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Thread: And something hits the fan alright

  1. #31
    Alpha-Female of the RPGC Staff Weiila's Avatar
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    Hey, no pressure Rig. How are you doing? We don't hear much of Greece up here lately but I read in the paper that the government cuts are taking its toll on people.
    New fanfic quote:

    "I am indeed a spy, milord, but not for the enemies of Mordor or the Master. Instead, I serve a different master, a group called the Protectors of the Plot Continuum. Milord, have you ever heard of 'fanfiction'?"
    "Aye. A particularly odious form of sorcery, by all accounts."
    /.../
    "Yes. And have you heard of 'fangirls'?"
    "They are but a legend! A fearful legend, but a legend nonetheless."
    -Architeuthis of the Protectors of the Plot Continuum and High Nazgul of the Ringwraiths
    From "Intelligence Briefs for the PPC: The Beginning" by Architeuthis


    Quote Originally Posted by darkling
    Orochimaru has joined the Baby-Sitter's Club.

  2. #32
    Alpha-Female of the RPGC Staff Weiila's Avatar
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    Orgrimmar buzzed with activity as always, even in the obscenely early morning, but there was a new tension in the air. Whispers about Northrend flooded the discussions in the streets, and about Garrosh Hellscream being the loudest supporter for a campaign in the icy north.

    There were other whispers about Garrosh Hellscream too, but those were very hushed.

    Two tauren riding a kodo steered their way through the busy streets. Both wore the tabard of the Emerald Circle over their leather armor, and the female of the two cradled a small, hooded figure in her arms. This early in the morning, even if there were a lot of people awake most of them were too groggy to bother looking up and take much notice. Either way, it seemed a logical guess that the humanoid figure mostly hidden in a long robe was simply a blood elf.

    By Grommash Hold, the tauren left their kodo and headed inside, speaking in low voices with the guards. They were quickly lead into a smaller meeting chamber.

    Just as the female tauren pulled out a chair from around the table and placed her burden on it, the door opened again and the Warchief and Lady Proudmoore entered.

    They both looked as if they could do with some good news. Or any news that had nothing to do with the king of Stormwind or Northrend.

    “Warchief, my Lady,” Meeva said, bowing her head deeply as she motioned at the figure in the robe.

    The figure raised its pale, thin hands and pulled the hood back, revealing a just as pale and drawn face. Sarah still did not look healthy, but her eyebrows and eyelashes had grown back since her resurrection, as well as the hair on her head – though it was still just a light carpet on her scalp.

    For a moment, both the Warchief and his mate simply looked at her, disbelief in their eyes.

    “Is she really alive?” Thrall finally said.

    “Barely, Warchief,” Sarah said, her voice hoarse. “Pardon me…”

    The male tauren handed her a small water bag and she sipped from it, leaning back in the chair. Sweat beaded her forehead from the heat of the Durotar morning.

    “You truly cured her undeath?” Jaina asked.

    Lady Proudmoore was a tall woman, but even so, having another human nearby proved that though Sarah was very small in compare to just about everyone she had spent time with in the last few years, she was not really tiny for her species. Her hunched posture didn’t help that case, on the other hand.

    Nodding, Meeva took out a scroll from a pocket and unrolled it. The text on the parchment gloved upon her command, and a small illusion of a skeletal, crouching figure appeared above it. Sarah glanced the other way. It was strange to see an image of herself as she had been before she came into the Circle’s “care”.

    A small part of her kept wondering if she hadn’t been better off left undead. The water skin was too heavy to hold any longer, and she let it sunk into her lap. She pushed herself up, trying to sit straight for at least a while.

    “We did,” Meeva said, “but…”

    Sighing, she lowered the scroll and the illusion disappeared. She motioned at Sarah again.

    “I’m afraid we can’t really declare this a success, despite the fact that she is alive again, Warchief, Lady Proudmoore,” Meeva said. “She is extremely weak in body, and there has been very little improvement over the weeks since her reanimation. We doubt that she will ever be as she was before her death, or during her undeath.” She shook her head sadly. “She is alive, but she is a cripple.”

    “We have not given up,” the male tauren said. “However, in its current form, this technique cannot be used to save Felwood. It can only be used to cure one bush, one tree, one blade of grass at the time, with great effort, and that plant will wither within moments because of its infected surroundings. We need to keep experimenting, both on the plant life and possibly also on undead.”

