Posts tagged IC

Leafsong’s Diary 3.5 – In which Leafsong meets a male stripper.

Honestly, my husband has no sense of humour. I thought that “Shan’do Lovelength” was absolutely hilarious! With his hip flicks and antlers and furry loincloth. I was looking forward to being entertained, especially after a tedious afternoon seed-sorting.

But does my mate appreciate this comedy gold? Noo. Nooo. No he does not. I have never seen such a terrified/enraged expression on his face, as when he was cornered by Shan’do Lovelength behind the counter. I had to physically restrain him from assaulting the poor creature! It was only a bit of fun. The babies were asleep! My husband almost burst into tears, especially when Shan’do Lovelength produced the whipped cream.

That has been the highlight of my week so far. Still fat. Still bloated and whale-esque. The priestess who is monitoring my progress has ordered me to stay within the confines of the city, and not undertake any long journeys. My husband has bought me a little fighting “robot” though, a gnomish toy, which does help release some of my violent urges!

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She lay on the counter, her hands folded over her protruding stomach and her gaze directed at the ceiling. The shop front was unusually quiet; the front door firmly closed, an unevenly lettered sign reading “CLOSSED FOR INVANTORY-TAKIN” hammered to the wooden frame. The muffled noises of the Park barely penetrated the reinforced walls and door, which (thanks to her husband) appeared more suited to a vault than a humble herbal remedies supplier.

From beneath her came the sounds of her grandmother and cousin conversing quietly as they began the painstaking task of cataloguing every lone seed, vial and alchemical tool in the GHE:SW. The one advantage of being this huge with child she thought to herself, grimly, was that you could be excused from the more menial side of business.

A cackle from below drew her attention, and she directed her gaze down to the floor, where Analith and Mirae were sitting in a pile of sacks. A tray of earth sat between them, which Analith was gouging happily with a wooden spoon. Mirae, thumb in mouth, watched agog. Beyond them, hunched-shouldered on a wooden chest, sat her husband. The lantern threw shadows on his lined face as he bent over a tiny metal device, no larger than a finger, his brow furrowed in concentration. His wire-framed glasses slid down his nose as he adjusted a miniscule screw, wielding a gyrospanner with precise expertise.

She coughed, but he made no effort to look in her direction. Instead, pushing a greying strand of hair away from his face, he discarded the gyrospanner in favour of another intricate engineering tool. She coughed a second time, louder, still to no avail. Sitting upright with a slight struggle, she cleared her throat in a manner which could only be described as ferocious. He looked over at her, one eyebrow poised like dagger.

“Are you diseased?”


“Then why the unnecessary noise?”

She scowled at him, folding her hands over her stomach as the material jumped slightly. “I was trying to get your attention.”

Setting aside his tools, he came to his feet and crossed the room, circumnavigating the two babies, coming to a halt in front of his wife. He bent slightly, lowering his face to align with hers. She continued to scowl at him as he brought a hand to each cheek, rubbing her forehead gently with well-worn thumbs.

“What is it, wife?”

“My brothers – Ban and Lolli – are coming to visit tomorrow. For Mirae’s birthday.” She yelped as his hands tightened on her face, his eyes blazing with sudden wrath.


She pushed his hands away, gripping his fingers with her own long ones.

“I told you about it before, remember!?”

“You did not!” Her husband’s voice was high with rare agitation.

“I did!”


“Last night!!”


“When you were SLEEPING.”

He looked at her, his jaw sagging slightly, suddenly looking every one of his eleven thousand years. She looked back at him defensively, her eyebrows raised.

“And you have to be civil, this time.”

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Leafsong’s Diary 29.4 – In which Leafsong feels better, and a whole lot worse.


It’s unbelievable.

My status as a student of the Stormwind branch of the Cenarion Enclave is being revoked, unless I show them that I have some tiny bit of druidic talent in the next three weeks.

I admit, it has been two years. Two years, and the most I’ve managed to accomplish is coax a half-dead root back to life, and produce several dozen sprouting seeds. I might as well be a particularly skilled gardener.

But, on the other hand, it’s only been two years. Aren’t Kaldorei supposed to think of time as passing in decades, centuries, even? A year is meant to be a blink of an eye, to us. We are a people who take their time, surely? Two years is a heartbeat. It’s nothing!

Perhaps it’s the loss of our immortality, that has placed this new urgency on doing things quickly. Or maybe it’s the increasing Eastern influence, our short-lived allies infecting us with their impatience.

Whatever it is, I HATE it. It’s been TWO YEARS, not two millenia! I wonder how long it took the Arch-druid Staghelm to produce his first sapling. I bet it took him at least a year. Or two. Or three.

