Title: Role Reversal
Description: "Sylvanas comes across another blonde-haired, bow-wielding elf."
Notes1: This one was inspired by Hanzo's Farstrider skin, which, strangely enough, doesn't have a backstory to it other than "he's an elf who wants to be Ranger-General". Since that makes that particular event vague as to where it takes place, assuming Sylvanas doesn't exist in that universe or doesn't take up the position, I wrote up my own version of Farstrider!Hanzo's drive to become Ranger-General and how he was drawn into the Nexus. However, over time, I wondered if it would be possible for Genji to have his own high elf/blood elf skin, unless Farstrider!Hanzo exists in a universe where he is the only child in his family or the others are not significant enough to warrant mention.
Notes2: Speaking of families, this was originally going to be called "A Company of Elves"...but I scrapped the title because I think I can make better use of it in another, longer arc in the future. And that would have to involve Kael'thas and the rest of the elven Heroes. It sounds very sitcom-ish, doesn't it?
Notes3: As much as I still want a magical girl!Sylvanas skin, I would be down for a Kal'dorei!Sylvanas skin, if only so I can write a shitpost chapter for added hilarity and Sin'dorei!Tyrande's reaction (given the characterization I've presented her with in Impressions!verse).
Notes4: It's often a thing of rote to take into account that the further east one goes into King's Crest, the more technologically advanced - more suburban - it becomes. Sylvanas and the gang aren't too far away from the Shire-by-the-Rocks, but Anterioch, the setting of this chapter, is right on the line where one will see the very best of magitechnology until it crosses over into the quadrant Echo Town (Echo City is much bigger, but smaller than Jeetilopolis, which may as well be a realm within a realm) and Dracoban belong in. It's there that the "magic" becomes low tech and the "technology" becomes high, but the option is still available but more spaced out in particular areas.
Notes5: Very early pre-planning has begun for The Worst Week, but it's not so much an outline for each chapter as it is "this is how I imagine this will happen, beginning, middle, and end; everything else is fill in the blanks unless inspiration strikes otherwise". There's also the fourth chapter for How Does That Even Work? on the back burner that's more than halfway written, and while I can't make any promises as to when that will come out I can say that it's almost done. There's also a bit brainstorming done for the Tropico-inspired entry and some of the others that didn't win the poll contest, but those most likely be worked on offline until I deem them ready to be uploaded.

"You had better not be another Windrunner," was the first thing Sylvanas said, as she approached the Farstrider.

Hanzo looked up from where he was seated, mouth opened to tear that sandwich a new one, when he paused and looked at her. "What do you mean? I'm not a—Sylvanas Windrunner?" He put the food back on the plate and stood up to appraise her.

"Which one?" asked the Ranger-General Sylvanas.

"What? You mean, you're both Sylvanas?" He glanced between the two of them—one light and fair, the other dark and cold, like the sun and moon in the midst of an eclipse. "Which one is which?"

"It's like good twin, evil twin. I'm the really good twin, the Ranger-General of Quel'Thalas. My counterpart here, she's…well." The variant smacked her lips. "She's something else."

"I…can see that," Hanzo said cautiously, eyeing the Banshee Queen, who glared at him. "Is she a night elf?"

"If I died a true death and the gods asked me what I wanted to reincarnate at the next turn of the wheel, I would tell 'em I'd be anything but a hippie," the default rumbled, loud enough for the green-eyed with the pale complexion at her side (a blood elf, he heard they were called) to put her hands akimbo and shoot her an offended glare.

"A what?"

"Please excuse my grandmother," said Tyrande Windrunner, stepping up and blocking Sylvanas' path as she rounded on her ("Grandmother?!"). "She is not a night elf, but a high elf like you. Only…."

"Only…?"

"Only she's," Tyrande wrung her hands, "well…."

"She had an accident," the Ranger-General bluntly put.

"More than an accident!" said Tyrande, affronted. "She gave her life for Quel'Thalas and came back like this! A-Against her own will, but still! She got her body back."

"Oh, she's got back, alright." The Banshee Queen gave her variant, who was eyeballing her, a smoldering glare.

"She certainly looks…different," said Hanzo, and flinched at the threatening step forward Sylvanas took.

