Where Two Ain’t Two

Verrin spoke with me last night. He wants me to tell him, in honesty, that I’ll never love him. How can I know that? How can he ask me that? What gives him the right to ask anythin’ he asks me?! I keep my life neat and ordered ’nuff ‘fore all’ve this, and now I can’t even look into my head without gettin’ lost or feeling vertigo dizzyness, like down is up and two steps ain’t always two steps, sometimes its five or three or one or I ain’t movin’ at all–

And then there’re nightmares. The only way to keep ‘em away is to fall ’sleep so exhausted that nothing can move inside my head, though that don’t even work some nights.

Chrysalis is ‘pparently gonna try to ‘help’ Verrin, and when I found out that she might intend to kill him, I was… angry. If anyone gets to kill him, it’s me, and that ain’t even an option that I’ve given myself after… after the day on the beach. He betrayed me, not the rest of them, not anyone else. His blood’ll be on my hands, if that’s what it comes to–though I’ll work for every inch’ve me ‘gainst that too. I trust Chrysalis though. She told me she wouldn’t kill him.

The Silverlord wanted to speak with me, and though I tried to avoid him, he eventually came down to where Chrysalis and me were in Silvermoon ‘gainst my assurance that I’d be fine, and that he didn’t need to get his hands dirty with anymore’ve it than he’d already be expected to with the ‘trial’ comin’ up. He was understandin’, even when I told him that I would’ve killed Verrin when I found out.

And we talked a little earlier, and the Silverlord… made some confusin’ remarks. I think I’d be angry if I wasn’t still more shocked than not. Angry ’cause for some damned reason it’s gotta be when a girl’s fallin’ apart that she gets so much attention. S’when you’re feelin’ vulnerable and broken that everyone wants to dig their claws into you. Maybe people wanna feel like heroes or saviors, and maybe they can smell vulnerability like sharks can smell blood in open water. I just want to be left in peace to lick my own damn wounds.

Kaste kissed me… more than once in the past few days. The first time ’cause he wanted to make the point that we both don’t feel nothin’ for each other, least not romantically. ‘Course we don’t–but I could’ve practically coughed up my own beatin’ heart when he surprised me with it. And then he had me help him with some other damn version of an ‘anti-love potion’, which backfired (thankfully not to the same scale, ’cause I was prepared for it). I knocked him out, and he seemed to come out’ve it well ’nuff; he’s tellin’ me that his friends… or the people he talks to, don’t know if they’re necessarily his friends, keep tellin’ him that we should be together.

‘Cause clearly, two people can’t enjoy each other’s company less they’re really only lookin’ to knock boots–even moreso ’cause he’s a troll and I’m an elf, and certainly there’s even less room for friendship there, right? I ain’t sayin’ I’m a mysterious woman, or that I’m hard to figure out, but I’m tired of people speakin’ on my behalf. Don’t matter if it’s Verrin (who’s master, Kiros, ‘pparently thought he could make a slave out’ve me) or Kaste. If I don’t know what’s goin’ on in my own damn skull, how in the Nether do other people seem to think they do? Even if they’ve got the best intentions (not that they all do), can’t I just get left ‘lone?

Verrin says he’ll try to stop askin’ me questions, and I don’t know if that’s really gonna help or not. It’s what I want, but what if be givin’ myself time to cool down and let things settle in my head, I just mess things up worse? What if it’s like a mess’ve broken bones, that if they ain’t set right to begin with, grow funny and crippled till you gotta break ‘em all over? I get upset and tell him that he’s got to grow from his pain, while I hide from analyzin’ anything inside myself. Hypocrisy ain’t my aim, but I’ll be damned if it ain’t the path I’m walkin’.

First Impressions.

Mazikeen propped herself up in the Silvermoon Inn, feet crossed at the ankle set along a separate chair. It was approaching daybreak, but hadn’t quite reached that mark yet–the slowest hour of the day, by far. Most had gone to sleep, and even the early risers were generally not yet awake; if a few were, then they certainly weren’t out drinking yet, and she was enjoying a rare moment of near-solitude in the Inn. On the upper floor she was alone, save for another, older Sin’dorei who was so bent over his drink that she assumed he was sleeping. In any case, he wasn’t bothering her.

In her lap was an opened book–it was bound in leather and each page was blank, though slightly colored with age. Taking up the short quill that she had set down for herself, she dipped the tip in the nearby ink pot. With a short sigh, she began to write in a script that was small and angular.

Never was much of one for writing down my thoughts. After all, one only knows how many secrets someone like myself carries, right? Even secrets on the inside ain’t always safe, and they sure ain’t better off on parchment. Got this pretty thing off’ve a geezer-old sorcerer of sorts–fair and square, given to me back only a short time after the Sunwell… yeah. Helped him a turn, he paid me in what he could. Said ain’t nobody will be read it, save its owner. Then he gave it to me, and I thanked him. Had no idea what I’d do with it though. Actually thought I’d pawned it some time back.

But anyway, lately…

Feeling kind of mixed up inside, and that’s new. Even during the hard days after the Sunwell went, it wasn’t like this. I knew what I had to do, and that was help my kin where I could, and survive (not always in that order, you know, but something like it). I thought joining up with the Silverguard would sort all that out, and I guess that’s a cowards way out, ain’t it? You step back and try to let other people order you ’bout, cause you don’t want to figure it out for yourself.

That ain’t all fair though. I want to help us Blood Elves, and I know the Silverguard’s got that in mind. If I can be helping our people more’n hurting them, that’s damn fine.

I’ve only been with them roughly a week or so, but its been a busy week. The Ghostlands are still all torn up, and I feel like even if I fight till my arms are caked with that thick black ghoul-blood, there’s always just too many. Seems like we keeping throwing young Blood Elf bodies at the problem, and that ain’t solving anything worth batshit.

Last night I stood around while a new member of the Silverguard, warlock named Zaliron or some such, got branded. He was an interesting character, far as that goes. Figures himself as some kinda charmer, my guess. Seemed harmless enough, though I can’t say that everyone took him as lightly as I did. Eh, I’ll save my anger for someone a little more deserving.

And of course, there was the moment when I tried to make a joke, which failed somewhat, well, miserably. Leave it at that.

Also got a payment letter from House Erestir ’round that time. The sent it on one of those Blood Knights, and she didn’t seem to have a high opinion of me. No matter though, she wouldn’t be the first. Probably’ll have a few more run-ins with that House, account of they pay well enough and for honest enough work. Slightly less honest maybe than the work they give their Knights, but s’fine by me.

The old, sleeping Sin’dorei let out a loud snore, that cause Mazikeen’s eyes to look up sharply, though she didn’t change her reclining posture. When she listened hard enough, though the Inn was still quiet, she could here the beginnings of movement outside. The sun would be rising shortly.

Without bothering to offer a conclusion to her entry, Mazikeen twisted a top onto the small ink pot, and wiped the tip of the quill off on one of the cloth napkins available on the table next to her. She slid both items into her bags, and then carefully shut her journal. The Rogue stood, stretched high, arching her back, and then tucked the book under her arm. With that she quietly left the Inn, tossing a few copper down for the couple of drinks she had had, and made her way back to the Silverguard Halls.