[RP] A Crisis of Insulin

I’m surprised at how much blogging got done last month, all things considered. Special thanks goes out to all my flash fic subbers, who were so kind as to provide me with guest post material in the name of fun writing challenges. It makes me want to open up another challenge soon! Feel free to post comments with ideas or oh-god-please-no-mores.

My first day post-NaNo saw me back to no good on 750words.com. It’s nice to do a little stream-of consciousness writing as a change of pace. I also have some ongoing projects that need work. Like what, you might ask? Let’s see: Odd blood elf priest counsels a troubled paladin; Ambika completes her penance with Zana’zua’s help; Veldarin the mage eats his Wheaties and becomes The Predicament, a might warrior. Yonah completes Brooms, primer one, and her jelly jar sees Frederick #2391. Thiyenn elopes with a turnip farmer only to return to Stormwind after the Sundering with the horrible certainty that she is Bad Luck to any man she touches.

There are more, I’m sure--let’s not even talk about Ysani, because that whole situation is a can of worms I don’t know if I’m ready to deal with yet--but you get the idea. I have a lot of writing to do.

I have an awesome surprise for the culminating post of The Tree, but it will take a wee bit longer to finish. Please enjoy this little fluffy filler-post in the meantime.

Authors: Me & Hammy(Fenn)

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With the huge linen sack slung over her shoulder and her cheeks red as roses, Ysani looked like the world’s most giddy Greatfather Winter. She smelled like it, too; the scent of cinnamon and cloves wafted off of her like a bakery in full holiday swing.

“You’re not gonna believe this,” she said when he opened the door, not wasting her breath on silly things like ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’. Plop went the sack onto the floor.

“He was going to throw them out! I don’t even.” Her pale fingers rapidly untied the cord that held the bag shut as she talked a mile a minute. “I’ve been hoarding them all rather than chuck them out and he’s still baking but they’re so good Fenn you just don’t know.”

She yanked open the bag. A heap of golden muffins dotted with the red marks of crushed hot cinnamon candy and covered in veritable drifts of cinnamon-sugar threatened to tumble out onto the rug. She rescued one from toppling over the edge and practically shoved it in Fenniel’s face. “Eat!”

Fenn sniffed the muffin for a moment before tenderly taking it from Ysani’s hand, shoving about half of it into his mouth. A blissful expression spread over his face as he chewed. “Thff if amayhin.”

“I KNOW.” She crammed one in her mouth and chewed, savoring the crunch of undissolved and buttery sugar. “Let’sh go get shider,” she said around a mouthful of crumbs, and closed the bag up once more, hoisting it up over her shoulder.

Fenn shoved the other half of the muffin into his mouth, a few crumbs spilling out as his cheeks filled up like a chipmunk. “Mmhmm.”

In the Legerdemain, they ate one delicious baked good after another, washing down every other bite with spicy mulled cider that was just making its seasonal debut. Waitstaff and barkeep alike watched with growing amusement, then alarm as the bag of muffins deflated and the pair just kept on shoveling it in.

At some point, Ysani’s enthusiasm for crumbly, cinnamon-candied sweets began to wane.

“Urmph,” she said to no one in particular, as she waved away the server who’d come to refill their cider mugs for the umpteenth time. “I think imma be... imma be sick.”

Fenn stopped mid-bite to look at Ysani. “Are you okay?”

An enormous belch was her only answer, and it appeared to make her feel slightly better. If nothing else, she was less green.

“Uh. I’ll be fine.”

She pushed away the unconquerable half-eaten muffin and Fenniel eyed it. “Are you gonna eat that..?”

“Go for it.”

She ordered a glass of cold water and sipped at it while he worked his way through the last half-dozen candy-studded confections. He didn’t even appear to be slowing down, and that was pretty fascinating to the redheaded girl. Such fortitude! Surely she should strive for such staggering stamina. When the last crumb was gone and he licked his fingers for the last glittering bits of crystalline sweetness, she smiled.

“Let’s go outside, I could use some fresh air.”

Fenniel nodded in agreement. “I’m kind of full.”

They sprawled out on the grass under the enormous statue of Antonidas and watched the stars slowly appear in the evening sky, eyes glazed, groaning periodically as their distended bellies gurgled various complaints against the evils of excess.

