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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | Lena meets her new apprentice, Melancholy Grimlocke. They set about learning a little about each other, and defining what sort of dynamic they'd like to start with as an apprentice and teacher. 8800~ words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
Melancholy Grimlocke technically arrived in Pandaria three days ago. It's taken that many days to get from Paw'don Village to Binan Village by way of Halfhill. But the fledging warlock has done it.
There was some commotion briefly that might have been audible from outside the inn where Lena Shine is staying, some shouts for archers, but it was over quickly and there was no general alarm that went up. Whatever it might have been was handled without undue incident, it would seem.
Some fifteen or so minutes after the call, and not long past the time when Shine has left for Cobalt Company's work for the day, there's a knock on Lena's door, a tippity-tap that has a cheeky sort of playfulness to it, as if the person used her fingers rather than her knuckles.
There's a brief delay, and then slow steps, punctuated by the sound of something like a cane, as the warlock inside comes to answer the door. When it opens, it reveals someone who might not be the most obvious idea of a warlock. Lena's blond hair is twisted up behind her head, held in place with hair-sticks, and a few tendrils have already snuck free around her face. She's wearing a simple blue cotton dress today, one that brings out the color in her eyes — it may be that silk is a little cold up here in the mountains. Her hands are a little inkstained, and she's leaning on a carved wooden crutch.
"Lady Melancholy?" Lena asks, her gaze flicking over the young woman.
The woman on the other side of the door definitely looks like exactly what someone's most obvious idea of a Lady Melancholy Grimlocke would be. She's nearly six feet tall, with glossy black and dramatically curled pitch black hair caught in a fashionably chaotic bun, held somewhat in check by a small black hat with a black lace veil over her eyes, which have been heavily made up in black and red cosmetics, balanced by a bold red lipstick. She's incredibly pale skinned, a fact made even more stark by her black peplum jacket with red shoulder accents, and a long black skirt. There's no sign of dirt or sweat on either woman or clothes, but there is a stronger scent of brimstone that still clings to her — a felsteed's signature scent.
She, too, has a cane with her, but it appears to be entirely a choice of fashion and magical application, with a fel focusing crystal affixed on the top, which she holds with hands covered with black laced gloves.
Melancholy's appearance, however, is where the name's influence appears to end — there's little else in the young woman's manner that suggests anything of it, as she smiles at Lena with youthful confidence and self-assurance of a person utterly comfortable within her own skin, and unburdened by dark feelings, and holds out a hand — and for all of her careful makeup and clothes free from obvious signs of the road, her skin is cold from what must have been a long, hard ride out in the weather.
"That's me. And you're Mrs. Shine, I presume. Either that or the world's second best seer to have been here in exactly the right place and know my name, and I'm thrilled to meet you either way," she says.
"Second best," Lena repeats mildly, reaching out to take her hand and shake it briefly. Then she hobbles back, a clear invitation for the woman to enter, and says, "Who would be the best then, I wonder? But no, I am Lena Shine. Come in, have a seat."
The room here is relatively simple, and the decoration is clearly of the pandaren variety rather than human. Lena and her husband Shine haven't been here very long, and likely aren't planning to stay much longer. There's a desk and chair at one side of the room, a small table with two chairs, and an oversized pandaren bed. Natural light filters in from a round window by the desk, illuminating a notebook open to a page half-full of writing. Lena steers them over towards the table and two chairs.
Melancholy advances into the room, careful not to outpace the other woman with too much forward momentum, and takes a look around openly, not trying to disguise her interest while also not snooping overly much. She takes a seat, setting her cane to the side, and crossing her ankles.
"Have you ever been to the Darkmoon Faire's fortune teller? Her name is Sayge, 'S-A-Y-G-E,' which is absolutely perfect for a sage, obviously. You simply have to go into that sort of thing when you come out with a name like that. And she's truly gifted. I went just before I finished my first summoning, and she gave me the fortune — I have it with me, actually, hold on," Melancholy says, and she does fish it out of a little pocket of her coat, and spreads out the fortune strip where Lena can read it. "'The time will soon come for you to make a choice in a pressing matter.' Spot on. Clearly, it was the final pacting and the apprenticeship."
"Which came first, the name or the profession," Lena murmurs, as she carefully settles herself in a chair, and leans to look at the little fortune strip. "And there are tricks, but — yes, it was pretty appropriate. In any case, I don't practice divination, so I'd have to refer you to the jinyu if you're interested in those sorts of arts."
Lena sits back, raising her gaze to Melancholy's face. "I hope the trip wasn't too taxing?"
Melancholy folds up her fortune into a neat crease again and tucks it back into her pocket with a sharp hmm of consideration. "You know, I'd say it was an appropriate amount of tax. I think it gave me a good idea of exactly what I'll be facing out here, and if it was going to be too much for me, then I wasn't going to make it with this apprenticeship," she decides.
