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’.

What doesn’t kill you…

Roughly three pages are completely filled with what seems to be the same phrase, over and over again. The letters are disjointed, and standard punctuation and spacing appears to be used very infrequently. In one of the more legible cases, the phrase reads as: ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’. Eventually, more coherent writing emerges.

Or maybe that’s just what people gotta tell themselves, so they can feel like they’re movin’ forward ’stead of in circles all the time. I don’t feel stronger. I just feel kind’ve… broken.

I hate this, I hate all’ve this.

Trolls and demons.

Kaste and me’ve been talking recently, and I’m realizin’ that I like him a good deal. He seems like a solid ’nuff friend, doesn’t come ’round with mind games or manipulation. Maybe it’s just ’cause he ain’t an elf. Maybe I’m bitter. I’ll get on with that in a moment, s’pose.

Helped slap some bandages over his ribs, and he seemed almost shocked that I didn’t want no coin for it. S’funny, how people always seem to find it odd when a payment ain’t in silver or gold. A favor is worth more’n a sack of gold, least the way I see it.

Helped him and a few’ve the Guard with some’ve the Trolls in Zul’Furrak today. Got a little bloody towards the end, but otherwise went all right. I’m findin’ that I can joke ’round with Kaste, and that takes some’ve the sting and the shame off’ve the whole love potion mess.

Mostly I’m glad that I had somethin’ to do with my time, ’cause I’m not sure how well I could handle sitting ‘lone with my thoughts lately. ‘Course, find myself here doin’ just that now, heh.

Verrin…

Damn him. He told me he’s got feelings for me, and asked me to kill him–both in the same night. Hell, for him they weren’t even two different messages; one made him want the other. Told me… explained to me… how I couldn’t ever be like him, so I ain’t got anything to worry ’bout there. Because even if I’d maybe enjoy some dark things, I don’t indulge, and that’s what separates us. He seemed sure ’nuff, but to me it’s just ‘nother line drawn in imaginary sand.

He was right though. We know each other. Least, understand each other.

I don’t know why he thinks I’m any better’n any of the rest of the women in the Guard, but askin’ seems like it’s in such bad taste, and I don’t wanna put him through that. But there are women prettier, and smarter. More morally  upstanding, or morally ‘corrupt’. More righteous, if that’s what he’s lookin’ for. More deadly, too.

I hope he don’t think that I can ’save’ him. How can I? I’m not even as desperate or hopeless, but I still feel like even my own stupid problems are more than I can bear.

I should hate him, but I don’t. If I do, it’s because I never want to be like him–much as he tells me I don’t need to worry ’bout that. He said he wants to be a part of my life. I want him to be a part of my life, though maybe held away at arm’s length. I want to see him get better. I want to see him get hold of whatever it is he’s really chasin’, and I want it to do him some good.

I feel so naive, so disgustingly pathetic.

But if Verrin can overcome his demons, then everyone can. Then I can. Then maybe the world’s got some order to it, instead of just slippin’ further and further outta control.

‘Course, the kicker is that part’ve me likes the beauty of chaos, of things fallin’ apart. Somethin’ a little too animal in me wants to laugh in Verrin’s face ’bout all of this. I’m not a good person, I want to say, teeth bared and grinning and already tastin’ blood and heat.

And he’d understand.

Damn him.

Simplicity sure don’t last long.

Worrying Over Nothin’

Zaliron wasn’t mad ’bout me seeing his mother, wasn’t mad ’bout the potion, wasn’t even mad that I kissed Kaste. He told me that he didn’t blame me for it, that I couldn’t be held ‘ccountable for the effects of a potion, and then said something with “ain’t” and everything. I don’t even think he’s gonna smear Achates ‘cross a wall or nothin’!

I helped pick up his house after the recent mess, and I realize that I’m seein’ it like a… home. It’s scary and dizzyin’, really. This ain’t something that I can… leave at any time, not anymore. I can’t just get up and walk away.

He said he loved me.

I want to know that I love him too. I think I’m broken, ’cause every time I think ’bout what love means, all I can think of is loyalty. I’m loyal ’nuff to put even some’ve those Blood Knights and Priests to shame, so that ain’t the problem. Is that what love is? Loyalty so strong I’d drown in my own blood rather’n see him like he was when Arathael hurt him?

I think…

I think things are gonna work.

Love Potion?

There are times when I think Achates gets run down a little too much, that he’s well meaning enough, even if it backfires.

Other times I think I’d like to string him up and light a fire under his feet.

I’m not even so angry as I am just… kind’ve shamed. It ain’t gonna be pretty explaining things to Zaliron. ‘Oh yes, you see, while you were hurtin’ and alone at the Inn, I was in your house… making rather obscene advances on Kaste. Sorry ’bout that, no harm done?’

I don’t see it goin’ over well, love potion excuses or not.

Events are cowards. Can’t ever fight alone.

