#( mmm not blood siblings [ they don’t think ] but consider themselves to be )

[oioend]

i haven’t quite figured out what caused felix and their sister to end up with the veil jumpers but i really need to stop using the orphan angle ahhh

[bedbellyandbeyond]

Euro Trip

Telling the kids that Grey was their brother was easier than explaining how. That first night after coming back from Europe, they talked it through all together—Dusty, Dante, Ruben, Yori, Grey, the triplets, even Lino, Vi, and Kidd listened in—and sorted through what it meant for the family. The triplets were very excited about the whole ordeal, but they weren’t too happy that he wasn’t going to live with them, at least not all the time. Even though they understood that it was Dusty and Dante who were Grey’s parents, it didn’t make sense to them why they couldn’t all live together anyway. Besides, they argued, they’d already had the talk about how blood didn’t mean family, a difficult topic for Rowan who wasn’t either Dante or Ruben’s biological son, so even if Grey was Dante and Dusty’s biological, why couldn’t Ruben and Yori be his dads too?

They got through it though and the plan was for the time being for them to spend as much time as possible all together so they could get to know their new family member. For the rest of the week, Lino and Vi offered to watch Grey while Dusty was at work since they worked from home anyway. The triplets still had to go to school, but they’d have an extra three hours a day after school with their new brother before Dusty got back. Dante would also be home to finish recovering, and could spend more time with Grey too. Recovery was pretty strange for Dante. He'd wake up feeling like he was fine and but if he attempted anything even a little extra effort, like standing too long making food, he felt easily drained of energy. Sydryn called him on his second day back to make sure he was resting properly, and it was apparently pretty normal and he should still exercise a little to work up the strength. Lino suggested he take short walks with Grey so they'd go around the block once or twice while Grey took in the area. He really was a very quiet boy. Kidd was pretty quiet too, but their silence still seemed unique. Kidd was more quietly studious, they were always thinking things through and very sure of themselves. Grey on the other hand was very timid and he seemed very unsure of things. The longer they spent together though, the more he started to speak his mind and ask more questions. He was likely very social once he warmed up to people. Dante was very much reminded of himself as a kid. He'd had a very hard time making friends after Dusty, but lucky for Grey he had three older siblings who already adored the heck out of him. Dante hadn't been so lucky with Lino, though they got along well enough. When he first went out alone with Grey, Dante was worried about his new teleporting abilities, but it seemed it was very short range so far and he only wanted to do it with Dusty around so it wasn't a problem. The only thing Grey seemed to want to do outside was stop to look at every leaf, squirrel, and collection of frost they passed by. He even picked up a few rocks he liked and brought them along with him, though his hands got full quick. Dante helped him carry them back home and arrange them on the edge of the front porch in order of grandeur. Back inside, their second day back from Europe, Dante took Grey to Lino's kitchen to find his brother. Luckily, Lino was there putting together a new spice rack. He since he and Vi only had to produce a batch of eggs once a month, he spent a lot of time home doing little hobbies. The past half year, he'd been honing his painting skills. Starting this month, it seemed to be small home improvements. “Hey, can you watch Grey? I'm beat,” Dante asked walking in. “Yeah, sure.” Lino put down his screwdriver so he could lift Grey onto his lap. Grey put a rock on the table. “Wow, look at that one. Real smooth.” “Oh, come on, bud,” Dante said going over to pick up the stone. “I said you can bring rocks home, but they gotta stay outside. Where'd you hide this one?” “Mouth,” Grey answered. “Oh lord… Clever, buddy, but mouths are for food. Only food,” Dante said, going to wash the rock and his hands in the sink. “I can think of a few other things…” Lino muttered. “Lino, don't.” Dante dried his hands and pat Grey's head. “We