"You do realize I'm not always up in the Pandarian mountains," Lena says dryly, leaning one arm on the table. Then she seems to reconsider that statement. "Sometimes I'm in less hospitable places, I should say. But shipboard is rather peaceful, so long's there's no hurricanes or battles. Which there are sometime, but… I'm not trying to warn you off, I'm just being realistic." Lena pauses, and then asks, "Any trouble arriving in town?"
"There were some very disagreeable lizards. And a lot of stairs," Melancholy says. "Not quite one right after the other. The stairs were first, and then the lizards with grabby hands, which I did not care for at all. Terrific, my Dreadsteed, was positively enraged, and I don't think I've ever seen her so put out. I am very pleased though the water enchants on her hooves worked a treat. Do you use them? I thought with being on the water with the ships it would be best to go with it, to be able to trot across the waves in a pinch." She taps her gloves fingers in a demonstration of a staccato. "I do try to think realistically ahead, whenever possible."
"That's good thinking," Lena allows, and then pauses before she says, "I do have a Dreadsteed bound, from training, but I've not called him for years now. I've found the demonic horse tends to put people aback right off. I picked up a natural mare in Northrend, and she's the one I use for transport. Come to think of it, I could've… never mind," Lena shakes her head dismissively. "There's a lot more upkeep for a horse, I admit, but I rather like it. Reminds me of home, in a way."
"That's always nice, isn't it? I brought my bicycle, and used it through most of the roads here. It's my preference, because I do honestly enjoy it, and I never have to argue with my bicycle about anything, and it never spooks at random things. In Duskwood, we get undead and spiders, and a horse has to be of a certain temperament and training to not get antsy or twitchy. A bicycle just needs to be made of chrome," Melancholy says.
"Your bicycle," Lena says with a smile. "I expect it was a challenge on the mountain path. My Penny's well-tested in battle — Northrend is not a place to be on a twitchy mount. I'd actually rented her up there, and liked her so much my employer gifted her to me. But… of course you're not here for cycling and horsemanship. I should warn you I've not been terribly open about my own warlocking to the locals here, just because I wasn't sure how they'd take it. I've not kept it secret, of course, just not made it a big issue. So for practice with demons and the fel, we'll want to head out of the village."
Melancholy's softer brown brows raise in surprise. "Oh. Oh, dear. Well, I was not quite so discreet. There was the Dreadstreed, of course, which I rode into the village pretty directly, with the disagreeable lizards. That might not have been completely obvious, if the pandaren didn't know what to look for, but then I said, 'I am a warlock,' so I'm fairly certain they have a good idea that I am at least. So, I'm sorry. I'm more used to being… upfront," Melancholy says, and she does seem to be genuinely sorry.
"I understand why you're less so. I spent a whole year in this sort of… I don't know. Contemplation? It was a pact between Mr. Carlay and myself, and I did a bit of self-study, because a year is a long time to fill. So I went and I would speak to people about warlocks, because I'd never really paid much attention to them. It was all sort of far away from me, before. I was spending a lot of time in a graveyard then — the why isn't important — and so I was around a lot of the Cathedral acolytes, and I can say they had some rather strong and negative opinions about warlocks. I had rousing debates that were shocking at times at the virulence, and I wasn't even one then, and few even knew one personally. It must get tiring after a point, to always defend. I'm fresh to it, but I'm willing to learn the ropes for the long term, and if that's a strategy, I'll incorporate it."
"It is a fairly new field, in the Alliance," Lena explains. "A decade ago, almost the only folk doing fel magic were the Legion and its lackeys, the orcs. Or those as fell into the study and got thoroughly exiled from all society on pain of death. There's many people who see 'warlock' as synonymous with 'enemy' or 'evil', as I suppose you saw. There's some as can be convinced, but some who'll only ever see you as a monster, no matter what you do or say. They don't care who you are, all that matters is what." Lena draws in a breath, and adds, "I don't defend our line of work. I just live, and I serve the Alliance, and let my life be my argument."
Melancholy's sympathy is clear, but a little distant, as if Lena's experience is something external, rather than shared. "I can see why Mr. Carlay likes you. He has a lot of the same attitude. I'm afraid I'm a bit of a debater, myself. I sort of enjoy it, the back and forth, playing sometimes the Devil's Advocate for the love of the game even. But, I'll also say that so far it's been intellectual, engaging with the Warlock Question. Perhaps I'll feel differently when it's all very personal," she admits, in an honest attempt at fairness of differences of experiences.
"I'm under no illusion of being celebrated, either. It's not my goal, and it wasn't on my list, and if it had been, after the third or fourth, 'and this warlock was corrupted by the fel and nearly destroyed everything and then exploded, causing irreparable harm through his hubris chasing glory, sure he was the solution to anything and everything,' I would have struck it from the list. Clearly a level of humility is absolutely necessary, or you're going to end up gnawing on fel crystals and spouting utter nonsense. I can't stand spouting of nonsense. I like poetry more than the next person, but I do require it to make sense," Melancholy says primly.