"That's why I'm the good twin and she's the Banshee Queen," said the Ranger-General. "I can't say she's evil; she doesn't have the goatee and mustache to top it off, but hey! She has blue skin and wears dark clothing. That kind of makes her look evil, doesn't it?"

"I…guess?"

"I'm also a specially designated global terrorist in the War on Common Sense," said the Banshee Queen Sylvanas. "Not to mention I'm what the evangelicals and the fundamentalists call the Last Spark of Madness, which is what most people would call the Antichrist, the Herald of Light, the Harbinger of Doom, Sin Giver…look, I'm evil, alright? I don't need to dress in black or white to get my point across." The Banshee Queen concluded sourly at the increasing confusion showing on Hanzo's face. "Does this make any sense to you?"

"I…think so."

"That means no."

"No no no no! I mean, yes!" Hanzo held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Yes, I really, truly do understand everything! It's just…this is so…I've heard stories about you!"

"What stories?" Sylvanas quirked a brow.

"Yeah, what kind?" the Ranger-General Sylvanas grinned wolfishly.

"Oh, please, do tell. What good things have you heard of my grandmother?" asked Tyrande Windrunner. From where Hanzo was standing, he saw the Banshee Queen roll her eyes and ball her fists with the long-suffering frustration of a parent who's at her wit's end.

"Well," the Farstrider began, "where I come from, you are—were—a force to be reckoned with!"

"Wait. Were?"

"How did she die?!" the Ranger-General asked, all too enthusiastically.

"Please tell me I went out with a bang."

"You were unlike any elf that walked Quel'Thalas! As though you embodied the very essence of Talanas himself from ages past! Your aim always true—swift as a bird in flight, powerful as a snake's bite! Many aspiring Farstriders followed in your footsteps with the hope you would take them under your wing. Your name sowed fear into the Amani, and those that did not flee at the sight of you dared to best the might of Thas'dorah…only to fall before you. The prestige and glory House Windrunner has brought rivals that of House Sunstrider…nay, perhaps even greater than that! And I do not say that lightly, honored lady."

Tyrande Windrunner beamed at the Banshee Queen. "I always knew grandmother had the makings of a legend in her, even across time and space."

"The aether damn well knows it. There's always something right happening in the universe where I'm concerned," she said, puffing her chest with pride. Hanzo could only stare, amazed, at the very slight, very smug smile lighting upon her face as she rolled her shoulders back.

"But you're not answering the important question," said the Ranger-General Sylvanas, cocking one hip. "How. Did. She. Die?"

"Did grandmother at least die with honor? Or perhaps surrounded by loved ones at her bedside?" asked Tyrande.

"What? No," said the Farstrider. "I mean," he recanted at the bewildering looks they gave him. "I…we…did not see her die. Nay, I do not think she is dead."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," he said again, "we don't know what happened to her. It was after the war with the Horde. The…The Old Horde, I have heard make mention in this land—the alliance of orcs and trolls. King Anasterian recalled all our forces back to Quel'Thalas to assist in the reconstruction of the damages caused by the firebombing. House Windrunner…it suffered a heavy blow in all the fighting. Half the family was wiped out, and…the Sylvanas where I came from…she took off."

"Took off?"

"You mean, went on a quest for vengeance," the Banshee Queen said, frowning. "Let me guess: Lirath died, right?"

"Lirath? No, not the young master. Rather, I had heard it was Lady Vereesa who perished. Lady Lireesa would have joined her as well, were it not for the quick thinking of Commander Turalyon and Lady Alleria. In her haste, my Sylvanas abandoned Thas'dorah and joined the Sons of Lothar to take the fight across the Dark Portal. That was the last we have heard from her."

"So Quel'Thalas was without its Ranger-General," said the Sylvanas variant, her good cheer subdued. "Unless Mother…?"

"No," said Hanzo. "Though she lived, Lady Lireesa sustained injuries that have left her unable to take to the fields again. I recall she had had requested an election for a successor to both title and Thas'dorah before I had been drawn here." He sighed forlornly. "I had hoped the Powers would have been kind to me, to at least let me go through the motions and see for myself whether or not I had been selected."

"Perhaps they haven't," said Tyrande Windrunner. "I've always heard that times stops for those who have been drawn into the Nexus. For all the time we'll spend here, we might be lucky to be called back no sooner than when we have departed it."