don't eat rocks so they don't go in our mouths. Got it?” Grey nodded quickly. Dante went to take the rock out to the porch and just as he did, Ruben pulled up with Yori and the kids. The triplets rushed into the house to go find Grey to play with and Dante gave his boyfriends hugs. “How was work?” he asked, ruffling Ruben's hair. “Fine. Uneventful…” Ruben recounted as they went back inside. “Did you rest up?” “Mostly, yeah. Took a walk with Grey.” “In this weather?” Ruben asked, shrugging off his coat. Dante shook his head. “It's really not that bad. Just cold. No precipitation at least.” “You probably shouldn't be out too long,” Ruben said. “Don't know what that ritual's done to your immune system.” “Rube, I'm okay. The worst of this whole ritual business is behind us.” “Still, you took the worst of it.” The triplets came running down the stairs to them with toy cars and things they planned to use while playing with Grey. Skylar had with her a model plane and she held it up. “Did you fly in a plane like this?” she asked. “Hm…” Dante picked up the model fighter jet and shook his head. “Not quite. Ours was a passenger plane. They're pretty big. I'll show you. Come to the kitchen.” They all followed them and he pulled out his tablet to find some pictures. “So big!” Marco commented on a photo of a Boing 737. “Can we go in a plane like that?” “Maybe. We'll take you on a trip some time,” Dante said. “Where would we go?” Rowan asked. “Where? Hmm…” Dante rubbed the back of his neck. “I don't know yet.” “It'll be a surprise,” Ruben said as he came in and went to make himself a cup of coffee. “But it'll be a while.” “Can we go to Europe like you?” Skylar asked. “Maybe. We could visit family,” Dante considered. Ruben huffed. “Not mine.” “Aw, but I always wanted to see the Netherlands,” Dante pouted. “We have family there?” Marco asked. “Yeah. Have we never told you?” Dante asked. “Dad has family from the Netherlands and I have family from Italy.” “What about Europe?” Rowan asked. “The Netherlands and Italy are in Europe. Europe is a continent, like North America, and Italy and the Netherlands are countries, like Canada.” “Ohhh,” Skylar said. “So is it like Minecraft?” “Is what?” “The Nether.” “Aha, no… The Netherlands and the Nether are very different.” “Why?” “I really don't know. But I think I'd prefer the Netherlands the way it is.” “Okay…” Marco thought for a moment. “What'd you do in Europe?” “We participated in a, well…a ritual,” Dante said. Ruben eyed him. “Really?” “No point lying…” Dante whispered. “What's that?” Marco asked. “So, you know how you have a little witch in your class?” Dante asked. “Yeah. She does magic.” “Yeah. So a ritual is like doing group magic.” “Oooh!” Rowan said. “Are you witches?” “No, we're just human,” Dante said. “Other kinds of people can do magic though. We met this guy who was an actual angel and he could do spells.” “Whoa, an angel?” Skylar marveled. “Really?” “Yes, he performed the ritual, but we were involved. It was a little bit dangerous and that's why Papa has these scars now,” Dante explained, letting them look over the ones on his hand. “Did it hurt?” Rowan asked. “A little… I'm pretty tired from it, but I'll be okay.” “Did Daddy get scars too?” Marco asked. “No,” Ruben answered. “I wasn't as involved in the ritual.” “Actually, you're Daddy made sure I was going to be okay,” Dante said. “He took care of me the whole way through.” “Sooo, you're not fighting anymore?” Rowan asked. “No. No, we're not fighting. We weren't fighting,” Dante said. “Sometimes we might argue, but usually it's just because we're both upset in the moment about little things. It doesn't mean we're fighting.” “Are you gonna get married?” Marco asked. “Oh, well, um…” Dante looked at Ruben. Ruben shrugged. “Maybe.” “Will Mama get married too?” Rowan asked. “Mmm, I don't think that's really something he wants,” Dante said. “Why not?” Skylar asked pouting. “Doesn't he love you enough?” “Mama does love us. You don't have to get married to show how much you love each other. It's just one way.” “What's another way?” Rowan asked. “Well, you can always just be there for each other, support each other, take care of each other,” Dante listed. “Make them know you love them in how to you treat them every day.” “Okay…” Rowan accepted. “Why's your hair so long?” Marco asked. “It's just a side effect of the ritual,” Dante explained. “Do you like it?” “Yeah!” Rowan