A/N: This chapter was longer than I thought, lol. I'll make it a three-parter. Please don't hurt me!
"It's so… small."
Kishka had meant to say something a little more flattering about the tiny, asphyxiating space Dahj called "home", but apparently commenting on it's lack of open space was all she could manage to wheeze after having her eyes, mouth and nose assaulted by an avalanche of dust.
"Or maybe you're just fat," Dahj smoothly conjectured, making an exaggerated effort to walk around her so he could enter the room fully.
The hoofed jester maneuvered himself around a small, crudely made table harboring two, wobbly stools beneath it, reaching out and pulling back burlap curtains to reveal a window, which was little more than a circular hole the wall.
He hoped this would allow the dust to gradually make its way outside instead of suffocating them to death. Either that, or he'd have to ask his helpful house guest to try and nag the dust into leaving, which, according to the lingering sting on his cheek, would not be a wise venture.
"You know," said Dahj, nudging a stool in the draenei's direction, "It's not the size of a man's house…"
Halfway to the proffered seat, Kishka winced in anticipatory dread, expecting gods knew what to seep from Dahj's volatile mouth.
"Heh, I saw that. You thought I was going to make an obscene joke. C'mon, give me some credit. I've got more couth than that, fatty."
A little perturbed that the man read her like a book with obnoxiously large print, the priestess chose to ignore his jibe, distracting herself by picking out the dust imbedded in her bangs.
"Like I was saying, it's not the size of a man's house but the memories he associates with it," Dahj mused, his tone momentarily losing its bite.
Kishka's diligent preening was forgotten for a few, breathless moments as she peeked at the man from behind her veil of hair. He was hovering over what she assumed to be a washtub, straying only long enough to run a thumb along the rim before floating over to an old, iron cauldron perched above a sooty mound of coal.
"Anyway," Dahj piped up, dredging himself out of his reverie, "If you want, I could make us something to eat. I normally don't cook but—"
Here, he tossed a haphazard glance over his shoulder, winking cheekily.
"— I'd be more than happy to show you what I can do with my 'stirring rod'…"
"Okay, okay!" Kishka pinched the bridge of her nose tightly, swearing up and down she could hear cartilage cracking. "I get it… sorry I called your house small."
Settling his burly frame into the other stool that was at least two sizes too small for him, Dahj nodded appreciatively.
"Apology accepted."
He was smiling, as per usual, although not in the smug kind of way that grated Kishka's nerves like an itch beneath the skin. This smile seemed sad yet oddly charming, a bittersweet expression of whatever emotions he was experiencing. Slightly taken aback, the priestess grudgingly admitted to herself that even Dahj could have moments where she didn't have the urge to slap him senseless.
"What?" the tauren asked, an eyebrow rising ever so slightly. "Falling in love?"
Now that she thought about it, Kishka decided that rather than slapping, punching was probably the way to go.
"Never in a million years!" she growled, practically tossing herself out of her own seat as she violently whipped her gaze to the other side of the room. "I'd rather choke on my tongue and drown in my own saliva!"
"Hm, I was right." Dahj studied her profile, tugging at one of his beard braids. "No sex appeal at all. Well, it doesn't really matter, I suppose. I like my women with less… tentacles. Guess I'm just picky like that. You're lucky in that respect though; I'm sure that you'll meet Squid Charming one day. There are plenty of squids in the sea, after all; just cast a line and I bet you'll just reel 'em in."
While the heat expanding across her cheeks was almost unbearable, rather than becoming engaged in a verbal skirmish with the quirky bull, Kishka took another approach, changing the subject to something less infuriating.
"So, where's your roommate?"
In the time it took for Kishka to squelch her anger, Dahj had abandoned his stool and was now hunched over a large, wooden trunk, only mumbling a distracted "huh?" in responses to the draenei's inquiry.
"There are two cots over there."
The conversation faltered here as Dahj continued to rummage in the chest, but after the span of three breaths, he finally replied, albeit with only mild interest.
