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“Ow,” Acciana complained, snagging back her arm from her partner.
“Being a bit of a baby, are we?” Vashira teased, pulling her closer again and dabbing the slow-healing scratch on her arm with a cloth, soaked in her own healing tincture.
“Well it bloody hurts, yeah?” Acciana replied. She frowned, though let the brunette continue taking care of her wound.
Said brunette rolled her eyes, but her focus was uninterrupted; she was determined to complete her task. “Well I can’t imagine it feels nice, but you’re a big girl, sit still for me,” she ordered.
The blonde did not argue any further, and instead let the scowl on her face deepen, as she turned her attention to the familiar little alchemy shop she was perched on a stool in.
Vashira’s shop had been in Stormwind for several years now, and had almost become a staple, tucked away between the Cathedral district and the Dwarven district. There was one small paned window facing the canal, allowing in a bit of sun and the opportunity to watch people pass, and candlelight made up for the rest of the dim, yet somehow pleasing lighting within. It always smelled like various herbs; there were burners brewing potions, a few hand-dipped candles to buy, and a myriad of ointments, tinctures and oral medications available to purchase in the cramped space.
The shop was only large enough for perhaps ten or eleven to stand in comfortably at once, but frequently was occupied by up to twenty, given the popularity of her merchandise. A small storeroom could be reached from the door behind the counter (always kept under lock and key), and a rather steep set of stairs led to an upper floor, which, Acciana knew, held her living quarters. She’d spent many nights up there since their romance began, when she tired of the uncomfortable cot at the makeshift barracks the Gilnean army had been graciously supplied by the King of Stormwind. She was not on assignment for the moment, which left her free to roam, beyond daily drills and briefings. She most frequently roamed into this little shop, and had little trouble entertaining herself in the incumbent peace.
Some of the other soldiers in her regiment were restless though, and firsthand testament to the idea that idleness left room for ill will. Two nights ago Acciana had interrupted a drunken brawl, and earned a sword slash on the arm for it. Safe to say those involved, who had made fools of themselves and dishonored their superiors were subject to disciplinary action.
She could have been treated at the infirmary, maybe been treated by a priest or a proper healer, let the power of the Light take care of her smarting wound, but Acciana had always preferred the old ways; growing up, no one in her family or indeed in her close relations had such an affinity for the Light, so bandages, poultices and potions had soothed her scrapes and bruises as a child. The familiar smell of an apothecary or alchemy shop soothed her.
A few moments of silence and she donned a new bandage, and could already feel Vashira’s concoction going to work; there was a faint tingling on her skin. She flexed her arm, then sighed. “Thanks, love.”
“Anytime, darling,” Vashira replied. She crossed the room and propped open the shop door, flipped the elegant little sign on it to indicate she was open for business; she took frequent half-hour breaks, to reorganize her supplies or spend some time off her feet, or to devote it to her pretty soldier. “Had a good morning, despite your biting wound?”
“Same’s always. Not much goin’ on a’ the moment.” Acciana wasn’t sure if she was pleased or dismayed by that.
“So, dastardly droll,” Vashira summarized, and sighed. She leaned on the counter nearby, rested her chin on her hand and regarded Acciana with intrigued eyes. Their ochre hue was easy to fall into, and the blonde felt herself doing just that, leaning forward slightly on instinct.
“I could do with a bit of a panic,” the brunette said, smiling shrewdly. “The city’s much too safe. You rarely hear anyone fleeing for their lives lately.”
Acciana knew it to be a joke, but maybe one in poor taste, given their shared history; the collapse of Gilneas was not fondly looked upon, and wishing for something similar to occur was begging for trouble, in the wrong company.
“Gonna send them fleeing yourself?” she asked instead of reprimanding her, raising a brow.
“Certainly not. My aim is to attract; I can’t sell all these potions to the rats.”
“Yet plenty of rats buy them,” the blonde pointed out.
Vashira smiled in a biting kind of way at the accusation, but one that was no less fond of her partner. Oh yes, plenty of shady individuals marked her clientele; there was more to be purchased at her shop than sleeping potions and elixirs of strength, though the Board of Commerce did not know that.
As profitable as her regular merchandise proved to be, the real gold was to be found in more…unsavory concoctions. That accounted for the secret selection beneath the floorboards of her storeroom, costly, well-hidden, and only spoken of as ‘special orders.’
The reputation, or even the intention of the customer was irrelevant to her; if someone had the gold to buy poison, of whichever sort, she was willing to sell to them. That said, some of her rats were quite heroic or valuable, from what she understood; a number of them were SI:7 agents, looking for a quick fix or top-off, an advantage which regulation deigned not to afford them. Some of her customers were thugs too, or dangerous men and women, with revenge on their minds or in their hearts. Others found themselves in dire straits, seeking to escape debt or terrible situations, and some were adventurers and travelers, with covert skillsets and deep pockets. Vashira was happy to provide for any of them, for the right price.