    When the druids and the other healers had been forced to realize this, triumph had turned sour. Not even the Warchief, nor Lady Proudmoore, could hide their disappointment.

    “That truly is disheartening,” Thrall said, and his mate sadly nodded. “And as for the Forsaken, I doubt that many of them would be prepared to pay such a price.” He rubbed his chin. “There could very well be some Forsaken who would be willing to help you try to develop the technique, but for now, it is best we don’t let it be widely known. Lady Sylvanas would certainly not approve, if it is essentially to destroy her soldiers.”

    “Of course, Warchief.”

    Meeva glanced down at Sarah, who was shaking slightly from the strain of sitting straight for so long. Her thin fingers were whitening from her grip of her robe.

    “Warchief,” the tauren said, “I have a request.”

    “What is it?” Thrall asked. A small smile tugged at his lips, as if he already knew.

    “Sarah endured all of the experiments we performed without complaint,” Meeva started. “If one is honest, however, many of them were very alike torture, as she could not be unconscious during them. And now she is like this.”

    Sarah looked up at Meeva, an uncertain look on her face, while Thrall slowly nodded.

    “I do not know what crime she committed in the past,” Meeva said in an even voice. “But I cannot think of anything that could deserve more punishment than what she has already endured.”

    “Not to mention that she seems to have been executed, albeit backwards,” Lady Proudmoore spoke up, the corners of her lips twitching.

    “Very true, all of it,” Thrall agreed.

    “Breathe,” Meeva whispered at Sarah, out of habit. It was a very good thing too, as forgetting to draw breath in her new state would have been bad.

    “Your request is for her to be pardoned, then?” Thrall asked.

    Meeva turned back to him.

    “That, and… breathe out, Sarah…” The smile filled Meeva’s warm, soft voice. “The other healers and I agree that the air of Felwood is unhealthy, and it might be harming her chances of recovering what she can. It would surely be much better, also, if she could be allowed to recover in a more homely environment.”

    Thrall smiled faintly.

    ‘-‘

    “Is this alright?” Dor’ash murmured, glancing at Grema before looking back down at Sarah.

    Both the orcs sat on the side of Karg’s old bed, which Sarah laid curled up on. She had slept when the druids brought her, when they carried her up to the second floor and put her to bed, and throughout the long talk between the druids and the orcs. There had been a lengthy list of concerns and things to keep in mind that Meeva counted off.

    “Of course it is,” Grema replied, nudging him with her elbow and chuckling softly.

    “If she’s as weak as they said, she won’t be able to do much work.”

    Think of her current state as that of a baby, Meeva had said. She has about the same body strength and she needs to sleep just as much.

    “She doesn’t eat much either.” Grema shook her head. “I’ve always liked her company as well, so it’s not just for your sake that I think it’s fine. And I can think of dozens of little things she can do to make herself useful.”

    Dor’ash could think of a few things as well. Ever since that dreamlike moment in Moonglade when he’d held her, the idea of her being allowed back into his and Grema’s lives had swept back and forth through his mind. But it had seemed like nothing but wishful thinking until the two druids came riding into Drakamash, cloaked in the darkness of the deepening evening.

    It would do no good to keep her hidden, though. They could not to let the truth out, as that could be a certain death sentence from the Forsaken. Trying to not let anybody see her in such a small village was useless, however, and secrecy would only foster suspicion. After discussing the pros and cons of a few white lies with the two druids, they settled on simply saying that the Emerald Circle had cured her of a strange sickness, and left her in Dor’ash’s care for recovery because he had been of great help to the Circle in the past.

    It was that or going with the old “oh, she’s a slave” lie, and nobody in the village would ever believe that one from neither Grema nor Dor’ash. Especially not in the tentatively more Alliance-friendly political state.

    Sarah stirred, yawning as she stretched out, still half asleep. It sounded like a little squeak in comparison to the lion yawns an orc would let out when awakening. The low conversation between Dor’ash and Grema halted as they watched. Dor’ash hardly breathed.

    Her eyelids fluttered, then blinked open as groggy awareness swept over Sarah’s face. She pinched the furs spread over her, mumbled something and rolled over, squinting up in the dim light.