"Oh, I'm not telling you this for sympathy, I'm quite happy in my career," Lena says. "It's just that we've got to understand that people will hate us, and they're not irrational to do so. The way I deal with it is by spending time with people who see our worth, rather than trying to persuade those who don't. For ourselves, the main thing is to make sure the fel corruption doesn't progress too far within the span of our natural life."
"If you want to argue, then I won't forbid it. Only, do consider how your words and actions will reflect on the rest of WEB," Lena says, and then looks over towards the bedside table. Beneath it is what looks like a slightly bloody shirt, wadded up like some kind of animal bed. "By the way, would you like tea? I really started in on the fel without even offering refreshment."
"Oh, that'd be great, thank you so much," Melancholy says, and looks openly at the bloody shirt and the animal bed, and then points to it with a black laced finger. "By the way, is that something of one of your demons? Like a pet sort of thing? I'm asking because I really don't have a fondness for demons, so if this is about to turn into a 'let me summon my imp or incubus to make us tea,' I'm actually totally fine with hopping back down to get something from the inn."
"What?" Lena asks, in genuine confusion, and then she sees where Melancholy is pointing. "Oh, Tides no, that's just where Bun sleeps. Our tanuki. A… it's kind of a pet of Shine's, and mine now. Cute little local creature."
Lena moves over to the bedside table. She does nothing to the wadded shirt, nor does she summon a demon. She just opens the drawer and pulls out a little box. She opens it to show little compartments of looseleaf tea.
"I'll just get my teapot and you can pick any of these that smells nice," Lena says, setting the box on the table and moving over to rummage in her bag. "It's good that you haven't a fondness for demons. Some do, and that's dangerous, because they always want to destroy you."
Melancholy slides the box over and looks for the most interesting, darkest tea option, pulling it up and obediently sniffing, setting it back down and then tapping with a fingernail — the red tint showing a bit through the black lace. She keeps the nails long. "This one, if you please.
"Did you attend that gnome professor's lecturers? Professor Pippinlopper? What a character he is. If I hadn't already had a bit of a reserve for the demonic parts, that did it even more, and then I summoned Garbage. Well, 'Garjub,' but Garbage is honestly a more accurate name. My imp. I've managed up to a fel hunter that I don't like the feel of — it pulls terribly on its metaphysical leash, and Mr. Carlay said you could help with that — and I've found the whole of them abhorrent so far," she says with a bright tone. "I was relieved when I saw that you didn't have one just out and about for no reason. Mr. Carlay doesn't either, but when I went to the Slaughtered Lamb a few times this past week to pop in — to see now that I'm a part of things — it was utter demonic chaos, and I found it a bit off putting. I tried not to judge too harshly, but wasn't really all that successful at it. I judged."
"Yes, he's one of the teachers that my friend Mayellen and I attended to, back when we were learning," Lena says, returning with a ceramic teapot, two cups, and some kind of kettle and small metal stand. "I liked how very… unemotionally he approached things. It's good to try to be a little detached and logical, with the fel."
Lena sets the kettle on top of the stand and ignites a wick in the center below — very little fel magic for this tea.
"I never went past a fel hunter in power myself, for the very reason you describe," Lena says, settling back while the water heats. "I try not to keep a demon out unless I need one. And mostly, I use a technique to take their power, rather than the demons themselves."
Melancholy balls her hands into little fists, almost petulantly, except that it seems to be in a fit of an attempt to jog a memory. "Oh my garters, Mr. Carlay said it would be on a test, and he was right. Is this a test? Wait, wait. I do know this one — don't tell me — I do have it somewhere in here, hold on, I have it filed under something, I'm sure of it." She looks up and to the right, drawing something in the air, as if she's literally searching through files, but there's nothing there.
"It's a Grimoire technique, and it's the obvious one, but there are two obvious ones, and it's the one with the… ooh. Sss. Service or sacrifice. Sss." She wrinkles her prominent nose, and looks back at Lena. "Sacrifice. That's my final answer. It feels right."
Lena looks on this whole response with a kind of wry amusement, but she nods. "Yes, that's the one. I'm not really the sort to give you endless quizzes, unless that'd be helpful, so if you don't know a thing you can say. The penalty for missing something in a ritual could very well be death, so definitely ask rather than guess in those cases."
Lena takes the dark tea, and starts preparing the pot. "In a file, though? Is that how you organize stuff in your mind?"
Melancholy gives a laugh, a delighted tinkle of dark bells. "I guess so, yes. Librarian. Well, was. In training. It's a bit like a card catalogue, you could say, or shelves of things, once I'm sure of the information, I like to sort of think of them in subjects and orders. I make pictures of them in my mind," she says, like a Dewey Decimal system for everything. There's a sinking of her expression for a moment, and she picks it up deliberately, flicking it away by choice.
"Mr. Carlay was constantly quizzing. We'd be talking like normal — his normal anyway, what passed for it — and suddenly he'd be setting down four examples of a ritual circle with three with an error, and I'd have seconds to identify the only correct one. Or he'd be talking about one thing, and suddenly prompt a completely different subject out of nowhere to test my memory of that to see if I'd forgotten some obscure point. I got quite used to having to spontaneously need to recall a point under immediate conditions. His idea of recreating the whole life or death situations, I suppose?
