RL: I Rock, and Other Such Things

Just posting 'cause this morning was pretty fun compared to most. I woke Ethan up for school and while I waited for him to get dressed, I watched as much as I could stomach of the tail end of Saved by the Bell: Wedding in Las Vegas (hint: it wasn't very much). Then a commercial came on (thank god for commercials) advertising a weekend showing of the Wizard of Oz. Well! I turned off the TV and started singing "If I Only Had a Brain". I'm pretty sure Ethan's never seen the movie, but he sure did love the song. Probably because it reminded him of zombies, but I digress. Then we found out he was dangerously low on clean shirts. So I rummaged around in his dresser and found a black t-shirt we got this summer that has a stick figure playing guitar on the front with "I ROCK" printed on it in huge letters.

The scene in the car went something like this:

Me: I could while away the hours, conferrin' with the flowers, consultin' with the rain. With the thoughts I'd be thinkin' I could be another Lincoln--

Ethan, wearing ridiculous I ROCK shirt: IF I ONLY HAD A BRAAAAAIN!

So Ethan went to school giggling and I got a big hug and a kiss for my hammy rendition of the Scarecrow's song. And now I have coffee! It's gonna be a good day, I can tell.

RP: A quiet evening alone

This is definitely out of place. I suppose I should give you a little context: Haydren Sunsorrow, Ysani's more-or-less stalker, is travelling under an assumed name (that of Ysani's lover, to be precise) and has been lying in wait for Lamis. He has a plan to use her as a tool to get what he wants, and in her current state of exhaustion, she's unable to decline. __________________________________________________

"Oh Mister Dawnstar!" Two voices sang in unison over Haydren's stone. He was groggy from lack of good sleep, but the alias didn't phase him in the slightest. He snatched the stone off the pillow beside him and cleared his throat.

"Meg, Jenny. So good to hear from you. What's the word?"

"Miss Dal'Theron checked in a few minutes ago," said Megan.

"She looked really, really tired," chimed in Jennifer.

"And bloody," they clucked disapprovingly. "We're going to have to get the stairs mopped early this week."

He pressed a hand to his forehead. The Owings twins were creepy, vapid, and gave him a monstrous headache, but together they ran a tight ship at the New Agamand Inn. No one came or went without them knowing, and they were more than happy to share information and gossip when you turned up the charm. For a few coins they'd even wake you up in the middle of the night to let you know when your flown sparrow had come back to roost.

"Thank you, ladies. I look forward to seeing her in the morning. I appreciate you calling right away."

"Our pleasure, sir! Good luck with your lady friend, it's wonderful to see a little romance blooming in times like these," they chirped. "Do invite us to the wedding, we love weddings."

Her careless track was easily spotted. He simply ducked down to the second landing with his knapsack hanging off one shoulder and followed the trail of blood droplets that hadn't even had a chance to dry yet. They led to the last door on the second floor, and he checked the knob. It was unlocked.

Lamis lay in a heap, propped up partway against the bed in a smear of blood. It looked as though she'd shrugged off her kit at the door, axe dropped haphazardly near the bed, and hadn't quite the strength to make it into bed before she collapsed. Locking the door behind him, he crept to her side and squatted down to examine her, setting his bag on the mattress. How does one check the vitals of a corpse? He placed a hand gently on her throat, and his question was soon answered with an incredibly slow, but unmistakable pulse. Her skin was cool to the touch, and he shivered as he removed her gory armor piece by piece. Careful, methodical probing revealed that most of the blood belonged to someone else--probably many someones.

Running water was nearly unheard of in the smaller Forsaken-run inns, he'd found, but New Agamand was a fairly large hub of activity, and they appeared to value the convenience. He suspected it may have had something to do with the massive quantities and potencies of the plague operations being run outside. Even the Forsaken had to be careful here. The water pressure was low, and he had time to lay Lamis' limp body on a towel while he waited for the basin to fill.