    “Evening, Sarah,” Dor’ash said. He kept his voice a low rumble. It was the best way to keep the emotions down in it.

    “Those silly cows…” Sarah cleared her throat to not sound so hoarse, then grunted, “I told them to wake me up when we came here.”

    Grema chuckled, and Dor’ash grinned so wide it almost hurt.

    “Yes, welcome home, you ungrateful git,” Grema said, still laughing softly.

    “It’s not my fault I don’t have any manners. I wasn’t raised right!” Sarah scoffed and stretched, lazily pointing at Dor’ash as she did so.

    “Can’t argue with that,” Grema agreed and jabbed Dor’ash with her elbow. He just snorted and shook his head.

    There was a slight but audible rumble from an empty stomach. Before anybody could comment, Sarah moved.

    She reached out and grasped Dor’ash’s shirt, using that to help herself sit up as she stared earnestly at him. Her motions were heavy and strained, just something so simple as sitting up taking staggering effort. There would be many, many more such situations where she tried to do something that should have been so easy, but left her gasping for breath and often collapsing onto her knees.

    But, it would also get better with time.

    “Those damn druids are all health freaks,” she said. “For the love of everything holy, feed me meat.”

    Chuckling softly, Dor’ash moved his hand to cradle her back and give her support.

    “I don’t think your stomach can handle something that heavy yet, from what we were told,” he said. “We’ll start with broth.”

    “Oh damn it all.”

    A short while later, the three of them were settled around the table on the ground floor – Sarah’s feet dangling high above the floor from sitting in an orc-sized chair, but that was nothing new – with a mug of broth and a slice of bread each. Sarah didn’t even try to lift her mug, but alternated nibbled on bread dipped into the lightly spiced liquid inside and scooping up mouthfuls of it with the smallest wooden spoon that could be found in Grema’s kitchen.

    “Is this alright with you?” Dor’ash asked, echoing what he had asked his mate a few minutes earlier.

    Sarah looked up.

    “Why not?” she said, absently dropping a small piece of bread in the broth.

    “You always said you hated living on a farm before the Plague,” Dor’ash pointed out.

    Nodding slowly, Sarah used the spoon to fish out the bread from the mug before she answered.

    “I was weak then… no, I’m weak now, but not in the same way.” She held up two fingers, and a tiny flame flickered above them, to underline her point. “Rather, I was scared then. I didn’t have anything to look forwards to, either.”

    He wondered if that flame was the extent of her magical power in her current state. As it turned out the next day, it pretty much was.

    “And what are you looking forwards to now, then?” he asked, smiling.

    “Sleeping after dinner, and waking up in a cozy place. That’s enough for now.”

    And with that she went back to slowly eating, but the small smile touching her lips said that there was many more things, and somebody else, that she hoped the future had in store. For now, though, this was indeed enough.

    They would spend the next few days making plates, cups and spoons as well as light farming tools more suited for Sarah’s hands. Cloth so she could make new clothes for herself was another issue, as well as carefully testing her limits with simple chores. Or rather, Dor’ash and Grema tried to be careful about it, while Sarah immediately proved to be as reckless as ever.


    ... I wonder if I can make it clear enough that this takes place just before WotLK starts :P
    New fanfic quote:

    "I am indeed a spy, milord, but not for the enemies of Mordor or the Master. Instead, I serve a different master, a group called the Protectors of the Plot Continuum. Milord, have you ever heard of 'fanfiction'?"
    "Aye. A particularly odious form of sorcery, by all accounts."
    /.../
    "Yes. And have you heard of 'fangirls'?"
    "They are but a legend! A fearful legend, but a legend nonetheless."
    -Architeuthis of the Protectors of the Plot Continuum and High Nazgul of the Ringwraiths
    From "Intelligence Briefs for the PPC: The Beginning" by Architeuthis


    Quote Originally Posted by darkling
    Orochimaru has joined the Baby-Sitter's Club.

