Build A Better You

[westfallcorndog]

A lovely fall day (but aren’t they all, in their own way?) finds plaid-shirted Harrowheart on a bench in the Parklands. His legs sprawl out in front of him, his arms loop around the back of the bench, and his hands – detached and floating magically just above his lap – are laced at the fingers, anchored together in the air. Despite the space he perhaps rudely takes up, he’s mindfully left room next to himself for at least one other person should they decide to join him. He’s noticed in the Nexus that when people talk, other people have a tendency to arrive, and so he pays no mind to how many or how few people are around.

“It’s Hallow’s End where I come from,” he says. “It’s a Fall festival. Used to be about the harvest, and I’m from a farmin’ land, so that was always good for me... But now it’s about a little more. During Hallow’s End some folks on my world freed themselves from an evil king who held ‘em under a spell that made ‘em lose control of their minds. Now folks all over my world celebrate Hallow’s End as a time to reflect on who they are, who they want to be, and where they came from. We think about what’s holdin’ us back in the present from achievin’ our dreams. We remember times when we weren’t allowed to be ourselves and say goodbye to grudges from our past so we can move on and be free from negativity. Guess you could say it’s a holiday about tearin’ yourself down and buildin’ yourself back up a little better.”

He shrugs, and with a welcoming smile asks, “So? What’s somethin’ you once needed or still need to free yourself from so you can live the life you want?"

Comments

Fair warning, she cusses. A *lot*, if you want/need me to dial it back, lemme know.

[dembonyhips]

"Fucking hell, it's Hallow's End all fucking ready?" This comes from another undead of a slightly different variety. The yellow glowing eyes clearly mark her as a Forsaken, though one lucky enough to be relatively intact if obviously dead due to how unhealthy and scrawny she looks.

She's in the floor length robe of some flavor of spellcaster. "You really fucking do lose track of time here," she shrugged and folded her arms, frowning in thought, "...I suppose I've fuckin' learned to cope, because what I need is a fuckin' impossibility."

Naughty language is fine!

[westfallcorndog]

Harrowheart's eyebrows rise and his jaw drops slightly. From what he can tell undead are rare in the Nexus, but here's one who knows about Hallow's End! That means she must be...

Suddenly his expression falls and he's frowning. Hard. Forsaken.

He swings his legs around to take up the space near him on the bench and crosses them one over the other in some feeble attempt to keep her from sitting near him.

"Didn't think there'd be any of you people here," he grumbles.

What an incredibly rude manchild you are, Harrowheart!

Awesome. And oh lord.

[dembonyhips]

When his expression sours, she rolls her eyes and sighs expressively. "And fuck you too, asshole. Here's a fun fucking fact: I give no fucks about the fucking war or any of that shit."

Seriously. She's keeping her distance from the rest of her people, particularly now that Sylvanas lost the Lich King to focus on. "Because it's not like the same guy fucked us both up or anything."

Yeah, she's irritated by your rudeness, Harrow.

Oh no I love her already

[westfallcorndog]

Harrowheart crosses his arms over his chest and stares like a grump-ass into the middle distance. Okay. So he's got some things to consider here.

First things first: Forsaken are super duper always lying, and that's basically just propaganda bullshit a fact.
Second, more logical, though possibly less important thing: This lady actually has no reason at all to lie about her affiliation in a place like this. She stands to gain nothing here except maybe a little conversation. A little friendly conversation that she so kindly initiated.
Thirdly: Harrowheart, weren't you literally just asking other people to move past their grudges in the spirit of Hallow's End?

Harrow grumble-growls quietly to himself when he realizes his hypocrisy. He uncrosses his legs, then sets his boots back on the ground. Reluctantly he pats the newly-made space on the bench as he nods for her to sit down if she'd like.

His hands pat awkwardly at his thighs as he thinks about what he ought to say after such a stellar introduction on his part. Forced though it is he asks, "So. What's... Your name? And what do you do? If it's bad, make up a good lie, 'cause I don't wanna know you eat babies."

One step forward, one step back. But that's two entire steps!

[dembonyhips]

"Seriously. It's too fucking complicated and I'm too tired," emotionally, not physically. She doesn't need sleep anymore--not that it matters much, but he probably understands, being a Death Knight, "Of dealing with that bullshit to particularly fucking care one way or the other anymore."

