Title: A Fool's Fancy
Description: "Sylvanas gets a wake-up call."
Notes1: I had this chapter ready to go last week, but when you work as a Walmart employee, it is a guaranteed given that you'll catch a bug or virus that's going around. If you're like me and work in the self-checkout area where you cannot, under any circumstances, leave your station (among other things that, while justified in self-defense, will get you fired), it's going to be in the air and there is nothing you can do about it. This time it's the common flu, and yours truly has accepted her role in being a biological carrier, i.e. bringing that crap home to share with the family. I'm a lot better than I was last Tuesday night when it started to take hold...but I will not lie to you: the last cold I had was way back in September last year, and knowing my luck I'll either catch something again in one-three months. Maybe I'll even break a bone lol (although I have gotten injured on the floor once before and almost decided to jump to my manager's defense when a fist fight almost broke out with a customer one night). But that's to be expected: I was unemployed for two years before this job, and being the stubborn bitch that I was, I hardly went out anywhere.
Notes2: I wrote this chapter right after the previous one and took a break which I used to recover from my cold. I think the quality might have suffered a bit toward the very end, but it's nowhere near as bad as Chapter 30's ending fatigue. I took some inspiration from my own life as of late, which include the warm spell we had a couple weeks back here in Illinois and Valeera's scathing comment about looking like jailbait. (Which is far from true for her, but I'm in my late twenties and I still get people - customers and coworkers - that outright ask me if I'm old enough to ring up alcohol and cigarettes. I get some...interesting responses. To drive this point home, I once had a customer tell me I looked as young as ten.)
Notes3: It was also during this time that we were introduced to Probius, which I'm sure blindsided a lot of people and drove many a Stukov/Karax/Fenix fan into a blind, Hulk-like rage. I've already come up with a half-dozen or so prompts based around this little guy, and spoiler alert: they're almost all centered on him being relentlessly bullied.
Notes4: Since one of the readers asked (and I know which one: I can just never spell your name right lol): Yes, Spectre!Nova will show up. Everyone will, but it's going to take a while. There isn't a precise storyline other than "Sylvanas and the rest of the cast blow shit up, hold philosophical discussions, and do random things for the lulz", but there will be multi-part chapters like the Unexpected installments.
Notes5: Even Mishka, the OC who has been mentioned here and in another chapter, will make an appearance in Chapter 50, which is chronologically the first chapter. Maybe I'm getting the wrong impression, but I've noticed that she's caused a bit of confusion among some readers. Long story short: she's my blood elf BM Hunter on WoW, even though I RP her as a high elf who is tainted as the rest of the blood elf race but refuses to go by the Sin'dorei name. I won't blame you for feeling lost whenever she's brought up, though; in hindsight, she'll make more sense in the Warcraft fanfics whenever I should get around to those.
The trees rustled, and the first thing that cropped into Sylvanas's half-awake mind was that it was just some birds messing around up in their nests or squirrels making trouble up in the branches. Then something hard slammed into her legs, and the shock jolted her to full wakefulness. The impact forced a breath of air to escape her, and with quickly rising fury she noted that she was a couple weeks out before she felt it was time to take that breath and relish it. The common Forsaken plebian would have to feel suicidally confident to want to kill her for a chance to make their lungs work to that capacity again.
There were no dreams this time—nothing of Alleria lost in the Twisting Nether, nothing of Kerrigan gloating about being the better queen while riding an Alaskan Bull Worm or Lucio and the Chief teaming up to put her through another musically-induced acid trip or Jaina in Chinese war armor trying to make a real woman out of her. Still, the weather was unseasonably warm for February (Ragnaros was to blame for that, trying to claim the sun for his own uses), and a nap was a nap where it concerned peace and quiet from the general insanity of the world.
The second thing to cross her mind that if the person who disturbed her wasn't Nova, Li-Ming, Li Li or anyone else that didn't grind her gears (or Greymane, in his attempts to kill her in the name of 'justice' and 'vengeance for a land no one wants to bother occupying any time soon'), then someone was going to die. Right now, as a matter of fact, as she drew out the shadow dagger and raised it above her head. It had just come to her attention (and if what the girls are saying is anything to go by, she's months late) that people were calling her soft, ruggedly kind, a woman whose heart was starting to grow ten sizes too big for that skinny frame that they were taking bets to see how long it'd take before it burst out of her chest—and all because she wasn't killing as much as she used.