"But I'm very aware that the margin for error is small. Hence why an apprenticeship and not a Melancholy Goes Off Alone, Guessing Wildly, Hoping For The Best, Exploding Dramatically." She makes a dramatic pop with her mouth in illustration.
"Yes, let's avoid dramatic explosions," Lena says with a laugh. "Or rather, ones that harm us. I suppose I've a different approach. Outside of combat, I'm more prone to checking and rechecking and taking one's time to be sure of a thing than demanding instant recall."
"Might just be my mind's less orderly," Lena admits, reaching over as the water boils to take the kettle and pour it into the pot. "I'm more of the sort like… once I decide to learn a thing, I do dig into it and wring out every bit of information. But it takes time, and study, and I keep my references. Human memory can slip, over time."
"See, I completely understand that, and that's why I like to write things down, and keep all these reference books with me. Books remember everything. But Mr. Carlay said I relied on them too much, and what would I do if I didn't have my books with me, because I wouldn't always have a book on me. And I would say, 'why wouldn't I always have a book on me?'" Melancholy says, with complete seriousness of a woman who has probably quite literally never not had a book on her before. She still clearly doesn't get it. She probably has several books on her right this second.
"But he was very insistent, and I do take these things seriously of following a teacher's instruction methods. So, when it was his, I followed his. With yours, I will follow yours. And I will decide at the end with a list of what methods work for me ultimately, but that's only after. It's only fair to give both ways their proper due." This is obviously some sort of personal guiding philosophy.
"In my mind, if you're stuck alone without a book on you, you wouldn't try anything that you didn't fully understand," Lena says, and she does not point to her own recent misadventure as an example when that might happen. Honestly, the amount of her where she has had a book on her is likely a small fraction. "I suppose rote memorization has a place in learning, but in my mind it leads to a shallower understanding and a sense of overconfidence."
Lena pours Melancholy and then herself a dark cup of tea as she talks. "That can be dangerous, if you grab for the wrong fact at the wrong time and are confident you've remembered it correctly. And maybe you have, only maybe it doesn't quite apply to the situation as it should. That's what I mean by digging into a thing. You should know it because you know it, backward forward and upside down. That'll make you move slower, but I think that's good, too."
"See, that's what Mr. Carlay's like, too. He would say, 'treat it like jazz,' which I don't know if that makes sense or not if you don't know what that is — very experimental music, utterly chaotic, very warlocky — and then also have all these rules about everything needing to be absolutely moderated, which wasn't really what I was expecting from a warlock, if I had thought much about it before. Are you two friends? He didn't talk about you like you were, but you have a lot of remarkably similar philosophies, and I can't really tell if he's the sort who has any friends at all. He doesn't act like he does, but it could be a front. He also acts like he's a thousand years old, but I think he's only around fifty," she says, off by at least ten years. She gives Lena an obvious speculative eye for the other woman's age.
Lena is only a few years older than Melancholy herself. However, it's possible she may look a little older, from living through various hardships and deprivations. Her eyes have seen more than many women her age, especially among the nobility.
"I've met him, but we haven't spoken much at length," Lena says, sipping her tea, and then looking at it curiously. "I expect it's just a matter of what leads to success in warlockery, as opposed to what leads to death or prison. There are not so many ways of being a warlock that don't lead to disaster, so it makes sense some of the paving stones of paths would be similar for those of us in WEB. If you'd like to embrace experimental and utterly chaotic, then there's the Lamb," Lena gestures with her teacup. "Of course, you might get murdered there, even if you don't fall into power-hungry madness or end up prey of a demon, so I wouldn't personally recommend it."
Melancholy scoops up her teacup. "Well, I went straight to the WEB directly after I made a decision to become a warlock, and then straight here, didn't I? So we both know what I choose." She tips her cup very delicately, careful not to smudge her lipstick, and leaves only a faint trace behind on the rim. "I did have a moment though where I wavered, when Mr. Carlay and I first met. I was very upset, and Mr. Carlay had said he wasn't going to teach me, and that no one else would, on that particular day. I was thwarted, and I hadn't really been thwarted before, and hadn't imagined I would be. And I felt this… rage at it. It was petulant, of course. I probably would have thought better of it after the sting, but it was there. I said, I didn't need the WEB. I could find another warlock. I'll never forget what he said though."
She straightens up, and then hunches slightly differently, and opens her mouth, and then — "You — Oh, no, I can't really manage his accent. You'll have to imagine that part. But it was like this, 'You could, and if you did, we'd both learn something important about you, and what sort of warlock you're going to be.'" She repositions herself back into her own softer slouch over her teacup. "And I think that rather snapped me out it, both the rage and the petulance both. It really isn't the same thing to press forward into doing things my way with the Lordaeron Horn or my appearance or Society expectations for a Grimlocke, to just decide if someone says 'no, that's a bad idea,' with the fel to push against. I have to learn where it's right to push and pull against, and I'm doing my best, and I expect I'm going to fail sometimes."