"Ah... yeah, that one's Taj's. She hardly ever used it though; she only sleeps when necessary, and only around those whom she's comfortable with."
"... is she your wife?"
With a frustrated sigh, Dahj pressed the chest's lid shut, rising and running a hand through his mane.
"Of sorts. Why, think she'll burst in while we're gripped in a lover's embrace?"
Flicking a rather large dust bunny from her robes, the priestess scoffed, "Hardly. Her bursting in on a macabre murder scene is more likely."
"I see. Then, are you jealous? 'Cause I'm definitely getting a 'jealous' vibe over here."
Kishka barely stopped herself from sputtering all across the table. "Jealous? Who would be?! If you must know, I was thinking that your wife might just be a tiny bit upset if she knew about you kissing some random woman you met out of the blue."
Collapsing back into his stool, the large tauren considered this. "Hmm... you're right, Taji would be jealous, but not for the reason you're thinking."
"What do you mean?"
"Let's just say that her taste in partners has always been... rather different than the norm," said Dahj, allowing himself a private snicker.
Lost in her own thoughts about the matter, Kishka merely muttered, "That's an understatement…"
A lengthy period of silence followed in which all the nagging questions bubbling just below her mind's surface poured forth, overwhelming her in a typhoon of maddening curiosity. However, before she even put forth life into these thoughts, Dahj beat her to the punch.
"How did your mother die?"
Dahj's voice was only a soft rumble in his chest, barely even a few decibels above a whisper, and yet, Kishka still jolted in her seat to rigor mortis rigidness. Those were the last words she had expected Dahj, of all people, to say.
"W-what?" she stuttered numbly, wide, luminescent eyes focused on him in a whole new light.
Either Dahj didn't notice or chose to willfully ignore this as he casually interlaced his fingers at the back of his head and leaned against the wall, propping his hooves on the table.
"Course, proud, walks like a man, foolishly fearless and stubborn as a bull," Dahj droned, letting his eyelids fall shut. "Probably means you were raised by a man invested in making his daughter as self-sufficient, tough and annoying as possible.
"I'm assuming you got the nagging trait from your ovaries; I've yet to meet any person who had 'em that could suppress the ingrain need to abuse and torture a man's ear. On that note, I can bet you have an older brother too."
Kishka was in a realm somewhere beyond incredulous now. "How did you know?"
"The way you talk to me; not afraid to say what you think, do what you want in a pseudo-maternal, psychotic way, your wisecracks come naturally, never forced. All that seems to be natural to your character; like it's something you do often, bickering back and forth and lashing out when you're angry with no fear of repercussions.
"You're lucky I'm the docile type of murderer; I show you some sights, take you to my home, woo you with my witty banter and then painfully insult you to death. Less mess to clean up afterwards too, which is an added plus."
Finally recovering from her initial shock, the draenei slid her arms across her chest, feeling somewhat vulnerable and exposed, although Dahj's eyes were not on her.
"How about this," she bargained, "Since I followed you all the way here, regardless if I did so willingly, you at least owe me the courtesy of saying a little bit about yourself. Then, if I'm satisfied, I'll consider answering your question."
"You're such a tease," the tauren pouted, opening one eye to peek at her and grin. "So, what would you like to know? My birthday? First kiss? Favorite female measurements?"
"Tell me about this house," Kishka said, refusing to humor him. "And why it looks like it hasn't been lived in for years."
Dahj didn't answer right away, contemplating or gathering his thoughts, he couldn't say. After stewing in the lull for some time, he finally closed his eye once more, shifting into a more comfortable position upon his stool. When he finally spoke, the rich baritone of his voice had a detached, dream-like quality to it, as if speaking to the past, rather than about it.
"Alright, Kish'. But we have to go back to where it first began before I can properly explain. Back before this house was built, before we knew what we were doing or could even fathom that we'd become the infamous duo simply known as 'Taj and Dahj'."