Well, she was going to prove them all wrong!
…Or she would have, had she not recognized the girl lying sprawled in her lap, sleeping. The red hood thrown back showed the head of blonde hair pillowed right between her thighs.
Sylvanas's ears relaxed from their rigidity and dipped low. She craned her neck back, peering up at the foliage, and clicked her tongue, shaking her head. The kid just had to pick a spot, way up high in a tree on the outskirts of the Shire, to sleep. She just had to pick that particular tree where, hours later, Sylvanas would go to kick back and close her eyes. Only for a bit; there was only so much diabetes and lunacy she could take from everyone.
She made a sound between a grunt and a groan and looked down at the kid again. What a heavy sleeper, she mused, to not have woken from falling from such a height and landing—so very conveniently, she added as an afterthought—almost right on top of her. She was probably the type of person who didn't mind sleeping on rooftops or underneath a car if it meant getting some shut-eye.
She was going to feel more than refreshed when she awoke later.
Sylvanas harrumphed and moved some of the kid's hair out of her face, tucking it behind a large ear. Her hair was so full and wavy and ripe with color compared to her own, straight and starchy though it may be. A deep, vibrant gold.
Just like Alleria's.
Her upper lip curled back. She always did this. With every blonde-haired elf-girl she saw, in one way or another she would find herself comparing them to her sister. Even that brat with the stone-carved quilen who kept insisting she was going to find Alleria and do whatever it took to do so reminded her that, in another time and place, she could have been another younger sister with the same love and passion she saw—and herself, as well—as her idol.
Well, at least this one wasn't too concerned about the Windrunner family. One young, foolish headache was enough.
Her fingers grazed the shell of the kid's ear, and it flapped hard against the side of her head. Sylvanas prodded gently, and it slapped, slapped, slapped until she withdrew her head and the ear folded sideways, dipped, and came to rest. Valeera pursed her lips, grumbled, and brought her knees up to her chest. She shivered and rubbed a cheek into her lap until half her head was hidden away. Her fists were loosely closed balls.
Sylvanas hummed low in her throat. "I know. I can't help it. But," and she put a hand on top of her head, "it's better than being up in that damn tree, don't you think?"
Valeera mumbled. It sounded vaguely like "Like the sun. Feels good. Praise sun."
She snorted. "There are better places to sleep in the sun than up a several-stories tall tree. What are you, some kind of cat?" Because, as much as it exasperated her, she was the big cat. She was the one who could pull off the bland stares and bearing of teeth better than cats themselves. The kid, and the Novas and Li-Ming before her, was a mere kitten. They would need a thousand years before they could think to reach her level.
Valeera licked her lips and gave what appeared to be a tiny nod. A corner of her lips quirked in a smile. She leaned back into the palm of her head. Sylvanas stroked it, mindful not to get too close to her ears. The kid shifted position, still searching for warmth, then settled down. Her shoulders rose and fell in a slow, lulling rhythm.
Sylvanas, too, returned a soft, ghostly smile of her own. "Silly girl."
Later that day, Valeera awoke. She squinted at the piercing sunlight, and when she blinked the sunspots away she saw it was coming through the window, the pine needles throwing dappled shadows across the wall. She groaned and made to sit up, only to wince and place an arm around her waist. She looked down to see a large, purpling bruise taking up a good portion of her pale midriff.
"What the…?" Gingerly, she touched the bruise and hissed at the lightning rod of pain lancing through the area. Then she sat up fully, grimacing at the ache in her back, her shoulders, and her arms. Why am I so sore?
She looked up and saw she was in her bedroom. The curtains were drawn, letting in the sun of a passing, unseasonal warmth. Her daggers hung on their hooks on one side of the bed, taking up a good portion of the wall. Empty, transparent potion bottles were neatly arrayed on a handmade wooden rack on the L-table, where alchemical equipment was on full display. There were shelves of potted plants brooding on shelves placed in shadowy niches where they thrived and flourished.
"How did I get here?" she asked aloud as glanced around the room. She swung her legs off the side of the bed and slowly, mechanically, rose to her feet. She took two stiff, stumbling steps, and mindful not to exacerbate the soreness, she stretched her arms above her head and opened her mouth wide in a great yawn. When she lowered them and looked off to the side, she noticed there was a sheet of paper folded on the end table.