"It is, indeed, not quite like improvising on the Lordaeronian horn, whatever Mr. Carlisle said about jazz," Lena says with a faint smile, though there's a touch of sadness in her eyes. "If I'm to be your teacher, then it's my job to be certain that when you do fail, the consequences aren't so severe as to be life-altering. It's actually good that you're strong-willed, but you're right, you'll need to learn the best use of that will. Where to yield and where to hold firm. That'll help you with the felhunter, too, getting more comfortable holding that leash."
She pauses, then adds, "I think I had the most trouble with the sayaad, myself. Imps and voidwalkers can speak, too, but they don't use words as weapons in the same way. It took some practice to handle, at first."
Melancholy takes another sip of her tea, contemplates it, and takes another sip. "I think this needs sugar for me," she declares, and then continues straight on, leaning forward. "Is it terrible to say that I found them tediously boring, the sayaad? They were truly absolutely tiresome, like summoning the most consummate cruel Society players straight into the room. I felt like I'd already met both of them. I would say I have no idea why people purposefully summon them, except I know people who purposefully summon their Society counterparts, so." She gives a dismissive shrug.
"The only one I have a possibly worrisome soft spot for is the Void Walker, and that's because when I was killed, that's the one the warlock had summoned, and he — no, sorry, I know better, Mr. Carlay emphasized this repeatedly, hold on — it had lifted the bookcase that had crushed me off of me. So, I came to with that memory, where I see it as a saving being, and I associate it with that. I am aware it made no such choice, and it was a directive, but there it is. The memory is the memory, and so I have the association, and it's a weakness, as I was told repeatedly. Ad nauseum."
"I expect those who would summon their Society counterparts have the most to fear from sayaad corruption," Lena says with a faintly amused smile. "And you're not wrong to consider a voidwalker a protector, but it's an important distinction that it's what they're used for, not what they are. Any voidwalker, free to act, would certainly seek to kill you rather than save you."
She starts to rise, and then settles back down. "There's sugar over on the desk, if you'd like to fetch it. But there are reasons to summon sayaads. They're excellent at stealth, and they can be used as fairly effective distractions as well. Their ability to speak might make them tedious, but it is also a skill that you can use at need."
Melancholy seems to have no issue with getting up to get her own sugar, and does so promptly with the permission or direction, whichever it might have been to her. "I won't resist learning about them or how to use them, exactly, but I am probably going to see it a lot like, oh what's a good metaphor? I should have thought of one ahead of time. Now I have to do it on the fly. Let's see. Like opening pomegranates, maybe, to call back to our letter exchange? I do understand that it can be extremely useful to know four ways to open a pomegranate, just like knowing which demon can be used for what, but I don't really want to depend on my pomegranate knowledge. I would rather know it, and then not have a lot of situations where I need to open a pomegranate. Does that work? I think it sort of does," she says, as she shovels a spoonful into her tea, swirls it and sips. Nope. Another spoonful.
"Not that I'm trying to tell you what to teach me, or trying to control my own apprenticeship, of course. I do know how they work. I had one, of course, as an apprentice to a librarian. Before." A brief grimace, and that flick off again. "But I was rather spoiled by it, I must tell you. I was allowed to express a great deal of opinions and treated more as a collaborator in my learning experience, not solely at the submission of the teachings of a master, well, a mistress — ugh, that never sounds the same, isn't that just terribly annoying — and so I am hoping for something similar. But, I will respect it if that's not to be. You have the best credentials for what I want to learn first and foremost, and I will do whatever you think is the best way. I'm very impressed so far, I must say. But, if I don't speak up and tell you how I'd like to learn with a more open communication apprenticeship, there's no way for you to know, is there? Nothing ventured, nothing gained. There we go, that's right," she concludes, and the last is for her tea, as is more obvious when she sniffs at it, sips, and starts to return to her seat, then stops. "Oh, did you want any sugar yourself?"
"No, thank you, I've not tried this sort before, I think," Lena says, looking down at the cup. "I bought a whole mess of different teas, as you saw, and hadn't got through all of them yet. I think I'll just have this one plain, this time, to get the flavor. And I see what you mean, with the pomegranate. I am… not entirely sure if I've ever even tried one, to be honest, as many people haven't tried demons, so even that part works."
She savors another bitter sip and continues, "It's good that you know what you want out of this, and I'm certainly not that kind of a mistress." She pauses, an odd expression crosses her face for a moment as she says the word. Then she shakes her head, and continues, "In any case, yes, I would like for us to have a collaborative partnership. I am more experienced, though, even if it's only by a handful of years, so I want you to respect if I say no. That is, if you want to try a thing, and I say you aren't ready or it isn't a good idea. Even if you disagree with me, you have to respect it. And I'll do the same, if I ask you to do something, and you don't feel ready. Does that sound alright? So the only new techniques you try will be if we both think you're ready for it."
