Chavie
05-26-2006, 04:35 PM
if you don
t know me buy now
_______________________________________
Sometimes Wight's friend Chavie did boring things and he had to entertain himself. Like she would sew, and he would play with the thread she wasn't using. Or she would write letters, and he'd go and catch mice and insects and bring them back to her. Or she'd talk to one of her friends, or cuddle and talk with her girlfriend, and Wight would lie in a half-wakeful trance in a patch of sunlight, soaking up the warmth, and contemplate the dance of particles of dust or the swirling of water.
Right now, his friend Chavie was talking with Master Apothecary Faranell in a little office place. Wight tried to pay attention.
"...an dam won de rin if yu kud hep."
Faranell frowned a little. Wight could sense annoyance. "And why should the Royal Apothecary Society take time out of our increasingly busy schedule to help you with your... dizzy spells?" The Master was sitting behind a desk, with Chavie and Wight standing in front of him.
Chavie shifted a little. "Bi kas... A kan bi af g'ret yus tu te Hod. But dis di zi nes... a ka na du me ni tins a yus tu bi e bel tu du." She continued talking about her weakness and dizziness. Wight couldn't really remember a time when his friend wasn't stumbling with dizziness every now and then. The day he was given to her, a gift from Zeelina, was the day it had started. Wight and Chavie had enjoyed some adventures in Un'Goro and other places, and then they went to Caer Darrow...
He knew the story, and he had energy to burn. So he got to his feet and padded away from the two, through the crack in the doorway. There was a table covered in vials and bottles and bunsen burners, and he had to figure out how to walk from one end to the other without knocking anything over. He tensed for the leap, and then pushed off, enjoying the brief feeling of being airborne, and landed--clumsily--knocking aside an empty vial--oh well.
It got the attention of a junior apothecary, who whirled around and growled. "A kitten? Who dared let a kitten into the lab?!"
Wight ignored the woman and steadied himself, swishing his tail back and forth, studying the table. When he had a path worked out, he bolted--just in time, because the woman tried to grab him--and picked his way across the table. He knocked aside two other things, and toppled a bottle of sickly-sweet something, but he was just a kitten and was still in training. Soon this insignificant table would be no obstacle at all.
Something grabbed the back of his neck, right where his mother used to grab him. His body went limp automatically, and then the woman had him in the air.
"Ha!" She shook him. "Stupid cat!"
Do not shake Wight! He clawed at her, and bit at her. My teeth and my claws are sharp. You will not win, puny dead human!
But she didn't let him down. She ignored his biting and clawing and wriggling. "Where did you come from?" she growled at him. He flattened his ears and hissed at her. My mother's womb, same as everyone. You should ask where I'm going, that's always different for everyone.
"That Grim came in with him,"said another dead human. This one had a familiar scent and avoided looking Wight in the eye. Wight watched him. He's part of her clan, he realized. Chavie's brother. "She's meeting with Master Faranell right now."
"Very well." The woman took Wight back to his friend Chavie.
Faranell was talking, annoyed and superior about it. "...tired of everyone thinking the RAS exists purely for--set the cat down and leave, thank you--purely for their own purposes." Wight landed on his feet and rushed to Chavie. You don't pick me up like I'm still a suckling kitten. He rubbed against her legs. "Yes, you are of The Grim. How wonderful. Tell me--how is your quest for information regarding our plague incubator going?"
"Wat?" Chavie hissed. She was angry. Wight knew what she needed, and pawed at her long kilt. She was in her shadow self again, and had a weird, barely physical quality that tickled. She bent down and picked him up, cradling him in her arms, and scratched him behind his ears. He closed his eyes to shut out the sense of sight and let the sense of touch be stronger, and purred, radiating calmness, helping his friend relax.
"You led the raid on Stormwind--back in February. You had an interesting encounter with dragons--but you failed in extracting information concerning the whereabouts of Wrynn from his son's very vulnerable mind. What have you done since then to help the RAS? Admittedly, this difficulty with the dragons is interesting, but please understand we are assisting you in this only because we believe the possession, or whatever it is, can be harnessed."
Chavie's anger gave way to desperation. "Plis, a kan du so me ni tins, a jus ni tu bi.. nat di zi al te tam! Is so fus t're tin, a ka na du e ni tin--"
"I don't see how that is my problem. There are others who can properly assist us. Besides, you've brought this on yourself, haven't you?"
"E?" Wight felt and smelled the fear course through his friend, and redoubled his purring. She redoubled her scratching.
"In late March and early April you were seen among the mass graves by Brill, digging up the corpses of children, and taking them away. You were later spotted at Caer Darrow, the ghost town, entering an abandoned building. You spent the better part of a month there, and when you returned to the Undercity you were as you are now--visibly weakened, and prone to headaches and dizzy spells. The person we sent to investigate the matter has not returned, and is presumed dead. Now... do you care to let us in on what you were doing in Caer Darrow for a month?"
Her voice was quiet. "No."
"Then we cannot help you. Stop wasting our time."
_____________________________
She was solemn all the way back to Caer Darrow, despite Wight's frolicking. They went to their special shack, with the trap door, and snuck in. There was a fresh corpse lying on the ground, and the trap door was still sealed with rough magic. The corpse had a gaping hole in its chest, like it had been impaled with something. The hole had the after-smell of magic.
Chavie groaned, and set Wight down. He went over to inspect the corpse more closely. Outside, Bu Bat the stupid throatless horse was trying to eat again. "Wa did it na..." His friend was confused. "Was su pos to tel mi if e ni wan kem." She clutched at the magic rock she wore under her shirt.