Most of her money went away, saved for a rainy day, but Vashira did love to indulge; she was fond of drink, and smoking, and expensive teas, and was the sort to request a private table at any establishment, which, ironically, she proceeded to fill with strangers of interest. She hated to be bored.
Acciana was indifferent, both to the reality of her business and her desire for intrigue. She was adaptable by nature as a soldier (though adaptability was a learned skill for her) and could make herself comfortable in almost any room, especially when finding herself next to the sly and charming woman. She knew Vashira to be clever, careful, and so did not worry about any sort of punishment for her endeavors, just as she never worried when the brunette got too mouthy in a conversation with a stranger. She could handle herself. They both could. Truly, most Gilneans could.
Having one’s home ripped away suddenly, enduring the Forsaken assault, the Cataclysm, and the rampant curse of the Worgen bred cunning and careful individuals, mostly out of necessity. The survivors of their fallen kingdom had made their way in Azeroth the last few years, and though some, Acciana included, dreamt of being able to return to their homeland, others, like Vashira, had built decent lives for themselves, and were not terribly haunted by the past. Acciana was content where she was now, given she had Vashira’s love, and there didn’t seem to be any danger of the brunette growing tired of her anytime soon.
The woman in question tossed her dark hair over her shoulder and stepped into her personal space, rested her arms on Acciana’s broad shoulders.
“I’m quite fond of rats,” Vashira said. “Especially rats with heavy purses.”
“They have their value,” Acciana agreed, letting her hands frame her waist, pulling her close enough to kiss. “As long as they keep away from the ratcatcher.”
“Oh, I think they can manage that,” she said in mock sweetness, and closed the distance for their lips to meet.
Vashira loved to kiss; she loved to disappear into her partner, press herself close, kiss slow and long and deep, under any circumstance. And Acciana was thoroughly enchanted by her plush lips, the heady perfume she wore, always eager to have her closer, to feel and taste more of her.
This kiss was cut short however, by the sound of a customer approaching; the clearing of someone’s throat indicated an abrupt interruption. Neither managed to feel shame for it though, much too comfortable in their love for one another, and Acciana, who was facing the door, drew back first. She nodded her head to the door, and Vashira, easily hiding her annoyance at the interruption turned to smile at her customer.
“Good day for it, yeah?” she greeted.
Acciana stretched leisurely behind her. “I think I’ve seen a rat,” she said casually, before he could reply.
“Bit more of a mouse, if I recall,” Vashira remarked, amused, as she stepped behind the counter. “Or at least, a charming rat, if there ever was such a thing.”
The man at the door was sharp enough to know he’d just become the butt of a joke, but he didn’t seem to mind. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, stepped further into the little shop.
“How’s business?” he asked, browsing the new candles she’d made, in various dyed shades. He offered Acciana a nod and a smile that was by all rights charming, and surprisingly genuine.
Acciana returned it readily, but only because she had seen him before. He was one of Vashira’s regulars, and had a bit of a reputation proceeding him; he was a hero, according to some, or at least, had contributed greatly to the efforts of the Alliance after the Cataclysm, and was owner of the most bizarre name she’d ever encountered.
“Very good,” Vashira replied, offering him a smile of her own. If any customer interrupted her kissing session, she was glad it was him. He could easily be forgiven, especially when he regularly made genuine inquiries as to her endeavors. “Can’t complain. How’s that pretty wife of yours?” she asked.
His green eyes seemed to flash in delight, and the difference between a polite smile and a genuine smile on his part became clear. “She’s great. Prettier every day,” he joked, and tugged on the bandana around his throat in a way that felt somewhat shy.
“That I can believe,” Vashira replied.
She’d seen his wife a handful of times, could remember her rosy cheeks and flaming red hair, her sweet blue eyes. She was like a beautiful little wildflower, natural in her attractiveness, and sunny in disposition. He wasn’t anything to scoff at either though, with sweeping brown hair, long lashes framing his green eyes, and that foxlike smile on his lips. They made a perfect little couple, to be sure.
“So what brings you in today? Little endurance potion?” Vashira teased the man, raising a suggestive brow. Acciana had to bite back an amused snort.
“Lil’ wounded that you think I’d need one of those,” Blerple replied. “Plenty of stamina here, thanks.” He raised his chin in mock indignation.
“Oh I’m sure,” she replied, and met Acciana’s eyes, a spark of mischief growing in her own. “What’s the old expression? ‘Rogues do it from behind’?”
Acciana did laugh at that one, especially when their guest’s eyes narrowed in disbelief at the crude remark. He joined the laughter ultimately, shrugging it off. “Behind, in front, upside down, any which way…” He leaned on the counter, flashed a grin. “I’m a man of many talents.”
“Valiant hero indeed,” the blonde replied, crossing her arms casually.
“I live to serve,” Blerple replied. “My natural affinity for do-goodedness makes me a quick study.”