“Fenn,” slurred Ysani.

“Hm?”

“I just realized I’m gonna have to taste-test more muffins when I get home.”

They both stared up at the sky. It was impossible for a casual observer to tell whether they lay there in companionable silence or in a state of metabolic shock. Regardless, no one fetched a medic and they were allowed to rest undisturbed.

Back at the chapter house, Keilos baked.

[RP] The Tree, Part I

Okay, guys. I want you to remember the last few posts, how nice and hopeful they were. I want you to remember how sweet Fenniel is to his Libby, and how Libby would do anything for her dear Fenn. In spite of everything, they have made a lovely home together where almost all is sweetness and love. Isn’t that something we all want?

I want you to picture a welcoming hearth, in a warm, lamp-lit house perched over the sea. Smell the herbs and roasting game of the evening meal, the pie cooling on the immaculate table. Hear the muffled sounds of hot pitch popping inside the wood-burning stove, the shuffle of coals and the wind outside. Libby, sleek in her feline form, sprawls out across her husband’s lap in a moment of tranquility; he is content to scratch her ear and listen to the howl of the anguished wind that cannot, no matter how it tries, find a way into their sturdy, tidy little home.

I want you to take a good, long look at this cozy scene. It’s the last one you’ll see.

Now let’s get this show on the road.

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The simple prayer had become the cadence of her life. When she scrubbed the floors, each motion forward and back was punctuated in her head with the same four syllables.

Hear me, Mother.

When she prepared the meals, mixed her draughts, or basted with methodical stitches the holes in her husband’s shirts, every cut, stitch, stir and slash was a song in her mind.

Mother, hear me.
Hear me, Mother.

It soothed her in some small way, just as her repetitive washings did; there was a calming effect in the re-ordering and counting of her herb stock, over and over, every day, with the flat intonation of her plea to the Earthmother resonating within her.

Hear me, Mother.

Awake, Libby only vaguely recalled the sequence of events that led to this hellish severance of communication with the spirits of the earth, but in her dreams she still felt the blast of static electricity lift her fur and make her hair stand on end, the flood of arcane energy engulfing her at a fierce, final battle in the Netherstorm.

Fenniel may, with such information, have been able to explain to his wife the concept of an electrical short, ending or redirecting her meditative mental whispers, but he had no way of knowing. So she continued on a course amplified by her inherent compulsive tendencies, and while her decline was stealthy beneath her happy, honeymooned exterior, it was devastation in the making.

[RP] Moving, Part IV

So the saga continues, with a post written by Fenniel aka Hammy. This will, I’m afraid, be the last idyllic post for a long while.

Enjoy! D:

(PS, Doodle-arts by me. But maybe you knew that already.)

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This cave had been the perfect choice for a workshop, Fenniel decided. Engineering parts were already strewn over the floor, a prototype sidecar rested against one wall, and a near-overflowing bucket of bolts was placed in one corner. A mechanical squirrel was hopping around the cave in a semi-circle, chirping noisily to itself. Cuddles was lying on her back in the sun outside the cave mouth, emitting the occasional grunt as she slept and dreamed.

Fenniel was building a gun.

And not just any gun; this would be a special gun for Libby. He had decided it wouldn’t do to make her the kind of gun that he used for work, with a scope that required careful aim. Libby’s gun would have multiple chambers, a rapid fire trigger, and an obscenely large ammo clip. Libby had never used a gun and in the event that she would need one, he decided it should be lightweight, and have the capability to shower anyone that came after her with bullets. He’d chosen star wood for the stock and forestock, sanded and stained with a violet lacquer, her favorite color. For the trigger, best quality Truesilver, spring loaded. If Libby simply held the trigger down, the gun would spray ammunition. He’d crafted four barrels out of adamantite, stacked two on top of two. The gun would hold up to ten rounds of four bullets each. Last, but not least, he’d set a huge emerald into the stock. Just so it would be nice to look at.

It had taken Fenniel the better part of two days to build. Libby had of course wanted to know what he was spending all that time on in his “workshop”. He explained to her that he was getting things set up the way that he liked it (and she would probably clean it up anyways).

