(2026-02-25) Special Delivery

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Author:	Alli
Summary:	Robin Reeve stops in at Surwich for a regular delivery run, and she runs into an old acquaintance, Ozzy Gravehowl. The worgen settlement is doing much better than it was in the past, but there are still some lingering worries. ~2700 words.
Rating:	T for Teen

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discussion of romance

The Sable eases up to the small Surwich dock on a grey February morning, the crew — mostly in worgen form — moving with confidence of sailors who know their work, and who know this dock and its quirks in particular. Stormwind to Surwich is not the easiest route to run, nor the most profitable. It supports a growing Gilnean community, however, and that matters to some, after the loss of their homeland.

It definitely matters to Robin Reeve, who is already moving down the gangplank to the dock before the cargo starts moving, manifest in hand. She's in human form for the moment, a small woman in practical trousers with windblown hair.

"Mornin', Reeve," says Kebbel, a man in human form with a floppy fishing hat. "Good to see you missed the weather. Might want to stay in dock a day, if my guess is right from these skies."

"Mm," Robin says absently, already looking past him to the village. "I could use a little time on land. Let's see how long it takes your fellows to get this unloaded, and what the clouds look like then."

Worgen are already moving in to help the crew of the Sable with unloading its cargo, while Robin moves off in the direction of the village square, out of their way. The village may not exactly appear to be flourishing, but it is surviving. Sometimes, that's what counts, especially in a poisoned land like this one.

Seated on the ground in the middle of the square is a young woman in a long, amateurishly made brown bear-fur coat, thrown over a low cut vest, no shirt, patched trousers and furry boots. Beside her is a basket, which seems likely to hold more examples of the exceptionally large orange carrot she is munching. An unruly cloud of brass-blonde hair surrounds her broad shoulders and smudgy face.

Robin tucks the manifest under one arm as she scans the square, and then her gaze catches on the hair, the carrots, and then the woman, in that order. Her eyes narrow slightly, searching her memory, as she approaches.

"Good day," Robin says by way of greeting as she approaches. "I… know you, I think. Or at least someone very similar. My name is Robin Reeve, to not leave you at a disadvantage."

The girl looks up, long-lashed gray-green eyes also perhaps familiar. Cronch cronch cronch.

"Wo'ever i' is you fink you sawr," she says carrotfully, "Oi'm sure oi go' an alibi. Oi'm a proper lady, innit? Member of 'Ouse Veyne an' everyfing."

She isn't. And she probably doesn't have an alibi, either. She takes another big cronch of carrot.

"Also Cenarion Circle," she adds, long practice of talking with her mouth full all that saves Robin from being sprayed by carrot on the sibilants.

"Are you a proper lady now?" Robin asks, with an amused twist of a smile. Her suspicions are solidifying already. "Because I thought you were a runner for Crowley's forces, back in the old days. I remember a young girl, fond of carrots." She doesn't comment on the accent or the hair. Let's pretend it's the only the carrots that clued her in. "I suppose some things might change, over the course of a decade or so."

"Ohhh yeah," Ozzy says, a dawning look coming into her eyes. Her accent becomes spontaneously slightly more intelligible, though still a bit carrotful. "If it's then you know me from, these've changed, for one."

She hefts her bosoms briefly, not even bothering to take the bitten carrot out of her hand to do so. It leaves a faint orange mark on her vest. Exceptionally juicy. The carrot, that is. Bosoms are of approximately average juiciness.

"Fink I remember you now, a bit. You're pretty much the same. Which is good. You got tossed in the clink, yeah? So it don't go wifout sayin'."

"Yes, you have grown up," Robin says, her smile warming as she comes over to sit by her. "And the 'clink'. Not among my favorite memories. Still, I had the benefit of a number of allies there, my brother among them. And I'm not exactly the same, you'll find."

There's a faint shimmer, and then a tidily groomed black and grey worgen is sitting next to Ozzy. She sits casually, both familiar with and unashamed of the form. "I'm glad we were granted amnesty when we were, but it was a little late for some things. Did you manage to avoid it?"

Whether she means prison or the worgen curse, she leaves open to interpretation.