Anyway, I’m not going to spend all my time worrying about it. I have other things to think about! It’s Mirae’s first birthday the day after tomorrow, and I still haven’t found a good present. And then, it’s only four weeks until the twins are born. I don’t think I can wait that long! I feel about as vast and bloated as that human airship, Breaker of Sky. Whatever it’s called. I’m going to start researching methods of bringing on labour early.

Also, I forgot to mention earlier. My lifemate cured me. This is why I’m a terrible writer; I should mention such things first. OH WELL.

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Leafsong’s Diary 22.4 – In which Leafsong is experiencing some discomfort.

It’s just over a week and a half until Mirae’s first birthday. My husband has already bagged buying her a giant mirror (safety glass) to look at, so I’m slightly stuck as to what to get her myself. I’m not good at buying gifts for people. I don’t see the point of gifts, really (unless they are for me.) I never got anything for my birthday when I was younger. But Mirae isn’t me, and I want to do things properly for her. Maybe I’ll get her some ribbons for her hair, or something “girly”. I think she’s going to be a girlish-girl. Unlike her mother. I’m more mannish than my own husband!

I’ll have to get Analith something too, otherwise he’ll get jealous and wreak vengeance. Little beast has teeth and knows how to use them.

I’m nearly eight months into my childbearing now, and my body is starting to slow down. I find that I have trouble standing if I’ve been sitting for a while, and that I can’t do more than a quarter of my usual delivery route before becoming weary. I feel bloated and clumsy in everything I do, although I don’t look that massive (because I have the physique of a stick, normally). My feet and hands have swollen up, they look almost as chubby as a child’s; and every so often I get a rush of heat flushing up my neck to flood my face. And don’t even get me started on the bladder problems. I swear, it’s shrunk to the size of a pea. I can’t finish a glass of water before I’m – anyway.

The miracle of life is bloody overrated! Bah!

I also find myself getting up in the middle of the night because I’m so uncomfortable. Just my luck that as soon as Mirae begins to sleep through the whole night, the little bas- the unborn babies decide that one a.m is a great time for a party. They also quite like three a.m. And five.

It’s not so bad though, my mate usually wakes up too and accompanies me downstairs. We sit together on the counter; I dictate inventory stock to him and he fills in the irritating paperwork. He is always surprised at how much I can hold in my memory. I told him that anyone could develop a superb memory if it took them less time to memorise a delivery route than it did to  read the directions along the way!

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Leafsong crouched behind the counter in the GHE: SW branch, her tongue sticking out in concentration as she wielded the tiny brush in her hand. Mirae, her small feet drumming on the floor, gazed up at her mother with slight trepidation. Leafsong shot her eyebrows up, questioningly.

“Why’re you giving me dirty looks, baby?”

Mirae’s small, fine-featured face contorted into an expression of mild alarm, her round eyes swiveling towards the implement in Leafsong’s hand. Leafsong glanced at it, then shrugged a bony shoulder.

“It’s a brush, not a spiked mace. I ain’t gonna hurt you. Come ‘ere-”

Mirae attempted to make her escape, but her mother was too fast for her and shot out a hand, grabbing a pudgy foot and dragging the baby towards her, sliding over the well-worn wooden boards. Mirae looked petulant, spreading her arms like a starfish and twisting her head around, making plaintive noises of objection. Leafsong pulled the baby up onto her rounded belly with a grunt, and gently turned the small chin in her direction.

“Now, stay still. You’re a year old now. You’re old enough, so stop fussing!”

She dipped the tip of the brush in the rounded glass pot which sat beside her crossed legs, pulling up a blob of silvery liquid. Mirae, eyes wide, sat as still as a rock as Leafsong carefully began to daub the brush over her cheeks.

“Look, you can be like your min’da-!” Leafsong whispered quietly, careful not to touch the baby’s long eyelashes. She held her breath as she painted a delicate whorl on Mirae’s right cheek, then moved her brush over to repeat the pattern.

Mirae gazed up at her mother, solemnly, her lips slightly parted. A moment later, she let out an almighty —


Leafsong stared down at her ruined handiwork in dismay. Mirae looked faintly bemused, then let out a giggle at the other’s distraught expression. A long silver streak dashed horizontally beneath her nose, turning what had been two symmetrical traditional markings into a fancy attempt to mimic facial hair, complete with sideburns and moustache. Leafsong pursed her lips tightly for a moment, her twitching foot sending the pot rolling beneath the counter.

“…Right. Well, I ain’t doing that crap over.”

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Morning excursion

At seven in the morning, the Cathedral District was still relatively hushed. A cluster of novices were gathered beside the fountain, listening avidly to a sombre-faced, grey-bearded paladin. A stout dwarf hauled a large, covered cart behind him as he set his reddened face towards the marketplace. The last flickers of light in the lanterns were slowly subsiding as the sun slowly began to overtake the shadows, illuminating the smudged grey cobblestones.