Melancholy resettles herself back into her seat with her tea, and puts up a hand, palm out and up with a red-lipped smile. "You have my solemn vow as a Grimlocke, on my grandfather's grave — which is still undisturbed, by the way, an enormous achievement in Duskwood," she brags. "I can be patient, especially if I am certain of the fairness of the deal. I waited an entire year to start my warlock training, after all. It was unbelievably tedious, but Mr. Carlay was right, and if you're going to look for a teacher, it's rather ridiculous if you aren't going to listen, isn't it?" She takes a sip of her tea at that.
"And forgive me, I'm going to be rude, because I'm getting so curious. The way Mr. Carlay spoke of you with experience, and your marital status, and everything, I really was picturing someone sort of matronly, but I'm not entirely convinced you're all that much older than me. I won't take that as anything to do with your experience or respect, of course. I just have to know, and in that — what do you want me to call you? You called me 'Lady Melancholy,' but really that's going to be so unnecessary I think, especially if we are of an age. 'Melancholy' serves perfectly well, but it is Melancholy. I don't do with any nicknames nonsense."
"My marital status," Lena says, genuinely taken off-guard. "What's that got to do with age? I know loads of lasses married right as soon as it was legal. Not that I — Anyway, you're not likely to find any teachers that are terribly old at warlocking, for reasons already mentioned, even if they're old in age. I'm not of a noble house, but I do spend enough time around that I know how to address nobility properly, for the most part, which is why I started with Lady Melancholy. If you'd rather, I'd be happy to call you Melancholy and no nicknames."
She considers the other question for a moment, taking a sip of tea to draw out the silence. "As for myself, I'm properly Mrs. Averlena Shine born Coit. If we're on first name basis and you don't like nicknames, I suppose you could call me Averlena."
"Oh, I mean for myself, I don't mind calling anyone a nickname. Can you imagine? No, no, I'm not taking some sort of stance against them as an institution," Melancholy says with a dark tinkling laugh. "My sister Miserie goes by 'Mis' often."
"Misery," Lena repeats blandly, and then she just smiles politely. "You must have a very interesting family. Well, then, I suppose you could call me Lena, if you like. Mrs. Shine sometimes gets confusing anyway, as my husband generally goes by Shine."
"Oh, very nice, to claim it. For his sparkling personality and bold, twinkling outfits? Or does he go the other way, where he is all dour and subdued, dresses in all black, or grays perhaps?" Melancholy asks. "Either way works, if you're going to have a name like 'Shine.' I do say that as a 'Melancholy.' You do have to sort of pick, which way you're going to go with, as long as you do something with it. The only way it's boring is if you try to ignore it."
"He doesn't exactly — " Lena pauses, maybe reconsidering some Shine behavior. "He's a bit of the quiet sort. Patient, sees more than he's seen. So I suppose you could say he went the other way. My name didn't mean anything in particular — " or did it? " — so I suppose I'm not a reaction to it one way or another."
"Well, I'll take it as a sign," Melancholy decides. "I think I'm bound to find those with interesting names, and so it must be that I'm meant to be with the Unshiny Shines, just like you are with the Unmelancholy Melancholy. That's the part I refuse. I fully embrace the Grimlocke, as you can see. But, I decided early on that I wasn't going to be mopey, so I'm not." She finishes off her tea as surely as this early choice. "And you lasted so long without a single comment on the name. You have incredible willpower. Usually it's within minutes of meeting! It's my mom. She was simply absolutely enamored with all things Gothic — she's not much of one herself, you have to know, she's too much a dear, but she does so love it — and my dad is ever so much one.
"Back when they met it wasn't quite so on the nose though. He was a Grimlocke, but it was of Brightwood. Our house is called 'Sunshine Place,' because it was, back then. Grimlocke from some sort of old naming thing, something about soldiering and helmets and fences and all that. We're on the edge, near Westfall. Anyway. My mother had not a single drop of nobility in her — such a scandal, as people like to think — but couldn't have been more sure of herself, and dad has never been more loved. There's five of us, so that probably tells you quite a lot in itself." She picks at a part of her glove absently.
"You might know of my eldest brother. He is on the main Lord Fallon ship, part of the navy. Woe, because he's out betiding people. There's Malaise, who treats people with malaise, as a doctor. Then there's Miserie, who loves company, and throws the most spectacular parties when she's not in Dalaran. And Torment, who is a much tormented poet. And me."
"I… yes, I believe I know Woe," Lena says, her brow furrowing slightly. "I suppose I assumed it was a nickname. I don't know most of the lads on the ship very well in a personal sense, I have to admit. That's… well, I suppose it's rather dedicated of her, to stick so strongly with a theme. She must be a strong-willed lady herself. But it does raise questions, I would guess, when you meet folk. My name is… was… a bit fanciful, I suppose, for a farmer's daughter. Lena suits me better."
