At the doorstep of Viatorus' Nexus apartment someone has left a rather large package wrapped in blue and white striped paper. It isn't as heavy as a package its size could be, and Viatorus ought to be able to lift it on his own without much difficulty. A tag tied to the bow on the top reads, "To Viatorus, Isidor, and the Durants. From Harrowheart."
Past the wrapping paper it turns out the large box is filled with three smaller boxes, each also wrapped and each with their own nametag.
For Viatorus: An incredibly light, tall package contains, most prominently, a very tall, very pointy wizard's hat. It's an eye-catching royal purple with a thick design of golden filigree running along the base of the hat just above the wide, flat brim. Beneath the hat is folded a large piece of purple cloth that, when unraveled, turns out to be a similarly purple-and-gold tabard. The chest prominently features a large symbol of a golden eye with sharp arrows which project down the flowing front of the tabard. Though it seems large when held, should Viatorus put it on it has a way of fitting perfectly, neither too constricting nor too spacious. Perhaps it's enchanted to fit its wearer? Hidden under the tabard is a folded note written in some kind of language that looks similar to written Thai. Each letter has been written very clearly and deliberately with a thick marker. Along with the letter is a guide to the encryption where each letter of the language has been associated with a corresponding English letter or sound. Even the punctuation has been translated. Strangely, the English characters were not written – they were printed digitally and pasted to the paper. Should Viatorus choose to decipher the letter, it reads, phonetically:
"Viatorus Atlas Durant – Happy Winterveil! These are the letters of my language spelling English words (I hope, and I hope you speak English.) My language is called 'Common,' because it was invented to be the common language of all people of the world. It is a very simple language to learn. I will teach you the words and rules some day, but first I thought you would enjoy learning to read. Your other gifts are the clothes of the Kirin Tor. They are the magical authority on Azeroth. The hat may or may not be enchanted to help you think. I am not being coy, I truly do not know. Wear it. Have fun. Show the costume to your mother. I am sure she will find you very handsome. Keep the costume in good condition. You will need it when you eventually visit Azeroth. Your friend – Harrowheart"
For Isidor: Isidor, popular lady that she is, gets two packages. One has been labeled 'From Harrowheart,' while the other is 'From Anna.' Anna's gift to Isidor is a knitted red scarf tipped with black, dangling strings. A black flower, something like a whimsical, swirling carnation, has been sewn near one end so that when the scarf is folded over her it will sit prominently at her chest. Attached by safety pin is a note that, thankfully, comes pre-translated by the magic of the Nexus:
"Isidor, Thank you again for our meeting back when Dr. Hill gave us 'therapy.' Things have been much better between my brother and I since then. I can't imagine moving here to the Nexus while still on terrible terms with him. I did have that talk with him about being more respectful to you and your brother and more understanding of your lifestyle. I think he took it well, though perhaps with some embarrassment. My brother told me that it can be cold where you live, and since it can be cold in the Nexus, too, I thought it would be fun to knit you a scarf. I thought red would go well with your complexion. I'm living in the Nexus now, hosted by a mage called Ixis Naugus, a friend of my brother. He has been very hospitable to my family and I. Still, I'm happy for any excuse to get out. If you find yourself in the Nexus with a little free time, please stop by! My family would be happy to meet you, and I would of course love to spend a day out with a friend. Very much looking forward to seeing you again, Anna Weatherhill"
The second gift is also red cloth, but nothing quite as normal as a scarf. No, apparently Harrowheart thought that what Isidor needed more than anything else in the world is a massive, flowing, dramatic cape. Around the shoulders it's designed to bunch, and it clasps in front of the neck with a large, golden brooch in the shape of the Kirin Tor's all-seeing eye. It's long for her, and only barely avoids dragging on the ground if she were to wear it in flat shoes. The weave is very tight, sure to keep out the cold, but is surprisingly light. This cape was certainly designed for dramatic flourishes and flashy exits. Of course she also gets a note from Harrowheart. Like Viatorus', hers is written in Common to be read phonetically in English, and it comes with a similar key. It reads:
"Isidor Durant – Happy Winterveil, Isidor. I know that capes are not customary on Earth, but they are very popular on Azeroth. If you doubt whether or not you will like it, I suggest you put it on. It will make you feel powerful and confident. That is not any magic, it is simply the way capes work. I plan to teach my language, Common, to your brother. I have shared the alphabet with you, too. You are reading it already! (I hope.) I would be honored if you would allow me to teach you to speak it as well. I doubt anyone else on Earth will know it, so it would be an ideal secret language. If you do not keep the cape, at least keep the brooch. I would like to invite the two of you to Azeroth soon, and you may find it will come in handy. Sincerely – Harrowheart"
For Mrs. Durant and the Archon: The final gift in the package is not wrapped, and the letter is in no way sealed, though an envelope has been placed with it. It's up to Viatorus and Isidor whether or not these offerings are good enough to be presented to either of their parents.
