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| Details |
| Author: | Aly |
| Summary: | Tabiana begins her new job as a Stormwind Guard, though not the way she expected. 1,742 words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
“You’ll be starting at the bottom.” Patrol Officer Pennings leans back in her chair, eyeing Tabiana over a pair of thick reading glasses. There is a desk between the two women, with papers strewn in disorganized heaps across its cherry wood surface, as if reflecting the current state of the kingdom.
“The bottom?” Tabiana’s eyes widen in surprise. “Did the Argent Crusade not put in a word? I assure you, I am quite skilled. I served in Northrend, and —”
“The Argent Crusade,” Pennings interrupts sternly, “did send word. But they are a neutral organization, and you are not a citizen of Stormwind.”
“Pardon? I put in the application years ago at the instruction of —”
“Aye, and we never heard back from you,” Pennings interrupts again.
Tabiana frowns. When had she sent it? During the Northrend mail crisis? During the Scourge assault on the Eastern Plaguelands? After Lord Harvey…? No. She shook it off. “With all due respect, ma’am, we were at war.”
“And when aren’t we, these days? You say you’re from Lordaeron, but we have no way to prove that.” Pennings scans over the paper in front of her again. Something in her face darkens. “Did you work with them, during your time in the Crusade?”
“Work with who?” Tabiana asks, taking on a patient tone, even though frustration boils under her skin.
“Orcs.”
She sighs inwardly. “Yes, I worked with orcs, but there was a bigger threat —”
“And there isn’t now?” Pennings asks. “Or did you miss the wreckage on your way in? Are you planning to work with orcs against Deathwing? Perhaps your Forsaken friends, the ones who destroyed Southshore?”
“I do not serve the Horde!” Tabiana snaps, rising with her voice.
“You will start at the bottom,” Pennings repeats, “and remain there until you prove where your loyalties really lie. If you do well, I will personally vouch for your citizenship. Keep that steel in your spine, you’ll need it.”
There is a rapid tap on the door of the office, and Pennings removes her glasses. “Enter,” she says.
A man with wavy brown hair to his shoulders and a playful beard and mustache enters the room. This face, which seems accustomed to smiling, is drawn tight with worry instead.
“Ah, Hartrim,” Pennings says. “Good timing. The new girl is your responsibility. See to her.”
The man addressed as Hartrim passes the ghost of a glance over Tabiana, giving her a courtesy nod. “S’cuse me a moment, lass,” he says, giving his full attention back to the Patrol Officer. “Have we not got further word from Southshore? Elle’s gone rabid with worry, an’ I don’t think I can stop him haring off to the place ‘fore too long.”
“You’ll have to,” Pennings says with a heavy sigh. “There’s been no news. I know you’re worried about Dinnsfield, but you both have to accept that this time, he may really be dead.”
“Now see here,” Hartrim says, puffing up with anger. “Lathrik ain’t called the Man of a Thousand Deaths around here for nothin’. He’s alive. He’s got to be. Spare me some men and I’ll find ‘im and bring him home.”
Pennings puffs up even further, surprisingly, despite her short and stocky stature, rising from her chair. “Now you see here,” she snaps. “We’re lacking the men and the resources to send even a small team up to Hillsbrad, to say nothing of the dangers of doing so. We have people to see to here at home, and I expect them seen to, Reniya Hartrim. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Reniya says, his jaw stiff. He peers at Tabiana again, this time more fully, and jerks his head towards the door, signaling her to follow him. They are no more than three steps out the door when he speaks again. “You wanna score some points with Pennings?”
“Pardon?” Tabiana asks, checking behind her. He is, in fact, addressing her. “Is that even possible?”
Reniya lets out a sharp laugh. “Believe it or not,” he says, “Lathrik’s one of her favorites. You see him back safe an’ alive? Big points, I promise. Ah, but I won’t ask it. ‘Tis dangerous, as she said.” He idly strokes his beard as they walk. “What’s your name, newbie?”
“Tabiana Lynds, sir.” Whatever thoughts she has about being called ‘newbie,’ she keeps to herself.
“Well then, Tabby Cat, you in for a little warm-up? I wanna see what you can do, and you an’ I both’ve got some anger to vent, hm?” Reniya tries to settle into an easy smile, but the tightness remains evident in his features.
“Call me Tabby Cat one more time and you will regret it,” Tabiana says.
Reniya gives her a disarming smile, holding his hands up in surrender. “As you say, as you say.”
They head outside into the courtyard, where wooden training dummies line the edges, and soldiers drill in combat routines. The weather is certainly ideal for such activities; warm, but with a cool breeze that sifts through Tabiana’s hair, sending a refreshing prickle down the back of her neck. Reniya greets a man at one of the dummies, who is pummeling the wooden construct with only his fists, leaving his knuckles torn and bloody.