  3. #33
    Double Trouble Rigmarole's Avatar
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    Lady Proudmoore was a tall woman, but even so, having another human nearby proved that though Sarah was very small in compare to just about everyone she had spent time with in the last few years, she was not really tiny for her species. Her hunched posture didn’t help that case, on the other hand.
    Try to rephrase that. I get your point, but it could be clearer ;)

    “We have not given up,” the male tauren said. “However, in its current form, this technique cannot be used to save Felwood. It can only be used to cure one bush, one tree, one blade of grass at the time, with great effort, and that plant will wither within moments because of its infected surroundings. We need to keep experimenting, both on the plant life and possibly also on undead.”
    I'm proud of how you effectively turned Sarah into a guinea pig. Going into new places is always good.

    I also like how you turn around the whole feel of the story in the end. I always like it when a piece of yours doesn't read like the two previous ones :)
    She sensed intelligence behind this rigmarole, but it was meaningless to her.

    ...those who regard me as effete, arrogant, distanced. [Interviewer: All of which is true, of course.] [Banville:] Of course!

  4. #34
    Alpha-Female of the RPGC Staff Weiila's Avatar
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    *tips hat* Corrections made in the version posted on ff.net. Thanks as always Rig, and for the compliment.

    And I've had sooo much wish to write built up in the last couple of months but been held back by a project for my job that needed to be done. A self-afflicted task, but still. And most of this was written ages ago.


    It was a process of trial and error, and getting back up after fainting from exhaust again and again and again. Eventually though, Sarah learned to accept her limits, and struggled to be patient as those limits stretched. Even if the pace was maddeningly slow.

    They didn’t talk much about it, but it was apparent to all three of them that the druids had been right. Sarah would probably never be as she had been in the past. The best she could hope for was to reach a halfway mark, if even that. And even that would take years.

    There were moments when she wished things could have gone differently. But those were far and few in between, despite her groggy curses whenever she woke up from another swoon, with Dor’ash or Grema dabbing her forehead with a wet cloth.

    The world was too full of distractions to let her be bitter about what she had lost. The cool texture of the cloth, a big finger brushing her forehead, the smell of the furs beneath her. The first time she accidentally cut herself on a kitchen knife she started laughing, because it hurt and it felt right.

    Dor’ash could sit for minutes, endlessly patient, as she just touched his fingers, mesmerized by the warmth and texture registering on her own skin.

    When it came down to it, she was beyond grateful.

    It was in the evening about a month and a half since the druids had brought her back to Dor’ash and Grema, and Sarah headed out with a small basket to gather up herbs from the field. It was a simple enough task, and she was well enough recovered to manage it even in the heat of midday by then – provided it didn’t take too long and she drank a lot of water. It was a lot more pleasant to take care of it in the cooler evening winds, though.

    Grema had a fair amount of herbs planted in the corner of the fields, but they were all purely for spicing food. The rows of plants were too neat, not the wild grown patches Sarah had sought out in the past. Still, sitting there on her knees and snipping off tiny branches with a pair of scissors did make her feel nostalgic.

    In retrospect, it seemed almost as if that nostalgia had acted like a beacon. Maybe it was the sight of her movements, so achingly familiar.

    A thin shadow fell over her and the basket, and a smell that didn’t belong assaulted her nostrils. That of dry, rotten flesh.

    Having a working heart meant that it could skip a beat.

    She shuffled around on her knees, squinting up at the skeletal shape hulking before her. The sun above painted him a black shadow, but two pinpricks of unclean, yellow light were faintly visible in the space where his eyes should be. He leaned on his staff, the wind toying with his thin wisps of hair and the torn hem and sleeves of his robe.

    A frozen moment passed.

    “Hello, Jonathan,” Sarah finally said. “Took you long enough.”

    No reply. His hand, with most of its flesh worn down or burnt off, grasped the weapon tighter at her words. Bone rattled against wood.

    “What, are you going to kill me?” she softly said, sitting back.

    The staff fell out of his grip and clattered against the ground as he sagged to his knees, reaching his decayed hands towards her.

    “You stupid, blasted, thrice damned…”

    She didn’t recoil from his touch, not even when he furiously hissed through his teeth. He pulled her close, and she wrapped her arms around the exposed spine of his neck. The smell did bother her, but that was all. Although his flesh and bones felt slimy and rough against her skin, she accepted it for what it was, and for what she had been too not long ago.

    Only when his grip tightened so hard it actually hurt did she make a sound of protest. Then he leant back, taking her face between his dirty hands.