said. “Mm, you look like a hobo,” Marco remarked. “Hey, I do not. But we don't call them hobos, okay? They're homeless.” “You look like a pirate!” Skylar said. “There we go!” Dante said patting Skylar's head. “That's more like it. Pretty cool, huh?” “Yeah,” Skylar mused. “But you need an eyepatch.” “That would be very piratey…” Dante rubbed his chin. “Anyway, how were you guys? Were you okay without us?” “I was,” Skylar said. “All the boys were crybabies.” “I wasn't!” Marco said. “It was just Rowan and Grey! I was brave!” “Rowan, is that true? Were you okay?” Dante asked, petting Rowan's hair. Rowan looked down. “I mean… I missed you. And…and you were already gone before and then Daddy left too and I just wanted you to come back…” “Aw, buddy. Come here.” Dante lifted his son onto his lap. “I'm sorry. We didn’t really plan for any of this so it was a pretty bad timing. But we're back and we're not going anywhere without you any time soon.” “Promise?” Rowan asked, hugging him. “Yeah,” Dante assured him. “Grey, was upset too, huh?” “Yeah, more than me,” Rowan said. “Well, I don't think Grey's been away from his dad as often as you.” “Speaking of…” Lino popped over with Grey from his side. “He's been asking for you. He's tired but he won't take a nap without you.” Dante took his youngest and put him on his lap. Grey was clearly tuckered out and he just curled up. “Lino were you eavesdropping?” “I really don't know what you expect from me, Dante. Honestly, I'm thinking we should just knock down this wall here and just make one big super kitchen,” Lino considered, knocking the wall. “I think there's a load bearing column here, but we can work around it…” “No,” Ruben declined. “The kitchens are big enough as they are.” “Suit yourself, but these walls a super thin,” Lino said. “I mean, with the door in it, I guess that's where I can hear you from…” Yori came in too, having gone straight upstairs to look for a book he wanted to bring to his class later. “I heard we're gonna take a trip with the kids?” “You could hear too, huh?” Dante said. Yori just shrugged and pointed to his dog ears. “Right, you hear everything...” Ruben said. “Yeah, Dante's been making promises.” “I mean, we already talked about a trip,” Yori said. “It was a condition.” “Oh, right…” Dante said, remembering their conversation before the ritual. “So we are gonna go on a trip?” Marco asked. “Yeah, your Papa promised,” Yori said. “Where are we gonna go?” Skylar asked. “Disneyland?” Marco asked. “Uh… Maybe?” Dante looked at Ruben. Ruben frowned. “We don't know yet.” “You should come down to Florida with us,” Lino interjected. “Oh. Actually, maybe,” Dante said, earning him an elbow from Ruben. “Yeah, we might be able to manage that.” “Dante…” Ruben warned. “Don't get their hopes up. And if they find out what else is in Florida, we won't hear the end of it.” Lino smirked. “You mean Disney World?” “Disney World is in Florida?!” Skylar exclaimed. “Can we go?” Marco asked. “Can we pleeeeease?” Rowan insisted. Ruben groaned and just got up and left the table. “I'm not paying for this.” Dante chuckled. “I can't promise anything yet, kids. But maybe.” “We have to go!” Marco whined. “Please?” “Have to? I don't know about that…” Dante rubbed his chin. “Thing is, only really good kids get to go to Disney World.” “We're so good!” Skylar said. “We're the best!” “You'll have to be really good for your teacher,” Dante said. “And finish your dinner and help us around the house.” “We will,” Marco said. “Yeah, we will!” Rowan agreed. Vi got home at that time and leaned in through shared door. “Lino, I’m sorry I'm late. They were out of prawn so I had to go further.” Lino went over and kissed his boyfriend's cheek. “That's fine, but we talked about the whole human face stuff. You don't have to cover up out there.” “I know, I know…” Vi switched back to his naturally blue self. “I just get really nervous…” “It's okay.” “There’s a task for you kids…” Dante said, getting up with Grey. “Go help your uncles put away the groceries.” “Oh, that isn't necessary,” Vi said. “Naw, they're earning a trip,” Lino said. “Come on pups. You can help with dinner too.” “Okay!” Skylar said, herding her brothers over to the other side. Dante rubbed Grey's back. “I'm gonna put Grey down for a nap and I still need one too.” “Alright, we'll watch the brats,” Lino said. “Go rest. We'll wake you when dinner's ready.” “Thank you.”