She's... nominally loyal to the Forsaken, but only in the vaguest sense of the word, and as far, far away as possible.

"Just. Fuck." She gestured with one hand and sighed, "I go by Fortyskey. ... As for what I do, I'm a fucking mercenary these days," A green-fire slinging mercenary, but the point stands. "I don't eat babies. I can't fucking stand children."

Beat. Sarcastic tone, "Can't stand the flavor."

[westfallcorndog]

Harrow sputters at her final comment and sits up in a hurry to boggle at her... and then it hits him. He covers his mouth as he laughs both loudly and shamefully at her horrible joke.

"I didn't know Forsaken were funny!" He says with a final laugh. He leans away to get a better look at Fortyskey, and this time appraises her in a new light with a small yet honest smile.

Without any of his earlier uncertainty or hesitation he offers her his hand to shake. "I'm Harrowheart."

He passes a moment in silence before another laugh, and then he says "I got a joke for ya. What does a Forsaken call a baby worgen?... Puppy chow."

[dembonyhips]

Yes, she made a joke. She's usually full of sarcasm and bitchiness, and the joke had more than a little of both. But then, being a huge bitch is her primary form of social defense. Particularly when you're dealing with Orcs and the like on a daily basis.

Because, apparently, the orcs as a general rule find her kind of hilariously endearing anyway. She's this tiny (Seriously, like five four, five five, and the whole ninety pounds while soaking wet idea), bitter, sarcastic woman who cusses worse than a Dwarven sailor on one of his best days.

She shakes his hand. And snorted loudly into a short laugh at his own joke. "Yeah. There's a crazier band of us and then there's the fuckers like me: We're just trying to fucking cope with this bullshit and move the fuck on already. I'm not some Plague slinging psychopath because I don't want to fucking die," again, "And that fucking kinda shit takes more effort than I'm willing to bother with for too fucking much risk."

Seriously. She liked Sylvanas before she went all hyper-aggressive. Nowadays she'd stay in Dalaran, but, well.

We all know how that ended.

"Okay. Here's one for ya." She smirked, "What do Forsaken call a Gnome priest?"

Beat.

"A Light snack."

[gate_crasher]

A white-scaled lizard in gleaming armor, the white tabard bearing a red diamond-shape as its blazon, clears his throat to answer. His voice is at the high end of middle range, sounding somewhat young, but has a raspiness to it that might be a trait of his species. "Recently, I found it needful to have words with a necromancer, a self-styled King of Worms, over the fate of his organization and the Guild of Mages to which I belong."

[westfallcorndog]

"A necromancer!" Harrow says a little too loudly in his surprise. He eagerly motions for the knight to take a seat on the bench and smiles eagerly. "I wanna hear all about it! But you gotta fill me in on the background first. Is the necromancer someone you got a grudge against?"

[gate_crasher]

He sits, clinking quietly as he does so. "Context, yes. The Guild of Mages, which spans the whole of the Empire from which I come, had recently outlawed the study and practice of necromancy. It was a controversial decision, some had left in protest, and it was a matter still of debate in social circles, yes? This was before I joined the Guild."

"It had initially been believed that the rogue necromancers, operating without the guild's sanction, were limited to isolated cells and individuals. This belief proved false, when the necromancers began to launch a concerted series of attacks on the Guild, coming to my attention when I encountered those who murdered the tenders of the grove where wood for our staves is grown."

His expression darkens. "In honesty, yes, I bore some ill will to this King of Worms, who ordered the slaughter of innocents for strategy and gain."

[westfallcorndog]

Harrowheart listens with a sympathetic and thoughtful frown, his eyes on the very eloquent knight all the while.

"Sounds to me," he offers quietly, "Like that's a normal response. Maybe it ain't right that you outlawed necromancy, but I don't think their response was fair or good either. Two wrongs don't make a right, especially when one wrong can't be undone."

Except with necromancy, of course, but Harrow smartly avoids mentioning that.

