of time to perfect my form. Now, why don't I show you? If my guess is right, my firework has a lot more…ahem, dakka…than what's in your minigun."

Tychus threw his head back and laughed. "Okay! This I've got to see!"

"And so you will." Sylvanas slung the quiver on, took up her bow, and beckoned Tychus and Nova to follow.

Just her luck, Arthas was the first person to notice her approaching. Good. He sneered from behind the darkness of his horrific helmet. "Come to admit you're not woman enough to prove me wrong, Windrunner?" he hissed.

"As a matter of fact, I am," she said. "I can assure you in full confidence you'll be walking to the Manor empty-handed once I'm through with you."

"Is that so?"

"That is so."

Arthas looked at her steadily then at the pile of fireworks arrayed a short ways off from them. He snorted. "Heh. Go ahead. Make my night."

"Go on, Sylvanas! You've got this!" Nova cheered. "Show him what for!"

Sylvanas smirked. "With pleasure." She reached behind her and felt for the straight metal fletchings that comprised the obsidian arrow. She grabbed it and knocked it against the string. Then in one swift movement she aimed skyward and let it loose. It whistled through the air before exploding in a ball of expanding dark energy.

The blood-curdling scream that immediately followed drove everyone to recoil. Most covered their ears and ran away in fear. Others fell to the ground on their knees or in fetal positions, overcome by paroxysms.

Both Nova and Tychus were knocked off their feet onto their asses, the latter sending his coffee and beer flying out of his hands. "JESUS CHRIST!" Nova cried, but Sylvanas could barely hear her over the noise. She was too busy marveling at the sight of Arthas lying prone with his head between his knees, struggling to regain his breath.

She chuckled and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Now that…that was worth it."