He popped a bullet into each chamber, and walked out of the cave opening. The sun barely filtered down through the trees of Feralas. Even though it was late summer, Fenn couldn’t feel the heat. He smiled, humming contentedly to himself. He cocked the gun back, and Cuddles opened one sleepy eye up at him. She grunted and rolled onto her right side.

BOOM.

Cuddles’ head jerked up, and she crankily roared at Fenn. Smoke rose up in wisps from the gun. A tree ten feet away was sporting a brand new and rather large hole through its middle. The wood around it was black, and splinters were sprayed out around the roots of the tree.

Fenn grinned from ear to ear.

“Cool.”

[RP] Moving, Part III

CAN'T TALK, NANO-ING.

Of course I still heart you, now read the story and hush. Mommy has a lot of writing to do.

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Somewhere in Feralas, perched above the relatively calm waters of the western sea, a slender tauren swept the threshold of her new home. It had taken quite a bit of elbow grease and ingenuity to bring all the materials they needed from various lumberyards and machine shops all the way out to the sheer coastal cliffs where they’d decided to build; not to mention the stressful moments leading up to (and during) the lifting of said materials up the side. More than once Libby was sure she’d be flung right out over the ocean, landing miles from shore moments after the broken lift crushed her husband down below.

Fortunately, none of the horrible visions cooked up in the druid’s adrenaline-addled mind during the hoisting process actually came to pass, and they were soon hammering away at lengths of board, creating a frame for their honeymoon house.

They went to bed sore every night for weeks as the frame went up, snuggled into a corner where a niche in the rock would protect the western wall from being buffeted by the constant winds. They slept on a low makeshift mattress in a cave nearby until the walls went up and Libby was able to start housekeeping. Fenniel couldn’t have stopped her if he tried; she was a machine, and it began to look very homely (if a bit sterile) in a remarkably short period of time.

Soon the need for an oven became apparent, and they repeated the hauling process (with much less difficulty, it should be noted). On the day it was installed properly in the place Libby dictated, she baked for the first time in the new house, and it became home. Fenniel tripped into the house from his cave workshop as though he were wafting along on the scent of butter and spices and they sat for some time in the mostly-barren main room, watching the fire burn and eating muffins.

Life in exile was starting to seem pretty good.

[RP] Moving, Part II

I feel really busy this month. I think it’s a combination of NaNo (I’m sitting at 23,541 words, still stuck short of the halfway mark but not behind enough to lose hope that I will finish), impending holidays, ridiculously hard 3rd grade homework, and a new blog project with some ladies I know.

Regardless of the reasons, that’s why this is short and sweet. I have to get my happy ass back on the NaNo train, like, now.

Enjoy!
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Tucked safely into her husband’s sidecar, Libby pulled her furs more tightly around herself. Feralas was known for its beauty and temperate climate, but along the coast a chill breeze swept in from the sea as they made their quiet way north.

The morning started with the newlyweds in fine spirits, cruising merrily along ancient pathways made by elves of another age. The sun was bright in the clearings and warmed them in spite of the brisk air.

As the hours crept on without the discovery of a suitable haven, however, Libby felt waves of panic set in that tightened her chest and throat, stilling their lighthearted banter.

She felt the day slip away more rapidly with every moment they spent in fruitless searches and forays into the woodline. By the time they had crossed much of the great forest and deemed it unsuitable, time was hurtling along, as audible to Libby as the rush of blood in her own ears.

Follow the sea.

Fenniel, unnerved by her silence, was relieved to hear her voice and responded admirably, taking them along the packed dun-colored sand of the beach. They left a wake of foam and tracks, eaten slowly by the encroaching tide.

“Wait!”

He braked a bit too quickly and winced as Libby pitched forward in her seat. She was unperturbed, her dark face upturned to the cliffs that bordered the sea. To their right, the roots of a single massive tree clung defiantly to the wall of ancient stone jutting up from a narrow and crumbling shore.

“What is it, Libby?”

“Look.” The druid pointed up. Fenniel’s eyes widened as he followed her gaze and discovered a ledge fifty feet above the beach. Tenacious windswept branches hovered protectively over the scrub-covered shelf, a gift from the ancient mother tree.