"Hm? What's this?" She was pretty sure it wasn't mail; she had already opened, read, and either tossed them into the trash (as was the fate of junk mail) or filed them away for future reference (confirmation orders on the shipping of crates of herbs from the Nightshade Guild in Outer Jeetilopolis). She grabbed the paper and unfolded it.
Her eyes widened. She brought the paper closer and skimmed it more slowly, a blush creeping up to the surface.
Kid,
In case you're wondering why you're here, I'll put it as simply as possible for you to comprehend: For some reason, you decided taking a nap way up in a tree was a good idea. Whether the gods felt they wanted a bit of fun is hard to say, but you fell out of it and into my lap, disturbing my own nap. I kept you company for a while before I brought you back to the dormitory.
Next time you want to pretend to be a cat, do it in a place where you're not going to, you know, roll off and hurt yourself!
B.Q.-Sylvanas
P.S. Sorry I made you cold. It comes with…well, you know. I think my other variant was out teaching the minions and automatons at the shooting range.
P.P.S. I opened up a can of cat food and changed the water out of the bottle for the ferret when he wakes up; I don't know how long he's been sleeping. Your kiwi got excited seeing me and took off…so he's hiding somewhere in the cage. I dropped a few berries I nicked from your tree inside, so if he wants to eat he'll eat. (Although if you're that concerned about me…tampering…with everything, you're more than welcome to check. You have my word I have done nothing of the sort.)
Valeera lowered the letter, her face blank. On one hand, she wanted to crumble the paper up and rage and fume at the fact that the older woman would dare throw the word 'kid' around as though it was a rubber ball. She was young, yes, but goddammit, did it look like she had the body of jailbait? Hell no!
On the other hand…she was flattered, and embarrassed, that Sylvanas would go out of her way to not leave her where she lay in the middle of nowhere and bring her—no, she thought, the redness in her cheeks darkening, carry her, back to somewhere more comfortable (and very much low to the ground). If anything, she would have expected to be dropped off a cliff and woken up at the nearest Hall of Storms as punishment for interfering with her rest. But that was not the case, and she was even kind enough to give her boys something to sate their appetites while she lay asleep.
Valeera folded the letter and set it back on the end table, but did not remove her hand from it. She stared at it, at her fingertips, and let her mind wander. She imagined that instead of the Banshee Queen, it was the Ranger-General, who had picked her up off the ground and carried her (bridal style, whispered the fangirl, and it sounded so very real and so very close to her ear) to the dormitory. She imagined the Ranger-General opening the curtains and drawing up the blinds so she could feel the sun upon her waking. She imagined the Ranger-General coming to a pause at the bedside, staring down at her, then sitting down beside, and then—
Her ears grew hot. They flapped as though they were bird wings.
She snatched her hand away from the letter and folded her arms across her chest. "K-Keep it together, Valeera! Only a fool would entertain that kind of fancy." She spun on her heel and went to go to the cage where Nigel the ferret slept in a nest of bedding he made for himself; curled up in a ball, his sable pelt made a stark contrast to the confetti of newspaper and old fabrics.
The cage sat on another L-table, with a second-level ladder and shelf for Nigel to climb and lay in the hammock hanging above. The water bottle was attached to the outer portion of the wall with two food dishes (one for Nigel, one for Tom the kiwi), a water dish for Tom, and a hamster wheel big enough for the bird to go nuts on. A few toys lay scattered throughout the cage: a bit of rope, a stuffed animal, a string of gold bells Tom must surely have knocked over some time ago.
Valeera leaned down and went to close her fingers through the spaces in the cage. She paused, stood up, and looked out the window. It was open, and it revealed a sparsely dotted greensward bereft of frost. The breeze was a warm sieve upon her skin.
Somewhere out there, the Banshee Queen was leaning back against a tree, arms folded behind her head, eyes closed in a facsimile of slumber.
Somewhere out there, the Ranger-General was watching her students go through the rounds at target practice, observing their movements, correcting their postures, rotating positions.
Her mind drifted away, but the thoughts were innocent. Chaste.
Valeera sighed and smiled foolishly. "But I guess it doesn't hurt to fancy."