The gift itself is a simple wooden box with a sliding lid. Inside is a scroll with veneered wooden handles. Unraveling it reveals a watercolored drawing of some kind of cannon ship, strangely without sails. A massive golden eagle decorates the bow. Large rudders have been affixed in strange places. They couldn't possibly be for pushing this vessel through water, could they? Below the rendering is written:
"Arguably the most famous vessel in Azerothian history, The Skyfire is modeled here in 1:300 scale. The Skyfire was created as the spiritual successor to the first Alliance gunship, The Skybreaker, which bore Alliance heroes to Icecrown Citadel in the battle against the Lich King. In the wake of the Cataclysm, heroes of the Alliance and Horde boarded The Skyfire in the final battle against the black dragon aspect, Neltharion (Deathwing.) With Sky Admiral Catherine Rogers at the helm, the crew of The Skyfire became the first of the Alliance to see the continent of Pandaria after the parting of the Mists. In the subsequent war for control of the continent, The Skyfire took part in numerous bombings, including the Siege of Domination Point and an assault against the Mantid swarms. When the demonic Legion made landfall on Azeroth, The Skyfire carried scores of the Alliance's bravest heroes to the Broken Shore for a confrontation that would ultimately take the life of the King of Stormwind, Varian Wrynn. The Skyfire finally met its own fateful end in Stormheim after an altercation with the forces of the Banshee Queen, Sylvanas Windrunner. Its wreckage remains among the mountaintops."
Beneath the scroll are separate sets of miniature parts of The Skyfire waiting to be assembled. By the looks of it, it would easily take a few hours to build the foot-long ship. Luckily it comes with instructions. And finally, there in the very bottom of the box, is a simple wooden wand. According to the instructions, tapping it to the completed Skyfire will cause the model to hover magically on the desk or shelf on which it is placed.
Lastly, the letter from 'Harrowheart,' whose very proper handwriting is suspiciously similar to Anna's:
"Mrs. Durant and the Archon, Mr. Durant, I realize I never thanked you for your gracious hospitality the evening you allowed me into your home and at your table, and I would like to make amends for my unintentional rudeness. I regret that we did not properly get to know each other that evening, but urgent business called me away. Hopefully soon you will allow me the opportunity to introduce myself and get to know you in kind. Until then please accept and enjoy this gift, a representation of the history of my world and a small example of the everyday magic that is part of the lives of every Azerothian. Perhaps when the two of you would like to pass a quiet and thoughtful evening you may enjoy assembling it together. Warm regards, Harrowheart"
Steve celebrates Christmas, which Harrowheart knows falls on one specific day. Unlike Winterveil, a two-week celebration, a Christmas gift should be given the day of, if not the day before. Of course there's the chance Steve will be out enjoying the festivities, so Harrowheart takes it upon himself to arrive at his apartment as early as possible on the 25th. Break-of-dawn kind of early. That's the benefit of sleep being optional: bothering your friends at all hours.
Still, he's mindful when he knocks on Steve's door not to be overly loud or to sound too urgent. He doesn't want to scare the guy. It's not Halloween, after all – it's Christmas!
"Ho ho ho!" he calls through the door in a deep and theatrical voice. "Meeeerry Christmas! Steve Rogers, come and get your presents, boy!"
It's too bad he isn't dressed as Greatfather Winter Santa Claus. He's his normal, everyday self with the addition of his ridiculous Winterveil sweater and a sack slung over his shoulder.
Harrowheart may be forgiven for thinking, just for a moment, he's at the wrong apartment. There's a scrabbling of paws, a slightly heavy thumping, and a ruffle of wings all heading for the door. Only the dog? starts barking though, front paws on the door and letting this stranger know good and well that this isn't his home.
"Easy, easy!" Steve's muffled voice is heard a moment later. "Come on now, make some room so I can open the door--" Steve comes into view then with the door cracked open, hair a bit mussed yet from having just woken up. He's an early riser too, but Harrow's beaten him up today. "Harrow? Harrow! Come on in. Mind your feet. They're very friendly."
