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| Details |
| Author: | Alli |
| Summary: | While handling sea-lane supply runs between Theramore and Northwatch Hold, Robin Reeve has a conversation with Supply Officer Janice Mattingly. ~2600 words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
Chain: Northwatch
The harbor of Northwatch Hold is busy today, but luckily not with combat. The Rageroar seem to have fallen back, at least for the moment, so it's a time for resupply and refortification.
This bright morning, two ships are docking at the harbor, and both are clearly of Gilnean make. The bulky form of the Sable is already being unloaded as a worgen in a sailing dress makes her way down to the dock from the nearby armed frigate, the Nightshade. The worgen sniffs and looks around before melting down into the form of a small, tanned woman with windblown brown hair. She walks along the dock, keeping an eye out for the Supply Officer.
Supply Officer Janice Mattingly is easy to spot on the dock if you know what you're looking for, with her head bare and her chin-length vermilion-red hair catching the morning sunlight. Her uniform is crisp and neat, and she currently holds a clipboard on which she's making some notes as she mutters to herself.
Robin Reeve shades her eyes with one hand as she scans those present, and then she nods crisply when she spots that fiery hair and clipboard.
She makes her way over, raising a hand in greeting, before she greets the other woman in a cordial but no-nonsense tone. "Officer Mattingly? I'm Reeve, in with the Sable and Nightshade from Theramore."
"Reeve?" One reddish brow quirks upward; her face is otherwise impassive. "Relation of Lt. Eulysses Reeve?"
Robin draws up short, surprised. "You've met my little brother? Which, yes, relation — we're siblings. I suppose I shouldn't be startled, I knew his ship was serving this coast. He's the military one and I'm in transport." She gestures over to the ships, where crates are still being offloaded. "We've brought mostly rations, this time, but some cannonballs and other ammunition as well. If I hear my rumors correctly, Northwatch ended up shooting forks and knives at the orcs, last defense. As effective as that must've been, I imagine the cannonballs will be moreso."
"Thank the Light," Janice says crisply. "There's a chant that's been going around about orcs and forks and I swear if I hear it one more time… Anyhow, I'll send some boys to help get things unloaded, if you can just write the numbers down here for me, that would be outstanding."
Janice offers out the clipboard. Her brown eyes search Robin's face intently, as though she's searching for a family resemblance, a guilty secret, or… possibly clogged pores? Who knows.
Robin reaches over to take the clipboard and pen, and is absorbed in numbers and inventories for a long moment. Her family resemblance might be difficult to connect back to Eulysses-the-worgen, and she certainly has enough sun-kissed freckles on her face, if not clogged pores.
"Here we go," Robin says, checking over the numbers again for safety's sake. "You might not get much overland from Theramore for a while. I'm sure you heard about General Hawthorne?"
The series of shockingly obscene words that spews from the otherwise dignified supply officer's mouth suggest that yes, indeed, she has heard. She collects herself.
"Every time I think we have a handle on things, those damn Rageroar come out of nowhere with some new horror. I thought we'd get some relief after we cut the head off the snake, but the rest of the thing still seems to be wiggling around in all defiance of metaphor."
She takes the clipboard back and looks over the numbers.
"As it turns out, this species of headless snake can still strike," Robin says with a grimace. "I spotted two Horde vessels on the way, as well. They kept their distance this time, but I'm not sending any of my ships on that run without Nightshade escorting, just to be safe."
Janice's gaze sharpens, and the clipboard suddenly covers her chest like armor. "You'd better let Admiral Aubrey know that if you haven't already. I'm assuming you have already."
"I will," Robin says, her gaze darting to the tower, where Admiral Aubrey keeps watch over the Hold and the coast. "It's really only a matter of time, isn't it, before they strike here again? But you'll be ready for them, as you were before."
Janice takes Robin firmly by the elbow and starts "escorting" her toward the admiral's tower. There is apparently not going to be a discussion about the timing of Robin's report to him.
"For a given definition of 'ready'," Janice says, her tone friendly enough despite the strong-arming. "Every time, we're scraping the bottom of a new barrel. I'm hoping, with the new influx of supplies and soldiers, next time won't feel quite so much like it was one change in the wind away from annihilation."