"Poppycock and hogwash," the Banshee Queen mumbled, but she seemed to sound rather unconvinced herself.

"It's possible," she insisted, gently.

"You won't know unless you go back," said the Ranger-General. "But that might be, er, quite a while."

"How long do you suppose that will be?" Hanzo asked. "No. That's alright," he added, seeing them exchange uncertain glances (the Banshee Queen shrugged indifferently). "We will all find out eventually, won't we?"

"I'm not going back until I get this asylum up and running without my assistance," the default declared. "The Powers are more than welcome to try. I'm staying right here."

"You mean you weren't staying out of a love for your home away from home?" the Ranger-General asked with a teasing grin.

"Hell no, woman. The Nexus serves me, not the other way around. Who does their taxes? Who goes to these board meetings when the nobles are too drunk off their asses to attend or too lazy to send a representative in their absence? Who has to be the hired emissary to go to Jeetilopolis or Echo City, the Underworlds or even the Mezzanines when there's a power vacuum that has to be filled and negotiations are one step away from being disposed in a dumpster fire? That's right, me. This place is going to improve, by obeisance or by force, and I will have it no other way."

"Balance, grandmother," Tyrande Windrunner chided her. "You must find balance and provide it to them."

"A good old chingaso will set them straight!" The Banshee Queen shook her fist for emphasis. "And stop calling me 'grandmother'! Alternate timelines and family ties do not make!"

She sighed, slumping forward. "Oh, grandmother…."

"I suppose I had best make myself comfortable for the time being," said Hanzo. "The Nexus is enormous, but by the Light, it's so expensive. I do not think the government benefits will be enough to have me settled in until I'm fully registered into the League's systems."

"Inflation rates haven't changed much since the League was revived," said the Banshee Queen. "You're shit out of luck like the rest of us. Get used to it. Join a guild. Apply for a temp service. Do something. The realms are one big sandbox for you to play around in…or whatever."

The Farstrider nodded. "Yes. I believe I may just do that. Explore, that is. Had I not reached the Shire by the way I have come, I would have believed this to be uncharted territory on Azeroth and not another…world? Universe? Bah! I don't think I know where I'm at anymore!"

"He's losing his mind already. Congratulations, Trueshot, you have already been affected with the transition. How do you feel?"

"The…same?"

"Not for long."

"Is that bad?"

"It varies from person to person," said Tyrande Windrunner. "You may find some…exceptions, but do not think everyone is mentally ill and beyond salvation. Some handle it better than others, and from what I have seen, you are taking it quite well, Mister Trueshot."

"Thank you. It will…take some time getting adjusted to all of this. But first, I need a place to stay—"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute!" cried the Ranger-General. "What happened to the prepackaged housing? All the Heroes get that when they're registered."

"I'm on a waiting list," said Hanzo. "The Board has been having problems with their…what were they called again? Oh, computers, yes. They were having problems with their computers—"

"More like they forgot to pay their damn Internet bills!" said the Banshee Queen Sylvanas. "They always do this whenever they get an influx of immigrants!"

"They need a place to stay, too, you know, grandmother—"

"Heroes have to take precedence when they're drawn! Them's the rules, buttercup!"

Ranger-General Sylvanas clapped her hands once, delighted. "Oh, how sweet—!"

"Oh shut up!" the Banshee Queen Sylvanas sniped back. "Did you file a complaint to Executive Charleston? You know who he is, right?"

"Yes, I know him. And yes, I sent an invoice to him explaining my situation. He responded shortly thereafter, saying he would get in touch with the noblesse and the houseborn as soon as possible."

The default stared dully at him from underneath dark, half-lidded eyes. "How long." This wasn't a question.

Hanzo's foliate ears perked up. "Eh?"

"How long has it been since you heard back from them."

"About a week."

She stamped her foot. For a very brief instance, Farstrider Hanzo Trueshot thought he felt the earth tremble. "OH FOR THE LOVE OF DARKNESS, THOSE LAZY MOTHER—"

"Grandmother! Language!"

"Oh, can it, you Good Samaritan! I can say whatever I damn well, cotton-pickin' please!"

"No one's going to take you seriously talking like that, gosh darn it!" the Ranger-General mocked.