    “I really… really want to murder you,” he said.

    “Ooh, dreamy.”

    He stared at her grin for a moment.

    “It is you. It is.”

    “Yes.”

    No reply to that. She remained still, only raising her chin a little when his fingers slipped down until his palm touched her neck. Her pulse beat against the raw bone of his hand and his yellow gaze stuck there, where their bodies met. For a moment he just stared at that point. Then he moved again, drawing both hands along her arm until he cradled her hand in his. Silently, Sarah spread her fingers.

    At first Jonathan did not move, but finally he changed his grip and placed a sharp fingertip against the center of Sarah’s palm. A pause, then he let out a hiss and scratched. She winced, but said nothing.

    Blood seeped out of the tiny wound, coloring the tip of Jonathan’s finger red. In silence they sat there, he holding her hand and both of them watching the thick drops grow and seep into the crevasses of Sarah’s skin.

    Finally, Jonathan curled his hands around hers and looked up at her face.

    “It’s horrible,” he said. “I see you like this and my first thought is to break your neck.”

    “I hope you don’t try that, though,” a deep, familiar voice said from the shadow of the house, cutting off Sarah’s sneering reply. “Then I’ll have to crush your head with my bare hands.”

    They both stood up when Dor’ash walked closer, but he still had to look down to meet their gazes.

    “And since I think you’re a decent undead, I wouldn’t want to do that,” he added, watching Jonathan.

    “I think I can control myself,” Jonathan said with a snort and grin. He waved his hand at Sarah. “But I want to know what the hell this thing is.”

    “You’re an ass,” Sarah said and gave him a shove with her left hand. The other one she held up for inspection, then turned it towards Dor’ash. “I think this is infected.”

    The skin around the tiny gash flared an angry red, spreading around the crimson stain in the center. Shaking his head, Dor’ash took her hand in his huge palm and brushed his thumb over the wound. A tiny cloud of healing light was all it took to clean the cut and seal it.


    Daaaw, undead romance is SO dysfunctional.
    New fanfic quote:

    "I am indeed a spy, milord, but not for the enemies of Mordor or the Master. Instead, I serve a different master, a group called the Protectors of the Plot Continuum. Milord, have you ever heard of 'fanfiction'?"
    "Aye. A particularly odious form of sorcery, by all accounts."
    /.../
    "Yes. And have you heard of 'fangirls'?"
    "They are but a legend! A fearful legend, but a legend nonetheless."
    -Architeuthis of the Protectors of the Plot Continuum and High Nazgul of the Ringwraiths
    From "Intelligence Briefs for the PPC: The Beginning" by Architeuthis


    Quote Originally Posted by darkling
    Orochimaru has joined the Baby-Sitter's Club.

  5. #35
    Double Trouble Rigmarole's Avatar
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    You're welcome.
    It was a lot more pleasant to take care of it in the cooler evening winds, though.
    use the active voice, after all Sarah's rediscovering her feelings (isn't that the slogan for a shampoo?). Her point of view is interesting right now. Dor'ash is turning into her big brother, eh?
    She sensed intelligence behind this rigmarole, but it was meaningless to her.

    ...those who regard me as effete, arrogant, distanced. [Interviewer: All of which is true, of course.] [Banville:] Of course!

  6. #36
    Alpha-Female of the RPGC Staff Weiila's Avatar
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    New Head and Shoulders: Revive formula!

    Dor'ash is turning into her big brother, eh?
    Close, but no cookie. I refer you to post #12 :) (that was an awful long time ago though, so no biggie)
    New fanfic quote:

    "I am indeed a spy, milord, but not for the enemies of Mordor or the Master. Instead, I serve a different master, a group called the Protectors of the Plot Continuum. Milord, have you ever heard of 'fanfiction'?"
    "Aye. A particularly odious form of sorcery, by all accounts."
    /.../
    "Yes. And have you heard of 'fangirls'?"
    "They are but a legend! A fearful legend, but a legend nonetheless."
    -Architeuthis of the Protectors of the Plot Continuum and High Nazgul of the Ringwraiths
    From "Intelligence Briefs for the PPC: The Beginning" by Architeuthis


    Quote Originally Posted by darkling
    Orochimaru has joined the Baby-Sitter's Club.