"You know, that holiday I mentioned? Hallow's End? The people who escaped from that spell, they were victims of necromancy. Undead people who broke free from a man called the Lich King. And even though I don't agree with the lifestyle those folks live now, well... Necromancy's a real big sin to some people. It takes a lot to forgive a necromancer. Especially when one's wronged you. But you say 'bore' like it's in the past for you now. So how's your story with the King of Worms end?"

[gate_crasher]

"It is my understanding that these necromancers had ventured into territories already forbidden--the capture and use of the souls of people, murder and grave-theft to obtain materials. If they wanted to experiment with bodies they obtained lawfully, I would have no quarrel. If they did not defy the gods' strictures regarding soulcraft, I could not quibble. Indeed, those who pursue their studies in such manner will find no foe in me. My wrath is for the self-named predator, the self-styled conqueror, who crafts a perch from an ounce of lore and thinks it places them above all others."

He clears his throat. "Forgive me, I carry on. I do speak in the past tense, for this King of Worms and I did meet. He expressed the belief that it was his right, because he could, to gain power over powerful people, to collect them as trophies and trinkets, to study how they grow and to use them to serve his ends. I disagreed, quite stridently, and argued that his power was no mark of superiority, nor supremacy; that I would not allow him to have dominion over the Guild, nor the Empire. I also informed him, indirectly, that the magecraft of the Guild's late Archmage kept me safe from the eldritch puppetry that had ensnared others."

"I also made some small arguments in the custom of my people, with which he was not able to dispute."

[westfallcorndog]

Harrow squints at his Argonian benchmate and grins crookedly like he's in on a secret. "Small arguments, huh? Those involve anything resemblin' bitin' off a necromancer's head? No, no... Wait, I think you're too civilized for that. It was an honorable death by the sword, wasn't it? Probably more than he deserved, but shoot... It's a noble way to get over a grudge."

He shrugs, and with a little chuckle says, "At least it is on my world. And judgin' by the way you dress, I reckon our worlds are a whole lot alike. 'Cept maybe yours has a few more... Lizard people..."

Despite the strange contradiction of a paladin's shining armor and a savage lizard's head, Harrowheart can't help but be charmed by this guy. He offers his hand to shake and as he does says, "I think I forgot my manners. Name's Harrowheart. And yours?"

[ixis]

There's a curious breeze that whips and scatters fallen leaves about before the source of it approaches. And does so hanging upside-down in midair, arms and legs crossed, staff in one hand, suspended by the conjured, concentrated funnel of wind under him. The man(?) is quite a sight even without his magical entrance; there's probably very little on Azeroth that would match a creature of his description.

"While there are things in my life that call for a change so that I come closer to my ideal," he answers with an upside-down, pointy-toothed smirk, "they're hardly matters that fall to my changing of them. It's difficult being perfect, but I like to think I wear it well."

[westfallcorndog]

Harrowheart startles at this unexpected entrance! His hands clench and hover at his sides while his arms push him up straight. His wide eyes watch as Ixis arrives on the scene, but of course his first instinct is to look up, towards his feet. It takes him a noticeably long moment to look down and finally come eye to eye with the creature from the swirling wind.

Don't make a face, don't make a face...

By some saving grace he manages not to look too terribly put out by the toothy grin of this goblin-ogre, but he doesn't unclench his fists right away. Nexus might be a place of peace, but mages that proudly spout their own perfection generally aren't to be trusted.

With extreme hesitancy he pats the empty space on the bench with his handless wrist, and with a watery smile says, "Come on and... Tell me?... About it?..."

[ixis]

At the invitation, that smirk graduates to a full grin that shows all of those pointy teeth. One artful flip and Ixis Naugus lands on the given seat, arms and legs still crossed casually. His tail ends up flumped across Harrowheart's lap. He doesn't bother to move it. It's heavy.

"What's to tell? I am the greatest and near last of my craft, have achieved flawless harmony with every element, even invented a fifth one of my own design... What could I possibly be lacking? What room is there for improvement?"

[westfallcorndog]

Harrow lifts his lip at Ixis' tail in his lap. He slips his arms under the tail and forklifts it up, then attempts to delicately place it in its owner's lap. Go home, tail. Be with your people.

"Your world's only got four elements?" he asks with a scoff. "What are they? What's the fifth? You might have to overtime it if you think you done all the work you can, man."

