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| Details |
| Author: | Luridel |
| Summary: | In which Cecil and Ozzy decide whether or not they're on a date, make certain promises to each other, and experience Weather with no shoes on. ~12.9k words. |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
The heat has been overbearing in Stormwind more days than not during the summer, but today is a little cooler - still warm, but one is not boiling in their skin any time they step into a patch of sunlight. Elwynn Forest offers plenty of shade, and the sky is cloudy, as if it might burst into rain at any dramatically-timed moment. Or, if one is more optimistic, the sun might emerge from behind the clouds at a similarly dramatically-timed moment. Who can say?
Cecil is dressed in dark pants and a leather cuirass over a pale red shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. He wears brown fingerless gloves. A picnic basket rests on the dirt by his feet. He waits in the clearing where the Darkmoon Faire sets up a portal every other week; without the Faire's decorations, the area looks a lot emptier.
A young woman approaches from a distance across the grass, light and shadow slipping across her form as she moves. As she gets closer, Ozzy's bright hair is recognizable, barely contained by a pink ribbon that matches her casual knit summer dress. Her arms and calves are bare, and as she gets closer it's clear her feet are too.
She is missing her usual bounding exuberance; she seems cautious, maybe a little sad. But when she gets close enough to meet Cecil's gaze she smiles, sincerely and warmly if a little shyly, and waves.
Cecil's expression brightens when he sees her, and he returns the wave with a warm smile of his own. "Princess," he signs, and bows at the correct depth and holds it at the correct duration as if he were bowing to actual royalty. He's grinning when he straightens up, clearly happy to see her, and he picks up the picnic basket with his right hand and begins to approach.
Ozzy's smile widens with genuine mirth at the bow but remains wryly lopsided, something just a little sad lingering in her eyes.
"Hey," she says when they're in conversational distance. "Got food in there?"
Apparently she will not be playing the part of Proper Lady this afternoon.
Cecil nods, studying her face. He places the basket down by his feet again to hold both arms out to her in obvious invitation - does Ozzy want a hug?
Ozzy stares at him for a moment, and then her lower lip quivers and she sort of collapses toward him, leaning her cheek on his shoulder. One arm goes limply around his waist, the other just dangles.
Cecil gathers her up, holding her to him protectively, and looks out past her as if whatever made Oslynn sad is about to come running over in some tangible form and he will be able to punch it. This does not happen. He makes a low sort of humming noise.
Ozzy pulls back after a moment, wiping at her eyes with the heel of one hand.
"Sorry," she says. Her accent is a relaxed version of Stormwind Noble, highly intelligible but with sloppier vowels. "Maybe I should just… get all the drama out of the way so we can have a nice afternoon, yeah?"
Her gray-green eyes dart toward his as though seeking permission.
Cecil shrugs. It's up to her. He picks up the picnic basket and offers her his other arm in escort, then nods in the direction of the woods.
Not too far from their current location, within line of sight, is the mostly flat stump of a large tree.
She slips her arm through his.
"I think it's better," she says. "Otherwise my stomach'll be in a knot the whole time I'm trying to have fun, wondering what you'll say."
She's quiet until they get to the tree stump, and then she gently extracts her arm and goes to sit on the edge of it, wringing her hands gently in her lap.
"So um, Merry's sore at me and also, it made me think more about how I just keep trying to show you all the good parts of me so you won't go away, and I think you've been a good enough friend I shouldn't play games or pretend to be someone I ain't - I'm not."
She gives him a slightly pleading look as she continues to twist her hands together gently.
"So I'm uh, real experienced. With boys. Men. Like… the kind of 'experienced' your da probably warns you about with girls. I couldn't even tell you the numbers, kind of experienced." She looks down at her hands. "I can't undo that. Didn't think it would matter. But I never really had like a real … fellow, ever, except one time. Long time ago. I guess we was pretty serious, we'd talk sometimes about kids and things, but we were just kids ourselves, so it was just, like, dreaming.
"But we was - we were also both in the rebellion. Against Graymane. So we both ended up in prison. Him and his little brother too. But Merry, she was already on my case, right? So she got together the money and the influence and all that, and she got me out. But… just me. I asked her to get Nigel out too - that was my fellow - but she said it was too difficult, and that was it, I just… I gave in. I wanted out of there so bad. I just went."
She stares at her hands for a moment.
"We came back, when the worgen thing happened. They were letting all the prisoners out then, to help. But… he'd been killed in there already. We got his little brother Malcolm out, but… Mal died before we got to Kalimdor. An orc took his head off right in front of me. I ain't… I haven't really had a fellow since Nigel."
She lifts her gaze to his, with obvious difficulty, but perhaps realizing he has no way to communicate any sort of feeling if she isn't looking at him.
As Ozzy speaks, Cecil sits down next to her and sets the picnic basket down by their feet, within easy reach. Then he turns to her and gives her his full attention.
"Sorry," Cecil signs once she's finished speaking. He looks as though she has just told him something very sad, which she has. He flips open one half of the picnic basket.
The thing on top seems to be a folded picnic blanket with a dark red and white checkered pattern. He reaches under that without revealing any of the contents to pull out a notepad.
This is not the same notepad as before. Most notably, the pages are unlined, and the shape of them is a perfect square underneath the perforation at the top meant to make tearing things off easy. It takes Cecil a bit more fumbling around to find a pen underneath the blanket. He writes:
'I'm so sorry about the people you have lost. That's awful.'
"Yeah. And that's what Merry and I talked about. How I can't really forgive her for leaving Nigel there. She said I'm still welcome and she still loves me, but she walked out, wouldn't look at me. That's the other thing. She said that. That she loves me. Nobody ever said that to me ever before, my whole life. Not even once. And then of course immediately I go and ruin it. So that's why I'm sad. Since you were wondering, I could tell."
She kicks her feet a little. They are filthy. She did walk here barefoot.
Cecil blinks at her. He looks down at his notepad and writes, 'I don't think you ruined anything. I bet she'll still be waiting for you if you come back to her.'
He hesitates, giving her time to read that, before turning to a fresh page - and then he hesitates for another moment before he writes: 'Given time to really know you, I think I will love you, too. And I want to know you. Good and bad sides.' He's blushing faintly as he looks back up at her.
Ozzy turns pink too, and presses both her hands to her mouth, one over the other, like she's holding a bird in there that's about to fly out.
After a moment she puts one hand out in the shape he taught her for a Y. That, combined with the expression in her eyes and her knit brow, makes the message clear.
Why?
Cecil smiles as he recognizes the question, and proof that Ozzy has actually spent time studying the letters he gave her. He writes Ozzy's question beneath his own words: 'Why?'
Then he writes, immediately and without hesitation. He knows his answer to this question and does not need to spend time thinking about it.
'I think you're fun and funny. You make me laugh. You're curious and brave and sometimes fierce and sometimes shy. You're beautiful in all your forms.'
Cecil angles the notepad so that Ozzy can read it easily again once he's done writing, and watches her face.
Her eyes go all soft and glowy as she reads. She shyly does the sign for "beautiful," and smiles. But then she gives him a slight concerned frown.
"You know," she says, "I'm sure there are lots of girls who would like you if they only knew you more. Rich ones, proper ones, and everything. You don't have to - I'll bet you could have anyone. Do you want - I could introduce you around? If you have trouble meeting people?"
She studies him.
