Leavetaking

Post your RP stories/character descriptions/other cool stuff here!

Moderator: Guild Officer

User avatar
Threnn
Site Admin
Posts: 573
Joined: Wed Nov 12, 2008 12:53 am

Leavetaking

Postby Threnn » Fri Sep 04, 2009 11:31 am

The moons were well on their way to setting by the time Annalea trudged out of the Pig. She might have stayed longer and finished up the last of the bills before the Royal Post brought yet another stack, but she'd heard Stephen clattering around upstairs in the kitchen, getting a head start on the day's bread.

I was here when he left last night. I should go home.

The hard part came as she stood on the Pig's porch. It was a decision she made every night, and one of the reasons she'd developed the habit of working until the sun rose: left or right?

Left, towards the apartment above the chandler's, where Harvey would mrrr at her and demand a belly rub as she crawled into bed beside him? Past Cutthroat Alley, where the thieves who'd had slow nights at pickpocketing might take one last chance at getting some coin before they skulked into their holes for the day?

Or right, towards the apartment above the shieldsmith's, where she'd fall into an empty bed? The sheets didn't smell of him anymore; they were washed and changed every Saturday, and he'd come back to Stormwind only a handful of times since the turn of the year.

She wavered a moment, pulled out a coin and flipped it. "Crests I go left, crowns I go right." When she uncovered it, the White Lady's light lit up the face of King Llane, picking up the points of his crown. Anna sighed and shrugged, and headed for the room Fin rented but never slept in.

The breeze that snatched at her hair as she walked made it clear that summer was drawing to its close. Once she was inside, she rummaged around in the trunk at the end of the bed and withdrew a quilt to keep her warm. Then she blew out the lantern and lay back in the pre-dawn gloom, trying not to think.

There were nights when they let him steal a few precious moments on the buzzbox. She'd lay there, stretched out on his bed, eyes closed as they whispered to one another over the crackle of static. Sometimes she tried pretending that he was right there, murmuring into her ear. Or she'd imagine he was beside her, laying on his back with one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling as they talked. Any moment, he'd reach over and trail his fingertips down her arm, or roll towards her and pull her tight against him.

Then someone would laugh in the barracks, or she'd reach for him and clutch at empty air, and the illusion -- already painfully thin -- would shatter.

Tonight, the buzzbox stayed silent, which let her thoughts clamor all the louder.

"Just because yer bloke fucked off for greener pastures doesn't mean I'm a fuckin' arsehole." Bricu hadn't meant it, she knew that. She'd pushed him over Threnny's sadness, and he'd pushed back. Hell, she'd wanted him to push back. Just... not like that. She'd been hoping for a fistfight. She got a gut punch.

"This aint just him. This is also the fuckin' fatalism that runs in yer mum's blood." Even when he was apologizing for what he'd set off with his sharp tongue, he was right. How many times had Threnny pointed out her skittishness? How many times had she talked her out of bolting like a frightened deer?

But the months had dragged on. The seasons had turned twice -- were about to turn a third time -- and still she spent most nights alone. No matter how many letters they wrote or how many hours they stole when he got a day's leave, no matter how much she loved him, it wasn't enough.

"Well, Annie, love only throws a bit ay a distance. Needs a bit mair sustainin'."
Tarq's words echoed other things Bricu had said, things she'd mulled over and over through the long nights. Sustenance didn't always mean satisfaction -- look at the refugees of Shattrath, who managed to scrounge just enough from begging and the scraps the Anchroites threw them to make it through another day. Was that what this was like?

He's just trying to secure us a good future. He loves me. He's doing this as much for me as he is for his family.

No. He loves the idea of me, of the life he imagines we'll have together. They're not the same.


Weak dawnlight spilled through the window. If she didn't drift off soon, she'd be up for the day, irritable and overtired. She flopped onto her stomach, covering her ears as though it could drown out the memories of conversations.

"...if leavin' him makes yeh happier, do it. But do it fer the right reason. Not fer some fucked up thing I said or some weird al'Cair Thoughts o' Doom."

"Right now," she'd said, "the trick is trying to find out what 'happier' is."

"That, lass," Bricu pulled a long drag from his cigarette, savoring the smoke a long moment before he exhaled, "I can't help yeh with.

"An' t'be fair, neither can he."


Anna pulled the quilt over her head and wished she'd brought a bottle home from the Pig.

---

Late in the morning, having declared the few hours' fitful rest she'd managed Good Enough, she gathered up her winter dresses and carried them across Old Town to her own apartment. Of course, the double armload of clothing made it hard to reach the lock. Mrs. Stone heard her struggling with the door and came up to help.

"Ye've been shoppin', dearie?" She took the key from Anna and addressed the part of the pile of heavy silks where she assumed Anna's face would be.

"No, ma'am. Just putting things away like I should have done in the spring." It was partly true, but there was much that was left unspoken beneath it, enough to make it ring hollow.

From her landlady's silence, Mrs. Stone knew there was more to it as well, but she'd never ask. She hailed from Northdale, after all. Even though the town itself was long-dead, and even though the chandler had lived in Stormwind since before Anna herself was born, the old woman still held to the tenet of keeping her nose out of other peoples' business.