[ixis]

The tail goes where it's deposited, the tip giving a small irritated waggle at being handled, and Naugus' expression grumping slightly at it being touched at all. How rude! Because his lack of moving it clearly wasn't.

"What do you mean, what are they? Fire, water, earth and air? What else could there be? Things like death and life aren't elements, boy, so don't start with me. I'm looking at the things that are fundamental of every material and natural thing's make-up, not philosophical concepts. The fifth is this." Naugus casually points the large purple gem at the end of his staff towards a leaf that was fluttering overhead without a care. It suddenly drops onto the bench between them with a clunk, now in the form of dense, opaque, green crystal. Should Harrow pick it up and inspect it, he'll find it to be quite durable. Not even striking it as hard as he can will shatter it.

Naugus does love showing off.

[westfallcorndog]

Harrow totally picks up the leaf! He's a leaf-pickin' man and there ain't no shame in that. He turns it over in his hand, feels its texture and tests its strength by attempting to bend it. Finally he brings it to his nose to sniff, but finds it has no special scent. He side-eyes Ixis, suspicious as can be... and gives the leaf a hesitant lick. Yep, that's a rock.

"Glass ain't an element, bud," he says, crossing his arms as his hand stows the emerald leaf away in his breast pocket. It may not be an element, but it's pretty, and now it's his.

"And listen, death totally comes from an element. It comes from the Shadow, opposite the Light. They make up everything." Like, obviously.

[juststeverogers]

"Is that a trick question?" calls a slightly wheezy young man looking far too winded for a short jaunt through the Nexus forum.

Steve's in Jeans and a button up shirt today that actually look like they might fit him. Someone's been able to at least buy a fresh set of clothes with their earnings.

"Working lungs, maybe?"

[westfallcorndog]

"Steve!" Harrow shouts. He holds his arms out wide and grins at the sight of his pal, all 90 lbs of him. "My man, come on, sit down!"

He pats the bench invitingly and crosses his legs to give Steve a little more room next to him.

"You look nice, man. Drawing worked out for you, I see? Good to know something's goin' your way, my man. But what's this about your health? Last time we talked you said you had somethin'... What was it called again? Asmer?"

[juststeverogers]

A chance to sit is more than appreciated. Steve isn't shy about coming and sitting down, taking a moment or two to catch his breath.

"Thanks. I realized I couldn't really clean my clothes without something else to wear, so I ended up getting myself something that matches what people here wear a bit more closely." Steve finds that he rather likes the clothes. They're more comfortable than he'd thought they'd be. And they may be childrens sizes, but the clerk didn't tell him that.

"It ended up being a lot more money than I thought it was." Steve admits, looking a little guilty. "But I have most of it put away, saving for a place of my own to stay." He can't help but smile at the mention of his asthma. The first of a long list of health conditions, but easily the most obvious.

"I get trouble breathing sometimes." Steve affirms, shrugging his tiny shoulders. "You learn to live with it."

[westfallcorndog]

Harrow raises his eyebrows and nods his head in a thoughtful way.

"Maybe, instead, you could... You know. Learn to unlive with it? If you were undead you wouldn't have to breathe at all! You could run forever and ever without havin' to stop. Wouldn't do nothin' for those arms of yours, but it'd make you a little stronger, too. And you wouldn't have to find a place to live, 'cause you wouldn't need to sleep."

He shrugs casually as he looks out over the park. "It's a pretty sweet deal, Steve."

[juststeverogers]

"You know, I'm almost tempted." Steve gives a chuckle and leans back against the bench. Not having to live with his problems would be tempting for anyone. on the other hand...

"I was raised Catholic, so I'm pretty sure that'd be seen as taking the easy way out of my troubles, though." He gives Harrowheart a small smile. "Plus, I'm too stubborn to die. My Ma and Bucky both told me so."

Also the entire prospect seems kind of icky, but that might be considered rude, so he keeps the opinion to himself.

Vacation Bible Camp Youth Group Leader Steve Rogers AU

[westfallcorndog]

Harrow shrugs noncommittally at Steve's friendly dismissal of his offer of undeath. You win some, you lose some. But then he raises an eyebrow, leans in a little closer to Steve, and with a curious smile asks, "What's Catholic?" Uh oh, we got a heathen over here.