How long had she gone without a bath? Too long, he thought, and he began the slow business of washing the woman's hair and face, careful not to scrub open barely-closed wounds on her ears and neck. It was very slow going, and he had to empty the basin and refill it many times before he was satisfied. A slim knife drawn from his belt slit her ragged undershirt and pants, and he pulled new ones from his bag. No sense in trying to salvage the disgusting things.

Nearly a dozen bloody basins later, he finished scrubbing her black-soled feet and lifted her off the soaked towel, now darkly stained with watered-down gore and copious amounts of dirt. Her body was criss-crossed with lacerations nearly from head to toe, all in varied stages of repair. Many were obviously fresh, and these he wrapped carefully in treated gauze; then he dressed her in new underclothes, a simple white shirt and pants. Through all of this, Lamis never stirred, nor did she move when he lifted her up and put her under the sheets of her bed. He was shocked at her lightness. She might have been hollow, a sack of bones; he could have cradled her in one arm. Removing his boots he crawled into bed beside her, pulling her faintly-breathing body to him. Without the layers of coppery blood and dirty buildup, she smelled oddly pleasant, like crisp autumn leaves.

He caught a glimpse of the red dragon he'd been instinctively tracking through the unshuttered window. How odd for a drake to be circling so late in this part of the world.

Skulley: Badarse Wench

Skulley's the only badass I've ever played. She's cool, collected, and deadly, and I have a great image of her in my head. I don't really think I captured her perfectly in this, but I gave it a shot. I'll keep trying.

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The smoldering embers of a cigarette might give away, upon close inspection, the long, gloved fingers that hold it delicately between thumb and forefinger, or the darkly-painted lips that pull absently at the tendrils of smoke as it burns, sucking them like vaporized silk through the thin roll of paper. Walking past the fencepost where she leans casually, her fine leather boots crossed at the ankles, you may suddenly become aware of her presence. She's already seen you, marked your gait, the set of your eyes. She may even know your name, but you'd be hard-pressed to read it in her face. Mournful black eyes set under a faintly scarred brow stare impassively at something that doesn't exist, two feet off the ground on the other side of the path.

Dark auburn hair hangs over her collar and halfway down her back, tied into a neat tail with a bit of leather that matches the dark coat skimming her ankles. One might, as they continued past her on the road, follow the line of her legs, long and slim, up to her belted hips where a deadly pair of knives sit snugly holstered against her thighs. You may also notice the wide leather straps that cross over her chest and curve along her ribs, additional padding on her perfectly-fitted armor that also serves as a harness for the gun one assumes must be hiding under the arm of this lean bandit. She nods almost imperceptibly in your direction as you pass by, and you can smell the spice of her smoke as it issues lazily from her parted lips, the oil of her leathers.

If you turn your head to take a second look, though, you may wonder if you've seen a vision. The lanky figure is gone.

YARR! Here there be pirates

With the new faction changes available, I've moved Skulley over to the Alliance. Yarr! In less than 24 hours, she'd found some pretty bitchin' RP and joined a crew of pirates. It's right up her alley, and it's nice to be excited about her as a character again, since she was my first 60, and my first character to RP, anywhere. Good times.

She's human now, rather than undead. Having a lot of discussion about how exactly such a thing might happen ICly and be believeable; it helps a bit that she's got one or two missing screws, but one of the more plausible ideas so far is that she made a deal with a powerful being that was able to give her humanity back, or a near-flawless approximation thereof. (Another idea involved goblin jumper cables, a ton of primal life, Medivh's Dark Portal opening ceremony and an error of astronomical proportions.)

It's been easy enough to skirt the issue so far. Skullz doesn't want to talk about it, and she won't. Maybe it's cheap, but she sure doesn't want to be associated with her old self, and it's perfectly reasonable to keep mum and not incriminate herself.

There's a bug involved with faction transfers right now where you're still able to speak your old languages. You can't understand them, but you can communicate to your former faction. Used that a little last night while I was RPing at the Legerdemain with extremely entertaining results. I can definitely see why they don't allow open communications between the factions. There's way too much possibility for violence. I said maybe two sentences and had the entire bar looming behind my back. It was fun to call Hammy "sugartits", though. Totally worth it.