[ikesenhell]

The Burden

Elysium, Part Four. You can find all other IkeSen/IkeVamp works of mine in my Masterlist. NOTES: Nothing particular. LETS GET THIS BREAD -spikes my laptop and then apologizes profusely to it-

---

The Chairman detained them for most of the next day. Mercifully, between the three of them, they juggled new plans and training details and drafts for checkpoints along the main highways. Evening came, and they at last were free. 

“I'm going out,” Napoleon announced, throwing on his sword belt and caplet. “Anything before I go?”

Jean frowned and lifted himself from one of the beds. “Then I will go with you.”

“That isn't necessary.” 

“If you're walking into the woods after that bandit alone, then I should think you need another sword arm. Just in case.”

Napoleon accepted the offer with a smile and a pat on his friend's shoulder. Isaac just grumbled about having blueprints to draft and things to read, and together, the two men left the safety of the inn and headed about town. 

Information was never hard to come by if you knew where to look. If there was anything Napoleon had learned in his time ruling Elysium, it was that two things always held true: One, people were more willing to talk if you gave them something first. Two, children always knew more than they let on. It was the second one he planned to lean on. They ambled through the red cobblestone streets, side by side, wandering down the winding roads, and—ah! A small group of children milled around an ancient well. 

“Me first, Jer! Me first!”

“You still haven't said sorry after pushing me last week! I'm not giving you any!”

“That's not fair--!”

The center of the commotion—“Jer”, a lanky boy of maybe eight, split from the group and sprinted, a paper bag clutched to his chest and a stream of children capering after. Napoleon couldn’t help but laugh. They scampered around benches and in huge circles up and down the street. 

And then Jer collided with a little girl half his size, both of them crashing to the cobblestones. 

“Ah!” Napoleon ran to them. Jer looked fine, but the smaller child? Poor thing. Her eyes welled with tears, hands smushed against her mouth. Her scraped knee oozed fresh blood. He lifted her to her feet, and she wobbled uncertainly, but stood nonetheless. 

“Look at you,” he soothed, patting her head. “You’re a tough girl! No crying, yeah? It’s just a scrape. Does anything else hurt?”

Jer clambered over, the paper bag still clutched to his chest. “Mila, I’m so sorry, please don’t tell Mom--”

“Hey now.” Napoleon set his jaw and tried not to laugh. “She’s the injured party here. Ask her if she’s okay first before you start begging for her silence.”

The little girl smushed her fists against her eyes, but nodded. “I’m f-f-fine.”

“Brave girl.” He patted her shoulder and watched her little frown transform to a shy smile. “That’s the way. What are you chasing him for, anyway? And--” He glanced up, almost wheezing with laughter as he realized the other kids had dispersed. Jean looked just as confused as he. “Your friends don’t stick around, do they?”

The boy shook his head sheepishly. “We’re not really friends with them. I, um… I got a present is all.”

Mila wasn’t so reserved. She stamped a foot and shouted, “He got candy!”

Candy? Napoleon shot Jean a glance. Candy was expensive, and neither of these children seemed particularly well off from the look of their clothing. “Is that so?”

“I--” Jer flushed. “Yeah. Look.” 

The paper bag was crumpled and worse for wear, but its contents were unmistakable. The sweet scent of honey and sugar wafted from inside. What a rare treat! Napoleon considered them, wondering where someone might get a collection of delicacies like that. “Who gave you these?”

Jer squared his jaw. “I bought them.”

“Lying is a sin, young man,” Jean reproached softly.