“Oi, Elle? Leave off it a second, got someone I’d like you to meet.”
The brawler, a tall, heavily built man with dark hair like her own, pulled back into a tail, turns to face them. “Ren,” he says, then his gaze falls on her, dark and curious.
“This here’s Tabby Cat, the newbie,” Reniya says. “We were ‘bout to get some practice in, see what she’s got.”
Anger flashes through her, but before she can open her mouth, a hand settles onto her head.
“Tabby,” says the man called Elle, gently petting — yes, petting, — her hair.
The anger melts into confusion, but from the tall, soft spoken man, she can sense only good will.
“An’ this here’s Joelle, but I call him Elle,” Reniya finishes, having escaped his punishment for now.
“Joelle,” Tabiana says. “My name is Tabiana Lynds. Well met.”
A faint smile passes over Joelle’s face. “Fight well,” he says.
Reniya heads to a nearby weapon rack, returning with two wooden practice swords, one of which he tosses to her. “Start on my mark?”
Tabiana catches the sword, testing its weight in her hand. “Would that not give you the advantage?”
“You’re right.” Reniya flashes her a grin. “Elle’s mark, then?”
“Very well.”
Both look to Joelle, though Tabiana keeps Reniya in her field of vision.
Joelle peers back at them. “Mark.”
Reniya disappears in a puff of flash powder, startling Tabiana.
“That was it?” she asks. “No lead up?”
“Oh.” Joelle frowns in concern. “Was that wrong? Sorry.”
The man’s crushing disappointment immediately steals her sympathy, and she finds herself shaking her head. “No, it’s fine,” she says.
Besides, this is nothing she can’t handle. Gazing back at the place Reniya once stood, she begins to count. There isn’t an exact number she’s aiming for, just an estimate of how long it would take him to reach her position, followed by an approximation of where he would strike from, and how long until he made his move. Reniya did not seem like a patient man, so…
Now!
Tabiana switches the sword from her right hand to her left (and dominant) hand, sweeping the pommel through the air behind her and throwing her weight into the swing. It is a gamble. If she misses, she will be off-balance, perfect for a counterattack. Her instinct pays off, however, and she feels the give as her blow digs into her target’s soft and vulnerable belly.
A breathy “whoof,” follows, and Reniya’s sword clatters to the dirt in front of her as the man reels backwards, losing his footing, his hold over the shadows, and of course, his air. He lands flat on his back, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath, and panic surges through Tabiana.
“Reniya?” She kneels at his side, brows drawn together with worry. “Did I… Was that too hard? I’m sorry, I’m used to sparring with death knights — is there a healer? Joelle, could you —”
Gurgling laughter erupts from the man on the ground, and his hand clasps her shoulder firmly. “Tides Grace, you don’t hold back,” he says, an exultant grin on his face. “’Twas like you could see me. And that trick with the sword… you’re left-handed?”
“I am…”
Reniya hasn’t made any move to rise, and one hand still rubs the place where she struck him.
“How do you feel?” Tabiana asks. “That was not a light blow I dealt you.”
“No, ‘twasn’t.” Reniya’s hand shifts from her shoulder to her cheek, one finger gently trailing across it. “I think I’m in love.”
Tabiana pulls back out of his range, surprise adding to her haste. “Pardon?”
“You said that when Lathrik beat you,” Joelle says, gazing down at Reniya.
“Did I?”
“And Pennings.”
“Well, Pennings was a bit younger, then…”
Tabiana rises to her feet. “I see,” she says, anger and embarrassment burning her ears. “Well, if we are done here, I am going to go find my place in the barracks.” She turns on her heel and marches off, while behind her Reniya tries to sit up and fails, his efforts marked by a pained groan.
Though she tells herself she’s only a little sorry, she glances back just once to see Joelle flagging down a healer. Perhaps she had been more frustrated than she thought. It would have to be kept in check from now on.
After a brief wandering tour of the barracks, Tabiana finds the room she is to sleep in. It is immediately apparent which bed is hers; it seems to have come pre-decorated. A pile of paper orc heads line the surface, as well as a banner reading Orc Lover. Someone, or perhaps many someones, either had spare time on their hands, or an inaccurate determination of their priorities.
Perhaps she should go after this “Lathrik.” It would get her out of the city, and if it scored points with Pennings, so much the better. Alone would be ill-advised, but if Reniya could be convinced to hire Cobalt Company… Even just a few of them would be encouraging to have along.
With a sigh, she begins to clean up the mess, knowing well that it will not be the last time.