Cecil reaches out and boops her nose with one finger, smiling and shaking his head. He rips the page out neatly along the perforation - the page where he's written a list of things he likes about her and told her he could grow to love her - and then he begins to fold it. It takes him a couple minutes of determined folding, but Ozzy can watch the paper taking shape as it becomes a folded rose. Bits of writing are visible on the outside.
When it is finished, he scribbles quickly on the notepad still resting on his lap: 'I would be happy to meet your friends for the sake of meeting your friends, but I don't need to be introduced to any 'anyones' you bet I could have.' Then he offers her the folded flower.
Apparently Ozzy's nose was the Melt Button, because she sort of goes a little bit gooey in the spine when he boops it, and when he hands her the "flower" her eyes are like two little shiny hearts. She takes it carefully, as though it were actually made of delicate, easily bruised petals.
"Wot… wot is even 'appenin' roigh' now?" she says breathlessly, losing her accent completely. Apparently whatever adolescent rebel she left to die in prison was not in the habit of these sorts of gestures.
Cecil chuckles softly and reaches down into the basket. He removes the picnic blanket, which might have originally been intended to cover the stump, and reaches down beneath a bunch of paper-wrapped and neatly labeled sandwiches of various kinds to take out a second pad of paper identical to his current one, along with a slim book.
The Art of Paper Folding, the book is titled. Cecil moves the cover open to reveal what he has written on the title page: For Ozzy, the Deer Princess who likes new and unusual things. The book itself is otherwise brand new, clearly bought for her rather than being Cecil's own copy.
He leaves the picnic blanket in his lap for the time being and offers her the book and the notepad.
Leave it to the cat to have immediately sat on the table.
Ozzy sets the paper rose in her lap so she can take the offered gifts with both hands, and she looks at the book eagerly.
"Oooooh," she says. "I was just gonna ask 'ow you learned to do that. I guess there's a book for everything, yeah?"
Cecil nods, smiling at her. He shifts his pad of paper and pen into the basket for now and lifts the blanket up, gesturing to the stump: should he put this down now? He stands, in case his indication isn't clear.
"Oh!" Ozzy turns a different, blotchier red as she realizes belatedly that she was, in fact, sitting on the table. She rises, careful of her gifts, and gestures to it. "Go ahead. Sorry."
Cecil shakes the blanket to unfold it and lays it out over the stump. It's rectangular, one side longer than the other, so he spreads the extra fabric out in the direction where their feet were earlier. He moves the basket on top of that, takes a look at Ozzy's bare feet, and pointedly steps on top of that trailing edge of the blanket himself as he sits back down. Look, it's safe to get the blanket dirty, see? He clearly doesn't care about that.
Ozzy smiles a little. "Thanks," she says, seating herself comfortably. "Truth is, I really hate wearing shoes." The H's have wandered back into her speech; her accent seems to change forms as often as she does nowadays. "I do it when it's rude not to, now, but if I'm just out in the woods, who's going to care? I do wash my feet well at the end of the day though," she adds, reddening slightly. "It's easier than cleaning shoes, to be honest. You can't just soak your shoes in a tub."
Cecil sits down after Ozzy does. He smiles and brings the first two fingers of his hand to his chin, thumb held outside of his fist, and then tucks those two fingers back into the fist.
He reaches for his notepad again now that he's gotten settled. 'Cute,' he writes.
Ozzy imitates the sign. "Cute," she says. "Me? My muddy feet?" She laughs. "You're barmy, you are. That or dead snowed." She pauses, translating. "Um, I meant, crazy, or very … enamored. But I was just teasing. Gilnean poor people insult their friends all the time, it's um, affection."
Cecil laughs quietly and begins to remove his own shoes and socks. Maybe he should have done this before he put his feet on the blanket. Too late now. He lines them up neatly on the edge of the blanket where they can help stabilize it in case it gets windy, and draws the basket closer.
He begins to withdraw wrapped-up sandwiches from the basket and lay them out on the blanket for Ozzy to choose from. Bacon, lettuce, and tomato. Peanut butter and jelly. Ham and cheese. Tuna salad.
Ozzy grabs one of each and sniffs them, very rudely. She grabs a BLT and a tuna salad sandwich, and immediately begins cramming the latter into her face, barely even finishing unwrapping it first. "Mmmmm," she says.
Cecil quickly snatches the peanut butter and jelly one away from the available options and unwraps it, using the paper it was kept in as a napkin to keep anything from dripping on his clothes as he eats.
Ozzy's sandwiches disappear almost alarmingly fast. With her mouth still full, she says, "Sorry, worgen are just… ravenous all the time. Something about how we use more energy or something? And we have to get it back from food? I eat like three pigs."
Cecil, who is only halfway through the first half of own sandwich, offers her the fourth option of the lot: the ham and cheese.
The ham and cheese sandwich disappears into the bottomless void of Ozzy's gullet nearly as quickly as the other two.
"I also 'ave this 'abit," she says with a mouth full of ham and cheese sandwich, "of eatin' fast anyway, on account of growin' up sometimes 'avin to finish eatin' before I was caught wif wotever it was I 'ad found to eat. So that doesn't help me table manners any. I can be more polite though if I 'ave to. Just makes me feel real impatient and sometimes a little panicky. Like the food might disappear off me plate while I do all the nonsense of cuttin' it into little pieces and stuff."
She finishes consuming her third sandwich, her eyes looking surprisingly thoughtful as her hands and mouth behave like entirely separate (and savage) animals. When she's finished inhaling food she gives Cecil another soft, concerned look.
"Hey," she says, rediscovering her H. "It was real nice, what you said about how you didn't need to meet other girls. But back before the gala I learned just enough about noble life and rules to know - fixing your eyes on some used-goods gutter-thief shapeshifter witch isn't going to get you any closer to your dad."
Cecil frowns mid-sentence. He has eaten a full half of his sandwich by now. He wraps the paper around the other half so he can safely write on his notepad again, and he presses hard enough that the pen might bleed into the page below it as he writes, 'Don't call yourself "used goods". You're not. You're just experienced.' He drops the pen and reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder.
Ozzy's eyes mist up a little bit, and she puts a hand over his on her shoulder, nestling her fingers between his.
"You're so kind," she says. "I believe you, that you don't see me like that." She swallows, lower lip trembling. "You're… so different, I never met anyone like you. Most people are either smart or sexy OR kind, and if they're two of those they ain't single, and most who are even one of those don't look at me as anything but a friend or a pest or a toy. I just… I dunno how your father would feel. And I know you're already kinda strugglin' with him a little. I want that to get better for you, not worse."
Cecil smiles at her. He seems to give this point she's making genuine thought rather than dismiss it out of hand, or maybe he just can't communicate like this. Finally, though, he lets go so he can pick up his pen and write:
'I want my father to accept me for who I actually am, and I refuse to change myself or the people I like to fit his preferences.'
Cecil skips a line, and then writes, 'If we're getting all the disclaimers out of the way, I can't kiss the same way as your previous fellows with tongues did.' He looks at her, half-daring her to make this an issue but mostly hopeful that she won't.
"Oh my gods!" Ozzy says.
She puts her hands over her face, peeping at him through her fingers as though she is some blushing virgin bride and not, as she has mentioned, a Very Experienced Lady. She goes red to the ears.
Without removing her hands, she says, "Okay well it ain't like that's a dealbreaker. I've always cared more about where a bloke's hands were than his tongue when we were kissin'. I mean same in bed really if we're bein' right up front with all this. There's fun stuff a guy can do with his tongue but I always like it better when his head's up near mine, otherwise it seems like he's miles away, you know, and if I wanted to have fun alone I could just do that." She pauses. "I have probably said way too many things now."