  7. #37
    Double Trouble Rigmarole's Avatar
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    Ah, the "didn't sound right" part. Acknowledged.
    She sensed intelligence behind this rigmarole, but it was meaningless to her.

    ...those who regard me as effete, arrogant, distanced. [Interviewer: All of which is true, of course.] [Banville:] Of course!

  8. #38
    Alpha-Female of the RPGC Staff Weiila's Avatar
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    More undead romance, daaaaw ^w^

    ... what, why would I need therapy?

    Spoiler: I have seen at least two cases of Forsaken smut on the web. Not that anybody should be surprised.

    The skin around the tiny gash flared an angry red, spreading around the crimson stain in the center. Shaking his head, Dor’ash took her hand in his huge palm and brushed his thumb over the wound. A tiny cloud of healing light was all it took to clean the cut and seal it. He had hardly finished that before Jonathan reached forwards, taking Sarah’s head between his hands.

    Watching the bone thumbs brush over her tanned, freckled cheeks was unnerving to say the least. At the same time, the motions were delicate and slow. Jonathan’s hands drifted upwards, combing through Sarah’s short blonde hair while he craned his neck, seeming hypnotized by the play of shadows on her skin.

    “I was angry, but now I’ve forgotten why,” he said. It might have been intended as a murmur, but it was more of a hissing croak.

    “Don’t bother remembering, princess,” Sarah said. “It’s stupid.”

    “If you say so.” He grinned even wider at the nickname.

    “Should I leave the two of you alone?” Dor’ash asked, one corner of his lips stretching.

    Sarah looked up at him, her eyes wide.

    “Goodness no,” she said. “You couldn’t possibly trust this lecher to conduct himself like a gentleman if nobody keeps an eye on him. I have a warm body now!”

    “And it looks delicious!” Jonathan snatched her around the waist with one arm, bending over her and stretching his free arm outwards as had they been in the middle of some odd dance. Sarah didn’t even miss a beat, stretching her own arm after his and hanging the other around his neck. She even delicately lifted one foot from the ground. All the while both of them grinned insanely.

    Dor’ash rubbed his forehead, chuckling in disbelief.

    It was as if they hadn’t been apart for a day.

    Moving his hand to cradle the back of Sarah’s head, Jonathan straightened up again and pulled her along.

    “But, seriously now, what in Thrall’s name happened to you?” he asked.

    “Archdruid Fandral Pinkskin fried me with moonfire until my pulse kicked into gear,” Sarah said in a tender voice as she stroke Jonathan’s squishy cheek. “No, really.”

    “Uh… huh.”

    “The Warchief sentenced her to be a test subject for the Emerald Circle’s research into reversing fel taint,” Dor’ash said. “This is the result.”

    Sarah turned her head and stuck her tongue out at the orc.

    “Way to ruin the mystery, mama,” she complained.

    “I’d rather not stand here and guard your virtue if I have to listen to you stringing him on for half an hour,” Dor’ash replied, sneering.

    “How did they do it?” Jonathan asked, tilting his head.

    “It’s not worth it, trust me,” Sarah said, looking back at him. “It almost killed me and then I couldn’t even stand on my own for at least two months.” But she grinned wide while saying so.

    “Hm.”

    In the brief silence, Sarah lifted her hand to Jonathan’s cheek, brushing her thumb along his chapped lips and down the torn corner of his mouth stretching towards his cheekbone. It strained his skin and flesh, opening the tear and revealing a sliver of the black teeth beneath.

    “You could really die,” she said. “And even if you survive, you’ll be as weak as a lamb. You’ll never be as powerful as you are now, not even a crumb.” She smiled a bit again. “And you’ll probably be only half as handsome.” Here she patted his cheek, smoothening back the cut skin.

    “Harsh. And you wouldn’t be able to fondle my liver either,” Jonathan thoughtfully said.

    Dor’ash pressed a hand to his face and tried very hard to think of anything but that mental image, while Sarah hummed wistfully.

    “But, ultimately,” Jonathan continued, bending closer to Sarah’s face as she grinned back at him, “I think I want to take my chances.”