A black sparrow launched itself from the sidecar in a burst of feathers and fought the steady winds to the half-hidden nook. The elf sat alone on his motorbike and waited for his wife to return.

[RP] Moving, Part I

In spite of a hiatus from most things WoW over the last few months, I’ve still found a little time for RP here and there. Planning storylines for the upcoming Cataclysm has proven to be a pretty daunting task and implementing them can be even more difficult. Ambika is midway through a plot that will, for better or worse, attempt via indirect therapy to repair character flaws and put her on the path to becoming a more pleasant person to be around; Ysani is caught in an unenviable position between what she wants and what her conscience tells her she should do.

Other characters, because I am capable of visiting great evil upon the characters I create in the name of a good story, will have to endure great tragedy, or even pain.

Libby and Fenniel are a sweet, adorable couple, but a great part of the reason they are together is fear for the alternatives, the fear of being alone, of never finding anything else worth having or able to cope with their various neuroses. Because of this, they’ve made a choice to live together in a world that doesn’t accept what they are to each other, and it’s put them in a tough spot.

As cute as they are together, they are finding the world is a hard and unforgiving place, and there are very few happily-ever-afters to be had.

I expect this arc, a sad, sometimes funny, sometimes depressing collaboration between myself and Fenniel’s player, will play out most weekdays over the rest of the month. This segment follows their decision to move after they feel threatened by people who disapprove of their union.

Authors: Me & Hammy
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Libby tugged at one of her long braids. It was starting to come undone at the bottom and had frayed all the way up to her waist, but she was oblivious. They had a Problem.

There was entirely too much stuff in their apartment.

She had appropriated a half-dozen crates from various Dalaran businesses, scrounging behind storefronts in the early morning while the pot simmered. (Libby was a firm believer in soup, even for breakfast. This one was flavored with bacon, full of potatoes, swimming in cream, and she was pretty sure it would substantially boost Fenniel’s mood. Like, into the stratosphere, at least temporarily.)

The apartment was a large, open-ceiling room at the top of the Legerdemain, with an alcove to one side that held the kitchen, and a small bedroom opposite. Inside the bedroom, four crates were neatly lined up at the foot of the bed, each filled to the very top with color-coordinated, neatly-folded clothing, towels and linens, alphabetized books, toiletries (mostly homemade) in bottles, boxes and bags of every color, arranged carefully in precise rows by purpose and main ingredient.

She hadn’t even touched the alchemy supplies or the kitchen, and she was deliberately Not Thinking about Fenniel’s shop tools. Libby frowned and tugged on her braid some more, now clutching at it feverishly with both hands. A stack of folded fabric and clothing sat on the bed, mocking her.

So deep in anxious thought was she that when Fenniel burst loudly into the room she nearly fainted. Everything went gray, then Fenniel was chattering in her ear a mile a minute, nearly dancing with excitement. “It smells really good out there, Libby! What are you cooking? It smells like bacon. Is it time for breakfast? I finished my packing! Come see!”

Fenniel had supplemented the two remaining crates with four more of dubious quality and cleanliness. They sat on her pristine floors among smears of motor oil and drifts of dirt and sand. The contents were jammed in haphazardly, once-clean clothing next to bundles of shop rags and greasy half-repaired gyrochromatons.

“What’s that?” Libby heard her own voice speaking from a great distance and felt her arm extend, finger pointing at the object in question: a bright chrome tube, dotted with smeary fingerprints, that jutted out of a crate heaped with what was, for all appearances, garbage.

“That’s a muffler,” Fenniel said matter-of-factly.

“I see. Go get some soup, dear.”

“Woohoo!”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Earthmother, give me strength.

Rolling up her sleeves, Libby began the arduous task of re-packing the crates.

[RP] Is it Hot in Here or is it Just You [barely PG]

Here's another collaboration with Hammy, the creator of Fenniel/Zana'zua/Hammaryn. We really like to write silly stories together (Captain Obvious here, I know) and for some reason I forgot to post this back when we wrote it for a challenge this summer.

Don't forget, there's only about a week left to write your flash fic for the party!

Authors: Me & Hammy

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Ysani skipped through the troll ruins of Tanaris. Pausing for a moment, she looked back over her shoulder. "Fenn? Are you coming?"

