The Worst Date Ever.

[Yva]

The wind ruffled the feathers on Skyborne's back as she soared around Icecrown Citadel. She could hear the bird behind her, and knew Tirith was there. They'd been working together today, taking a few odd jobs for the Argent Crusade and the Ebon Hand, and now their contracts had taken them into the belly of the beast. The Nothern Betrayer was in there somewhere - waiting, watching, plotting.

“Do you think Arthas's wanger works?” she said into the gnome box device. Her eyes fell on the heavy front gates, and her purrs choked themselves off in her throat. “I think he's technically dead, but he's still moving around. His wang MIGHT work.”

She glanced over her shoulder. Tirith looked . . . confused atop his griffon. “Are you asking about the lich king's penis?”

“Well yeah, aren't you curious?”

“No. I'm not.”

“Oh.” She noticed a break in the foundation of the fortress – a space where the metal pillars lacked reinforcement, and she dove for it, curious if besieging the terror of the north's castle was going to be far easier than anyone could have figured. Her wings beat fast as she made her way into the chasm. Inside, it was dark and oddly warm, far warmer than she'd anticipated. The air smelled of wet, growing things. Sky's magics tingled; there was life here, beneath the citadel of death. It seemed strange and out of place.

“Well I'm curious,” she said after a time, her feathers giving way to pale Kaldorei skin. “If it works, that means he probably pees. Enemies aren't so intimidating if you think about them peeing. Really, NO ONE'S intimidating when they're peeing. Not even like, Mister Tarquin.”

She turned around, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Tirith was standing about twelve feet away in his mage robes, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don't want to think about Tarquin peeing.”

“Well he has to you know. Everyone pees. Everyone poops too, so there.“

His mouth opened and closed, yet no words would come.

Sky didn't do well with silence. She felt the need to fill it, and so she kept talking, paying very little heed to the half confusion, half horror twisting her lover's face. “Anyway, it's said Arthas used to be romantical with Misses Jaina, so maybe he still you know, bendies his bojanger thinking about her.”

Something shifted in the darkness, and the hairs on the back of Sky's neck stood on end. There was a woosh as Tirith opened his palm, sending a bright ball of magic sailing just past her head. Something wailed and then fell, thudding against the ground. Sky shrieked a little and dropped into panther form, running towards him at full speed to dive behind his legs. It likely wasn't very brave or becoming for a druidess of the circle, but she really didn't care. It was fucking creepy down here.

His gloves buried themselves in her scruff, fingers working their way towards her ears to pet her reassuringly.

“Umm, so yeah. Maybe.” She tilted her face so he could get the sweet spot, her purrs rumbling in the vast dark. “So maybe he like misses her and stuff and wanks his wizzle thinger . . . “

“We're really going to talk about Arthas masturbating? Really, Sky? Really?"

“Well if he does do you think he like, makes GOO?”

He just stared at her.

“Oh my gosh baby goo. I bet if he makes it, it's evil. EVIL ARTHAS GOO.”

He groaned.

“OH MY GOSH TIRITH, WE HAVE TO TELL MISTER FORDRING, LIKE RIGHT NOW.”

“Wait, tell him . . . “ She scooted away from him, forgetting the things lurching in the dark and running around excitedly. “Sky, come back here. What do you want to tell Fordring?”

“That he has to wait til Mister Arthas is making evil baby goo and then attack cause then he'd be ill-prepared. He can't lead an army with his dick in his hand! See? It's brilliant.”

There was silence save for the beating of her paws against the squishy earth. Tirith's nostrils flared and then he began to laugh. Loudly. It echoed, and Sky giggled too, backing away from him in preparation of a full-on feline leap that would send him sprawling. She just wanted to bury her face in his neck and breathe his scent, then maybe lick him and lay on top of him some, but . . .

She didn't see the gigantic hole in the ground. She likely should have been paying attention, but before she could do anything about it, her back paws had spilled over the side of an enormous ditch and gravity was pulling her down.

“TIRITH!” she screamed, her humor gone as her front paws shredded at the earth in front of her, trying to gain leverage, but the mud was too mushy for her claws to do any good. She just kept sliding, muck slicking over her fur and upper chest.

“Sky? What's . . . “ He ran toward her, his hand outstretched, but it was too late. The ground was too slick, she was poorly positioned. She tried to call wings, but she was too scared to force the shift, her thoughts were too addled to work her magics properly.

So instead, with a loud chorus of screams, she fell.

Hard.

*****

((I want to put a little story asterisk, the inspiration for Sky's poor behavior was a small, very short converstion with Shaelmon that got the brain going. She made me laugh, and it birthed the monstrosity that is Sky musings. So, I can't take full credit for this. Harts Shaelmon.))