"Nope," says Ozzy, succinctly answering both questions. "But these teef are best for carrots, an' Merry 'ad bail money," she further (possibly) elucidates. "Merry as in Lady Merelda Veyne. She's basically me mum now. Plus I'm being courted real proper like by an actual lord. I can also turn into a bear. Or a ballroom lady." Her voice and intonation changes to Stormwind Posh as she adds, "That form requires an entirely different language." Then she falls back somewhere between that and the original accent to inform Robin, hands moving in precise motions as she does so, "Learnin' a new language too, to speak wif me beau, Lord Cecil. 'E can 'ear fine, but 'e can't speak, 'cause trolls got 'is tongue. "E's literally the most beautiful and sexy man in the world, but people is particular about tongues I guess? So 'e was just sittin' all alone at a ball, an' I got 'im." She beams.

Robin rocks back at the huge amount of information, a shine in her eyes as she sorts it all into the proper mental channels. "Yes, I recall the Veynes. Lady Merelda, the younger daughter, a businesswoman. I believe I met her at least once, in the before days. It is strange to think of the before and after. Before, I would have counted the rebellion as the turning point, but then everything else happened…" Robin shakes her head. "I came out of it with a living brother and four ships. And no noble lords on my dance card yet — Stormwind, am I to assume? I don't recall a Lord Cecil from Gilneas."

"Stormwind," Ozzy says decisively. "Only Gilnean nobles who'd have anyfing to do wif me was done wif me long before everybody left." She says done wif me quite casually despite the obvious, and horrible, implication. "This is him!" she says suddenly, ebulliently.

She ruffles through her bag and produces a sketch of a young man with a small, close-lipped smile, looking directly at the viewer. His hair has a neat part in the center.

"Don't be jealous," Ozzy says with obvious concern. "This one'd be way too young for you."

Robin's eyes take on a stormy look at the implication in Ozzy’s history, but it clears as the younger woman moves on to happier topics. She shifts casually back to human form, leaning over more easily at Ozzy's height to peer at the sketch.

"He looks like a lovely young man," Robin says with a smile. "And yes, I'd prefer mine a little closer to grey at the temples these days. And perhaps not a nobleman who'd expect a woman of my age to bear children. I'm content with my little fleet, and the chance to grow it yet again. And you say his tongue was taken by trolls? What a dangerous place Stormwind must be. I've heard of that kind of hand-talking before. We use some hand gestures shipboard, as the wind takes voices away, but that's not a full language."

"It's mostly for people who can't 'ear," Ozzy explains, "so they gotta use ALL the words. I learned quite a bit of it by now, but not all. Lots of mushy stuff." She grins. Then her grin fades as she adds, "The story's his to tell not mine, but like… I'll just say, no child of MINE ever gonna get taken by a troll. An' I could 'ave 'em you know. Couple worgen already done it by now and theirs turned out just 'uman."

It's totally obvious that she is ready for parenthood.

"Have they? I admit I wondered, but not enough to try the process myself," Robin says. "And I'll not press you on his story, then. Avoiding trolls is a good message to take in a general sense. Some of my crew have dire stories about orcs, as well… but let's not divert to dark topics. Are you part of the Cenarion effort here? Or do you live… nearby? I take it you're one of ours who took up druidism."

"I don't really live nowhere," Ozzy says. "Travel around to people an' places that know me, pick up druid work or killin' work. Savin' up for one o' those fancy wagons you can live in, like, and an 'orse to pull it. Done quite a bit o' work round'ere, so they pay me good. Plus I like the buildings and the forest they planted. Also got a room at Merry's place in Stormwind. I mostly use it to get mail an' put up Cecil's art."

"A home that moves — I can appreciate that," Robin says with a faint smile. "A bit like a ship, isn't it? I have a place in Stormwind myself, for doing business, but… I do prefer it out on the water. I'd suggest you consider joining me, except you already have the wagon and nobleman plan. I'll simply wish you best of luck with it." She looks back in the direction of the boat, with a look of mild puzzlement. "I admit I was rather wondering if there were any new settlements come up recently. This is not my first supply run to Surwich, but it is the first time not all my cargo is for the village. I'd a request by mail for a few crates of supplies, to be picked up in the village."

"Oh yeah? But going somewhere else nearby? I dunno wot that's about. What kinda supplies?"

"Just the usual things," Robin says, her voice going distant in thought. "Cloth, non-perishables. I just found it odd because there's not that much out here. I suppose there's Nethergarde, but they usually get their supplies overland from Duskwood." She shrugs. "Probably just survivalists of some sort."

"Dangerous choice out 'ere," Ozzy says darkly. "Even when there ain't demons runnin' amok you're likely to get eaten by bears that ain't me. Much safer in town. You did say they was pickin' it up 'ere, right? You ain't gonna go out there into Felfuck Forest, yeah?"