It was difficult to tell if the child was more uneasy about sinning, or simply Jean’s insertion into the conversation. Either way, he folded easily. “I--they were a gift.”

“From who?” Napoleon prodded. “I’m not going to get you in trouble. We’re just looking for a friend.”

Mila scuffed her feet on the cobblestone. “A nice man with curly hair.”

“Yeah,” Jer added, uncertain, “Reddish-blonde curls, most of his face was covered…”

“Oh? Which way did they go?”

The siblings pointed out a nearby gate. Beyond that, the woods were clearly visible. Jean nodded matter-of-factly, adjusting his sword belt. At last--a lead.

“Thank you,” Napoleon soothed, patting both of the children. “Get home safely, alright? And share some of that candy with your sister.”

---

Tracking the footsteps out to the forest was simple enough. After crossing the boundary of trees--that was another matter entirely. He hated to ask Jean to use the Voices, and their quarry was well versed in hiding themselves. Little details mattered; a snapped branch here, a freshly overturned rock there. As quiet as they were, they still startled a flock of sparrows in their wake. 

“That’ll tip them off,” Jean murmured, hand on his sword hilt. 

“I know,” Napoleon answered. “Maybe that’ll be a good thing.”

“Maybe.”

Night swiftly approached. The light between the leaves faded from gold to orange. Soon they would turn back. But then, at the last moment, Jean motioned for quiet. 

“I hear a river.”

He was right. They passed the thinning line of trees into a tiny clearing, the glowing twilight sky overhead glittering on the clear, wide water. Maybe another day he would consider this a wonderful resting place. For now, he had two concerns:

One. There was a small stack of discarded clothing on the bank. 

Two. There was someone on the shore with a crossbow loaded and pointed directly at him. 

“Ah!” Napoleon tried--and failed--not to laugh. “So you’re a woman!”

August (it had to be August, there was no one else he’d met recently with that same piercing stare and firebrand hair) cocked a severe brow at him. They’d clearly gotten dressed in a hurry. Their pants were wrinkled, shirt sticking wetly to their chest, water still rolling down their cheeks. Without all the armor, their curves were obvious. 

“I’m not a woman,” they snapped back. “Put the sword away, General d’Arc.”

Jean kept the blade raised, but didn't move. “Lower the crossbow first.”

Napoleon pressed forward. “So you’re not a woman? You’re a man?”

“I--” August’s brows knit in confusion. “Is that really pertinent when I have a bolt pointed at your chest?”

“I have to know how to address you when you kill me.” 

They rolled their eyes so far back that he wondered if it would stick. “Sword down, d’Arc. The crossbow goes nowhere first. It’s two on one.”

For only another moment, Jean hesitated. Finally, he sheathed his sword and tossed it to the soft earth. “You’ve shown yourself honorable before. I suppose I’ll trust you not to shoot.”

“I appreciate that. And you, Sir Bonaparte?”

Napoleon was already unbuckling his sword belt, but he laughed anyway. “I don’t recall introducing myself to you with my last name.”

“Find me someone else with the name ‘Napoleon’, and I will retract the association. I’m no fool. The moment you provided me your name, I knew who exactly it was I was dealing with.”

The second weapon fell to the ground. At last, August lowered the weapon--but kept it firmly in hand. They had fine features. Long lashes, severe brows, a full mouth set in a line. And the way they spoke; this was no peasant. They were educated. Napoleon appraised their foot stance and burst out laughing. 

“What’s so funny?” August scowled. 

“I now understand why I didn't recognize your swordsmanship,” he gasped. “You fight like a woman.”

Three eyes blinked at him. Napoleon pointed. “She--he--they’re trained in women’s fencing. Look at the feet.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Jean answered reproachfully. “I’m not familiar with that.”

August shuffled their feet. It was too late. Napoleon howled with laughter again. “You took a noblewoman’s sport, added a saber, put all your weight into it--”

“Don’t mock me,” they snapped, ears flaming. 

“I’m not! It was brilliant! No wonder I couldn’t identify what you were doing--”

Up came the crossbow. Napoleon did his best to compose himself. When the laughter stopped, it finally went down once more. 

