swiftdawn: (I wanna live not just survive)
[personal profile] swiftdawn
(For [personal profile] deadcertain.)

"How's the leg?"

Her companion winced. "Broken," she said, blearily, leaning back against the pillows propped up at the end of the cot. "Some fellow dressed it, but they don' have any heals to spare. Forsaken, y'know, not real big on that." Her speech was uncharacteristically slurred, a side-effect of what Alexia personally thought was a slightly inadvisable number of numbing potions consumed over the course of their slog back to the encampment near Andorhal. "Took a potion to speed it along, but it'll still be a while before I can take another hit f'r you."

"Yeah, sorry about that..." Alexia grimaced, and rubbed her temples. "I suppose I'll just have to go on my own," she said. "I hate not being able to keep appointments, and keeping up a good relationship with the Argent Crusade is important if we actually want to be able to keep the hold we've got in Lordaeron. If Tirion Fordring decides that Sylvanas is worth moving against, it'll be a nightmare."

The other woman coughed. "An' you won't be able to see y'r boyfriend."

Alexia rolled her eyes. "Oh, hush. Get some rest, Adaia. I'm sure I'll be fine."

"You always say that right b'fore you come back with some horrible inj'ry. Make them loan you someone to take with you f'r a bodyguard, at least. Do that thing you do where you smile f'r too long an' they feel compelled t' give you anything to make you go 'way."

"...well, yes," said Alexia, not bothering to deny it. "I'll do my best to keep safe so long as you don't menace anyone more than a hundred and ten percent of what they menace you and make sure to rest up. And don't you die."

"Don't think I'm the one in danger of that, boss."

"Sass is not resting, Adaia."


As it turned out, the officer she spoke to had someone to recommend for her to take along without her even doing much aggressive prompting—a priest by the name of Cecily Ashrot. Likely one of the followers of the Shadow that was so popular among the Forsaken, then; if she wasn't, then she imagined she'd have been tending to Adaia. That, and so few of the Forsaken priesthood wielded the Holy Light, since even to the free-willed undead of the right temperament it caused immense pain even as it healed.

Whatever her specialty, though, she'd come well-recommended; the squad leader had been quite eager to tell Alexia that Ashrot would be just what she was looking for and ready to hit the road as soon as possible. She quite liked that; she got little enough respect as a diplomat in the Horde, and she'd never seen someone so happy to be helpful. It was actually a little disconcerting.

Well, maybe sometime soon she could get used to it. People didn't think much of her ideas, but she'd make it so that finding fault with her results would be impossible. She shifted, shrugging her pack higher on her shoulders, and leaned against a post by the edge of the camp to wait for her new escort.

Date: 2013-11-18 07:35 am (UTC)
deadcertain: (concern ☠ weaving through these)
From: [personal profile] deadcertain
They were watching her; she could hear their rasped whispers. "Whisper" was a generous word, maybe; it implied a desire for secrecy, and she didn't have anywhere near the level of respect among the Forsaken — much less those outside the Gilnean Front — to merit that sort of consideration. The Dark Lady had commended her services there, but it wasn't as though she was the only one to receive a commendation. And, when all was said and done, she was still so very...fresh.
Cecily was hyper-conscious of those whispers, of their eyes on her as she made her way through the camp. And so she made herself smile, blackened lips pulled back over her gums into something that she told herself was close enough to the expression. Dark Lady take them if they couldn't appreciate what she had to offer; had they received a personal summons from Officer Boneblight? She thought not.

The whispers intensified a moment, then stilled, at her smile. Possibly it hadn't been the right choice of facial expression? (And for a moment she was floundering, bitter; how hard could a smile be, really; how pointless it all was—)

Cecily quashed the thought: there was Boneblight, with some young-looking blood elf in traveling gear (they were all young-looking, though, weren't they?); she straightened instinctively, and tried to arrange her features into something resembling pleasantness. (Boneblight's scowl deepened and she endeavored not to take it personally. He was scowling every time she saw him. It was probably just what his face looked like.)

"Cecily Ashrot, priestess of th' Light, at your service." Her old Gilnean accent still bled somewhat into her orcish; she hoped the blood elf wouldn't notice. She added a small curtsey for good measure. "You called for me, Offissa?"

Date: 2013-11-18 07:45 pm (UTC)
deadcertain: (interest ☠ that we both wandered on)
From: [personal profile] deadcertain
Midway through extending her hand, suspicion rose in her throat like bile. The diplomatic corps? Peace-mongers making pretty words with the Alliance while the Forsaken stretched themselves thin to hold territory in the Warchief's name? And Boneblight was sending her away with one of them? What, had he not found the sear of the light when she healed him of one of his own encounters with those bears to be to his liking—

She kept her smile frozen in place as she placed her right hand in Ambassador Swiftdawn's. The hand was largely bare bone, held together with thin dried sinew and whatever animating force the val'kyr had instilled in her, and she watched the blood elf's face carefully to see whether she would cringe.

Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Boneblight watching her, too. He looked...knowing almost, and not in a way that she liked. Deliberately, Cecily steadied her smile.

Keep it together.

"A pleasure, Ambassador Swif'dawn! I don't have much in th' way of of things here at the camp; I can be ready go as quickly as it please you." She added another smile for good measure, and forced herself not to glance back at Boneblight again.
Edited (icon finagling~) Date: 2013-11-18 07:46 pm (UTC)

Date: 2013-11-25 07:52 am (UTC)
deadcertain: (soft ☠ if you call tomorrow)
From: [personal profile] deadcertain
It was fortunate that she'd heeded Boneblight's admonitions to pack lightly, and to bring her bags; she hadn't expected the diplomat to want to leave quite so immediately. She had figured diplomats for quiet, indoor sorts of people — watchers-from-windows. People like the sort of person she used to be, before Sylvanas had made her more.

If Boneblight and the other officers here were willing to let her go so quickly and easily, then they probably were trying to get rid of her after all. Fine, then: she would simply have to find some way to make them regret that foolish choice. She let the feeling of resolve settle in her stomach, filling some of the hollow feeling in her.

And then some old instinct still ingrained in her from her mother (and that was one more memory to shove down quickly) made her pick up the hem of her skirts with something like delicacy as she hurried to catch up with the blood elf.

"So, ah, Ambassador... I know I'm to help you, but you haven't said anything about where we're headed." Or what a diplomat was even doing out here in the first place. Cecily added yet another smile, though she was fairly certain this one hadn't managed to reach her eyes. (Did any of them reach her eyes, with the empty way they glowed now? Another question not to think too hard about.)