Melancholy smiles briefly at the mention of Woe, and then looks away at the talk about her family for a bit, a sort of distant expression stealing over her face. At the last, her brows raise again and she looks back at Lena. "Oh, a farming background. Do you like vegetables? I'm not asking for small talk, I am leading somewhere with that. My mom is a gardener, and she sent me along with one of her care packages, maybe you know of them from Woe, who gets crates of them sometimes? I have kale and sprouts in a bag with quite literally nothing to do with them. I don't cook or anything, so they're just jostling around. I thought of maybe trading with them, but the last place I was in, Halfhill — which was more like All Hill, Both Ways — had so many vegetables I didn't think I could get any sort of price for them," she says. "And now I worry they're just going to go to waste."
Lena stares flatly at Melancholy at the question, but then follows the sudden change in conversation. "Aye, I've heard they have melons the size of a garden shed down that way, so who knows how big their sprouts are. I do cook — not here in the room, obviously, but in a general sense. I'd be happy to take them, as a… a greeting gift, if you like? If you've nothing to do with them. Better that than going to waste. They'll certainly not keep forever, not even if you've got magical preservation."
"Perfect," Melancholy says, as she opens a pocket in her jacket and pulls out a pure ebony bag that doesn't look like it should have fit in her pocket, and then pulls out another bag that doesn't look like it should have fit inside that bag. It's also black, tied with a red ribbon. "The bag's meant to mimic a big emotionless void, so it's all cold and dark, but not like a freezer or anything, so it's just slowing it down," she explains as though that's a normal thing. "Miserie made it for me. It's really very lovely and aesthetic. I don't usually use it for vegetables, but I didn't have anything else on hand."
She tips the Dark Emotionless Void over, and out comes a very nice selection of kale and Brussel sprouts onto the table, enough for at least three meals if you love them, and a lot more if you don't.
"Also while we're at it, did you want to discuss any of the apprenticeship fees? Bonuses?" asks the noblewoman with as little concern for money as someone who has never worried about paying for anything in her life might.
Lena looks curiously at the emotionless void of kale and sprouts, casually gathering them up and organizing them on the table as Melancholy explains. At the last, she pauses, pursing her lips for a moment.
"Did Mr. Carlisle say anything about the expected fee?" Lena asks. "I've been so busy with Northrend and then the war… well, this is the first apprenticeship I'll have done since I left Cobalt. I'm not sure what's usual."
"I paid a due to the WEB, but it is so tiny, I thought it was a sort of pre-fee at first," Melancholy says. "But, I was told it was what was standard, and set by the WEB founders. It's not as though I know what's usual either, so I guess we're both in a bit of an unknown. Well, I guess we'll feel it out. If you think I cost more to teach, that's fair."
"What's tiny to you might not be tiny to others," Lena says gently. "We try to keep things accessible to all, in a fair way. Some people who come to be a warlock, they come from hardship, some desperation that led them to reach for power they knew was poisoned. Those folk need help maybe more than most, and they often don't have many resources."
Melancholy blinks at Lena. "Oh, the scholarships and fee waiving, you mean? There were quite a few questions on it with the intake forms. I checked all the boxes that said I could pay," Melancholy says, adjusting her hat. "I'm happy to. I'd go so far as to say that I'd be inclined to a generous donation to support the WEB's vision."
She shakes her head, still a little unbelieving at the turn of the conversation it would seem. "It's not as though I've never known anyone who hasn't fallen on hard times. Oh my garters, you musn't imagine that. I worked at the library. I used to help those who had no resources at all, and help them find free ones, after all. And I took courses at the Keep, some of which are paid for by scholarships, and others by those like myself who pay more exorbitant fees to balance the difference. And that is fair, too. If I can pay, I certainly should, to keep it running. I want the thing, after all." She adjusts her hat again. "I simply thought that warlock apprenticing would cost a lot more, and thought perhaps it would be something more…negotiated on the fly, or by whether or not I actually made it, or something?"
"Let's negotiate it, then, to be something that sounds fair to both of us," Lena says. "And I'm sorry to have assumed you didn't understand the whole money structure of the organization. People can get real touchy talking about money, both if they have it and if they don't. And we're fine, Shine and I, so I wouldn't want you to think I'm simply agreeing to the apprenticeship for the money. That hadn't actually entered the equation, when I was considering, though I agree it's fair to have a fee. My reasoning was based on your own representation of yourself, the word of Mr. Carlisle, and the fact that I'm rather interested in training up warlocks who might consider service with the fleet."
Melancholy tips her head at the last. "Oh, the fleet specifically? That's an interesting consideration. I'll be honest with you then that I still haven't decided yet what I want to do, and I might not until the very end. I will need to make a list. All I know is what I told you. I want what I do to serve a greater purpose, and I want it to be something that does good, beyond what it might do for myself," she says, and it's even easier in person to hear that when she speaks the words, they're in the same tone as every other truthful thing she's spoken — she means them, with every genuine feeling she does have about them, as much as she understands of them, in both youth and inexperience. "That is a non-negotiable for me. I just don't know yet where that's going to be. As long as you can accept that I might not pick the fleet at the end, I think we'll get on splendidly."