    “And if you’re willing to risk that, you’d better be prepared to risk telling her the truth beforehand, you know,” Dor’ash said with a nasty smirk, with his pointing finger drawing an invisible line in the air from Jonathan’s right ear stump. Suffice to say, the orc had failed to not think about the liver thing. Such a horror could not go unpunished.

    Jonathan snapped up and swung his head in Dor’ash’s direction, squeak of protest escaping him. It returned as Sarah grabbed his collar, bringing down his twisted face to just a few inches away from hers.

    “Excuse me, what?” she hissed.

    “You’re a sadist, Dor’ash!” Jonathan miserably complained while Sarah wrestled him onto the ground, her curses growing louder and more creative by the second.

    “If she found out by looking at you after resurrection, you’d feel it a whole lot more.”

    Dor’ash watched for a little while, amused, but there was a softness in the corners of his smirk. As much as Sarah cursed Jonathan and scratched at his face, he only batted (relatively) carefully at her arms. He could have clawed her bloody or blasted her away with magic, but he never made a motion as to harm her. This didn’t pass her by, only adding to her insults about his ‘girly, lying, worthless’ self.

    “The hell?” came Grema’s voice and she walked up beside Dor’ash, scratching her head as she watched the catfight.

    Sarah’s head snapped up, her hands clamped around Jonathan’s thin throat.

    “He’s a goddamn belf and never told me!” she snarled and dove right back to the one-sided fight.

    “I didn’t know when we first met!” Jonathan wheezed, but the difficulty to talk was the only problem he got from being strangled.

    Grema pondered this for a moment.

    “I’ll get the small axe for you, Sarah,” she finally said and moved as if to actually go and fetch the weapon. Then she paused and looked back, grinning wide. “Or you could try to squirm out of this, pretty-boy.”

    “I’m trying!” Jonathan wrenched his head to the side so he could look at Dor’ash. “Little help here?”

    Shrugging and snickering, Dor’ash bent forwards and hauled Sarah off of Jonathan, as easy as lifting a doll. She snarled and pinched him, but he calmly sat both of them down on the ground and kindly but firmly clapped a finger over her mouth.

    “Right then,” Dor’ash said while Jonathan scrambled up on his knees. “Grovel in the dust until she forgives you, but if you’re going to get morbid then do it in Gutterspeak. We’re going to eat soon.”

    “Ah, yeah. I’ll try.” Jonathan scratched his head for a moment, looking miserable as Sarah growled against Dor’ash’s hand. She’d stopped struggling, but folded her arms across her chest as the grip of her eased up.

    Whatever Jonathan said, he did with wide hand motions and a whole lot more gusto than would usually be credited to a Forsaken. Since he only spoke Guttespeak from the first word, though, the orcs had no idea what he said and they didn’t particularly want to know.

    It took a while, too, but eventually he fell silent.

    Sarah glared at him, drumming her fingers against the opposite arm. Gingerly, Dor’ash moved his hand to let her speak. She wasted no time.

    “You know, you’re a smooth talker and all, but it all comes down to one simple fact even if you go up there and the druids manage to reinstall a pulse in your body too.”

    “What?” Jonathan said in a wary tone.

    Sarah’s small hands balled up and thrust downwards along her sides.

    “You honestly, honestly expect me to give up my virginity to a freaking goldilocks?” she snapped.

    A few seconds later, Jonathan realized that he should have responded to that, somehow, in that first, stunned moment of silence. But as he was not quick enough, he had to wait for Dor’ash and Grema to stop laughing.

    And wait.

    And wait.

    “I’m actually a redhead! Really!” he finally shouted to be heard over the hysterics.

    “You’re supposed to deny wanton desires, you goof!” Sarah shouted back.

    “Stop, I’m dying!” Grema choked out, keeling over and clutching her stomach.

    Eventually, the orcs managed to settle down, although both of them still twitched with chuckles every now and then.

    “It’s not nice to be racist, you know,” Jonathan said, folding his arms. “You never judged me like that before.”

    “Should I just judge you for being a filthy ol’ liar, then?”

    “You would have killed me if I told you when I remembered!”

    “Damn straight!”

    Jonathan let out a loud sigh and covered his glowing yellow eyes with a bony hand.

    It took a little while longer until Dor’ash managed to stop another wave of laughter, and it remained in the grin on his lips when he leaned down so that his face was level with Sarah’s. She kept her nose turned up.