A bead of sweat ran down Leafsong’s forehead. It trickled down the end of her long nose, slid coolly down her neck and traced her protruding collarbone before disappearing inside the grubby hem of her shirt. The paladin’s resonating lecture echoed dimly from below, his words faint as they were carried up and past her by a stiff seaward breeze. Her fingers dug deeper into the limestone crack, her lips pursed in determination.

She had been climbing for long enough that she couldn’t quite remember what had possessed her to make the decision in the first place. Couldn’t remember the thought-process which had distracted her so radically from her usual morning delivery routine. She had a vague recollection of an overheard comment, some sarcastic quip directed towards her by a fellow early-morning salesperson. Something along the lines of how well the formerly aloof Kaldorei had assimilated themselves (lowered?) into the common rank and file of the Alliance. That they were also willing to hawk their cheap wares on the street, alongside the peddlers and hawkers. That they were even becoming nicely Easternised.

Leafsong wasn’t sure why this comment had riled her so much. Perhaps it had simply added to her prior, barely-voiced concerns that Analith and Mirae gazed with awe and astonishment around Darnassus, but looked upon Stormwind with familiarity. Or that Analith’s Common vocabulary was beginning to overtake his native tongue. Nevertheless, whatever the cause, it had led to her being in her current predicament.

No-one had noticed her yet, clinging to the rear of the Cathedral’s eastern tower, perhaps near eighty feet off the ground. She continued to climb, her face set, aware only of her fingers and toes curled  like a monkey’s, digging into the cracks between the stone blocks. I may peddle my goods alongside the humans she thought to herself, her eyes half-shut against the increasing sunlight, and I may genuflect and pander to their wishes like a fawning salesman

She closed her eyes fully, and was transported instantly back to her girlhood in Moonglade, her satchel hanging from her back, her feet unclad and covered in blisters, clambering up the great trees of Nighthaven. Elevated thus above her competition, her voice carried further and attracted more curious passers-by. She remembered clambering up the dangerous mountain-route to Hyjal, forsaking the more conventional road for the quicker, nearly-vertical climb to the summit. She had marked her own route, flagged with red scraps of cloth, snaking her way across a knot of twisted roots, a five-foot gap easily crossed, a leap from one branch to a higher. She had come to know the art of ascending intimately; she knew that a slender branch could support more weight than it suggested, and that a seemingly-sturdy branch could hide a rotten core. She knew how to test the integrity of a wooden limb with her toes, her fingers digging through the cracked hull of bark to discern its fortitude.

This Cathedral is nothing more than a tree grown by Man, she thought to herself as she hauled herself up another foot, her swollen belly pressed against the sun-warmed stone. It has its study trunk (her slender fingers reached up to grip the angled, stone edifice above her) and its treacherous branches (a tile beneath her naked foot shifted an inch and her grip tensed). I can almost feel the chill wind of Nighthaven- cooler than these balmy human breezes-

It almost came as a shock when her hand came up once more and grasped – nothing. Her eyes opened, and she realised that the sensation of cold air was no illusion, but simply the product of altitude. Bracing herself, she hauled the rest of her body up and over the curved stone lip. The ledge was narrow, no more than a foot wide. Carefully, she shuffled around to sit with her legs dangling over  the edge, her back leaning against the bronze-tiled spire.

The people below were tiny, the paladin’s voice no longer audible, his tiny arms just barely visible as he gesticulated. The wind tugged impatiently at her hair, lifting her plait and ripping strands free from the black band. She reached behind to grip it with her hand, pulling it back from her face, her other hand settling on her rounded stomach. I might be humanised in more ways than I would like to admit she thought to herself, proudly, but I can still climb a tree like I’d never left the West.

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Leafsong’s Diary 14.4 – In which Leafsong buys a couples’ entertainment device (not what you think).

I like having a mate who is wealthy. I enjoy spending his gold. Especially since I hoard every copper that the GHE:SW earns with the ferocity of a mother saber defending her young. Come to think of it, my reaction to someone snatching my coinpurse/baby would probably be identical.

Anyway, I went shopping yesterday in  the Trade District – I don’t often go shopping (as everything on this Elune-damned continent is overpriced), but due to work stress and hormonal urges (I think that my unborn daughter has realised that I expect her to wear the third-hand overalls that we bought for Annie two years ago), I decided to go and act like a spendthrift. I bought the babies some new clothes (Analith won’t be parted from his human-style Diva! outfit), my husband some carpet slippers (which he accepted without a sarcastic remark), and — this is best of all! A COUPLES ENTERTAINMENT DEVICE. For those long and tedious summer nights where the entire city sleeps, and our kind are up and bored with nothing to do!