"I wouldn't make any requirement of it," Lena shakes her head. "It's a goal of mine, to have more warlocks in the fleet, but it doesn't have to be yours. I'll train you for wherever you end up, and you'll just… see a bit more of what fleet warlock's life is like along the way. I can't very well tell you what it's like working in other areas, but I do have warlock friends in a detective agency and in the 7th Legion, if you'd like to discuss with them before you make your decisions, at the end."
"Detective agency sounds like it might be too small, but the 7th Legion, that I might consider — hah! Which is not a thing I ever expected to say," Melancholy says with a tinkle of a laugh. "What an extraordinarily brazen statement from Little Melancholy." She brushes her skirt off as if there are invisible crumbs, and rises up to a stand. "Well, I think that just about settles that, then, for now. You'll let me know what you and your husband come up with then for my cost, and I'll negotiate if it's necessary? I think you have at least some idea what sort of student I'll be."
"I think I have the general idea, yes," Lena says with a genuine smile. "You'll forgive me if I don't stand. I hope you've got a general idea of what sort of teacher I'll be. I will also, I've been assured, be a lot more mobile in a few weeks. Possibly before then, if I can't convince myself to keep off my feet."
"Oh, yes, don't stand," Melancholy agrees, peering over more curiously at Lena's leg, and then considers something with bright honey eyes. "Well, and if there is anything that would require either mobility or moving to a location specifically, and you have two helpful people, we could always practice my summoning. I can do that pretty well. It's a particular interest of mine. It's one of the most unique aspects that a warlock brings to the table of any power that the Alliance has, which is why I mentioned it in my letter. It's one of few powers I can reliably say I am able to do 'above my expected experience level,' and that's coming from a begrudging Mr. Carlay compliment," she brags.
"I'll keep it in mind," Lena says, her own eyes brightening. "It's a thing I'm quite skilled at, as well. Came in handy so many times in desperate situations, it's one of my most valued services to the fleet. Even summoned the — there's time for stories another time, I'm sure. I'll be most interested in working with you on summoning and other methods of transport."
"Oh, do you prefer the with or without the soul shard method? Mr. Carlay hates the new without, but did teach both, and I prefer the without. He thinks it leads to a greater long term fel corruption in the warlock to cast it without the soul shard buffer, but I think it's worth the small difference, personally, if that theory is true, which so far we don't know. We had a rousing debate on it, though he might use a different word. I intend to use the without to perfect the method for my own purposes, if you have no strong objection," Melancholy says. "And I will practice the with as well if you use the other, and you think I should."
"I learned on with, but that was the only method there was at the time," Lena explains. "I would be worried there's an invisible cost on the other. That's one thing you'll see about fel magic, there's always a cost, even if you don't see it right away. But there's more innovative things in short-term transport these days, so that's one area I've considerable interest."
"Well I can show you my books, if you haven't seen them yourself yet on the no soul shard method yourself. Some of them are very new. My newest came out quite literally two months ago. Mr. Carlay treated it like I'd brought in a freshly skinned corpse and licked it," Melancholy says, which is certainly a dramatic image.
"He said much the same thing about the invisible cost. And since he's been a warlock for a long time and notably not especially corrupted, obviously he is doing something right. But, this is also one of those places where I am more willing to take on a bit more corruption, personally. Soul stones are the other. I am much more willing to be extraordinarily cautious in demonic influence, and careful combat power usage. Those are things that can often be done by the many. But teleportation summoning and soul stones — only a warlock can do these specifically the way they." A blink, a head lift. "We can."
"Two months ago, I was already out here in Pandaria," Lena says, her gaze sharpening with avid curiosity. "I'd be very interested to read the latest. I do try to keep on top of the latest developments in the fel, but sometimes it's a challenge with these long campaigns."
"Well, if there is at least one skill I still have, it's finding books for people," Melancholy says, and there's that brief touch of something on her face for a moment, and that flick off again. She smiles, and sets her hand back out, palm a little down, more of a friendly noble hand gesture goodbye than a handshake. "I'll drop off my books later, and you can tell me whichever you want for yourself. I write notes in mine like a heathen. Ignore the Mr. Carlay doodles saying silly things. I really am fond of him. Most of the time." She smiles.
Lena waves, a friendly non-noble hand gesture goodbye, and says, "Don't worry, I won't judge."
Melancholy smooths down her jacket, and shrugs. "It was good meeting you. I'll be in the inn, obviously, and I'll wait on news from you for a curriculum study or practical work, or a mission, I suppose? I'm not sure what it's called in fleet vocabulary. I will of course continue self-study, you don't need to worry about occupying my time 100%, or anything, I'm twenty-five, not a child you need to mind."
"Of course, we're both adults," Lena says, smoothing down her own skirt. "I expect we'll be moving further into the mountains sooner or later, but for now… I'll be in touch, and soon. I'm looking forward to working together."
"Same for me. Ta ta," Melancholy says, seeing herself out.