    “You’re being cruel,” Dor’ash said, grin turning into a slanted smirk. “You’re going to forgive him, so don’t torture him so much.”

    Sarah turned her face away for a moment, making an annoyed sound. Two of Jonathan’s fingers parted and he peered out between them, but otherwise he didn’t move. Finally, Sarah shuffled forwards on her knees and jabbed a finger at Jonathan’s face.

    “Yeah, I’m probably going to forgive you but you’re going to have to work for it,” she said.

    Before he could reply, she grabbed him by the neck and pulled him down until she could touch her forehead to his.

    “And you only get orc kisses for now because otherwise I’ll puke.” Then she smirked. “But you’d think that’s hot too, wouldn’t you?”

    Both Dor’ash and Grema were very thankful that Jonathan responded to that in Gutterspeak. Especially from how both Sarah and Jonathan grinned at each other when he spoke.

    Actually, he just suggested that he brush his teeth first instead.
    New fanfic quote:

    "I am indeed a spy, milord, but not for the enemies of Mordor or the Master. Instead, I serve a different master, a group called the Protectors of the Plot Continuum. Milord, have you ever heard of 'fanfiction'?"
    "Aye. A particularly odious form of sorcery, by all accounts."
    /.../
    "Yes. And have you heard of 'fangirls'?"
    "They are but a legend! A fearful legend, but a legend nonetheless."
    -Architeuthis of the Protectors of the Plot Continuum and High Nazgul of the Ringwraiths
    From "Intelligence Briefs for the PPC: The Beginning" by Architeuthis


    Quote Originally Posted by darkling
    Orochimaru has joined the Baby-Sitter's Club.

  9. #39
    Double Trouble Rigmarole's Avatar
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    I hadn't seen that before. Imagine having missed that line though: “Harsh. And you wouldn’t be able to fondle my liver either,” Jonathan thoughtfully said. It would have been a shame.

    You really love playing with your undead, don't you?
    She sensed intelligence behind this rigmarole, but it was meaningless to her.

    ...those who regard me as effete, arrogant, distanced. [Interviewer: All of which is true, of course.] [Banville:] Of course!

  10. #40
    Alpha-Female of the RPGC Staff Weiila's Avatar
    Join Date
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    Oooohohoo yes, yesss I do ^_^
    New fanfic quote:

    "I am indeed a spy, milord, but not for the enemies of Mordor or the Master. Instead, I serve a different master, a group called the Protectors of the Plot Continuum. Milord, have you ever heard of 'fanfiction'?"
    "Aye. A particularly odious form of sorcery, by all accounts."
    /.../
    "Yes. And have you heard of 'fangirls'?"
    "They are but a legend! A fearful legend, but a legend nonetheless."
    -Architeuthis of the Protectors of the Plot Continuum and High Nazgul of the Ringwraiths
    From "Intelligence Briefs for the PPC: The Beginning" by Architeuthis


    Quote Originally Posted by darkling
    Orochimaru has joined the Baby-Sitter's Club.

  11. #41
    Double Trouble Rigmarole's Avatar
    Join Date
    04-May-2006
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    Europe.
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    4,547
    Everyone needs a hobby :)
    She sensed intelligence behind this rigmarole, but it was meaningless to her.

    ...those who regard me as effete, arrogant, distanced. [Interviewer: All of which is true, of course.] [Banville:] Of course!

  12. #42
    Alpha-Female of the RPGC Staff Weiila's Avatar
    Join Date
    07-Jan-2002
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    I admit, that was a funny bot.
    New fanfic quote:

    "I am indeed a spy, milord, but not for the enemies of Mordor or the Master. Instead, I serve a different master, a group called the Protectors of the Plot Continuum. Milord, have you ever heard of 'fanfiction'?"
    "Aye. A particularly odious form of sorcery, by all accounts."
    /.../
    "Yes. And have you heard of 'fangirls'?"
    "They are but a legend! A fearful legend, but a legend nonetheless."
    -Architeuthis of the Protectors of the Plot Continuum and High Nazgul of the Ringwraiths
    From "Intelligence Briefs for the PPC: The Beginning" by Architeuthis


    Quote Originally Posted by darkling
    Orochimaru has joined the Baby-Sitter's Club.

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