So now Skulley's got to learn to cook a little more than just deviate fish. Since, you know, she signed on as the ship's cook. Let's hope the captain doesn't read my blog!

STUFF IS HAPPENING

So! First off, my husband finally caught me online and we had a chat. He says he's doing great, it's going well so far, his digs are small and he's sharing the room with 2 other guys but it must be quite a step above the cots of last year for him to use such an extravagant term as "nice". (That's Bill for you.) Now I have an address for him as well, so I can get started on care package goodies.

In other news, I'm taking Ethan up to Atlanta for another visit to see Val/Korro for the long weekend. Ethan's really excited about it, he loves to go up there. Maybe because we usually eat pizza and he gets to see Boulder, Val's gigantic Swiss mountain dog. He's such a sweetheart. We'll be visiting Stone Mountain on Sunday, which should be a good time... they have a lot of activities for kids so I'm hoping it'll be fun. And of course I'll be happy for a chance to talk to a grownup in person for a couple days (no offense kiddo).

Game news coming up soon. I've got an RP problem and I may have to think it out in blog form. Later!

Retro RP: A Square Peg

Weeee. I've written up a few new Lamis posts, but they are depressing and besides, there's continuity to consider. Once I've posted more of Ysani's unplanned vacation and the events stemming from it, I'll put up more of that stuff. Today though, you get a piece from Ysani's days as a fledgling with the Prophecy of Light, training her ass off out in the scourge-ridden plaguelands. Most of what makes her a good paladin came from what she learned there. Funny what working for a noble cause can do for you... finally a square peg finds a square hole.
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"Uuuuugghhh." Ysani dropped her heavy pack at the front door. Normally she'd begin to shed her armor on the way down the hall- boots here, gauntlets there, a noisy molting of her dirty, heavy plate skin- but she was home late tonight and didn't want to wake her guildmates. The door of her cluttered little room clicked shut behind her. The heavy sword on her back was first to go, hung on a small rack she'd installed directly into the wall behind the door, much to Fabrio's chagrin. (The small holes from her misplaced screws were neatly patched, a task that Fabrio insisted on, and supervised, in spite of Ysani's protestations that she could manage just fine without him looking over her shoulder.)

Next came her plates, unbuckled with cold, fumbling fingers and set down neatly on a low bench. Her arms were tired, so tired that they shook under the weight of each piece and the effort of setting them down quietly. The light, soft woven shirt and pants she wore under her armor went last, crumpled in an undignified (and decidedly dirty) heap at the end of the bench. Hands in the small of her back, she stretched and twisted, eliciting a series of dry pops up her spine. Time for a soak.

The private bathroom adjacent to her room made up for the tiny living quarters. She had the smallest bedroom in the guildhouse, she knew, but the bathtub was positively enormous. Most of the grime and death of the day's work rinsed off easily, but it was beginning to feel like the musty, dank decay of the plaguelands was settling deep into her skin and muscle, leaving its grit in her mouth, its ache in her bones. She scrubbed herself raw, then filled the tub with hot water and sunk in up to her chin, the ends of her wet hair floating on the surface like strands of blood.

The note in her mailbox was brief, but it allayed the fear that her guildmates might have hurt each other after Dorri confronted them on the cathedral steps and ordered Ysani to leave. It was hard to focus on her work afterward, but she threw herself into every last menial errand the Argent Dawn would give her until she was too busy to think about anything else. "Feel free to come knock on my door if you want to talk," he'd written, and of course she did. The night was nearly half-over by now, though, and she thought with no small amount of regret that it would be better to let him sleep.

Then again...

A quick towel-dry later she squirmed into a pair of warm, clean pajamas and crept across the hall. One long ear pressed to the heavy door, perfectly still, she listened. No rustle of paper, no clearing of the throat to indicate he might be awake, and certainly there was little to no light showing under the door. Still, she didn't hear any snoring, either.

