#Meyue Thundershine

[safrona-shadowsun]

Warcraft Weekly Writing Challenge ‘19

Week #4: Pilgrim’s Bounty/Food

It seemed a smart choice to omit wine from the list of imported donations this year, as far as Pilgrim’s Bounty tables were concerned. Thundershine Brewery had chosen instead to donate barrels of their refreshing fizzing waters line, bottled directly from the Pandaren family’s estate. Elder Meyue’s spirits had been lifted with the contract, Safrona recognized, knowing that it would bring her family’s business a well needed spotlight. But it was more than that - the Pandaren Matriarch had finally managed to collect her entire lineage for the holiday, scattered as they had been across Azeroth since the younger generations had found new lands to explore. 

The ritual of food and family was a strong compulsion to say the least, and for once the years long contention the Thundershine line had among each other seemed to smooth over with the much anticipated reunion. Safrona could not have translated all the words spoken between the Elder and her daughters, but some tears had been shed along smiles and full, forgiving embraces. 

"The monsoon eases," the youngest of Meyue's daughters leaned in to Safrona to inform with a private chuckle. "And we all live to breathe another day. You have helped in your own way, Courier. Will you sit at our family's table this year? You are most welcome to."

The polite question and invitation brought the importer to a quiet, pensive turn of a smile. "I am humbled by the offer, but I doubt your family's table is my place-"

 Jin-lai laughed gently. “Does the invitation make you nervous, courier? Mother says you are so often still as stone. You surprise me. Listen: family in Pandaria is an important word, and a generous one. Family is often considered all who support a clan and its name. The gardener, the teacher, the merchant. I will like to think a certain importer of needful things earns her place easily among us too.”

Safrona tried to return the smile of course, accept the generosity, but letting her gaze grow long on the gathering, and how Elder Meyue’s jade green eyes followed down the line of her daughters and their grandchildren, Safrona saw the tradition of mothers and daughters she would likely never have. The sense of disconnection to life’s traditions was unseemly. To absolve any sense of awkwardness, the Void Elf pooled her attention into professionalism, assuring her clients had what they would need for their gathering. She evaded the confusion in Jin-lai’s insightful eyes, taking her leave promptly.

I am thankful for the kindness, she had begun to write in reply to a postcard from Bloodbrew Wineries, the Baron’s handwriting flowing with invitation and show for a proposed banquet. The holiday’s left me drained still, and the overly alert make visitation a challenge. I’ll wish you well on the rebuilding, and hope you have all you need from me. 

--Sincerely, S

The Baron was the closest she would ever have had to a father figure, but her own meaning for the word “family” was not so generous as the Pandaren, or to elves of a forgotten name, apparently. The Bloodbrew name was a convenience for her, a support in business that had helped it take off in its infancy. In all the Baron’s kindness as a patron, ‘daughter’ only felt a title for her, and Safrona had taken steps to not become attached beyond business. Not in a world where political divides so easily rose and fell, closed and opened, changed hands.

Late into the evening, Safrona convened alone in the gathering room of the Perished’s Sanctum, beyond segregated people and faction tensions. Collections of gifted platters were set upon a simply dressed table - Nether knew she couldn’t cook if her life depended on it. The best in Azeroth’s wine and favorite liquors were set in place as well, much as an importer could provide. 

The Harvester of the Perished did not anticipate for a moment that any of her Circle would stop to share in her small offering; most either had ties to the living they shared in or had no need for food in drink in the first place. The spirits that often haunted their Sanctum would not receive her either without force, but Safrona laxed in her seat at the unmanned table regardless, tipping the bottle of bourbon to her lips.

This for her, each bonded through pact, death and duty, was family. As she heard the faint play of guitar drift somewhere to acknowledge her presence, she smiled, grateful for these small signs of belonging.

{ @weekly-writing-challenge​ - thank you again! Referencing @theperished-wra​​ }