Archive for June, 2010

Shopping

Rabbit.”

Burrr”

Noo, rabbit.”

“Rabbit” said the human in the rabbit costume, in a surprisingly deep voice for a rabbit. Mirae stared at the ‘rabbit’ for a moment, then looked up at her mother for reassurance. Leafsong reached down and picked her up, hoisting the baby onto her hip and shrugging apologetically at the costumed man.

“Sorry. I thought perhaps – she learn new word. But no.” Leafsong mumbled in her heavily accented Common, turning away from the rabbit and his proffered flyers for Perrin’s Westfall Vegetables – Carrot Sale This Week! Mirae frowned up at her mother, clutching at the worn neck of Leafsong’s tunic.

Come on Mirae. Next thing on the list.”

Leafsong squinted at the crumpled shopping list, trying to decipher her mate’s erratic handwriting. “Does that say bullets? Ballast? …Bananas?” She snatched the paper from Mirae’s tiny, grasping fingers. “Let’s go for… bananas. Your an’da likes Tel’Abim bananas!”

As she wandered through the Trade District, weaving her way through the street stalls and fellow traders, she could not help noticing the eyes turning her way- the surreptitious peeks over a shoulder, the seemingly casual glances; although, she reasoned with herself, they were not directed at her so much, as they were the child in her arms. It was true that the year old baby shared the same characteristics as Leafsong herself; the fluff atop her head was the same ivory shade, and her eyes grey.

However, the baby’s features lacked the awkwardness of her mother’s; making her face appear almost a refined version of Leafsong’s own. The crooked teeth and long nose had been redressed by small, neat (and perfectly straight) replacements. Leafsong’s own tangled, wavy hair (now only displaying her natural shade at the roots) was the doormat to Mirae’s fine, silken rug. The grey pupils which appeared clouded and often sulky on Leafsong, were transformed into lustrous silver on her daughter. The combination proved effective; and Mirae, at a meagre one year, was already drawing glances.

Leafsong, who was thoroughly used to being passed over even before she began carrying around this attractive accessory, snorted to herself and ducked into a quieter alleyway. Sitting on the edge of an upturned barrel, Mirae on her lap, she pulled out a corn husk from her satchel and handed it to the baby. Mirae grasped it, and began to gnaw on a corner delicately. Leafsong rocked her back and forth while she ate, snickering immaturely.

“I don’t know where you got your good looks from, baby. Sure as anything, I ain’t beautiful. And your an’da weren’t a stunner even when ‘e was young.”

Mirae blinked up at her mother solemnly, clutching the rusk in her sticky fingers. Leafsong blew a kiss down to her, then cackled quietly to herself.

“Perhaps you got the looks, but no brain. That’d explain why you can’t speak yet. Ha!”

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Untitled

She finished off the letter with a labourious signature, her letters as round and clumsy as a child’s first penmanship. Running a critical eye over the lopsided paragraphs, she let loose a dismissive huff and rolled up the parchment, ripping off a piece of ribbon with her teeth to tie around the scroll.

“Did you want to add a note to my pa?”
“What?”

She scowled at her husband, scooping up Loredar with one arm and trotting across the shopfront with the letter in hand. Depositing the baby alongside his sister in the crate which still served as their crib, she squared up to her reflection in the mirror and began to fretfully rake fingers through her ponytail. Flora’s eyes slid sideways to goggle at her brother, and she let out a series of throaty gurgles. Loredar made no reply, blinking sleepily.

“Y’know, like a friendly greeting. How are you, father?”

Aphel frowned at her, peering over the top of the newly-mended reading spectacles which vanity only permitted him to wear indoors. She frowned back, her hair even more rumpled than before after the interference, standing up on top of her head in a series of peaks and whorls.

“How are you, father?” he queried, tapping the tip of the quill on the countertop. “The man is four thousand years younger than me. In addition, in the majority of situations where we are forced to interact, we detest one another.”

She scowled at him, then quickly smoothed her fingers over her forehead to erase any lines. “Pfff. Fine.”

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((New computer!))

I’ve been playing WoW for two years on my laptop, and I just recently got a desktop when I moved home to Britain. It’s like playing a whole different game =)

Laptop

Desktop

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Leafsong’s Diary 25.6

Query: Can you get into trouble for trading goods which are then used in illegal activites? Surely not – if so, the blacksmith would be liable for any dagger-wielding highwayman, the arcane reagent dealer responsible for every harmful spellcast. As a Gladefall of the GHE, I am wholly aware that our products (the alchemical ones, rather than the herbal remedies) are often used for nefarious purposes. In fact, our third-largest contract is the Steamwheedle Cartel. However, I generally prefer there to be some distance between my person and the crime being committed. Let me explain further:

I was in the Cathedral yesterday, resting on one of the stone benches beneath a cloister after some ‘light activity’ in the main hall (loot count: three jars of wax from the candles, a vial of perfumed oil, and a small silver candlestick from a side chapel). A human man, who smelt more country than city, sat down beside me with a grunt and closed his eyes. Of course I could not just let him sit there in peace, so I launched into my sales spiel. He halted me halfway through, and asked if I had anything to numb living flesh. I had, as it happens (extract of frozen Wintersbite, mixed with ethanol), and he went on to ask me whether it could be used in syringe format. It was not the first time I had heard this question, so – through habit – I lowered my voice, glanced about to check that noone was in earshot, and assured him that it was wholly suitable for use in syringe format. He seemed pleased at this, and gave me twenty silver for a single pot of the mixture.