“If you’re done laughing,” August snapped, “Would you mind telling me why you interrupted my bath?”

Down to business. Napoleon folded his hands behind his back. “Simply put, we believe we’ve walked into a trap with Penrith.”

A snort. “No shit.”

Jean narrowed his eyes. “So you knew.”

August merely motioned for them to continue. Napoleon followed up. “If you know who we are, then you know we come from Elysium. We were asked to come here and assist with a bandit problem. Obviously, you found us first--and you hardly match the description offered us.”

“I imagine not.” The bandit finally set down the crossbow, scooping up the pile of clothes from the riverbank. “If you two wouldn’t mind turning around?”

Jean swiveled on his heel instantly. Napoleon followed suit, speaking into the tree line. “They also seem to have some kind of knowledge about our party that we didn't want getting out. Otherwise, our stay in the city has been very tame, but given the discrepancies, we wanted to speak to you.”

A rustle of fabric. “What makes you think I’m that much more believable?”

“You were looking for something.” Napoleon paused. “That, and you showed kindness. It doesn’t fit the profile of banditry.”

“Mmm. You can turn.”

Gone were all the curves. August smoothed out their shirt, chest flat underneath, tugging on layers of leather armor and buckling them expertly, wet hair still clinging to their forehead. “Given the history between our two countries, I’d think you’d be reluctant to trust anyone.”

A half-decade of bloody war hung unspoken. Penrith always claimed that the aggression on Elysium’s borders was only perpetuated by their former Chairman. They’d repeated as much over and over again. But words--oh, words and peace treaties didn't bring back the dead, nor did it absolve Napoleon of his responsibility to Them. He always had to be cautious. 

“True.” Napoleon agreed.

“So I presume whatever I say will be taken with a grain of salt?”

“That would be the case. Unless you can prove it, sir--mada--”

“Sir works.” August yanked on a pair of gloves and flung the crossbow easily over their broad shoulder, finally coming closer. The smell of fresh lavender soap and clear river water hovered around them. “I won’t give you words, then. I’ll give you proof. How does that sound?”

“I’ll accept that.”

“Perfect.” They lifted their proud chin, working a scarf over their face until only their eyes remained uncovered. “Go to the central plaza fountain tomorrow at dusk. You’ll find a priest with a coin. He’ll show you.”

“And what if I’m walking into an ambush?”

August simply shrugged. “Then kill them. I doubt you’ll be going alone. I have nothing to gain from seeing either of you come to harm. Tomorrow, dusk, central plaza fountain. That is the terms to truth. I can’t risk letting on what I know without some buy-in faith.”

Then that was that. Napoleon nodded, reaching for his sword belt. August nodded firmly back, rounded on their heel, and stalked toward the tree line. Jean merely stood for one moment--then lunged forward. “Wait.”

They stopped in their tracks, eyes wide. “Yes?”

“I--” Jean stood wordless for what felt like eternity. “Thank you. Your kindness in untying me was unnecessary--”

“--No, no, that’s--don’t thank me for that.” Did they sound flustered? “It was nothing. You were--it seemed you were panicking. It was simple enough to do.”

A beat. Jean stuck out his hand. August stared, then, slowly, took his, clasping tight. 

“God be with you,” Jean murmured. 

And those bright eyes crinkled, like a thousand colors bursting in the height of summer and blooming all at once. “I hope you realize that I don’t know the appropriate response for that. But thank you. And with you as well.”

Finally, they released each other. Jean charged back, head high, Napoleon following him back into the underbrush. Overhead, the sunlight faded and the stars emerged, a thick blanket of night sounds swallowing them whole. Bit by bit, they picked their way back through the woods and out onto the road. 

Napoleon finally allowed a chuckle. “They’ve got expressive eyes, don’t they?”

Jean blinked like a man emerging from a dream. “What?”

“Expressive eyes. August. When you shook hands.”

His friend and second in command released a tiny strangled noise before managing a feeble, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Lying is a sin, Jean.”