The softest knock she could manage still sounded loud to her ears in the sleeping house. Her stomach was a bitter knot and she suddenly felt very foolish trying to wake Keilos at 2 in the morning for small talk. She herself was running on fumes and had nearly fallen asleep on her feet walking home. Turning quickly, she padded back to her own room and was turning the knob when she heard his door swing open behind her.

RP just 'cause: Libby <3 Fenn

Libby is my tauren druid. She met Fenniel the other night in Dalaran and asked him to have a drink with her. He said yes! Wow. So they talked and Libby just loved how cute and clueless he was. Problem was, she ended up pretty lost herself. This is a story of what happens when nerds collide.

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Fenniel was adorable. Tall, thin, gangly almost. He was possibly the cutest geek she'd ever seen, with his long, silky brown hair tied back and softly whirring goggles fastened around the back of his head. He smiled cautiously at her as she opened the door to her room on the top floor of the Legerdemain. "Everybody in," she said.

Cuddles managed to fit through the door, ducking her head a little. The main room was large and mostly empty, with huge vaulted ceilings. The devilsaur picked a spot on the fur rug by the fire and rumbled contentedly. Libby watched Fenn walk hesitantly into the middle of the room. "It really is big."

Tugging on one of the long braids that hung over her shoulder, Libby was glad her dark skin and inky black fur prevented people from noticing her blush. She was really great at flirting! It was undeniable. She had lots of practice. The problem was, she'd never gotten past the flirting part. She would say "care to come up to my place?" and they would smile or frown and say "uh no thanks" or "oh dear me no" or "I'd love to but I'm afraid my hatchling is on fire". Fenniel didn't say any of those things. Fenn said "Okay." And now she didn't know what to do. Oh, but wasn't he pretty.

"Um. The bedroom's over there. It's just got the one bed, but it's big."

"Oh, uh, okay. Um, I can sleep on the floor?" He tilted his head a little, his pinchable cheeks pink as roses.

"Oh no no, that's okay. I um..." Her poor braid was starting to unravel, but she couldn't stop pulling on it. It was hard to tell if he was looking right at her or not. She looked down at her hooves. "You go ahead and get settled, I'm going to tidy up a little before I sleep."

"Um, sure." He smiled shyly at her, and her knees wobbled a little. Then he was in the room, door shut behind him, and she guessed he was taking off his goggles, slipping out of his boots, setting all his armor on the floor. She dropped an empty vial on the floor at the thought, and it shattered.

"Is everything okay..?" The bedroom door opened a crack.

"Yes! Fine! Just dropped something, nothing big," she said, frantically sweeping up the shards of glass and tossing them in a wastebin. She'd feel awful if Cuddles got one stuck in her huge foot. She puttered aimlessly with her dried herbs, organizing them by color, then alphabetically by name, listening to the sounds of her elven guest getting ready for bed. At last the sounds stopped and she realized she was holding her breath. She exhaled, a warm, shaky whoosh, and crept to the bedroom. "Everything okay?" she whispered.

"Yeah! I'm good. It's very comfortable, thank you." She pulled the door open a little more and peered in. It was pretty dark. The light from the window only lit up part of his arm. She gulped.

"That's good. Uh." WHAT NOW? EARTHMOTHER HELP ME! WHAT DO I DO?! I'd really, REALLY like some of my confidence back, please. Now would be good. There was no answer, and she nearly bolted for the door. Instead, she called on the spirits and pleaded with them to help, if the Earthmother wouldn't. The feline answered, and Libby shifted quickly, nuzzling the door the rest of the way open with her nose, padding lightly across the floor on her soft cat's paws. Nosing up over the edge of the bed, she looked at Fenn. She could see very well now. He was looking at her, squinting a little without the goggles on, a few marks still visible across the bridge of his nose and across his forehead from where they once sat. He smiled warmly. He didn't look nervous at all! She envied him.

"Did--did you want to sleep here?"

She leaped lightly into the bed next to him in answer, stretching and turning twice before curling up at his side. He patted her head, then scratched the back of her neck. Purring loudly, she covered her nose with her paws and closed her eyes.

"Goodnight, Libby."

"Mrawr."