My mate came to find me then, sauntering in with the expression of faint derision he reserves especially for places of Light-worship. I rose to accompany him home, as it was time for the twins to feed, when there came the sound of a scuffle in the shadowed corner of the vestry. My husband drew me away quickly (he has been involved in so many altercations at the Cathedral, that he has been warned with banishment if he involves himself in any more), but I was able to see from the corner of my eye that it was that same human man, brandishing a syringe loaded with the distinctive pale blue Wintersbite tonic, in the face of another rapidly slumping male. It was most disconcerting. I couldn’t wait to distance myself after that, and challenged my husband to a footrace through the streets of Stormwind back to the GHE. He won (how? How? He is ancient), but I was so grateful to be away from the scene of the crime, that I neglected to give him the beating he deserved.

(I have realised one thing about myself: that although I am perfectly happy to supply the reagents needed for nefarious activity, being in the presence of the actual activity itself alarms and unnerves me.)

Well, even if the Guard do trace the syringe back to the GHE, I can always claim innocence. I don’t think anyone recognised me at the Cathedral, I have a forgettable face.

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Leafsong’s Diary 23.6

Analith’s acorn hat is finished! Not by me. When my husband found out that Analith was going to be appearing alongside the spawn of the whorequeens (i.e. the other mothers in the Kaldorei mothers meeting); he set about constructing the perfect acorn hat with the same fervour with which he argues a case in front of Staghelm, or pursues an enemy through the back alleys of Stormwind. The final result was….certainly unique. Analith’s acorn hat is constructed from remnants of a pit lord’s armour; exotic Zangermarsh mushrooms; glowing elements from an Eredar. I am not sure if it will even fit on his head! No, no I’m sure it will fit.

The play, Lunar Love (as it’s now being called), is going to be performed a week from now. Against my will, I have been conscripted to be an extra. I will be a tree, holding an acorn. I am sure it is because noone else wants to hold my fat baby for two hours. I have seven days to come up with a tree costume. My cousin said, unhelpfully, that I should have paid more attention to my druidic study. And that then I would be able to transform myself into the Tree of Life, and have a ready made costume. THANK YOU, SHYLA, FOR YOUR EXCELLENT ADVICE. Hmph.

In other news, my husband’s military activities are all going well (I think). They seem to be winning more battles recently, and have only suffered a few losses. I am very proud of my mate, even if I worry about the risk he is taking. He has been fortunate enough to only have had a few injuries inflicted on his person. I got shot in the ass during one of his recent excursions. I have been sitting out on most of them since that time.

The other babies are all doing well. Mirae has begun to toddle around, and her new mission in life is to clamber onto the chest to see her reflection in the big mirror by the door. It is very annoying; I turn my back for three seconds, tending to twin, and I hear her little fingers scrabbling at the chair. The twins are nearly a month old now, and they are just starting to get over their wrinkled, prune-like stage. We still haven’t bought a crib for them, but they’ve been getting compliments from customers, who admire their bright, beady little eyes and their fluffy heads. In fact, sales have gone up by 15% since I started displaying their crib-box on the counter. They are already a valuable business asset!!!

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Child-rearing

“What are you doing? That’s my best ammunition pouch!”

She looked up, her face luminous from exertion, and sporting an expression of barely suppressed rage. Sitting cross-legged on the counter, she was clutching a clump of leather in one hand and a slightly bent knife in the other. Scraps of discarded material lay around her like confetti. Aphel crossed the shopfront and plucked the pouch from her grasping fingers, studying it in disbelief.

“This was a gift from my superior during the second push of the Silithus War. It has silithid chitin sewn into the-”

He was cut off abruptly as she snatched the clump back and began to hack at it once more with the knife, her teeth audibly gnashing. Aphel opened his mouth as if to protest, then relented and leaned back against the counter. Soothingly, as if calming an angry infant, he ran a cool finger down her flaming cheek.

“What is all this about?”

“I’m- makin’ – an hat.”

He was about to automatically correct her grammar, but one look at the murderous light of her eyes changed his mind. Instead, he studied the misshapen brown lump with solemn gravity.

“I think it’s a bit small for your head, darling.”

She snarled up at him soundlessly, drawing her lips back over her teeth like a saber. He continued to smooth her hot cheek, well used to the volatile temper of his lifemate.

“It’s – not for me. S’for Analith. He needs a costume.”

“A costume? For what?”

“The Kaldorei mothers group is staging a childrens’ play. Lunar Love: The Story of Malorne and Elune.

Aphel frowned, glancing up to the first floor balcony where his twenty one month old son slept soundly in the cradle beside his sister.

“He can’t be in a play. He can barely walk and talk coherently, let alone follow a script or stage direction.”

Leafsong gritted her teeth as she made another inexpert slash.

“He is playin’ an acorn. I am making him a little acorn hat. See?”

Aphel nodded in faintly bemused understanding, before gently removing both dessicated pouch and knife from his wife’s clawed fingers. She clung onto them for a moment, then groaned and put her hand over her eyes.

“I’ve been tryin’ to make the bloody thing since teatime. I ain’t even got started on my stock reports yet.”

He kissed her cheek, laying the items down on the counter beyond her reach.

“I’ll make it for you. My father was a tailor, I must have inherited some of the haberdashery genes.”

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Away!

Away till Sunday, picking sis up from uni! Post on sun evening!

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