He pushes the door further open bringing two little creatures into view. One small orange dogish looking creature, and a little dinosaur guy with a rather eccentric head shape. Further inside perched atop the tallest bookshelf Steve owns is the bird Harrow had heard, feathers ruffled and clearly wary of the stranger.
Harrow jumps back at the surprising sound of animals. Steve has animals? When did this happen? He leans in then and tries to listen, but stands straight again when he hears Steve coming. He wouldn't want to look like a weirdo listening to dogs, even if he is a dog person.
When Steve shows himself Harrow smiles at the sight and immediately goes in for a hug. It's a little too tight, but blessedly short-lived. Harrow quickly takes up the invitation to go inside, mindful of the strange creatures on the ground, of course.
"You startin' a ranch in here? When'd you wind up with all these critters, Steve?" he asks, looking each over with a poorly-restrained grin. They're adorable, each in their own way. A few steps into the apartment he crouches down with a bound, open-palmed hand out for Growlithe and Shieldon to explore. Rufflet he keeps his distance from, for now. Birds can be a terrifying mystery...
"They showed up with the whole slew of strange creatures last year, and I guess they never found their ways back. Theodore told me they were still hanging around on my birthday, so they've been bunking with me ever since. This one's Growlithe, and Shieldon, and the shy bird up there is Rufflet."
Like last year Steve has a small fake tree classically decorated on the floor next to the large window on the far side of his apartment. He'd prefer a real tree but there's no way he'd be able to carry it up five flights of stairs. It does the job nicely and that's all that matters.
"D'you want anything to drink? Coffee? hot chocolate?"
Harrow perks up when Steve reminds him of that deluge of weird animals. He remembers that! In fact, it brings a little smile to his face. "I wound up with a few weird little critters back then too! One's a little tree, a girl I think. I called her Nugz. The other one's kinda like a... Hairy little piglet..." Harrow doesn't seem to sure himself on that one. Can't even describe his own sweet pocket monster. "I named him Lil' Buddy." He gives Growlithe one last lingering look before he tears himself away from the precious pokémon and focuses on Steve.
To coffee and hot chocolate he shakes his head. "You go ahead and make yourself some, though, if you want. I won't think you're rude for drinkin' while I got nothin'. Besides, I didn't come for coffee: I came to give you presents! So get your pot boilin' and come sit down."
He heads for Steve's nearest table and sets down his sack. Sounds like there's something heavy and hollow in there. Porcelain, perhaps? It's big, too, about knee high and vaguely statue-esque.
"I definitely am having a cup of coffee. Most folks don't get up earlier than me, I'll have you know."
Steve raises his voice so he can be heard while he rummages through his kitchen to get a pot of coffee put on before wandering back to the living room area. He's got on an oversized sweater when he returns and plops down on the sofa. It won't be long until the Pokemon have had their fill of investigating the new person and have gone back to their own little play area Steve has set up for them by the large window.
"I've got a gift for you too. it's that time of year and all." He smiles wide up at his friend.
"I didn't get up!" Harrow calls back with a small chuckle. "I just didn't go to sleep. So, technically, I think you're still the one who got up earliest here."
When Steve is back with mentions of presents for him, Harrow rubs his hands together. He's already excited! "We'll get to my presents after we do yours, how 'bout that?"
And, speaking of Steve's presents, Harrow turns around the sack so that the figure inside will be facing Steve. Then he does the honors of pulling down the sack to reveal... A Virgin Mary statue. She is wreathed in a gold and pastel blue veil which flows down to her feet like a cloak behind her white and gold robes. Her skin is painted light like Steve's and her hair has been non-traditionally depicted as blonde. A serene yet solemn expression defines her face. Her eyes are downcast, her hands down and palms open in a gesture of blessing and protection.
And there, dangling from one of her delicate hands, is some sort of bronze coin on a chain. On closer inspection it features the image of a bald-headed monk holding a child, both of them crowned by halos. By the classical depiction it is Saint Anthony of Padua without a doubt, and those words carved along the edge of the coin confirm it.
Harrow watches Steve closely as it's all revealed, and keeps a comfortable distance from the holy gifts he's giving.
Whatever had been crossing Steve's mind fizzles with the rest of his breath as he looks at the statuette Harrow has gotten for him. He remembers the smell of the cared for wood in the church he grew up attending, the feel of the hymnal in his hands.