Fenniel was sure he was miles behind Ysani, or perhaps it was just the waves of heat rising up through the sand. His long brown hair was plastered to his neck and he dripped sweat as he trudged along, desperately trying to keep up with the sprightly blood knight. As if to add insult to injury, he'd even been forced to wear shoes, lest he burn his feet walking.

Ysani didn't seem to be suffering in the slightest. With her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she jogged lightly over the sand from ruin to ruin, digging along the stones for shards of pottery. Sure, she was sweating, but on her it was more of a... a glow, almost. Her light linen shirt was almost completely dry, a bit of moisture just beginning to peek through along her spine, and overall she looked way more chipper than she had any right to be in the wilting heat.

His shirt was stuck to him; the linen clung to his torso from the sweat dripping down his back. Fenn looked down, grabbing the bottom of his shirt to untuck it. The sweat-cling seemed to be nicely outlining his flabby tummy. He groaned. "Just a second," he called back.

"Fenn! I think I found something!" Her voice carried over what seemed like endless desert, dunes rearing up in all directions and punctuated in the valleys by heaps of crumbling troll architecture. The air shimmered with heat and made the distance between them seem even longer. At least the wind had died down. Ysani had begged him to wait just a little longer, hoping that it wouldn't become a storm and ruin their excavation trip. Luckily for her, it was just a passing breeze.

Fenniel forced himself to pick up his pace towards the ruins, digging his feet into the sand. "I'm..." he wheezed in a giant breath, "almost there."

Ysani beckoned him over as he closed in, slowly, on her position. She stood up and wiped her forehead with a bare forearm, gingerly holding a curved hunk of pottery in her gloved hands. Her shirt was tailored to hug her curves and her assets were all too apparent as she turned toward him with a grin and called out, "Found some!"

Fenniel took his glasses off, wiping his forehead from the sweat that was dripping into his eyes. "That piece could work." He shoved his glasses back onto his nose, and his eyes went from relaxed to dinner plate size as the pottery and her... assets... came into focus. "Ysani." He clamped a hand over his face. "You...your..."

"You have to see this! I've never seen anything like it." Ysani moved in close to her friend, examining the heavy ceramic chunk as she turned it over in her hands. "There aren't even any hairline fractures, it just cracked in one piece where a stone fell on it. It's pretty incredible, and dense too." She seemed utterly oblivious to Fenniel's discomfort.

"Ysani...you just...your shirt..." he turned a vivid shade of red.

"It even feels cool to the touch after having been just two inches under the sand, and it is HOT down there!" She grabbed his wrist and put his hand on the smooth pottery. It was downright cold. "This is so amazing! I wonder how they managed it in such a primitive culture? We need to find more of this, there's just so much we can do with material like this. Imagine what kind of insulation you could make, you could keep engines from overheating 'till doomsday--"

Fenniel teetered a bit and lowered his hand from his eyes. "Ysani, I kinda um...I kinda..." He fell over unconscious, plumes of sand flying up as he hit the ground with a solid THUD.

"Oh, Light..." Ysani dropped the relic. The impact sent more sand flying over Fenniel's prone, sweaty body, but the piece stayed miraculously intact. "Fenn, you're supposed to stay hydrated! Oh dear, oh dear..." She unhitched her belt and slid a full canteen off of it, kneeling over the victim as she poured some of the shockingly cold water over his forehead and neck. Luckily, she was somewhat trained to deal with heatstroke, and once she'd given him a bit of water she hooked her arms under his armpits (LIGHT is he sweaty!) and began to drag him toward the meager shade of a partially exhumed stone wall.

Fenniel's eyes fluttered open as Ysani drug him through the sand. "S'okay..." he mumbled semi-coherently. "I always wanted a waterbed." He smiled contentedly up at her.

Ysani grunted as she dragged him along. He was heavier than he looked, and she was really starting to sweat. By the time she finished propping him up in the shade, her clothes were completely soaked through. "Are you okay, Fenn?"

Fenniel pushed himself up to sitting with his arms, nearly falling over again. He blinked at Ysani, rubbed at his eyes, and blushed again. "There's um..." He took a deep breath. "I think I'm fine. It's just uh kinda hot and your um...there's something with your..."