Mazikeen sits in the corner of a small inn room, exhausted and slumped in her chair. The journal is open on her lap, and it seems to take a great force of will for her to move the quill tip across the pages. A little further off a figure sleeps fitfully on the bed, tossing and mumbling.

It started a few nights ago. Alkaiser said he wanted to speak with Zaliron, and I s’pose I just figured it’d be a few harsh words. Guilt ain’t anything new to me, but I should’ve done something. My luck though, interfering then would’ve just made the situation worse.

He didn’t show up at his house that night, and I guess I didn’t think much of it. I know what it’s like to have business that runs over-long. The next day I found a note in my mail from Verrin, the new mage, askin’ me to meet him. It was as vague as that, and curiosity ain’t something that can be easily denied.

He wants me to teach him how to fight dirty. I don’t know what to make of him, only that something ’bout him makes me feel uncomfortable–not because he don’t understand what I am, but because he does. I… well, to make short of it, ’cause it ain’t my primary concern right now, I said yes.

A voice rose from the corner–murmuring something incoherent about demons and fear. Mazikeen roughly brushed a tear from the corner of her eyes, which fell and smudged the ink on the paper.

I can’t believe what they did to him. It ain’t right, you can’t… Gods. I talked to Alkaiser even, and I’ve never imagined myself as someone to do anything like the sort (I might not be the most ardent follower, but I try to keep my peace, ’specially under leaders).

A leader doesn’t break someone that pledges their life to him–or allow a second-in-command like Arathael to do it. It’s… it’s pathetic and wrong and the worst kind’ve betrayal. And I know what it looks like–I go to Alkaiser and he assumes that it’s just ’cause me and Zaliron take our nights together. I ain’t stupid. I know that Zaliron is arrogant, and I know it’s gotta be fixed.

But they didn’t do that. He’s… he can’t even go near demons. He’s been staying in an inn.

Damn them both.

Damn myself for not being more forceful when I talked to Alkaiser. I shouldn’t've settled for what he thought were rational words. He made a mistake. Nobody ever deserves to be hurt like that by someone they’re s’posed to trust. My faith in the leadership of the Guard suffered s’first blow, and I guess for that it stings even more.

I got Zaliron to come out here to Farstrider Retreat, away from Silvermoon. Fetched a few pillows and robes for him, tryin’ to help him get comfortable. Looked like something had ripped through the house, and his demons weren’t happy that I didn’t leave ‘em with any answers. I ain’t much’ve one for conversing with demons, and the only thing I could tell ‘em was to wait some more. And at least get the damned door back on its hinges.

I want to protect Zaliron, and I want to see him better, but I’m sore over some of Alkaiser’s words. He told me that I was a good influence on Zaliron, and I wanted to spit something hard and mean back in his face, but I was too busy cowering and being ’sensible’. I wish people weren’t so damned sure that I’m a good person–well, I mean, it ain’t my job to fix anyone. I don’t want that responsibility. I can’t bear that responisibility.

‘Sides, why in the Nether should it be MY job, or ANYone’s job, to fix the messes of our humble, righteous leaders?

And now? Now I’m angry. All I can do is sit and seethe while the rest’ve the Guard take their digs at Zaliron, and if I speak he looks weaker, or I look over-protective.

Part of me doesn’t care. Part of me wants to say to the Nether with ‘em all, and the next one with a snide comment about Zaliron will get their tongue skewered to the roof of their mouth.

I want to see him strong again.

I will see him strong again. The rest’ve ‘em can choke on dynamite. I’d even be so kind as to light the fuse.

Mazikeen sighs, the momentary rush of anger fading and leaving her with less energy than before. She closes the journal, tosses it back into a bag near her feet. Looking around, it is still very dark inside of the room, save for a few small candles near the bed (she didn’t want Zaliron to wake up in darkness in the middle of the night)–it won’t be morning for a few more hours.

And, from her seat, she knows they will be long hours. Thinking hours. She leans her head back to the wall behind the chair, and watches over the troubled Warlock.

She does not sleep.

The Drag, Concussions, and Ice Deflectors

I was on my way through Orgrimmar earlier tonight when I came across the body of another Sin’dorei lying on the ground. She was sprawled out in the Drag, not too far before where I woulda turned to restock my poisons. I didn’t know what to think–well, I could tell she wasn’t dead, mostly because that’s a habit you get when you’ve seen enough corpses, but I didn’t know if it was just some woman stone drunk, or if she was hurt.

Turns out it was the latter.

Also turns out that she weren’t a stranger: the woman’s name is Cable, and I knew her from the deliveries from House Esteri. I didn’t realize this till I’d already seen and felt the blood on her, but I guess it wouldn’t've changed things anyhow. I couldn’t leave no one bleedin’ to death in the middle of a city street.