He can still name every single member of the congregation and remembers his mother's funeral. For a moment he forgets he's in the Nexus when he takes a step forward to look it over.
"Harrow. This is....how did you...?" Steve is choking up and finding trouble speaking. It's been the hardest thing to take with him from his old world.
Harrow moves to stand next to Steve. He puts a hand on his far shoulder and pulls him in for a half-hug that doesn't turn him away from his gifts. He's quiet for a while, unsure if he ought to talk about the details of gift-giving while Steve is so obviously emotional.
"I got curious about your religion and decided to read a while. I learned that saints are important to y'all and decided I wanted to get you a few. Figured since it's a religious holiday I could get you a religious gift, right? So I found a nice little store here in the Nexus where they sell things like this. I told the shopkeeps all about you – hope ya don't mind – and they helped me find a saint for you. They thought St. Anthony was right, and I thought so too. I picked Mary on my own. She seemed like someone you needed in your life, and they had this one that was painted like this. I thought, 'She looks like she could be Steve's ma.' I knew as soon as I saw her I had to buy her." He laughs quietly and shakes his head. "I had to put her on layaway while I earned the cash. I'm glad they didn't sell her in the mean time. Guess it was meant to be, huh? That she'd wind up here, lookin' after you?"
His hand grips Steve's shoulder gently. "I'm just glad you like 'em, Steve. I just hope they... Work?... Look after you, and all. Keep you safe and loved."
He grips Harrow's shirt tightly as he hugs the other back. The undead is always surprising Steve, giving him such thoughtful presents and things he no longer has from his home.
"My Ma was a nurse. We'd go to church together every Sunday unless one of us was sick." He smiles through the tears at Harrow's explanation and gives a laugh that's very much grateful despite the mess his face is in. "This means so much to me, you know? It's...it's harder than you'd think to find a Catholic church that teaches the same thing as what I call it back home."
He takes a moment to reach out and brush his fingers gently against the chain with the bronzed St. Anthony coin at the end of it.
"I lost my family Bible when I ended up here. I don't worry so much about things by and large, but it was one of the few things I had left from my Pa. I can't thank you enough for these."
"Shoot," Harrow whispers, running his hand up and down Steve's arm. "I know they probably can't bring back what's gone, but I... I don't know if I really got the words? It... Means somethin' to me that it made you think of home like that. I– I'm just glad it all means somethin' to you, too."
A small moment passes in silence with Harrow considering the gifts and the way Steve himself considers them. Then he breaks away that hug and steps away, giving his friend some room to breathe.
"What was it like?" he asks. "Goin' to church? Bein' Catholic and all? You don't talk too much about it, but I bet you got some knowledge those books I read don't. Will you tell me about it? What it means to you? How it's important and all?"
Steve sucks in a breath and looks down at his hands. He's hardly a shining example of the Church, but he believes in the spirit of the teachings. Is he even qualified to try and explain god? There are 'gods' walking around the Nexus. He's heard the claims.
"For me, it was about the community. Havin' somewhere to belong, because frankly most of us felt like we didn't belong anywhere else. The nitty gritty details of the rules sometimes contradict themselves, but at its core...it's about how we're all equals. All Children of God. We're all deserving of decency and basic rights."
And for someone born with so much less it means a lot to Steve to remember he's no lesser man than anyone else.
"It's how we should all forgive and be decent to each other. And sometimes, it's hard. I think about what Hitler is doing in Europe and I wonder how a Loving God can let it happen. But we made the mess. We should solve it. Because we're strong enough to."
Harrowheart listens to Steve's initial explanation with the kind of blankness of a man who's hearing a language he doesn't comprehend. Are there words he understands there? Sure. But the concepts behind it all... He hardly gets to ruminate before Steve is speaking once more, and he finds himself listening closely again, trying to catch what it is he doesn't quite understand.
It's Hitler and Nazis and killing – something he thinks he might understand a little more than Christianity and unity in the Holy Spirit – that finally gets him nodding. How easy it is to remember that Steve doesn't come from the same Earth as so many others. He comes from an Earth with war, with hatred, with starvation and poverty. He comes from a world where he lives, essentially, alone. Alone in a society of torment. And he so small, so poor.
Harrowheart begins to nod again. Things seem to be coming together. Community would mean a lot in a world like that, in a body like Steve's, in a lonely life of loss. Equality. Family. 'Children of God.' Now it's making sense. The look of confusion on his face has slowly given way to a sense of understanding that hopefully Steve will recognize without any words needing to be said. He's not sure he can articulate it all regardless.