Of course, my mate had to go and be a spoilsport. “That’s not a couples’ entertainment device, that’s a wringer” he said, like the killjoy he truly is. How ridiculous! I thought, and told him so. I paid ten gold for this fabulous contraption, and we are going to spend many many nights turning the handles and laughing with hilarity together. What his problem is, I think, is that he cannot take the excitement at his age. I do feel sorry for him. But I won’t let him get out of it. He is going to spin those handles and like it.

Leafsong’s new couples’ entertainment device:

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Leafsong’s Diary 8.4 – In which Leafsong reports from a war zone!

I don’t like Northrend. I know that it’s a part of beloved Azeroth, which our Lady created, and as such we are bound to serve and protect it (etc. etc.), but the entire continent – ugh, I wouldn’t mourn for more than a minute if Azshara blasted it with her trident and it sunk beneath her waves. Sure, there are SOME regions which I can tolerate for more than a minute (Or, one. Namely Sholozar). But the rest! Let me go through them:

Borean Tundra: Swamp, swamp, dirt patch, robo-gnomes.
Dragonblight: Horrible, miles-wide graveyard.
Icecrown: More of the above ^
Storm Peaks: A pain to navigate, plus inhabited by giant women. Who are taller than me, so they must be freakish.
Zul’drak: Full of TROLLS.
Crystalsong Forest: What have they done to all the lovely trees!?
Howling Fjord: Inhabited by giant men.

So why do I find myself here, hiding inside a high elven tent in Windrunner’s Overlook, writing this while the sounds of battle ring about my ears?

Because my husband has decided that this insignificant little outpost, in the middle of the most pointless and aesthetically-unpleasing regions of Azeroth, is worth risking his life and unit for. Apparently the Horde feel the same way. It’s ridiculous! I’m freezing my balls off, I didn’t bring my protective leather gear, and the high elves are looking at me derisively for not joining the charge with the rest of the fools. What? Endanger my own life for this patch of arcane-mutated land?! No, thank you! I’m at least hoping that there’ll be some loot to gather on the field afterwards. I have my pliers at the ready, and will be keeping an eye out for gold teeth.

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Leafsong peered at her reflection warily in the flickering candlelight, noticing with dismay that a new spot had erupted on her forehead. The goblin behind her shifted on his crate, impatiently snipping the air with a pair of vicious-looking scissors. At nearly seven in the evening, she was the last customer of the day; the rest of the salon was deserted save for another goblin stylist reluctantly coerced into the role of babysitter for a drowsy Analith and Mirae.

“So.What are we after today?” The goblin perched somewhat precariously behind Leafsong, needing double the usual amount of props to bring himself alongside her bowed head.

She dragged her attention away from the pimple, blinking once or tiwce.

“Um. I ah, want- somefing alluring. I want to be sex kitty. For my ‘usband.”

The goblin looked at her long-nosed reflection doubtfully.

“Hrm. Ambitious. Oh well, we’ll give it a shot!”


Forty minutes later, he sheathed his scissors with a dramatic flourish.

“And we’re done!”

Leafsong gazed at her newly trimmed hair, somewhat tentatively. A large hunk of feathery green hair hung over her eyes.

“This bit- is in my face. Is meant to be in face..?”

“You’re supposed to smoulder alluringly through it, long-ears. If that’s too much effort for you, I can just make it a side parting!”

She shook her head hastily, flicking the hair over her eyes and pouting at him kittenishly. “Rrrrrrr! How about this?”

He shuddered. “You’re all done.”

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Leafsong’s Diary 3.4 – In which Leafsong summarises the past few days.

Family: I need to take Analith to the temple to get his inner rage sorted out. It’s ridiculous how angry he is, for an eighteen month old infant. It’s not that I think he’s unhappy, he seems to be contented enough – but every little thing which provoke him, provokes him into a ball of screaming and biting fury. Rather like his father, actually! Last night Mirae stole the last seaweed rusk from right under his nose, and he swung his little fist and knocked her tooth out! She was in hysterics for an hour. I am seriously tempted to mix some tranquilising serum into his next feed. Which I won’t. Probably.

Lifemate: Things with my lifemate are good! We haven’t been rowing much recently at all. I still accompany him into battle, although at seven months pregnant, I’m unsure how wise that is. He seems to prefer it when he can keep an eye on me, though.

Classes: AGHH! Not worth mentioning. Everyone in my class can now summon thorns to protrude from their bare skin, except me. My mate seems to be relieved by this, I’m not sure why.

Myself: I won a raven-horse-beast..thing off a pair of goblins. It makes a nice change from the bike. I’ve called it Angus. Angus Shalah’aman. It has a ring to it, eh? My husband can’t stop staring at it, for some reason. I may have reason to be jealous.

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