She closes her fingers so she can no longer look through them.
Cecil goes a little red as well, but he nods, relieved. He takes the moment while Ozzy is hiding to unwrap his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, of which half remains, and eat it as quickly as possible (though he cannot quite reach worgen food inhalation speeds).
Ozzy keeps her hands over her face for a while, but then she has to peek to make sure she hasn't scared him off. When she sees he's just attempting to worgenate a sandwich, she closes her fingers again. It's nice behind here. Cozy.
Cecil wipes his fingers off on the paper wrapping, which gets crumpled up and tossed back into the picnic basket. Now he has cleared some space on his lap, and just the notepad remains. He flips to a new page and begins drawing three pigs stacked on top of one another. The top pig has a little tiara.
Ozzy, who has decided to peek through her hands again, drops them and leans in when she sees him drawing. She giggles.
"You drew me eating!" she says.
Cecil grins and nods. She got it. He finishes up the doodle and writes:
'Would you like this to be a date?'
'YES. NO. STILL DECIDING.'
Cecil offers her the pen to choose.
Ozzy giggles again and takes the pen. She stares at the question and chews on the end of the pen. Her expression becomes more fretful.
"I don't think… my answer really fits any of those," she says quietly, the end of the pen still in her mouth. She considers for a moment.
Then she takes the pen out of her mouth and draws a circle around YES, with an arrow pointing to a little heart. Then she draws another circle around NO with an arrow toward the words SMARTEST THING. Then she crosses out STILL and ING, puts an ED above the crossed out ING and adds BOTH after it. Then she shrugs and flings the pen down in frustration onto the blanket near him.
Cecil does look a little disappointed, but he shakes that off. "Deer," he signs, and then forms a C with one hand and hooks his front two fingers over the thumb of the C, then moves both hands away from his body as if they're traveling. His eyebrows and expression indicate that he's asking her a question.
"You wanna ride me somewhere?" she says quietly. "Yeah, I'll take you wherever you wanna go. But… now I feel like I made you sad. I don't wanna make you sad. You make me so happy. But that's why I feel like it's the smartest thing, not to date. It's so good like this, and no one gets mad about it. There's nothing to get mad about, right? But if we try to date and something bad happens - if your dad kicks you out or we have to break up - then all these happy times - now I'll look back on them and they won't make me smile anymore. And right now it's the only thing that does. It's the only thing that's just… good and I don't have to feel bad about it at all."
Her eyes fill up again as she tries to better explain. Then she seems to panic a little.
"Oh no did I already - did I spoil it already?"
Cecil shakes his head - no, she hasn't spoiled anything - and scoots closer to her on the stump to try and scoop her into another hug. He's sitting on the pen now.
She falls easily into the hug, leaning against him and clinging to him, burying her face in his shoulder. Again, though, just with the one arm, as though she needs to leave one free for… defense? Escape? Who knows. She's all in, but half in - she's Ozzy. Just the Ozziest.
Cecil is trapped with his dominant arm holding an armful of Ozzy - he can't sign like this, he can't write like this, and speech is out of the question, but he can and does pet her hair with his free hand this time.
The wild half-wavy half-curly texture of her hair makes it a little stiff and springy to the touch, but not unpleasant.
"I just bring drama into everyfing," she sniffles miserably against his shoulder. "I wish I was like you, makin' the sun come out just by showin' up."
She pulls back then, reluctantly, obviously wanting Moar Hug but also realizing he can't reply so long as the hugging is going on.
Cecil extracts the pen as soon as she is free, and he squeezes her shoulder once before starting to write. 'You do, but maybe you can't see it.'
Above them, the sun is still obscured by clouds.
Tears stream down Ozzy's face, and she presses her knuckles to her mouth. She just stares at him. Finally she gets herself together enough to make words again.
"Whatever girl it is you're lookin' at right now," she says, "I wanna be her, so bad. I'll do anyfing, to keep you writin' those words an' givin' me flowers and makin' me feel like a princess even when I got filthy bare feet and tuna sandwich breath. I don't even care anymore if you're wrong about me. I'll just… be her. I can do it. I like your princess; I'll be her."
"Princess," Cecil signs. He has dressed more for the possibility of combat out in the woods full of bears and woods than for being a gentleman with a handkerchief in his shirt pocket. He has one in the picnic basket instead, and he dives for it while she cries, getting it out with a bit of a scramble. He offers it to her and waits for her to gather herself.
Her words soften his expression into something fond, and he writes, 'It's harder to see ourselves clearly than it is to see others. I think you already are that girl, and I hope one day you'll believe me. Be yourself, Ozzy. That's who I want.'
Ozzy dabs delicately at her eyes - she has never learned an unruly way to use a handkerchief, it's either snot on the sleeve or this - and then leans forward to kiss Cecil on the cheek. It's a lingering, ardent kiss, but she draws back immediately afterward into the Communication Zone.
"I guess this is sort of a date whether that's smart or not," she says, almost sulky. "Because feelings. Maybe you should show me your panda magic or something before I cry a whole river."
Cecil is beaming at her when she pulls back, and he circles YES on the page.
Then he flips through his notepad. There are glimpses of things he has pre-written on certain pages, but he finds the one he's looking for and shows it to her.
'Mistweaving is a healing art, but there's one thing I know how to do without someone already being hurt. The pandaren call the technique 'Life Cocoon'.'
There is a doodle of a stick figure encased in a giant sphere, alongside the words, 'Would you like me to cast it on you? It will look like a big green bubble, but you can see through, and it won't stop you from moving.'
"Oh yeah," says Ozzy, her eyes lighting up despite the tears still spiking her lashes. "That sounds brilliant."
She jumps to her feet with an almost preternatural quickness, especially considering that she is in a dress, and holds her arms out slightly like she's trying to fill up the anticipated bubble better.
Cecil takes out a small flask from the picnic basket and opens it. He drinks some - there's no strong scent about it, it might actually just be water - and then rises to face her. He inhales, exhales, and a gleaming sphere of spearmint-green magic forms around Ozzy.
As Cecil promised, there is nothing inhibiting Ozzy's movements. It feels more like armor than it does a cage; it travels with her as she moves. It lingers for a total of twelve seconds before fading.
"COOOOOR!!!" Ozzy says when it pops up around her, her fingertips drifting as though trying to caress its interior surface. "It's so beautiful…"
After it fades, she looks at Cecil with wide eyes. "I can't believe you learned that so fast! Druid stuff takes me forever. It felt… weird! Good, but weird, not exactly like druid stuff, but natural too, not like mage or warlock things. Or even priest things."
Cecil watches her with joy and admiration plain on his face. "Beautiful," he signs to her, his hand flicking in a circular motion in front of his face. He sits back down to fetch his notebook, flips to an empty page, and writes, 'It's most similar to shaman magic, except without any help from the elemental spirits.' He takes another quick sip from the flask. He has to worry about things like mana regeneration now.
"Oh, I don't know nuffing - anything about shaman magic," she says. "But it seems like it's kinda close to natural things too. Just I guess… the spirits of the things? Instead of the things themselves. Like I full on turn into animals or make plants grow, but I can't really talk to 'em or anyfing. Some druids can talk to plants or animals, but I think just… speak their language, like you would a person, not talk to their spirits. So you're almost like a … warrior-shaman or somefing now?"
Her eyes are bright with curiosity, and - strangely for someone she's really only recently met - pride.
Cecil nods slowly. 'Monk,' he writes. 'That's what we're called, martial artists like Wobby and I. But the type of magic I'm learning is called mistweaving.'