"Demons running amok?" Robin raises her eyebrows. "And bears that ain't… are there mad druids out in the wilderness? I heard there was some trouble with yhe regrowth, but I begin to think Kebeel undersold the situation."

"Not druid bears," Ozzy clarifies. "Just regular bears that ain't me. Most bears ain't, see." She smirks, showing a dimple. "And there ain't as many demons as there used to be, but there ain't zero demons either, which is the number you want."

"Hm," Robin says, tilting her head. "I wonder what sort of people want to go out and settle in a bear and demon-infested wilderness. I suppose one can hope they're on the same goal as the people here in Surwich, helping things grow again. But still, why not work together?"

"Some people don't get along so good in society," Ozzy says. "Me, I can only take it for like, 'alf a day and then I gotta scram back to the wilds. You?"

"I'm not sure," Robin says in thought, crossing her arms. "Living in society is… wearing a face, always catering more to other people than the other way around. I'm used to it, and it's satisfying when I can do it well. Even on my ships, I suppose, there's some element of that. My little brother — he's cursed as well — doesn't enjoy it, but he's bent more towards the military than the wilderness. Maybe I find solitude restful, but I also enjoy playing the game."

"I get wot you mean," Ozzy says. "There can be fun in it, like any costume party or game of pretend. Knowing you did it well and were clever. But yeah, not a place I could live. I dropped all that bull in minutes after meeting Cecil, and the fact that 'e liked that, not just the pretty dress and manners, was what made me glad I went. If I'd avoided 'igh society completely we'd never 'ave met. And if I 'adn't learned the accent an' got the dress-up advice I'd never 'ave 'ad the confidence to go to a fing like that, surrounded by upturned snoots."

"I do hope your nobleman doesn't expect you to live there," Robin says, glancing over the young woman again. She seems to have no trouble at all understanding the strong accent, despite her own careful merchant-class grammar. "For your comfort, that is. Though, if he prefers the bear to the ballroom, then I expect you're on the right track. The nobility can be difficult, I admit. I mostly get by with observation, manners, and the memorization of a large number of family trees."

As they speak, a cloaked figure with a rickety wagon rides in at the edge of town, in the direction of the dock.

"'E's not the heir, so 'e can do wot 'e likes," Ozzy says. "I fink 'e wants to live in me wagon wif me when I get it." She flushes a little at the idea. "I lucked out good."

Her gaze drifts to the cloaked newcomer, and she frowns. Her nostrils flare as though she's trying to catch scent, but the wind's blowing the wrong way.

"Izzat one of the forest-dwellers?" Ozzy asks. "Don't look like no outdoorsman."

Robin narrows her eyes at the cloaked figure with the wagon. The figure pauses at the dock and pushes back the hood slightly, revealing a pale human with shadowed eyes. He speaks with Kebbel, and then starts loading a few of the crates in his wagon.

"No, he doesn't, does he?" Robin says, tapping a finger against her arm. "I haven't seen him in Surwich either, not when I've been here. But who else would choose to live out here?"

Ozzy's eyes narrow. "Folks wif an interest in demons," she says darkly. "An' 'e sure looks the part, don't 'e? Not your fault, just doin' honest business wif strangers. But I might 'ave ta sniff around a bit later." She probably means this literally.

"That might be wise," Robin says, watching as he stacks up the cart, as her second-in-command shifts back to human, to dutifully ticks off marks on his copy of the manifest. "We worgen need to stick together. Not only Gilneans. Most of my crew's from our homeland, but I've picked up a few strays as well. But this place, it's a proper worgen village. If I need to blacklist a few clients to keep it safe, I can handle the lost coin."

"I'll write you once I've tracked that guy and found out more. I can write pretty well now." She seems proud of this.

"It's a good skill to have," Robin nods approvingly. She does not seem to take for granted that it is one everyone does. "If there's anything untoward going on, I'd expect that the name I have on the order is fake. Still, I can provide it to you, for your investigation. Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Miss…" Robin blinks. "I have you so well categorized in my mind that I didn't even realize I neglected to ask your name. I don't believe I ever knew it, back in the rebellion."

"Oslynn Grave'owl," she says, standing up straight to do a little curtsey. "But most folks call me Ozzy. Can I call you Robin? I like birds."

Robin rises, and gives a practiced answering curtsey, looking only a little odd in her trousers. "Ozzy, then. And yes, Robin's fine. I expect I'll be back here… and around many places, as you may be as well, with your future wagon. I hope our paths cross again. But for now… let's stay in touch, at least until we're certain Surwich will be safe."