For that, Anna was thankful.

The door swung open and Harvey, seeing not his mistress, but a moving tower of fabric, skittered under the bed.

Mrs. Stone grunted as Anna stepped inside, murmuring soothing nonsense words to the cat. "'Fore you know it, it'll be time ta bring 'em out again. Winter's comin' early this year." She pulled the door closed behind her, not waiting for an reply.

---

The next day, she dug into the back of the closet for her spring dresses and set out once more. As she rounded the corner by the Pig, she groaned.

Threnn was coming out of the bar, Naiara on her hip.

Delivering the booze order, right on time. Bloody Elune I'd forgotten. It was too late to pull the shadows around herself and duck into a doorway; she'd been spotted.

"You need help, there?"

"You've got the baby. I'm fine."

"Got a free arm, too. Here." Threnn tugged a few of the dresses free and fell into step with her. They walked down the road in silence, Threnn stealing troubled glances at her little sister every few steps. Anna put on her best poker face and shifted her burden around, thwarting the brunt of Threnn's scrutiny.

Once they were in her room, Anna tossed her armload of dresses on the bed, then relieved Threnn of hers. She straightened up and held out her arms. "Gimme my niece."

Naiara squealed as she was passed from mother to aunt. Threnn stretched and peered around the room, taking in the small hill of yesterday's dresses on a chair beside the closet. Her eyes returned to the pile on the bed. "So what's this about?"

Anna rubbed her nose against Naiara's so she didn't have to meet her sister's questioning look. "Spring cleaning, a few months late."

Threnn opened her mouth, ready to chide her for the lie, but she was pre-empted by a tiny, well-timed raspberry from her daughter's lips. "Got her father's bullshit detector," she said, smirking. "He ever get around to talking to you? Get rid of those notions some jealous bint at the Pride put in your head?"

She schooled her face carefully. There was no jealous bint at the Pride. She'd made the mistake of repeating Bricu's accusation to Threnn without attributing it to him -- that they'd fought over her illness was no secret, but both Bricu and Anna had kept the particulars to themselves. Anna had no intention of getting him in trouble now. "We talked, yeah. He gave me a lot to think about."

"Such as?"

She sighed. She didn't want to talk about it, not when the thought of staying made her feel as sick as the thoughts of leaving. "Such as, I don't know, Threnny, I --" She crinkled her nose and stared incredulously at her niece. "Sweet gods, that smells ten times worse than anything I've ever done in the lab! Here, Threnny, clear off my worktable. This girl needs a change."

As Threnn turned her attention to Naiara, Annalea realized she'd never thought she'd be so grateful for a dirty diaper.

---

The third day, she brought up a trunk from the Pig's basement and stuffed her summer clothes inside, along with anything else of hers that remained in Fin's room -- papers, herbs, books on alchemy and anatomy, sheets of parchment covered in half-written songs. She maneuvered it down the shieldsmith's stairs without incident and began lugging it down the street towards home. As she hurried past the Pig, she offered up a prayer to Elune that no one she knew would choose that moment to walk outside.

Of course, Night's Lady had a cruel sense of humor sometimes. No one spotted her at the Pig, but as the trunk's bottom thunked up the candlemaker's porch steps, a lanky shadow fell across it.

"Mornin', Annie. Wha' havers?"

Anna closed her eyes and swore, then tried out the lightest voice she could muster. "Morning, Tarq. Just bringing my summer things home to put away."

"Oughtay've asked fir help. Look like yeh've been cartin' yir underthings up Blackrock Mount." The amused grin slipped from his mouth when she looked up at him. To her relief, he didn't try smoothing it over. Instead he grabbed the handle on the end closest to him and nodded at the door. "S'get this bastard oan upstairs, then."

They cursed and bumped their way up the narrow stairs. Once inside, Tarq sat on the chest and caught his breath. Anna shooed Harvey out of his chair in the sun and collapsed into it.

"Tell me," said Tarq once he could speak again. "Thit yir no' fillin' yon fucker back up wi' yir autumn finery, or failin' thit, yeh'll con Feliche inta helpin' in place ay masel'."

"I didn't con you into helping; you just did."

"Feh." Tarquin might have been the only person who actually said Feh. "Details."

She smiled, but it faded quickly. "Anyway. No, I won't be filling it back up." She realized, as the words left her lips, that it was true.

Tarquin was quiet a long moment. "Aright," he said at last, softly, "Aright." He produced a pair of cigarettes from some pocket and offered one to her. Anna took it, and leaned into the match when he held it out. They sat, watching the smoke curl out the open window and up into the sky.

---

She stayed in Fin's apartment that night, surrounded by his things. Every now and then she found herself getting out of bed to trail her fingers over what he'd left behind -- some of his jewelcrafting tools, an old cloak, letters from his sister. She sat, curled up in his chair, waiting for the buzzbox to crackle to life, dreading that it would.

It didn't.

In the morning, she made the bed, straightened up what few things needed straightening, and crossed the threshhold for the last time. She locked the door behind her and slipped the key underneath, giving it a good push into the room so no would-be thieves would be able to fish it out and let themselves in.

Then she walked out into the cool, crisp morning, and took herself home.

Return to “Roleplay”

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 44 guests