"That's so pretty. Mistweaver. I'm just… when they talk about my type of druid they call it 'feral.' Which… well, you've met me, I suppose it fits." She snorts.
"Cute," Cecil signs, and grins at her. 'Are you feeling a little better?' he writes.
Ozzy nodnodnods, giving him a shy smile.
Cecil smiles softly and looks down at his notepad. He flips to a new page even though he has plenty of space left on the current one and writes, 'Let's take this at whatever pace you're comfortable with. You can be brave and scared. I don't want you to ever pretend with me unless it's for fun. And I won't either. Is that okay?'
Her lips move as she carefully reads. She pauses, then nods a little nervously.
"I promise I'll always be real wif you," she says. "Or if it's pretending for fun, you'll know." She then taps the notebook with a fingertip and gives him a sly smile. "Hey, I saw you 'ad stuff in there written already, like maybe stuff you wanted to say. Can I see all of it?"
Cecil writes, 'I promise.' He rips the page out and folds it into a much simpler flower in much less time - before offering her a paper tulip.
He hesitates, flipping through the notepad again, before nodding. He writes, 'You can see it if you really want to. But if I haven't shown you a page, it's because I don't want to say it right now. There are a couple things I wrote just in case, like if you were angry at me for presuming so much in my letter, or if you didn't like any of the sandwiches. And some things are for later.' He offers her the notepad to take or decline.
"If you don't want to say it," Ozzy says, "I shouldn't make you." She gently pushes the notebook back at him. "Not knowing is gonna drive me crazy, though," she says, with a grin. "But that's okay. I was like, walking distance from there already; you probably won't even notice the difference." She giggles. "Hey, did you really think I'd be angry for you presuming? I mean worst case I'd just say, nope, sorry, you got the wrong idea buddy. I guess I'm more used to blokes shooting their shot overconfident-like than most proper ladies you know are."
Cecil looks pleased. It is not the relieved look of a man with something to hide, but the grateful expression of someone who isn't used to having his privacy respected.
'I didn't think so, but I couldn't be entirely sure.'
"I should probably do stuff like that," she says thoughtfully, pointing at the notebook with her head, sort of. "You know, plan out what I'm gonna say in advance if someone's mad. Especially since I make people mad so much." She chuckles ruefully. "So the stuff that's for later - how much later? Like later today?"
Cecil gives her a thumbs-up, smiling. Later today. He writes, 'I thought maybe we could go for a ride and hope no one steals the basket. Unless you know of somewhere safe to hide it?'
"Hmmm," She looks around. "I usually just dig a big hole when I want to hide something, but maybe that's not a good idea for something that's supposed to hold sandwiches."
'We ate all the sandwiches,' Cecil points out in writing. 'How fast can you dig a hole?' He begins packing things into the basket, including his shoes and socks. The blanket gets folded a little sloppily.
"Really fast!" Ozzy says, with the exact tone of a five year old talking confidently about how high she can jump etc. "Watch!"
She shifts into worgen form, naturally, and drops to all fours, sniffing around. She finds a good spot and just digdigdigdigdigs with her clawed hands, her glee in doing so decidedly canine.
Very normal date activities.
Cecil tucks Ozzy's paper flowers carefully into the book he gave her, and then stows that in the picnic basket as well for safekeeping. Last to go are his own pen and notepad.
He looks deeply impressed at the speed with which this hole is being dug, and he applauds when it seems large enough to stash the basket in.
She steps back from the astonishing excavation and gestures to it dramatically with both arms as a nonverbal ta-da!!. She seems to be falling into nonverbal communication with him a lot more than usual, even though she doesn't have to.
Cecil applauds some more and then carries the picnic basket to the hole, where it fits. He grins proudly at Ozzy. He seems comfortable walking barefoot on the forest floor; the soles of his feet are fairly tough.
Once Ozzy has finished covering up the hole, she shifts back into human form. The dirt on her hands luckily does not shift with her, because she immediately takes his hand. Then after a brief moment she lets it go, embarrassed.
"Oh, you wanted to ride, not walk," she says, cheeks turning a little pink.
Cecil leans to one side and then the other, torso swaying with the movement. Then he signs the letters O and then R, holding both handshapes for long enough for Ozzy to hopefully identify them.
"Which do you prefer?" she asks, smiling. She seems to have understood.
Cecil leans to one side and does a shifting of his hands like he's stepping forward with them, which must mean 'walk', because then he shifts to the other side and makes the side for 'ride' from before, hooking two fingers into the C-handshape. "Walk or ride." It seems like he's saying he would enjoy both.
Then he signs, "Ride," followed by pointing his hand towards her in an L handshape with a finger pointing forward towards her and the thumb pointing up. He touches his thumb and then the pointer finger with his other hand. After that, he signs, "Walk." In case that was unclear, he doesn't reach for her hand., but signs, "Deer?" with a questioning look. Is that all right with Ozzy?
"Okay," Ozzy says warmly, and then shifts into the silver stag from before. Her shifts are so fast there's no sense of her body stretching or changing shape; it's as though he's looking at her and then no, he was mistaken, it was a deer standing there all along.
She gives a spirited little toss of her antlered head, forehooves leaving the ground for just a moment playfully, and then she stands steady so that he can easily mount.
Cecil signs, "Princess," with an elegant bow and a grin. He mounts up with confidence, getting carefully settled before he squeezes the deer's sides with his legs. He is holding on (to the collar) and ready to go!
"I forgot to ask where we're goin," the deer says casually, as deer do. "I guess just tug the collar a bit one way or the other to steer; my hide's tough, I can take it."
That said, she starts to trot off in a random direction.
Cecil does not know where they're going any more than she does, and he doesn't know Elwynn Forest terribly well, either. His preliminary date scouting extended to finding a single tree stump. Rather than give her directions, he starts taking note of where they are, because getting lost is a possibility, and Elwynn Forest is full of things that are not often friendly. Wolves, bears, kobolds, and occasionally bandits, to name a few, although the kobolds tend to gather around the mines and are the most easily avoided.
Ozzy seems to have some familiarity with the area; she's trotting vaguely southeast. She turns it into a rocking lope after a while, finding clear grassy stretches and seeming to instinctively avoid predators.
"Gonna see if I can get us to the river's edge," she says, her voice rocking a bit along with her gait. "There's a nice -"
She draws up short, so suddenly that Cecil likely ends up lurching a bit forward, but she carries her head high, so he'd be stopped from falling that direction in any event.
"Get down," she says sharply.
Cecil slaps her left shoulder once for Yes, their agreed-upon communication from last time, and dismounts immediately, shifting on his bare feet into a ready stance as he searches for what drew Ozzy's attention.
The moment his feet hit the grass Ozzy shifts into her bear form, which, it turns out, is considerably more terrifying than his drawings. She plants her shaggy brown feet, flings her head back and forth, and lets out a bellowing roar toward Cecil's three o'clock, which is mostly obscured by underbrush.
Three confused and freaked out wolves are then seen streaking off away from them on the far side of the bushes. Ozzy waits to make sure they're committed to fleeing before she shifts back into stag form.
"Sorry," she says. "Caught a whiff of 'em and wanted to make sure they didn't get no ideas. We'd've been fine anyway I suspect, but I'd have changed with you on my back and that might've been awkward."
Cecil steps up beside the bear, fists ready - and looks surprised when three wolves immediately flee. He bursts out laughing, looking up at the bear.