"Certainly not like that!" Tyrande Windrunner agreed. "We can fix this. We have the funds—"

"And never enough to cure stupid!" said the Banshee Queen.

"—It should be enough to cover the cost of rent for a good month."

"Why wait a month? Why not just go to the Nobles District and carpet bomb them?"

"Because the last time that happened, you gave Li-Ming and Kate Dennings illegal military-grade weapons and gave them free reign to do whatever they pleased."

The Banshee Queen Sylvanas tossed her hands up in the air. "It was Hallow's Eve. No one gives a shit what happens on Hallow's Eve."

"Grandmother, they just finished rebuilding," Tyrande said, unamused. "Mimic wood is rare for a reason."

"It wouldn't be so rare if they weren't so incompetent and learned to finance better and get their manufacturers up and running longer than six months! And that's if they don't blow up!"

"Perhaps if I speak to Executive Charleston directly?" Farstrider Hanzo posed inquisitively. "If all three of you vouch for me, I should be able to receive an answer more quickly?"

"Charleston is the head DBA, or the database administrator, of the Board that operates the promotions and relegations systems that comprise the Nexus Hero League," said the Banshee Queen, "but compared to the houseborn that operate this shindig, he's just a messenger—a mentally sane one, that is, if prone to the occasional outburst. It's no different than climbing up a cliff on a rope and hoping the end at the top is secured to something all the way when you reach it. Of course, when you reach 'the top' it turns out to be a stake that's hammered into an outcropping and the 'rope' you're on ends up disappearing into the clouds, so when you're dealing with a corporate dynasty like the Houses you're bound to keep going and going and going and…well, you get the idea."

His ears dropped. "So I will not get an answer?"

"Oh, you will. We will make it happen."

"Who is this 'we' you speak of?" asked Ranger-General Sylvanas. She made a display of spreading her hands and glancing around, perplexed. "Are they invisible? Are they imaginary? Did you learn to make ghost decoys from Nova?" She dropped them. "No, seriously: did you learn how to make decoys? Because that sounds pretty rad." Sylvanas whirled on her, eyes wide and mouth pressed into that line that screamed 'I'm going to beat your ass black and blue as soon as no one's around and I can make it look like roughhousing'. "Ah, I guess not. In any case, you're on your own."

"I love you, grandmother," said Tyrande Windrunner, and ignored the outraged look the default sent her way, "but by no means, not even with the promise of money nor under the pain of true death will you convince me to get involved in your shenanigans. There are just some lines that can't be crossed."

"Good. You can stay there. Be a turtle."

"Turtles are nice," said the Ranger-General. "They're small enough to fit in your hands and have very beautiful patterns. But do you know what's even better than a turtle?"

"A rabbit?" asked Hanzo.

"No! Another little brother!" And the variant marched past her time-displaced relatives-of-a-sort and pulled the Farstrider into a bone-crushing hug. "Look at him, he's so cute! He kind of makes you think of Lirath, eh? If he was older, broader, and had a beard."

"I'm…cute?" Hanzo gasped, more for air than shock at the compliment. "N-No one's ever said that about me before."

"Quel'dorei look ridiculous as it is with those chin hairs they call goatees," said the Banshee Queen. "They don't need to look like they came out of the boonies. Humanity already has that covered. Just where do you think the stories of the wodewose came from?" But from Hanzo could tell from the wealth of leather and skin and the scent of lavender—perfume? Shampoo? Or perhaps a lingering scent from the Yrris Hills he had heard so much talk of in the far reaches of the Uncharted Wilds?—she was giving a soft, nostalgic look that didn't seem so out of place on her than he thought. It confused him.

"Come on, granny, help a brother out." The Ranger-General loosened her death-grip on Hanzo, to which he sucked in big gulps of air. "At least until he gets on his feet and has his own place. You know never when an aether storm might pop up."

That look was wiped clean from her face, and Hanzo saw another thing that threw his worldview of this 'evil twin'—which in the few minutes he had spent interacting with her gave him the impression she was very rough around the edges, callous, dangerous, and extremely blunt—upside-down: fear. Not explicitly, but there was a shift there that made her much more open than she would normally allow herself to show. "No. We don't."