Robin doesn't resist the strong-arming — now is a good time. "I hope so. If there's anything in particular you need to bolster your defenses, tell me and I'll relay the message when I next stop in at Theramore. Or perhaps you could come and speak with them yourself, if that might make more of an impression than the owner of a civilian fleet."
"I'm honestly afraid to leave here for a moment," she says. "I'm worried I'll come back to find the whole place a smoking ruin. But I can send a message with you when you go. I have a way of convincing people of things. So you're a worgen too, your brother said. That ever make things difficult for you?"
It's a walk-and-talk now, both paced rather briskly.
"Not terribly," Robin says, as they approach the tower. "But then, I came out of the mess of Gilneas with at least a fraction of my merchant fleet. I will warn you that most of my sailors are worgen. Gilnean, or other poor souls who found themselves bitten one day. I have no bias against worgen myself, naturally, being one, so I have tried to provide stable employment where I can. Provided they have the necessary skills, of course."
"No need to warn me," Janice says, moving briskly along toward the tower. "We have a worgen here helping us at Northwatch. Had two, actually - brothers - before the Rageroar clan chief decided to kill one of them and wear his scalp as a hat, ears and all. And one of the people to kill said clan chief was also a worgen, come in from Cobalt Company I think. I've nothing but respect for Alliance worgen."
"I'm pleased to know our people are making a good showing. Trent and Houndstooth, I think?" Robin asks, as they pass into the tower towards the stairs. "Don't be alarmed — we don't all know each other. As it happens, Trent was one of mine, before he was lured away by the prospect of mercenary glory with Cobalt. He was a passable sailor, but with a sharp mind. I'd mostly been using him as a courier and messenger. And Houndstooth I've met."
Janice gives a sharp nod. "I never got Trent's name, when he was here. Didn't even know he was a worgen until after they'd left; when he talked to me he was in human form. But he seemed sharp-witted. Had a cute fox with him. Houndstooth… he's not dealing well with what happened to his brother, but he's kept it together, keeps following orders. We weren't to go after the clan chief, we were told. So he waited until some mercenaries came by, and he sent them to do it. Problem solved. So anyone who tells me that worgen can't control their urges or delay gratification, well… that's bullshit. I'm writing an article that I hope will wake people up a bit on the subject, and I interviewed your brother for it."
Robin looks over at Janice in surprise. "An article? About my brother? Well, I suppose about worgen, then. We could certainly use the good publicity. Do tell me if you'd want to interview any of my men as well." Or her, probably.
"I'll talk to anyone who will let me. The more examples I have, the more people can't say, 'oh, well that one's different.' I'm not trying to point out some shining exception here, but to show people that worgen are individuals, and shouldn't be judged by their curse or their appearance."
"That's good of you," Robin says. "Because there are worgen that give us a bad name. The ferals, and some who've turned to crime. The Brashtide Crew, pirates." Robin heaps scorn on the word. "But I'll ask my people to be willing to talk, while we're here. I wanted to catch up with Houndstooth again as well."
With that, they're at the top of the tower, and Admiral Aubrey looks over in surprise. Robin introduces herself in a professional, clipped voice, and then reports time, coordinates, heading and speed for the two Horde vessels. Yes, she kept all that in her head. She probably was planning to report it. As Admiral Aubrey turns away to consult with his officers, Robin turns back to Janice.
Janice is staring at her quite intently. That's kind of always how she looks, but now she's dialed it up a notch. She might be impressed. She salutes the Admiral, is amiably dismissed, and heads back out of the tower, checking to make sure Robin is following.
"So I'll ask you what I asked your brother," she says with no preamble. "How do you feel that the worgen curse has affected your work?"
"How has it affected me?" Robin asks, her pace slowing now that their information has been delivered. "Hm. The feral years certainly affected me, and the fall of Gilneas — the loss of so many of my ships. But the curse itself… I suppose it has given me some advantages I didn't have before — a sharpening of senses, a strengthening — things a woman who seems to constantly find herself adjacent to war can appreciate. As for the rest, it may have given me a better perspective to appreciate others who seem to find themselves cursed, metaphorically or actually, to be willing to give them a chance to prove that it will not define them. At least, not wholly. The Reeve Fleet will always be a worgen fleet, but I hope it will also maintain a reputation for reliability and excellence in service."