Mazikeen realizes that she doesn’t actually know how to feel about that last statement–doesn’t know whether or not it’s actually true. For safety’s sake, she crosses it out.

I bandaged her up, checked her eyes. Pretty sure she had a concussion, so I did what I needed to. Had to smash up one’ve my ice deflectors (a nifty device that engineering has granted me skill with) to get at the frost oil inside. Worked out better than I had planned: froze a strip’ve wool solid in seconds! I wrapped that up a bit in some more cloth, and I think it helped keep the swelling down.

Her arm was pretty banged up, even more’n the rest’ve her body. When she was coherent again, she told me that it’d been a Tauren that’d done a number on her. I believe that much’ve it, though I’m sure she was trying to downplay any provokin’ that might’ve been done on her part. I don’t know enough ’bout any of it to make no conclusions, but none of it sits well with me.

When I got her to her feet, we went up to the local Orgrimmar doctor. She weren’t none too happy to be treated by an Orc, but that’s her own problem–I ain’t gonna coddle no one’s prejudice, ’specially when it’s impractical. After all, when all was said and done, the Orc fixed her up a good one. She’ll be able to hold a sword again, at least.

I s’pose I’ll send her something to help make her feel better. I sent Achates some tea a while back, and that seemed to help him with his cold. Maybe it’ll do something for Miss Cable.

Mostly though, I’m expectin’ her to turn around and bite the hand that helped her. I won’t take it none too personally, of course. I guess if I was from a fancy House that maybe I’d resent being helped by one’ve the lower, workin’ folk. All I know is that I did my duty as a Blood Elf, and as a member of the Silverguard.

Dunno. Maybe it just felt good to be helping instead of hurting for a time.

Just Passin’ Time

The Faire, even if it wasn’t all set up, was a welcome break from the rest’ve the world.  We tossed a few balls back and forth, and acted like people that ain’t in the business of violence for a living.

Zaliron got hammered, and much as maybe I should’ve warned him off drinking anymore, I couldn’t stop myself from grinning. Whenever someone gets drunker than hell and falls all over himself, I dunno, there’s something ’bout it that takes the evil out’ve him. I mean, he was there lying in the dirt and rambling! Maybe I’ve been worrying over nothin’, right?

And damn, I’m fine with that, even if it’s got the taste of denial to it.

Sea Songs and More

Couple days ago we attacked some of the Dwarf territories. Felt good to be working as a group, seeing everyone fighting at once. Not sure if Aysera was too pleased with it all, but she didn’t say nothing to me about it. I can get why some folks don’t like the fighting; more’n more I get the feeling that even I’m a shade less violent than some of the Guard. Or that I ain’t got the taste for it in the same way.

At the meetin’ after, back in Silvermoon, Sophiel sung us a couple’ve songs. The one that sticks in my head the most was ’bout the sea. I ain’t got any special attraction to the sea, but ain’t it true that all songs ’bout the sea are really ’bout something else anyway? For a sailor lust for the sea is the same as  a greedy person’s lust for money, or the lust of power for those that gotta mind towards it.

What’s my sea then? Some people’re easy to figure out: glory, fame, means. I sure won’t say that none of those ‘ppeal to me, but they ain’t what drives me. So what does? What’s the thing that I could spenda lifetime chasin’ knowing hopelessly that I ain’t ever gonna catch it?

Dunno. Don’t wanna try to find out anytime soon, neither. Questions like that just stir up hurtin’, and what I learned ’bout my past is still too damned fresh in mind. Probably ain’t much difference in running from it than running towards it anyway. I’m no philosopher, but something in me says that those’re just two roads leading to the same clearin’ at the end of the day anyway.

Zaliron got into a bit’ve trouble with the Silverlord, which I’m hoping blows over smooth ’nuff. I know it reflects back on me, and I guess that don’t sit too well with me. I don’t get mad with Zaliron for it, but it makes me angry at myself. I shouldn’t be so ‘fraid of what the rest’ve the Guard will think’ve us. I mean, it’s a poorly kept secret how we’ve been spending our evenings (and afternoons, and some mornings…), and no one’s made a fuss’ve it yet, so why do I feel guilty ’bout it?

Guilty conscience, maybe. And I guess that I can’t help but feel like I’ll be pitied, or some such. I remember full well how Kaste asked if Zaliron had poisoned me, the night of the party. S’funny maybe a few times, but you don’t live s’long as I have, the way I have, by being unobservant. People’ll think that I’m in line for gettin’ a broken heart (or some broken bones, ‘ccording to what Ysabelle said, heh). Act like I’m a poor little thing, like an animal that’s too dumbstruck to know it’s about to get clubbed in the head and served for dinner.

S’hard not to be bitter, ’specially because I don’t think Aysera approves. Least she ain’t treating me like something to be pitied. I confide in her more’n anyone else, and it stings to know that she ain’t happy with it. Can’t out and blame her for it, though.