Ysani looked down. Her shirt was clinging scandalously to her entire torso, almost sheer in places with moisture. She turned bright red and stood up quickly, crossing her arms over her chest to hide her fairly apparent nipples. "...Oh."

Fenniel averted his eyes to the sand. "Yeah."

"Well... well HEY! How about this ceramic?" Ysani turned her back to Fenniel and dug around in her knapsack for the spare shirt she'd brought along with her. It was one of Kei's button-down shirts, plain but light and comfortable. She wriggled into it and tied it at the waist, making sure it covered her... er... chest... area.

"Can I look yet," he mumbled.

"Y-yeah," she said, clearing her throat and ducking behind the wall for a moment to fetch the pottery scrap. When she returned, she sat next to him with her back to the wall, leaving a good buffer of empty space between them.

He glanced over, making sure it was safe, then smiled sheepishly. "Sorry I fell over. The ceramic is neat; we should probably bring it back to Dalaran to study."

"We'll dig a little bit before we go and see if we can't get a few more samples." Ysani paused, then looked over at Fenn. "And... let's never speak of this again. Okay?"

He nodded. "I...uhh...think that's for the best." He grabbed the collar of his shirt and shook it. "Let's get this over with fast, it's way too hot out here."

A Wild Comic Appears!

It really helps to have a plan when you're making a comic. In fact, if you don't have a mock-up, it's downright painful and you can flush a lot of valuable time right down the toilet.

I spent most of yesterday working on this strip, making up the dialogue as I went. Turns out there's a lot of timing involved in writing for comics, and while I think of myself as somewhat funny, I can't just pull snappy one-liners out of my ass (and who would want them then, anyway?).

The bottom (hehe, bottom) line here is that next time, I'm going to 1) prepare my scene and dialogue in advance and 2) do a rough sketchy bit to put everything in its place before I start.

PS. After all that, Libby ruins everything by ending her sentence with a preposition. Screw you, grammar!

Current Events in RP!

**Thanks to Ghaar, who reminds me that I am indeed missing something... a super sekrit plot involving Astrani, the brickwit troll. However, part of being sekrit means I'm not spilling any details! Neener!

I have several long story arcs in the works for two of my characters. It's slow work and I am lazy, so it's just being pieced together in spurts and I honestly don't know if I'll ever be able to finish them, let alone do them justice. I'm going to try, though!

Since it's hard to keep track of everything, I'm just gonna post what's happening with each of my active characters and what sort of project to expect from them.

• A slim file, obviously new, and containing extremely sparse information on one Adelaide "Skulley" Skelton now sits on Agent Jeremiah Newhall's desk.
• After narrowly avoiding a run-in with Booty Bay guards, Skulley is taking a breather before her next big job... a hunt for CURSED TROLL TREASURE! Yarr. Does she know it's cursed? Not yet!
• Unbeknownst to Skulley, an account of her life as Adelaide is being constructed by a certain ham-fisted wielder of words. Don't worry, it's a very happy story. Up until everyone dies.

• After class one evening, Thiyenn eats a massive meal of banana bread, goat cheese, pickles, chocolate cake and an entire jar of mustard. This leads to a very public heaving of guts and embarrassing revelation to nearly half of her friends, teachers and academic peers that didn't already know or guess that she was pregnant.
• Professor Arrens Caltrains, the headmaster of Stormwind University, is skilled in shoving his foot in his mouth. When he asked where her husband was, Thiyenn lied. Apparently the nuances of her relationship with the father of her child and his current whereabouts aren't meant to be discussed in front of half of the student body (and the professor's bride-to-be).
• But hey, Thiyenn now has a Super Special Job, that being the crafting of Miss Aely's wedding dress. Take THAT, Delion!
• Having been encouraged by an instructor to improve her writing (and more importantly, handwriting--she prints no better than a child), Thiyenn has taken up the task of putting down what she remembers about growing up with the Darkmoon tribe. It's good for taking her mind off more recent events. It's also her first foray into introspection, so I expect some personal conflict.

• Libby, the Rainsinger, is engaged (!) to elf (!) hunter Fenniel (!!), the original geeky belf hunter. They are getting married (!) in a ceremony (!) in Mulgore this May. Firael has been roped into the role of Best Man and will be sporting some fashionable tribal garb (read: leather straps). Oops, I forgot to (!) that.