Once it is clear there are no more wolves coming out of the bushes, Cecil gives Ozzy's now-deer neck a hug and climbs back on her back. He doesn't seem nervous or spooked at all.
"You don't scare easy do ya?" Ozzy says as she carries on loping southeast. "One time a bloke was hasslin' me in Menethil, and I'd already had a pretty bad day, so I turned into a bear and made that noise at him." Ozzy pauses in amused recollection. "He literally peed 'imself. I thought that was just like, an expression. I been plenty scared in my life but I never wet meself. This poor bloke just started leakin' like a cheap goblet. Felt a little sorry, I did. Still laughed me arse off, though."
Cecil taps her shoulder twice for No, he doesn't scare easy. Or maybe it helps that the bear was on his side. He laughs at her story, but cannot comment at the moment.
Ozzy keeps up a steady stream of somewhat random small talk, not seeming to mind the lack of response, as she takes them all the way to the edge of the river. Across the water, the unnatural, bruised gloom of Duskwood can be seen, but on this side all is green and peaceful. Ozzy slows to a stop, then kneels down for easier dismount.
"I like the sound of running water," she says.
Cecil swings off of her back and moves to stand closer to the river. He smiles back at her and holds his hand out.
Ozzy, feigning a lack of understanding, goes over to press her deer-nose into his hand. But she can't help but immediately burst into laughter and change into her human form. "Just kidding," she says, and takes his hand, giving it a little swing back and forth.
Cecil huffs a laugh and squeezes her hand. The sky is getting darker with impending rain, but he smiles at her as if she makes the sun come out after all. The weather does not understand the narrative.
Ozzy smiles shyly back at him. "So a little walk now?" she says. "I guess that makes it harder to write, but you can sign at least."
Cecil nods. He releases her hand momentarily to sign, "Walk," with flat hands moving in front of him as if they're taking steps, and then catches her hand again.
She smiles and walks in silence with him for a little while, her whole hand at first nestled inside his, but at some point she shifts to slip her fingers between his, palms touching.
"It's funny," she says contemplatively. "I never feel like I have to pretend with you, but at the same time I feel like I've… slipped sideways into someone else's life. Still Oslynn, but a different Oslynn, who maybe had proper parents and everything and doesn't worry all the time about everything."
Cecil looks at her with a soft warmth. He points at her, the sign for "You," but he doesn't have the extra hand free to complete whatever sentence that was intended to be. Instead he raises his arm and gives her a little twirl, as if they're dancing.
Ozzy giggles. "Yeah," she says. "Me. You turn me around."
Cecil brings Ozzy's hand to his shoulder as he steps closer, face to face. He bends his knees as he wraps his arms around her waist and attempts to lift her up a foot off the ground. He has the strength for it, if Ozzy doesn't resist.
She doesn't, though her eyes go wide and she lets out a little gasp of surprise. There's no fight in her whatsoever; she seems to trust him completely.
Cecil spins her around in the air, perhaps just for fun, and then sets her carefully back down on her feet.
Ozzy giggles delightedly, gazing up at him with bright and slightly dazzled eyes.
"You're so strong," she says. "You didn't look that strong when you was all dressed up fancy."
Cecil smiles, proud. He forms his hands into fists at about shoulder-height and pulls them slightly away from his body.
Ozzy smiles and mimics the gesture. "Strong," she says.
Then she points to herself, does the strong gesture, and then princess.
Cecil nods agreement. "You princess strong," he signs back at her.
"I princess strong," she signs back, correcting herself.
"I like this," she says out loud. "I want to learn how to say all kinds of things. I can't do all of them in worgen form, because I don't have enough fingers, and obviously as a deer or whatever I can't do them at all. But I'll still know what you're saying, at least."
Cecil gives her a thumbs-up, looking pleased. Then he goes cross-eyed as a raindrop lands on his nose.
"Oh no," says Ozzy. She reaches over to wipe it off with a fingertip. "Of course it rains on our parade." She scowls angrily up at the sky. "I should probably give you a quick ride back to save your basket before it gets stuck in a mud hole."
Cecil's smile doesn't fade. He points up at the sky and then shows Ozzy a sign that is probably 'rain', involving both hands moving downwards twice with fingers spread as if they're raindrops.
"Walk or ride," Cecil signs to her again, and then, "You like or dislike rain?" He has never taught her how to sign 'like' or 'dislike', but they are clearly opposites of each other the way he presents them with the 'or' shift: 'like' is a hand with fingers spread in front of his chest where he brings his index finger and thumb together to make a ring, and 'dislike' is the same sign but after the ring is formed, he turns his hand outwards, releasing his fingers in a flick as if casting something away from him with an expression like he's touched something gross. His expression as he signs 'rain' makes it clear that this is a question.
Ozzy studies the signs, and inexpertly imitates them as though she needs to "feel" them to better understand them.
"I like rain in the summer, like this," she answers then. "But in the winter it's awful. Even if you're under a roof, the damp cold gets you right down to your bones in a way where you think you might never get warm again. It rains so much in Gilneas. Just, all the time, year round. You get tired of it there. But here it's not so bad. It's reasonable, you know?"
Cecil nods his agreement. "I like rain," he signs to her. He considers for a moment, then makes a digging motion as if he's holding a shovel in his hands, then holds his hands with his thumbs and forefingers making half-circles, spread far apart, as if indicating the outside of a big hole. "Deer ride," he signs after that. She did make a very good point about the picnic basket getting muddy, and some of the things in there are made of paper.
"We can get the basket inside the Goldshire Inn before it really starts pouring," she says, turning back into a deer and holding still for him.
Cecil gives her a thumbs-up and climbs back on. He slaps her shoulder once when he's settled.
Off she goes, bounding through the forest. Luckily most of the local predators are also looking for somewhere to hide out from the incoming rain, so the ride back is peaceful. Ozzy stops at the spot she buried the basket and kneels down to help Cecil dismount.
Cecil slides off. "Thank you," he signs to her, and takes a couple of steps back to avoid being pelted with dirt. The rain has started off slow, but as they return, it begins to pick up.
Ozzy switches to worgen form to dig up the basket. It's looking a bit grubby now, but it would have been worse if they'd waited for the ground to get soaked. She hands it to him with a slightly smug smile, pleased with herself all around.
"Wanna duck into the inn now?" she asks him.
Cecil bows to Ozzy as he accepts the basket and then offers her his arm to escort her to the inn, worgen form and all. He's not going to try retrieving anything from the basket until they're under a roof.
Ozzy takes his arm in worgen form and strolls along that way for a while, towering over him, but as they get closer to the settlement she shrinks down into human form.
As the rain picks up even more, she starts to run, still holding his elbow, thus sort of dragging him into the Lion's Pride. Luckily no one's leaving, so she doesn't slam into anybody in the entrance. There's a fire going in the hearth despite the heat, and quite a few people with the same idea this pair had, ducking in for drinks while they wait out the rain.
Cecil keeps pace with her, slowing down once they get indoors. The tables closest to the fireplace are claimed already, so Cecil heads for a little table by the stairs that he sets the picnic basket down on. He pulls out a chair for Ozzy.
Ozzy primly takes the chair, in full Lady Mode for a moment despite her rain-spattered sundress and muddy bare feet.
A passing barmaid stops and says, "Get you a drink love?"
Ozzy shakes her head. "I ain't got no coin," she says. "Me and me fella just comin' in out of the rain. We was havin' a picnic."
The barmaid is clearly disappointed and annoyed at the table being taken up by freeloaders, but she paints on a smile.
