That Was Not a Date

Shhhhh-click, clack.

Shhhhh-click, clack.

One by one Kezrin checked each of the locks on her doors and windows. It was first thing she decided to do upon coming home, before even changing out yet another ruined uniform. Bleach would not fix the burn in the sleeve.

Familiarity kept the routine progressing, for her brain was thoroughly tired and distracted by trying just what, exactly, had happened.

For starters, the bossgnome gave you an “easy” job of giving away flowers because of your sprained wrist. Then some guy came up and offered to take them all so you could get off work early, kissed you in public,  and then asked you to either move in with him or go ahead and kill him.

The second person who'd ever kissed her, and it was Trenetir Moradinel.


It was officially the worst “Love is in the Air” festival ever. She wondered vaguely if she could convince Bragdus to erase the last week of her life.

Not that she’d ever been fond of that holiday since she was a child and still believed in romantic gestures and grand, sweeping romances. Those things only existed in books.

Shhhhh-click, clack.

No, the holiday exemplified how willing people were to throw around money and buy the appearance of sincerity, as though simply buying a flower should earn someone’s favor. Just how often did she deal with a man who thought a charming smile and a vendor-bought chocolate would get him a discount or expedited shipping?

Shhhhh-click, clack.

And then there was Waxworth… he’d perfected the formula for being charming and thoughtful, when in truth, he was only using Kezrin. A smile and pleasing manners were simply not to be trusted; she at least owed Waxworth a small amount of thanks for making her wary of Moradinel from the very day they’d first met.

Shhhhh-click, clack.

She snorted as his so-called "donation" to the AAMS...

The idea that their encounters could grow worse after that first meeting was mind boggling. He never spoke to her except with condescension at the best of times. Now, however, Kezrin wasn’t even quite sure he was sane, anymore; the look in his eyes varied from disturbingly calm to frighteningly wild. The last time they’d met, he’d shoved her on top of a table littered with gore and viscera.  She had been certain she was about to become the next chunk of unidentifiable matter. Thank Rhazin and Mormel that she’d gotten away with little more than a sprained wrist.

Shhhhh-click, clack.


And the snarky voice in her head aside, there was absolutely nothing romantic about what had happened in Orgrimmar. Trenetir had only offerred to take all the flowers because she refused to go with him anywhere until he dragged her off by force.

Shhhhh-click, clack.

He’d only kissed her because he was lying to Iceia about why they were together; she didn’t have any say in the matter, hampered by some sort of hypnotism.

Shhhhh-click, clack.

And Moradinel didn’t ask, he demanded she live with him only because- because-

Shhhhhh-

The bolt stopped before it finished sliding into place. She could not think of an answer. She thought back to when Trenetir had first approached the Wyvern’s Tail using a sing-song voice, annoyed once more that her memory wasn’t as precise as it used to be. He had mentioned correcting the fact that she was always underfoot. That had sounded very much like he intended to rid of her, permanently.

So then why insist that she live with him? And what was that mention of her not being safe?

Shhhhh-click, CLACK.

Kezrin locked the bolt into place with extra force, taking a sharp breath. Did he know something she didn’t? Perhaps it would have been better to stay at Iceia’s, or at the office behind the wards. Someplace safer. Tomorrow she could talk to Telirra or Solendenus about some extra self-defense training-

"And yet... you hold the dagger. I am weaponless, and you hold my blade, tell me then Miss Kanzelry, is my life one worth living?”

He had been serious. Quite literally deadly serious. All she had to do was kill him if she'd really wanted to leave.

She wouldn’t, but he let her go, anyway.

There was another time, in Hardwrench, when he’d ordered her to draw his blood. She had refused then as well and he’d dragged her away from Lounge.

She bit her bottom lip, remembering. No, Moradinel gotten into an argument with Mormel and had taken her away so she wouldn’t be caught up in the ensuing fight.

But that was when he was still sane and not wildly alternating from cold killer to maniac to angsty nihilist.

Kezrin rubbed her temples in annoyance. At least with Waxworth and Bragdus she knew their motivations and what to expect. Who knew what would happen the next time she saw Moradinel? Maybe not even him…

She finished the last couple of bolts and headed to bed.  She fell back without even bothering to change.  Perhaps a good night’s sleep and a bit of meditation would sort things out in her head.  There was still a stack of meditation books on her shelf.  She didn’t remember buying them, of course, but they’d proven immensely helpful, anyway.

Tomorrow she would deal with talking to Brae and explaining to Derscha why she’d lost five baskets of flowers and a booklet of AAMS coupons.

“I hate this holiday.”

Yet More Backstory - The Loss

The headaches were growing worse.  Myzzi and I tried to research what could be causing them.   It didn't take us long to figure out it was tied to whatever happened the morning I couldn't remember, the first day I was ill.

I noticed my memory wasn't as good as it had been before, either.  Myzzi says I was starting to forget things, even little things, that were unusual.  Trying to think back more than a few days was a strain, and having an accidental "blurt" triggered a massive spike of pain.

No one really noticed to slight increase in misfiled papers, forgotten deliveries, or little accidents around the office.

Time and again, I went to the Clinic in Orgrimmar, wondering if I dared seek any help.  At last I did, speaking to one of the doctors there,  Knowles.  They tried to diagnose the problem, and came back with news:  I was tainted with fel magic.

Yet More Backstory - Running Away

It gets even harder from here to remember what happened.  What I know comes mostly from Myzzi, and strangely enough, the bossgnome.

And of course Renzly Silvertip, for whatever little help she's been.

I used the excuse of being ill for as long as I could to avoid seeing anyone except Myzzi.  The initial waves of headaches faded, though I continued to complain of them now and then, especially when Nozzel was around.

Yet More Backstory - A Bad Party

The party was a disaster.

I was nervous and fidgeting all afternoon and into the evening, picking at the hem of my dress whenever Ma wasn't looking.  Nozzel was waiting for me at when I finally arrived at the main hall to escort me to where our guests were waiting.

He smiled at me, graciously holding out a hand.  "You look lovely, Kezrin."

Blinding pain nearly crippled me at the sound of his voice.

Yet More Backstory - The Missing Morning

Everything from here on forward... I'm not very certain about.

Sometimes, I feel as if I have two sets of memories.  One that's easy to remember, and another one that's like trying to pick out details in polluted water, while fighting against a current.   In a lot of ways, it's easier just to be swept along the current and remember the things that come naturally.

By the easy way to remember things, my next memory is waking up more than year later, in Orgrimmar, surrounded by Myzzi and bunch of strangers.

But if I fight the current, I can remember waking up that afternoon, in my bed, in a state of panic I couldn't account for.

And if I fight even harder, then I know the truth: I woke up early that morning, just before dawn, to the sounds of the first birds chirping outside my window.

Yet More Backstory - The Arrangement

"Nostril Face."

"Frog Face."

"Nostril Face."

"Frog Face!"

"But his name sounds like Nostril,"  I argued.

"Yeah, but everyone has nostrils.  Not everyone has a frog face," Myzzi countered.

"Fine, you call him Frog Face, and I'll call him Nostril Face.  As long as we know whom we mean."

That seemed to temporarily satisfy Myzzi.

Yet More Backstory - Back Home

Ma was ecstatic.  She immediately began making plans to impress the Waxworths, dragging me into it every step she could, particularly since she didn't have her usual staff to help out.