“Do-goodedness?” Vashira replied, drawing the storeroom key from the hook behind the counter. “Natural affinity? Hardly. I do believe it’s your besottedness which makes a willing servant of you.”
“Harsh,” the man said, frowning a little. He scuffed his boot on the wooden floor. “But not inaccurate.”
He couldn’t take true offense when it was glaringly obvious; much of what he did, he did for his wife, to see her happy, to please her. That wasn’t to say he was indifferent to the troubles of the world; he had as much of a chivalric streak as the next young man, but it was certainly amplified by the love and delight of his marriage, and his wife’s incessant desire to help others.
“For a man of mystery, you’re awfully easy to read love,” the brunette replied, swinging open the door to the storeroom. “Same as always, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed, and didn’t bother to dispute her observation. Instead he finally decided on a candle or two, as well as a little vial of scented oil to add to his order.
Acciana watched him intently with her grey eyes as they waited for Vashira to gather his items. “No sticky fingers,” she warned him, when he glanced around the shop, and shifted his little items into one hand.
“Please,” he said with a grin, tugging on his bandana absentmindedly. “You really think I’d steal from here? Probably the only place around here I wouldn’t steal from.”
Despite his playful tone, Acciana could tell he was telling the truth. “Jus’ a reminder,” she replied, waving her hand. “Light knows the other men I deal with need ‘em constantly.”
“Well I’m a lot smarter, and better trained,” he said, nodding his head respectfully. “If I fucked over my supplier, I’d expect to wake up in a cemetery, maybe missing some limbs too.”
“Sticky fingers would make a nice trophy,” Vashira agreed, returning with a satchel of small, wrapped vials. A quick stop to firmly relock the storeroom, and then she held out her hands for his candles and oil.
“You’ll have to settle for someone else’s,” the rogue said, flourishing his hand after letting her take his items. “I need these.”
“And I need seventeen gold.” She looked at him expectantly.
“Ow,” he said, even wincing as if he’d been pinched, as he dug into the coin purse on his belt. “Hiking up prices?”
“I had trouble getting herbs for this batch,” the brunette explained. “The more trouble I have, the more worth these things are.”
“Can’t you give a guy a little discount?” he pleaded sweetly, tilting his head pleasantly.
“No,” she replied in a sweet tone of her own, turning her head the same direction. His charming antics would not sway her where money was concerned.
“Fine,” Blerple sighed, a petulant look spreading on his face as he dug out the appropriate amount of gold coins and handed them to her. “Bleedin’ me dry here…” he muttered.
“I’m sure y’ can refill your purse elsewhere,” Acciana said, holding no judgement against the idea of thievery. If someone was foolish enough to make an easy target of themselves, that was their problem.
He smiled slyly at that, accepting his bag of goods from Vashira. “Any targets in mind?” he asked them.
“I heard Lord Evermill and his ghastly little wife are in town,” the brunette offered, haughtily flipping her hair over her shoulder.
“Still mad she insulted your roses?”
“Yes,” Vashira replied emphatically. She took great care of the small flowerboxes outside the door, prided herself on the growth of a couple of genuine Gilnean roses. The Lady in question had commented how unimpressive they were when she and her husband passed by on a stroll through the canals.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Blerple offered, straightening his belt and preparing to leave. “Have a good one ladies,” he said with a wave of his hand.
“Stay out of trouble,” Vashira and Acciana replied in unison, both secretly delighted at the coincidence, and how it spoke to their connection.
“Impossible,” the rogue replied on his way out the door.
Acciana shook her head in amusement after he disappeared. She stood, and crossed the room, wound an arm around Vashira’s waist. “As your little rats go, he might be my favorite.”
“He is bloody sweet, isn’t he?” she replied. “And more importantly, very well connected.”
“Plan on callin' in a favor one day?”
“If need be.”
Acciana hummed thoughtfully at that. Vashira was nothing if not practical, underneath all her pomp and intrigue. She loved that about her. “Just don’t get too friendly with him, yeah?” she said, caressing her partner’s beautiful face, admiring her high cheekbones and pale skin. Vashira’s skin was flawless, and Acciana could admit to being envious; she did not like her freckles very much.
She had always felt a bit like a lumbering beast, lacking the dainty, refined features a lot of the other girls did growing up, but time had proven her attractive in her own way, had made her come to appreciate her sharp nose and strong jaw, her long fingers and great height. She managed frequently to squash her envy where beauty was concerned, with Vashira’s love, and clear attraction being affirmed all her waking days.
The brunette was sensing envy of another fashion though in the soldier’s statement of overfriendliness, and she regarded her knowingly. “Never,” she replied earnestly, instead of teasing her partner, never for a second wanting to make the blonde doubt her love, her loyalty, the fact that she was the only person of interest in her life, her only love, despite playful conversations or casual touches, and she turned to press a soft, reverent kiss into Acciana’s palm.