Cecil holds up a finger - wait, please - to the barmaid. He flips rapidly through the notepad for one of those pre-written pages.
It reads: 'Ozzy, would you like anything to eat or drink? I'm happy to pay, please order whatever you'd like.'
Cecil rips that page out for Oslynn to contemplate and scribbles, '1 sparkling apple cider for me, please' to show the waitress for himself.
Ozzy takes the page, lips moving as she reads the words. Her lips stop moving after the word pay. Her everything else stops moving, too. She's suddenly still, tense, her breath subtly shallower; it's not unlike the way the silver stag stopped when it caught the scent of wolves through the underbrush.
She sets the page down on the table, and then her fingertips rest lightly on the table's surface, as though she's considering pushing back the chair.
"I don't need anything," she says, again with a strange stillness about her. She looks at Cecil, but it's a peculiar sort of look, as though she's simultaneously trying to recognize something in the details of his face but also looking through him at something else entirely.
Cecil seems genuinely confused by her reaction. The barmaid's presence completely forgotten or ignored for the moment, he leans towards Ozzy traces a question mark in the air, his expression questioning.
Ozzy seems to struggle a bit herself with understanding what's going on and how to express it. Her mouth works for a moment, as though she's trying to reconnect it to her brain by wiggling it around a little.
"Oi wasn't beggin'," she finally says to him, her expression intent, her brows drawn together. Her accent has gone full Gutter Gilnean. "Oi told 'er oi was skint so she'd leave uz alone to gab, not 'cause I wanted you to buy me nuffing. If oi'm firsty, well there's wo'ah fallin' from the bloody sky, innit?"
Cecil nods slowly, flipping through his notepad. He stops when he reaches the drawing of three stacked pigs, which happens to be the 'Would you like this to be a date?' page as well.
'You said worgen were hungry all the time. I thought you might want something to eat?' he writes.
Ozzy looks at the paper, at him, at the barmaid, as though they've all conspired to trap her in something.
"Oi got no trouble findin' somefing to eat," she says, gripping the edge of the table. "I f'ought… it was a date because feelings, not because … money." She blinks rapidly, her breath coming a little faster.
"I'll um… get that cider for you and come right back once the lady's decided, sir," says the barmaid with a they don't pay me enough expression.
Cecil nods absently to the barmaid and writes, 'It is because feelings. If you're uncomfortable allowing me to pay for you, you don't have to order anything.' He signs, "Sorry," because Ozzy knows that one.
Ozzy tries to get her breathing under control; she's clearly at least as distressed by her response to the thing as she is to the thing itself.
She signs sorry a few times clumsily. She looks like she's trying to calm down.
Then she blurts, "How much did the book cost? Was it expensive?" She's having a little trouble keeping her voice low enough; some people at the next table look over.
Cecil is watching her with concern. He flips to a clean page because the one he's on is low on space, and writes, 'I wanted to get you a gift. It wasn't very expensive for me.' He does not name the exact cost. 'Gifts are freely given, with no debt attached. You don't owe me anything if you accept them.'
She reads what he's written carefully; it seems harder for her while she's freaking out, but she persists.
"I believe you," she says a little tremulously. "I believe you. You wouldn't lie. You're not a liar." The repetition, her tone - it's like she's trying to memorize something, or call it back to memory. "I just… I think I need to be outside. You can come or stay. I need to go outside a minute."
She stands up from the table and heads for the door, just as the barmaid brings over some sparkling cider and sets it down at Cecil's place.
Cecil nods. He lets her leave just long enough to pay the barmaid for his cider, because he ordered it and it would be rude not to.
Then he takes a single sip and leaves the rest of the cider behind, shoving his notepad into the picnic basket and hurrying outside after Ozzy. He gives no indication of whether or not he'll be back for the drink he just ordered.
Ozzy stands outside leaning back against the exterior wall, taking deep grateful breaths like she's surfaced from underwater. She didn't bother to position herself carefully under the eaves, either; she's getting soaked.
She looks over when Cecil comes out, and one hand reaches instinctively toward him, but then she aborts it and turns it into the "Sorry" gesture, which she repeats a few more times as she speaks.
"I just - suddenly I couldn't handle the walls. It was like the room was gettin' smaller and smaller with me stuck in it. It's better now. I'm better."
Cecil sets the picnic basket down underneath the overhang and moves to join Ozzy in the rain. "I sorry, princess," he signs to her, and then offers her his hand after all.
She reaches out for his hand and gives it a squeeze.
"You want to go get your drink? If you paid for it you can drink it where you like. You can drink it out here with me, in the rain."
Cecil squeezes her hand back. He has not taught Ozzy the signs for what he wants to say next, so he waits with her for a minute, listening for her breathing to start evening out.
She leans against him a little, and her breathing gets slower, less perceptible. She stares quietly out into the rain, seeming to make him a part of her self-soothing rather than part of what she's trying to escape from.
Water drips from Cecil's hair and down his chin as he watches her with quiet affection. Finally, he signs what can only possibly be "Drink," because it's a C-handshape like lifting a cup to his mouth and drinking it. He points to himself, then at the door. He's ready to go get it now.
"Okay," she says. "Bring it out here? It's better out here."
Cecil nods and hurries back inside, leaving the basket out near Ozzy. He returns momentarily with his drink.
Ozzy smiles with genuine delight at the nonsensical sight of a young gentleman drinking a glass of cider outside in the rain.
"Thanks," she says. "I forget the sign for that."
Cecil touches his fingers to his lips and then bends his arm down at the elbow towards her: "Thank you."
She repeats the gesture with a smile.
"I like how you do any weird thing I want," she says with a little giggle. "It's fun sometimes to do things a bit wrong, innit?"
Cecil nods eagerly. It is fun. He drinks some of his cider, tilting his head back to swallow, and then offers her the mug with a polite head tilt to see if she wants to share.
She takes a little sip, wrapping both of her hands around his on the mug as she does so.
"Mm," she says. "Nice. Tastes the way stars look. When there's no clouds."
Cecil holds his other hand above the top of the mug to try and shield it from the rain. The general effect is pretty silly. He tilts his head back, opens his mouth, and tries to catch some raindrops in it. The general effect of this is even sillier.
Ozzy giggles with delight at the whole thing.
"Funny how it got all sunny out here," she says. "But just here." She gestures with her hand from him to her, encompassing the small space between them.
Cecil stops trying to catch raindrops and smiles at her. He drinks a little more cider and offers the mug to her again.
There's a flash of lightning from somewhere to the east and Cecil goes tense, silently counting the seconds until the thunder to estimate how far away it is.
"I can make a storm, you know," Ozzy says, her tone suddenly incongruously sultry. "A little one, where I want, and hit people wif lightning." Then her tone goes back to normal. "I'm not too good at it though. Sometimes I hit the wrong people." She makes an exaggerated oops! face.
Cecil gives a somewhat ungentlemanly snort of laughter. It's almost a minute before the thunder reaches them, and so he does not try to steer the two of them inside with any urgency… but he does gesture to the door and look at Ozzy questioningly.
She hesitates. "I don't think the people in there like me," she says. "I got weird."
Cecil passes her the cider mug to hold so that he has both hands free. He shifts to one side, the start of an 'or' indicator. He points to himself, then brings both hands up in fists, one in front of the other, his forearms forming an X. Then he signs, "Princess." For the other option, Cecil shifts to the other side, and signs, "Rain."
Ozzy studies him for a moment, then sighs.
"I suppose it is easier for you to write in there," she says. "I like the things you write." She steps in close, tenderly smooths wet hair away from his face, and gives him a very I'm Going to Kiss You look before instead letting go and walking past him back into the inn.