The poor man looked so stricken in the moonlight that Napoleon doubled over in his tracks, laughing until his throat scratched. Jean did his best--but after only a few moments, he cracked a faint smile, smoothing his uniform with nervous hands. “Forgive me, I--I didn't think when I said that--”

“No, no. You’re forgiven, friend.” 

They made it back to town before the gates closed. Napoleon cast a glance into the central plaza as they headed back to the inn, the red brick fountain bubbling with life, and wondered what they would find there tomorrow.

[shadowphoenixrider]

Quickening

(A quick little thing I wrote off the cuff, set in BFA, just before the Uldir raid. Tagging the people who are interested otherwise tumblr will never let them know: @elfgirl931, @galleywinter, @fer8girl, @sigurdjarlson, @highpriestessbriyanna)

The rain was coming down heavily again as Draggka and Spike made their way through  the streets of Dazar’alor to the local inn, Spirits Be With You. She paid for a drink at the bar and weaved her way past the tables to one on the threshold, letting her watch the rain and others hurrying through the streets.

Spike curled up on her feet, more interested in watching the other patrons in the inn than the ones outside. Though many glanced Draggka’s way, they soon turned back to their own drinks or food - the Horde had been in Zandalar long enough for the Zandalari to become used to their presence. Of course, a few remained that looked down their nose at the Horde (Draggka had heard the whispered comments from the other troll tribes on the Speaker’s Terrace), but their efforts to assist had quietened many of the disgruntled, and many had begrudgingly admitted that at least the Horde’s Speaker was a troll, not like their undead Warchief. (She could sympathize.)

It wasn’t long until the hunter spotted him through the rain storm; the familiar lope of a tiger, crimson mane and blue fur heavy with moisture, brown eyes brightening when he caught sight of her.

“Drank!” Draggka smiled as the feline rose onto its back feet, morphing elegantly back into a lanky troll. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Drak.” Dranka grinned, shaking out his robes before taking a seat next to his sister. “Hey Spike,” he said, patting the raptor laying at Draggka’s feet, and earning a polite rumble in reply.

“You know, Ximo won’t appreciate you getting his floor wet.” Draggka commented, a smile playing on her lips.

“Pfft. I bet he’s used to it. They’d have to be, with all the rain they get.” Dranka replied, raising a hand to a server that looked their way. “Anyway, so long as I’m paying, I’m sure he won’t mind too much.”

“I suppose.”

A brief silence settled between the two siblings as the server brought the druid his drink, Dranka murmuring his thanks.

“So, you’re going to take on G’huun soon.” Draggka said, watching her brother take a sip of beer, her own drink that of sunfruit juice.

“Yeah. If it’s dark enough to corrupt Loa and give Vol’jin pause, we need to destroy it.” Dranka spoke. “And whatever else is lurking in that Titan vault.”

“Sounds like an Old God, if it was protected by those seals.” The hunter nodded. A pause. “I still think I should be with you to take it down.”

“No. We’ve been over this, Drak.” Dranka sighed. “One, it’s an Old God, and shouldn’t be messed with unless absolutely necessary. Two, it’s an Old God that has power over blood.  That’s bad in itself, but what if it gets into the little one? I know you’d survive it, but will they? Could you tell Khadgar you lost your child? Could you live with yourself?”

“I know, I know.” Draggka winced at his hard words, cupping her drink closer. “But I feel bad that I’m not finishing the job for Talanji and her people. And Vol’jin. It doesn’t feel honourable.”

“Well, good thing Talanji doesn’t feel that way.” The druid replied. “You’re the Speaker for the Horde, and she and everyone else knows what you’ve done for the Zandalari. Bowing out of killing G’huun is understandable if you’re ill or injured. And though she knows the truth, she knows that you can’t take a little one into such a place safely.” He raised a hand as Draggka opened her mouth to protest. “Vol’jin would agree. He didn’t raise arms against Garrosh until he was sure he was sure we were safe. He knew we had to flee the Broken Shore, or all be killed.”