• On the verge of a breakthrough in eye replacement technology, Ysani has put on the weight she lost during her Haydren-terror phase, mostly due to sitting around working on projects all day with Firael and Fenniel, the wonder twins.
• It's been a while since there was a frenzy of speculation on the particulars of Yissy's relationship with Firael, however, several members of the PoL tease her privately. She is adamant on the point that they are Just Friends, and, in fact, everything seems to be quite fine with her and Keilos.
• Dir creeps her the hell out. Quit staring at her tits, already!
• Where the hell IS Haydren, anyway? God only knows what sort of terrible things he's planning. One hopes he's given up, but I think we all know that's not the case.

• Ambika is readjusting to her life as a troll and seems pleased with that particular development, but grows increasingly distant. Her quest to gain more power, as far as she's concerned, has yielded paltry gains; this may lead her to new and dangerous paths as the world moves on.

• Sergeant Harker has traded the relentless heat of Hellfire for the chill winds of the North and oh MAN is she pissed. Her attitude leaves something to be desired, but she's working hard (and dressing warm), which gets her at least a modicum of respect from her peers and superiors. Something exceedingly strange happened to her the other night, perhaps she'll tell us about it soon...?

I've got a lot on my plate, certainly, and I really need to learn to stop biting off more than I can chew. Here's hoping that all these and more will get proper documentation. Did I miss anything?

RP: Keeping Warm

It's cute, it's sappy, it's geeky. It's Libby-Fenn RP!

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The fully crystallized birches of Crystalsong Forest are useless for traditional burning. The effects of magical petrification are most visible in the dramatic, alien landscapes above key ley lines and below the hovering magic city of Dalaran, but extend far beyond what is visible to the naked eye. 90% of Crystalsong timber contains at least 5% crystalline cells, permanently altered by the perpetual magical current. The most valuable lumber is found a few hundred feet into the grassline bordering the purple lichens of the magic zone, where the trees are between 35 and 40% striated crystal. Logs of this type burn hot, produce even, violet flames, and typically last over one hundred times longer than their uncrystallized counterparts.

In a high-ceilinged apartment of the Legerdemain, a single piece of this prized timber burns on a bed of grey coals. A particularly large node of phosphorescent pitch ignites with a loud pop, and the devilsaur sleeping on the hearth opens one blue eye before falling back asleep. In the bedroom, Libby wakes up. Her dark face is groggy and soft with sleep, and Fenniel is watching her.

"... Fenni?"

Fenniel blushed. "S-sorry Libby, I was just thinking."

"Is everything okay?"

Not everything is okay. In fact, pretty much everything outside of this little apartment is not okay. People are scary and every day there are battles, some too close for comfort. Fenn remembers that he was lucky today. He also remembers his last breath--what should have been his last breath, had luck not been with him--and who that breath was for. He wraps his long arms around her. She is warm.

"Y-yeah."

Her long hair is loose again. She pulls and tugs at it when she is nervous, when she is anxious, when she is thinking, when she is breathing. Now they are a mass of unfurled, braid-kinked black curls contrasting with her pillow and her pink pajamas. She wears them because she is too nervous to be undressed in front of Fenniel. She wears them because sleeping in her quick-blooded feline form is too hot. She wears them because he gave them to her. She wears them because she loves him.

"I can go make you some tea if you need help slee--"

Fenniel squeezed tight, cutting her off. "No, don't go. I'm fine."

"A-are you sure?" Her face was hot.

He's going to kiss her, he wants to kiss her, his face is turned to hers and for a moment he almost looks like he might. Her eyes are purple, looking back at him over the soft dark fuzz of her nose. Then he looks at her mouth and he wavers, afraid he'll mess up or do it wrong or that she won't like it. His cheeks turn a brilliant red that shows even in the dark.

"I--I'm sure. Let's go back to sleep." He put a hand on the back of his neck, his usual nervous scratch making an appearance.

Libby looked at him for a long moment, then sank back into her pillow and sighed. "Okay, Fenn. Goodnight."

And as she drifted off, he listened to her breathe. When he was sure she was asleep, he found just enough courage to say how he felt.

"I love you, Libby."