Cecil starts to reach for her, but when she backs away, he smiles and grabs the picnic basket to follow her inside. He walks next to her as they return to their table. Look, he's a paying customer now, even if he's tracking water all over the floor.
There are a pair of dwarves at another table who are not putting their peanut shells in the bowl provided and who look like they didn't bother to wipe their boots on the way in after walking over half of Elwynn, so Cecil is probably not going to be the staff's worst source of annoyance today.
Ozzy seems a little tense now, but when she looks around and no one is staring at her in particular, she relaxes a bit and takes her former seat.
"I still don't want anything," she says firmly. "And it ain't just because I ain't got coin; I only told her that detail because, like I say, it's the surest way to get wait staff to leave you be."
Cecil nods agreeably. He scans the room to make sure they are in fact being left alone, and then dries his hands on the picnic blanket.
Once his hands are dry, Cecil fetches his notebook and writes, 'Do you want to talk about what upset you earlier?'
She reads his note, then glances at him tentatively.
"I want to," she says. "I'm just… not good sometimes at even knowing why I do things. I can try, though."
She takes a moment to think. It seems as though she's trying to play back everything that happened; he can almost see weaker echoes of the various emotions playing over her face as she remembers the sequence of events.
"It's… somefing to do wif… It's something to do with the other nobles I've -" She glances at him again, a flush of shame spreading across her cheeks. "There were a few. Rich ones. Wives who didn't want them I guess, and I was -" She lowers her voice to a near-whisper. "-easy. But if I started feeling bad about it, either on account of the wife or how they was talking to me, they'd always find some way to remind me how much they was spendin' on me and how shi- how unpleasant my life was before we started. They made it harder and harder to get away. And it's tied up too somehow in Merry always wanting me to stay in her house, where I could have all the nice things so long as I went inside, where I couldn't see the stars or feel the grass. It's all tangled together and it makes me feel like running whenever somebody brings up that they have money and I don't."
Ozzy pauses, and then looks pretty pleased with her relatively coherent summation of what had moments ago been a nebulous cloud of Yuck in her mind.
While Ozzy explains, Cecil finds a clean part of the picnic blanket and tries to dry his hair off, but he keeps his eyes on her, clearly listening. His perfect center part is a little messed up when he lowers the blanket and folds it to find another clean and dry portion of it - the upper side, obviously, that wasn't resting on the dirt.
Cecil gestures to Ozzy's hair and offers her the picnic blanket - would she like to dry off too?
Ozzy shakes her head, seeming fine with dripping. She does, however, gently grab his head between her hands and tilt it downward, then comb his hair back into order with her fingers.
"There," she says. "You wasn't straight like usual." She lets go of him and smiles a little crookedly.
Cecil smiles softly at her and signs, "Thank you." He sets the blanket aside so that he can write again:
'You're a free spirit. I want you to be happy and comfortable, but you are the one who decides what that means for you, not me. It's not right that they treated you that way. Was this back in Gilneas?'
She nods. "Yeah, after we lost the capital and we were all still kind of trying to stay safe and live some kind of life. Everyone was afraid all the time and doing stupid things. So, in other words, they were all acting like me all of a sudden. With Lord Graves bit and gone already, other than Merry and Gabby no one was acting grown at all. We all just figured we was gonna die or get bit any time, so maybe some men who normally would have acted better decided it didn't matter anymore."
Cecil frowns, and as a cold fury creeps across his expression, he covers his eyes with one hand and takes a deep breath. And then another deep breath. Gripping the pen tightly, he writes, 'I want to ruin those men. This must be how you felt when I told you about the trolls.'
Ozzy leans forward and rests a hand on his forearm. "Yeah," she says sympathetically. "Funny isn't it, how it's worse when it 'appened to someone else? Because you can't even - there's nuffing you can do but imagine it."
Ozzy's hand on Cecil's arm seems to subdue some of the rage: the actual targets of his anger are currently out of his reach. Cecil drops the pen and reaches for her, trying to gather her into a tight hug.
She leans into it and lets herself be hugged, arms dangling but the rest of her body fully committed to being squozen.
"Hey," she says quietly, "I know we ain't made up our minds for sure about anyfing yet and there's lots to figure out, but while we do that I'm your girl, okay? I'm not gonna go sniffing around Darnassus for druids to roll around wif or nuffing. I'm easy, like I say, but if I got a real fella I don't step out on 'im."
Cecil nods, pulls back so she can see his face, and nods again. He kisses her forehead and releases her to write, 'Me too.'
"I should probably tell Merry we're seeing each other," she says. "But… I dunno. Maybe I should wait until she'd be really happy for me. I gutted her pretty bad last time we talked. You gonna say anyfing to your da?"
She suddenly looks nervous.
Cecil writes immediately, 'I think she would be happy for you now, Ozzy.' He takes a moment to really think over her question before responding: 'Do you want me to? I can wait on that, if you're nervous. I'd like to tell Wobby and Hubert, though.'
"I dunno," she says. "Either way makes me feel bad. If you wait it makes me feel like somefing to be ashamed of but if you don't wait then I definitely find out he finks I'm somefing to be ashamed of." She laughs ruefully.
Cecil frowns. 'He might think that regardless, but I won't. I'm not ashamed of you.' He signs, "Sorry," probably on behalf of his father.
"I can just see it now…" Ozzy says. She abruptly sits up straight and switches to her Gala Accent. "Father, may I introduce to you Miss Oslynn Gravehowl? As the name suggests, she is a worgen. She also spends a great deal of time as a bear or a cat or a stag. I'm afraid we don't know her mother's name, but her father provided fine footwear to the chimney sweeps and blacksmiths of Gilneas. When he was sober enough to do so, that is."
Cecil smiles a little wryly at her, flips to a blank page, and writes:
'Father, I met someone at the Charity Gala, a young lady who I like very much. Her name is Oslynn Gravehowl, and she's a worgen from Gilneas. We have begun seeing each other, and she makes me happy. I would be delighted to introduce the two of you when you have the time.'
She smiles a little wistfully and studies Cecil. "How do you really think he'll react?"
Cecil moves to a new, clean page to answer her question, because what he's just written may in fact be what he intends to give to his father. He flashes her an apologetic smile and writes:
'I don't think he'll believe that I'm serious about you at first, no matter what I tell him, so he won't try to interfere. The fact that you supported the Gilnean rebellion will actually be a point in your favor when he learns about it. He hates that Gilneas tried to leave the Alliance, and he will be pleased to hear that you were on what he imagines as the "right" side to the conflict. I can't imagine what it was actually like, and I doubt things were so simple for you, but that is the assumption my father will make.'
He stops, giving Ozzy time to read that, because it was a lot of words. But there might be more coming.
It does take her a while, and her lips move as she reads, but then she nods, seeming to take a mental note.
Cecil continues, writing with a fierce intensity:
'My father may assume' - and he very carefully and pointedly underlines the word 'assume', looking at Ozzy as he does - 'that I have taken a mistress. That is NOT what you are to me. You may have been so to others in the past, but no longer, not with me. You are first in my heart. I shall never allow him to use me for political or social gain. As long as you wish to be my girl,' and here Cecil smiles to himself as he uses Ozzy's own terminology, 'I swear to you I will have no other.'
As he waits for Ozzy to catch up, he reaches out to brush some wet hair away from her face.
Ozzy slowly turns pinker and pinker as she reads. She nods at the end, too shy to meet his gaze.