"Then help us pitch in, grandmother," pleaded Tyrande Windrunner. "Please, if only a little bit…?"

"Oh don't go start whining," the Banshee Queen groaned, rolling her eyes, and it astounded him that it was she who sounded like whining. She heaved an explosive sigh. "I…have cash in the savings I can spare. I'll…I'll pay for the rent. But only for the first month! That's it! You'll have your own little commode by then, so what happens next is not on me or anyone else! That'll be your problem, Trueshot. You got that? Tweedledee and Tweedledum over here can cover the cost of utilities and whatever amenities you require. Do I make myself clear?" She rounded on them, giving them each a stern look that brooked no argument.

Tyrande clapped her hands together, beaming and ears erect like a dog's. "Yes, grandmother! Thank you!"

Ranger-General Sylvanas said, "I knew that soft spot in your heart wasn't rot! Morales is such a quack!" She grappled Hanzo again and pulled him up in an underhanded headlock. "Welcome to the Nexus, brother. You're now an honorary Windrunner." She dug her knuckles between his ears in a powerful noogie.

He gasped. "Gah! Th-Thank you. All of you. E-Especially you, Banshee Queen. You are not so bad for an evil twin."

She shrugged and turned away. "Eh."

"I will repay you all someday. Now, good twin Sylvanas, if you do not mind, and I mean this kindly, I should like you to let me go. You're…crushing…me. Ack!" The hold around his neck tightened, and he found himself pulled in closer until he could feel the warmth of her breath across his forehead.

"No can do," The Ranger-General frowned down at him, and though she didn't let him go she loosened him long enough for him to breathe and look up from where he was almost doubled over. He was startled to see the ferocious determination in her eyes. He had seen that expression before when he was a lad: it was the kind of face female springpaw lynxes wore when they tended to their cubs in the Eversong Woods. "I already lost one brother in my sector. If you don't mind, I'd like to hang onto another, at least until the Nexus decides it's time for us to go home."

"Good twin…." Hanzo straightened up and pushed away gently from the Ranger-General's arms. She didn't protest, but she froze when he clapped his big hands on her shoulders and gave her a radiant smile. "I would be honored to be your interim brother in service of House Windrunner for the duration of your stay. Know you are not alone. Command me as you wish—you and Evil Twin and all affiliated—and I shall follow."

Tyrande Windrunner put her hands to her face. "Ohhhh," she moaned. Her eyes swelled with tears.

"Oh suck it up, you big crybaby!" Banshee Queen Sylvanas snapped as she walked by. "It's not the end of the world! Your dog didn't get run over!"

"G-Grandmother…!"

"I'm not paying all of this by myself and I'm not going to stand here looking stupid holding hands in a circle while singing Kumbaya in the middle of nowhere! Move it, you dodos! Let's go!" So Sylvanas Windrunner continued on her way, away from the picnic area and toward the direction of the Anterioch Finance.

They watched her go.

Tyrande clenched and unclenched her hands, torn between being scandalized and flustered. "She…She didn't have to be so rude about it!"

"Oh, I think she's very happy we have another elf that isn't a Kael'thas variant," said Ranger-General Sylvanas. "Kind of like having home come to you and not the other way around. Isn't that right, Hanzo?" She smiled at him.

He blinked at her, puzzled. Then slowly, shyly, he returned it. "Yes. I suppose you're right. I've never seen anyone react that way, though."

"That's just how she is." The Ranger-General smirked, chuckling. "Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen—she always has to hide the heart on her sleeve by any means necessary."

And although Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen was far enough from the variants, she could still catch the faint snippets of conversation come down her way. Her ears fluttered at the words carried by the breeze.

"'Honorary Windrunner'….give me a break." She scoffed under her breath. "He's never going to replace Lirath…but"—she sighed, wistfully, and a smile rose unbidden to her lips, small and a glimmer of phoenix ashes from bygone halcyon days—"I suppose having a little slice of home…isn't too bad…." She had often wondered, more often than once, what it would have been like had Lirath lived to see adulthood, what he would have experienced and accomplished. The thought of having another Windrunner made her head feel light.

Not for the first time, she thought of her family, whole and together. She thought of the aether, wearing Alleria's face.

She thought of Alleria.

Hanzo Trueshot—and the two of the Three Stooges—would have to do. For now.