Robin glances over at Janice, a faint smile playing at her lips. "An article, you said? If I may ask, is this for the Theramore News, or more of a freelance endeavor?"
Janice glances over at her, brown eyes briefly wary. For a moment it seems like she won't answer, or like she's thinking up some b.s. to answer with. But then she gives a frank, if belated, reply.
"Freelance," she says crisply. "I don't use my name. My father, the Major… well if you've ever entered Stormwind from the forest, rather than the sea, you might have seen him, standing there like another heroic statue. But he's seen some action; he's well regarded. I don't know if he'd approve of my little hobby."
She picks up her pace again, heading back toward her former spot on the dock as though she's suddenly remembered she has work to do. Her arms go around herself as though it's cold, but the sea breeze isn't enough to quite cut through the heat today.
"It's just a side thing," Janice says to the ocean. "I write things on my down time, hoping to show regular people what it's like out here. The good and the bad of it." She walks in silence for a moment, as though considering how much more she wants to say. "I send what I write to different places, if I'm lucky some odd little news sheet will pick them up to fill some space, send me a few silvers. I got one in the Stormwind Herald during the war in Northrend. Got pretty excited, but nothing much since."
Robin doesn't seem to be bothered by the quickened walking pace, speeding up to keep by Janice's side as they make their way back to the dock and ships.
"It's a valuable perspective," Robin offers. "If people with power don't know what war is like for people, they may not make the right decisions regarding it. The House of Nobles, and so on. I'd expect many people don't even know what Northrend is like — in fact, I've never been there. If I could ask what name you…." she pauses, shakes her head. "No, I wouldn't pry so far. I do respect a desire for privacy. But I would be curious to read such an article. I expect there will be interest in such articles again, if this conflict with the Horde doesn't settle soon. You may get your chance."
"Tell you what," says Janice. "I'll split the difference between secrecy and trust. Or rather, I'll let fate decide for me. If a news sheet picks it up I'll send you a copy. Just write down your address for me.
Robin considers Janice for a moment, and then gives a sharp nod. "I'll take that gamble, Supply Officer Mattingly. Is there somewhere I might write on that clipboard of yours?"
Janice pauses her brisk stride and flips through a few sheets, finding one that has the heading SOURCES and then a few names and addresses jotted down on it, including that of Eulysses Reeves. She passes the clipboard over.
"When we both have a bit more down time," she says, "you can give me some exact quotes to use if you like. Just let me know if I should leave them anonymous or use your name."
"I don't mind you using my name," Robin says, as she writes neatly 'Robin Amadella Reeve' and an address in Stormwind City. "Positive attention is good for business, and I've always been upfront about being a worgen. I expect I'll be in and out of Northwatch for a while yet, so perhaps I'll match up with some of your off-duty hours in the future."
"Excellent," says Janice, taking back the clipboard once Robin has finished writing. "By the way - please don't tell your men I'm interested in observing worgen; I don't want them to put on a show for me. I'd like to observe the way they work together and also how they fit in with the non-worgen here, in the most natural way possible. But if there are particular individuals besides your brother you think I should interview, feel free to send them my way."
"I would not want to bias your conclusions," Robin says, nodding in understanding. "Besides, if I were to put it like that, there may be some that are shy about being observed. I'll consider, though, if I think any will be especially helpful." Robin looks over towards her ships with a flicker of the kind of fondness one might show for a beloved pet in her eyes. She turns back to Janice and says, "I'll not keep you overlong, Officer Mattingly, but it was quite a pleasure to make better acquaintance. I wish you best of luck with the writing."
Janice turns to extend her hand for a firm, decisive shake. "Until next time," she says, and then strides away, back to business.
"Until then," Robin echoes, matching the handshake for firmness. Then she turns back to the Sable and the Nightshade, and the business of supplying Northwatch Hold.