"Okay then," she says quietly. "It's a deal. I… think it's gonna bring you trouble, but…" Her eyes mist up a little again. "I swear… I swear I'll make it worth it."
Cecil holds his hand out to her to shake, because people shake on deals. She may not be looking at his expression right now, but it softens nonetheless into quiet happiness.
Ozzy gives his hand a little squeeze, then impulsively drags it to her lips and kisses it, then holds it against her cheek for just a moment before setting it back down on the table. She doesn't look at him the whole time.
"It's probably best to pretend at least a little if I meet your da," she says. "Talk pretty, dress pretty, wear shoes. I can play up how I'm real good friends with Admiral Fallon and Lord Ference, and just maybe leave out some of the stuff where that friendship involves me biting kraken and whatnot."
Cecil looks at her wistfully and writes, 'As long as that's what you want, I'll pretend with you. I think biting a kraken is pretty cool, though.'
Ozzy grins. "Me too. But unless you gotta live with someone all the time, sometimes it's easier just to pretend a little, or at least not tell 'em everyfing. And you gave me real good ideas on how to get on his better side. What about your brother? Any tips about him?"
Cecil seems to relax a little, and he nods to her. He looks a little nostalgic as he writes, 'Hubert will like you because you're funny and you make me happy. Don't startle him, no sudden changes. Warn him about being a worgen. He fought in Northrend, and Arugal changed a whole village there. If he gets spooked, please don't take it personally. It isn't you he's afraid of.'
Ozzy looks a bit fretful, but nods. "I'll… I'll probably spook 'im. An' I'll definitely take it personally. But I won't get mad, an' I won't give up on 'im, neither. It ain't his fault."
Cecil pats her arm and then writes, 'I'm not afraid of you.'
"I feel like you ain't afraid of much." She grins at him. "So Hubert," - she pronounces the H carefully - "Has he got anyfing he enjoys, like I dunno, hobbies, music, flowers, books, a favorite color? Anyfing you know makes him feel better?"
Cecil does a so-so hand wiggle. He's afraid of some things. In response to her question, he writes, 'His favorite color is green. (My favorite color is brown, but I like a lot of earthy colors.) Hubert likes fishing and skating in the winter when the ponds freeze over. He has a lot of outdoor hobbies that he hasn't done in a while. He likes nature and poetry. He's-' and here Cecil stops and neatly crosses out that last word.
"Wot?" says Ozzy, poking his arm. "He's wot?" She peers at him intently. "You can say anyfing to me, you know that, yeah?"
Cecil nods and writes a little reluctantly, 'He's a lot like me, but better. I can't be jealous of him, because he's always been such a good brother to me. I really do love him. But I'm glad I met you first.' He lets the rest of that implication remain unspoken.
Ozzy gives a strange little laugh. "Oh. Oh… darling. That's so… is it mean if I say it's cute? Or sweet? You got me right here." She thumps her heart with the heel of her hand. "Ain't nobody ever worried about me throwin' em over for someone better before. Look, I know 'ow it is, 'avin' an older sibling who seems better'n you in every way. Mine was in the Seventh Bloody Legion, yeah? And I bet I'd really really like your brother and have fun with him. But that don't mean he can make me feel how you make me feel, because it was all because of what you did, and how you thought, and what you said, and nobody does that exactly the same. He might be 'better' in some ways but he definitely ain't better at bein' you, right? I mean you're sort of the expert on that." She giggles.
Cecil ducks his head and smiles, a little embarrassed. "Thank you," he signs to her, and then he crosses out the word 'first' in his last sentence.
Ozzy puts a hand to her heart again. "See? It's just… little things like that. Every few minutes you do some new thing that makes me feel like butter in the sun. And it's all for me. I'll confess I had a crush on another boy when I met you, and he's real nice too, thoughtful, but it's like… it's for everybody. He's got this whole group of friends that he'd die for, and I admire that, but every time we're together he's talkin' about them, and I know he knew them first and I'm just showin' up on the edge of this whole life that's already set and done… I dunno how to say it."
She rakes her nails along the woodgrain in the table gently, thinking. Then she looks up at Cecil earnestly.
"I meet you and I feel like, we both fit. We're both at the same place in our life, kind of… lookin' for someone who really sees us. And then we see each other and - well I didn't see you at first as well as you saw me, I was too distracted by too much stuff. Took me a minute. But when I did see you… it was like…" She looks at him, her eyes shining. "I dunno. Like muscles I didn't know was tense just finally relaxed. I never felt anything like that."
While Ozzy's speaking, Cecil flips to a new page, doodles a sun in the corner, and then draws a puddle of what must be melting butter with a tiara sticking out of it.
Ozzy loses it when she sees the picture, giggling uncontrollably.
"I swear, only reason I want a house is so I have a place to hang all these up somewhere."
Cecil rips out the page, writes the current date on the back, and signs it 'C. Soso'. He grins at her and tucks it away with the flowers inside Ozzy's paper-folding book to keep it secure. 'You don't have a room at Lady Merelda's?'
Ozzy blinks, considering. "I mean I guess I do. But I don't… like, decorate it. It's her house, so I can't just…" She shifts in her chair a little. "Can I?"
Cecil gives her a thumbs-up and then boops her nose. Of course she can.
She giggles. "Yeah but then what if I don't wanna go back there no more? Then I'd never see your drawings again."
Cecil scratches his nose with the pen. There's an easy logical answer to this - she could ask someone to pick her belongings up for her - but instead, he draws a deer half-stuck inside a window halfway up the building.
Ozzy starts giggling again. "Deer are like that," she says. "Bless 'em. They are just not smart. One time I saw one not far from here, bounding so graceful, avoid a whole group of mounted guards galloping down a road chasin somebody, and I was about to cheer for it, then it got to the other side of the road and just slammed right into a wall. It was okay, it ran off after that, but… I laughed so hard I fell on my arse."
Cecil grins at her, and laughs at the story. He signs and dates the deer stuck in a window on the back of the page, then titles it 'Deer Heist'. He adds the drawing to Ozzy's collection.
'You could just ask someone for your things back if you wanted. I could pick them up for you, or Lady Merelda might mail them to you.'
As if addressing an envelope, he writes:
'Oslynn Gravehowl
Middle of Nowhere
Stormwind'
To the surprise of no one at this point, Ozzy giggles.
"Oh, there you go, makin' sense again, and also bein' funny. Dunno how you manage to do both at the same time all the time. Oh, speakin' of sense, when do you gotta get back? I hope the storm hasn't ruined all your date ideas. You ask me it's been pretty perfect, but I dunno wot you 'ad planned."
Cecil shrugs in response to her question. 'Where will you go in this weather? Are you ready to return to Lady Merelda's, or not yet?'
"Ha! I sleep in this weather!" Ozzy says with a little toss of her hair. A strand gets caught in her mouth. She spits it out, ptttht ptht.
Cecil removes his socks and shoes from the picnic basket at last and begins to put them on. He looks at Ozzy with some concern and writes, 'You're not worried about getting sick?'
"Not anymore," she says. "Worgen are just crazy healthy. I used to get sick all the time, but now I just shrug off everything. Wounds heal stupid fast too. I guess I don't make a very good damsel in distress." She smiles wryly.
"You princess strong," Cecil signs at her. He smiles wryly back and writes, 'Everybody ends up in distress sometimes.'
"One day," Ozzy says, her gray-green eyes gone a little dreamy, "I'll save you like you saved me."
Cecil nods solemnly. He seems to have every confidence that she will.