(2021-06-03) Day 3

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Author:	Jessa
Summary:	The evening of Day 3 sees the Daffodils trying to recover from the violence du jour. Ivri and Tragg reach an understanding.
Rating:	M for Mature 17+

Chain: The Re-education of Miss Ivrianna Barlowe

Ivri tried to stand and found out that her muscles had declared open warfare. She slumped instead, narrowly missing planting her face in a plate of stewed greens and potatoes. "Light," she groaned. "I hurt."

"eVen I hURt. WhiCH mAkeS mINe wORSe," Judah said. The Forsaken was, by majority rule, sitting against the far wall nearest the window. His legs were outstretched, his arms limp by his side. Even for him, he was looking particularly corpse-like

Llastra sat straight, but Ivri noted she wasn't trying to eat the plate of vegetables in front of her. "It's not a competition," she said, carefully not moving any of her muscles.

"I do not hurt."

"Oh shut up."

"sHUt uP, TraGg."

"That is not helpful."

Using her arms, her core, and her forehead at one point, Ivri sat upright. She dragged her mug closer but found she couldn't lift it. "I'd say they're trying to kill us, but it's taking too long." She turned her head to look at Llastra. "Is death by exercise a thing?"

"They are not trying to kill us. They are trying to make us better at what we do."

"suCk Up."

Llastra turned a disapproving stare at the Forsaken. "I am simply acknowledging their expertise."

"But aren't you three thousand years old?" Ivri asked. "Why aren't you already an expert in everything?"

Now it was Ivri's turn to be met with disapproval. At least it meant making Llastra turn her head again, which gave Ivri a tiny bit of vindictive pleasure. "As I am not three thousand years old, your point is irrelevant," the Night Elf said, silvered eyes narrowed. "But should I attain such an age, I would hope that I would learn only that there is much left to learn."

Tragg snorted. "Pompous elf."

"You know, I hate him? But I'm starting to like him better than I like you," Ivri said to Llastra.

"coMe JoIN oUR SidE. we HAvE pREttiER elvES."

"Now him, I like."

Tragg snorted again.

"I don't understand," Ivri said, cocking her head a little just so she could see the orc. "With all that snorting, is something stuck up there that you can't get out? Was your mother a Tauren?"

Judah's laughter was rasping hiss, barely audible over Tragg's snarl. "hIs mOThER waS a CoW," he cackled.

Ivri laughed, but only until Tragg struggled up from his place at the table. "Whoa whoa whoa, big man," she said, getting to her feet mostly by sliding off the end of the bench. "We've been fighting all day, do you really want to fight all night too?"

Llastra set a hand on Tragg's chest. "Do not let her antagonize you," was her advice. "You know what Master Aurelius said he would do if we fought outside the ring."

"mAD Cow," Judah whispered, setting Ivri off again.

The door to the small dining chamber opened. Brighter light from the lanterns in the hallway shone off Carlo Aurelius' bald head. "Daffodil Team," he said calmly. "Bunks in five. Barlowe, I hope you enjoy trying to sleep above Redsteel all night. Orcs hold grudges."

The four limped toward the door. Ivri's right hip wasn't quite working like it should, and she suspected Tragg's shoulder still hadn't recovered from being popped back into place earlier. Even Llastra was lacking her habitual grace, and Judah… Well he was undead. Ivri still wasn't sure what normal looked like for him.

They filed past Aurelius and into their rooms. Ivri took up her spot between the bunk beds and the wall, slender though it was, leaving Tragg the largest portion of the room so he could remove his armor. Even with her hip injury, she was done first. Tragg was down to the layer of thin cotton he wore under his leathers, but he still hadn't unbuckled his chest armor.

With a sigh, Ivri limped to him and reached for the buckles, only to have her hand swatted away. "I do not need the help of a human!" Tragg snarled.

"It's late, I want to go to sleep, and I'll never get there listening to you grunting your way through unbuckling armor," she said. "Give over. Even I can see that shoulder's still hurt."

He shoved her away, and she hit the door, unable to catch herself. His arm, twice the size of one of her thighs, drove into her neck and under her chin, lifting her slightly until her toes barely touched the floor. "You show no respect," he snarled, "and you have no honor."

Her eyes glittered with hot blue fury. "If you think this is scaring me," she said, hoarse and muffled, her hands trying unsuccessfully to wrap around his forearm, "you don't know my man. I get worse from him when we fuck. You're just turning me on right now."

He stared at her blankly, then his lips rearranged themselves in an expression she didn't recognize. He snorted again and bared his fangs at her.

Smiled. He was smiling at her.

"But you do have courage," he said. Still, he waited another second before moving his arm. "For that, I will allow you to unbuckle my armor."

He turned his back to her and waited.

Ivri rubbed her throat and stared at the faint crease in his neck where muscle didn't quite overlap, where a dagger would slide cleanly between vertebrae and into his brain. What there was of it. She pushed herself off the door and yanked at the buckles with far more force than was needed.

Tragg grunted and glared at her. "My mother was not a cow," he said.

"No," she snapped, "I can tell you're three hundred pounds of bad temper and body odor. Clearly you're an orc."

With his one good arm, Tragg picked her up and tossed her onto her bunk. "Go to sleep, Barlowe," he said, making the entire bunk shake as he collapsed onto the bed beneath hers. "Tomorrow, we will try to kill each other again."

Ivri drew in a breath to make a reply, but before she could, she fell asleep.