This is why cats don't play with magic, Wight thought, watching Chavie stumble as another dizzy spell took her. You can never be sure what you're getting into.
t know me buy now
_______________________________________
Sometimes Wight's friend Chavie did boring things and he had to entertain himself. Like she would sew, and he would play with the thread she wasn't using. Or she would write letters, and he'd go and catch mice and insects and bring them back to her. Or she'd talk to one of her friends, or cuddle and talk with her girlfriend, and Wight would lie in a half-wakeful trance in a patch of sunlight, soaking up the warmth, and contemplate the dance of particles of dust or the swirling of water.
Right now, his friend Chavie was talking with Master Apothecary Faranell in a little office place. Wight tried to pay attention.
"...an dam won de rin if yu kud hep."
Faranell frowned a little. Wight could sense annoyance. "And why should the Royal Apothecary Society take time out of our increasingly busy schedule to help you with your... dizzy spells?" The Master was sitting behind a desk, with Chavie and Wight standing in front of him.
Chavie shifted a little. "Bi kas... A kan bi af g'ret yus tu te Hod. But dis di zi nes... a ka na du me ni tins a yus tu bi e bel tu du." She continued talking about her weakness and dizziness. Wight couldn't really remember a time when his friend wasn't stumbling with dizziness every now and then. The day he was given to her, a gift from Zeelina, was the day it had started. Wight and Chavie had enjoyed some adventures in Un'Goro and other places, and then they went to Caer Darrow...
He knew the story, and he had energy to burn. So he got to his feet and padded away from the two, through the crack in the doorway. There was a table covered in vials and bottles and bunsen burners, and he had to figure out how to walk from one end to the other without knocking anything over. He tensed for the leap, and then pushed off, enjoying the brief feeling of being airborne, and landed--clumsily--knocking aside an empty vial--oh well.
It got the attention of a junior apothecary, who whirled around and growled. "A kitten? Who dared let a kitten into the lab?!"
Wight ignored the woman and steadied himself, swishing his tail back and forth, studying the table. When he had a path worked out, he bolted--just in time, because the woman tried to grab him--and picked his way across the table. He knocked aside two other things, and toppled a bottle of sickly-sweet something, but he was just a kitten and was still in training. Soon this insignificant table would be no obstacle at all.
Something grabbed the back of his neck, right where his mother used to grab him. His body went limp automatically, and then the woman had him in the air.
"Ha!" She shook him. "Stupid cat!"
Do not shake Wight! He clawed at her, and bit at her. My teeth and my claws are sharp. You will not win, puny dead human!
But she didn't let him down. She ignored his biting and clawing and wriggling. "Where did you come from?" she growled at him. He flattened his ears and hissed at her. My mother's womb, same as everyone. You should ask where I'm going, that's always different for everyone.
"That Grim came in with him,"said another dead human. This one had a familiar scent and avoided looking Wight in the eye. Wight watched him. He's part of her clan, he realized. Chavie's brother. "She's meeting with Master Faranell right now."
"Very well." The woman took Wight back to his friend Chavie.
Faranell was talking, annoyed and superior about it. "...tired of everyone thinking the RAS exists purely for--set the cat down and leave, thank you--purely for their own purposes." Wight landed on his feet and rushed to Chavie. You don't pick me up like I'm still a suckling kitten. He rubbed against her legs. "Yes, you are of The Grim. How wonderful. Tell me--how is your quest for information regarding our plague incubator going?"
"Wat?" Chavie hissed. She was angry. Wight knew what she needed, and pawed at her long kilt. She was in her shadow self again, and had a weird, barely physical quality that tickled. She bent down and picked him up, cradling him in her arms, and scratched him behind his ears. He closed his eyes to shut out the sense of sight and let the sense of touch be stronger, and purred, radiating calmness, helping his friend relax.
"You led the raid on Stormwind--back in February. You had an interesting encounter with dragons--but you failed in extracting information concerning the whereabouts of Wrynn from his son's very vulnerable mind. What have you done since then to help the RAS? Admittedly, this difficulty with the dragons is interesting, but please understand we are assisting you in this only because we believe the possession, or whatever it is, can be harnessed."
Chavie's anger gave way to desperation. "Plis, a kan du so me ni tins, a jus ni tu bi.. nat di zi al te tam! Is so fus t're tin, a ka na du e ni tin--"
"I don't see how that is my problem. There are others who can properly assist us. Besides, you've brought this on yourself, haven't you?"
"E?" Wight felt and smelled the fear course through his friend, and redoubled his purring. She redoubled her scratching.
"In late March and early April you were seen among the mass graves by Brill, digging up the corpses of children, and taking them away. You were later spotted at Caer Darrow, the ghost town, entering an abandoned building. You spent the better part of a month there, and when you returned to the Undercity you were as you are now--visibly weakened, and prone to headaches and dizzy spells. The person we sent to investigate the matter has not returned, and is presumed dead. Now... do you care to let us in on what you were doing in Caer Darrow for a month?"
Her voice was quiet. "No."
"Then we cannot help you. Stop wasting our time."
_____________________________
She was solemn all the way back to Caer Darrow, despite Wight's frolicking. They went to their special shack, with the trap door, and snuck in. There was a fresh corpse lying on the ground, and the trap door was still sealed with rough magic. The corpse had a gaping hole in its chest, like it had been impaled with something. The hole had the after-smell of magic.
Chavie groaned, and set Wight down. He went over to inspect the corpse more closely. Outside, Bu Bat the stupid throatless horse was trying to eat again. "Wa did it na..." His friend was confused. "Was su pos to tel mi if e ni wan kem." She clutched at the magic rock she wore under her shirt.
This is why cats don't play with magic, Wight thought, watching Chavie stumble as another dizzy spell took her. You can never be sure what you're getting into.