He reached out, laying a hand on her arm. “And anyone who says otherwise can go fuck themselves.”

Draggka managed a chuckle at his sharp tongue, patting his hand.

“Maybe don’t say that in the earshot of the Zandalari, Drank,” she said, glancing at the inn patrons. None of them seemed to be listening, or if they were, they didn’t care.

“The ones criticizing you are the same ones that already hate our tribe, so no loss.” Dranka said matter-of-factly, lifting a shoulder. “‘Sides, gives you more time to chill and take some time with Khadgar.”

“Maybe. Knowing my luck, the Consort will be on my ass demanding I do things for the Horde.”

“No. Same rules for Nathanos as with G’huun. If you can’t go fighting an Old God, you can’t go helping and his Queen out.” The druid said firmly, taking a drink. “Let some other Horde champion have the spot-light for a while. I’m sure some of the Mag’har would love to show off for Sylvanas.”

“Mmm, I guess so.” Draggka hummed, speaking quietly. “How long before they turn on her, I wonder. Hopefully they won’t turn on the rest of us too...”

Another silence settled upon them, drinking and watching the rain lash down outside, only drunk patrons and fishermon braving the downpour. As Draggka sat and let her mind drift, she felt something peculiar happen. It was an odd fluttering sensation, as if she’d swallowed some butterflies and they were doing their damnest to get out of her stomach. Gonk’s teeth, I haven’t got time to be ill.

“You alright, Drak?” Dranka asked, his brows creased into a frown.

“I...think so...” Draggka replied quietly, self-consciously touching her belly. “I’ve just be getting these weird feelings in my stomach every now and again. This is about the third time today.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Like...It’s a bit hard to describe. Like...Like I’ve got the jitters, but I’m not worried at all. or like...butterflies. That’s the phrase, right? ‘Butterflies in your stomach’?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Dranka leant back on his bench, looking thoughtful. “So it feels like something is moving in your belly. Something inside you.”

“Yes.” A pause whilst the words slowly sunk in. Draggka’s eyes widened, and she blinked owlishly. “Wait. Is, is it-”

“Do you want me to check?” Her brother asked, his brown eyes holding a kindly yet mischievous look to them, as if he was finding glee in her slow realization. She resisted the urge to punch him.

“Yeah, sure.” Draggka shifted closer to him, loosening some of the catches off her cuirass so she could lift her tunic up enough for Dranka to lay a hand on her stomach. She still wasn’t showing yet, but Draggka was sure it wouldn’t be long before she would have to get creative with her armour, and find some armourers who could keep secrets. As well as consider retiring from combat...

Dranka’s eyes glowed a light blue as he tapped into his powers, and Draggka felt the strange ghostly feeling as his druidic energies flowed into her, searching. Almost in response, the fluttering began again, and a grin spread across her brother’s face.

“Ah, yeah, that’s your baby alright.” He pulled back, the glow fading from his eyes. “Those feelings? That’s the little one moving.”

“Really?” Draggka looked down at her belly then back to him with wide eyes, the thought having trouble really settling in her head. She’d been feeling her baby - her and Khadgar’s baby - moving inside her. The small, precious, fragile life within her. “I need to tell Khadgar.”

“He won’t be able to feel it just yet.” Dranka said quickly. “You can feel the movements because the baby’s in you. But it’s too little for anyone on the outside to feel yet. Probably why you didn’t really notice until now.”

“I guess. But I’m going to tell him anyway.”

“He’ll be thrilled to hear, I bet.” Dranka smiled, his eyes bright like hazel gemstones. “Though I doubt he’s ever going to stop touching your stomach afterwards.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing!” Draggka giggled, more so when the druid rolled his eyes. “How’s the young one doing, anyway?”

“Perfectly fine, Drak. Nothing to concern yourself with.” He spoke, waving a hand. “Let’s keep it that way, yeah?”

“Of course.” Draggka nodded, lifting her drink in a toast. “For my child.”

“For your child.” Dranka replied, clinking his drink against hers.