"It sounds nice," he says, hushed and in the kind of placating tone usually reserved for mourners at funerals. "I don't really think religion's like that on my world. Not any ones I know, anyway. The idea of people bein' equal is..." He laughs humorlessly, almost guiltily. Some people are just better than others on Azeroth. That's the reality. And while one paladin or priest might swear the Light illuminates all souls, he certainly doesn't feel part of the that 'inclusive' majority. It's hard to, when everything about what he is is the antithesis of the Light.
"I'd say I'd try goin' to church with you sometime, but I'd probably melt if I stepped inside." This time his laugh comes with a little honesty, and he pats Steve lightly on the back to cheer him up and rouse him from his grim thoughtfulness. "I had to get all dressed up in layers when I went to that Christian store just in case I bumped into any holy relics on accident. Shoot, you shoulda seen me. I looked like Steve Rogers when Reynard came to town."
Another laugh, this one the most sincere of all, quickly fades away to neutrality and eventually a small, thoughtful frown. He's quiet a while as he watches Steve. Eventually he opens his mouth to say, "Sorry about all'a that stuff that happened with Reynard, by the way. Last winter, y'know. I feel like we kinda never really talked about it. Never really talked about what happened with our bodies, either..."
"You don't hafta go inside to learn. It's about this."
Steve reaches over and pokes Harrow in the chest, right over where his heart would be beating if he were alive. Steve knows logically that Harrow isn't alive and that the rules of good and bad don't always apply the same between worlds.
But Steve also remembers the Winter last year and the body swap between them and Viatorus and Steve knows something truthfully that he'd never waver on.
"We might not always agree on what's right, but you've got a good heart. I don't hold you any ill will from last Winter, and the whole body swap thing brought all three of us closer together. I don't regret a minute of it."
At first it's amusing, Steve poking him like that. When the finger is gone he rubs at the spot as if it hurts, though it surely doesn't. But as Steve keeps talking Harrow finds the half-smile that had formed on his face fading.
A good heart.
His brows come together and his eyes slip away into deep and distant thoughts. It doesn't feel right to let Steve keep believing that... But he isn't sure he has the strength to confront it. He has to skirt the issue, distract from it with a vague nod. There are other things to discuss.
"It did bring us together," he mumbles absently. "I learned a lot about myself. And about you, too. You're a real strong guy, you know that? You put up with a lot more than I ever had to, and you're... You're so much braver about it than I ever could'a been. There's somethin' special about what you're made of, Steve. I just... I ain't sure I'm smart enough to say it right. Maybe it ain't even somethin' you can describe. It's like an aura, man. Like an aura of confidence, determination. It's..."
Something brings a little smile back to his face then. He reaches out and gently returns that poke to Steve's heart. "It's this."
Steve shrugs at Harrowheart even as his friend is poking him back in the chest. It's not right to think of himself as anything special. He didn't even get to pull his own weight like others were doing. "Maybe there's something in the water there."
The joke covers up how much he misses his home. The life he could have had.
He has to remember what this place has given him. The friends, the knowledge, the opportunities he never had. Steve isn't wanting for a roof over his head here. He gets by. Is sick less often.
"Meetin' you guys has been the best thing that's happened to me." He admits quietly. "Thanks for being around, Harrow."
Harrow puts his hand on Steve's shoulder and shakes his head. "Bein' around for you is the least I could do, Steve. And... Just so you know? You're not the only one who'd say meetin' his friends here has been the best thing that ever happened to him." Laughing quietly he adds, "Too bad it had to happen after I died. But that's just how the universe works, ain't it?"
He glances toward the gifts he'd given, then turns back to Steve. "But enough of that sappy shit. I think you mentioned gifts earlier?" He bounces his eyebrows as a smile creeps across his face.
Steve gives his own presents one last extremely touched look while he scrambles to get to his feet and wander over to the little artificial tree he'd decorated for the holiday. The Shieldon gets up from where she'd been dozing and noses two of the packages from the modest pile over to Steve as he approaches and gets a fond headrub for helping a guy out.
"Thanks. Sorry I woke you." He murmurs before carrying both packages over to Harrow.
"Okay so...I made you your gift a while ago but I was shopping the other day and found something I pretty much had to get you."
He hands Harrow the smaller of the two gifts first with a nervous chuckle. Truly a marijuana pipe has never been more tastefully wrapped. It's in it's own little white and gold Christmas box underneath the brown craft paper Steve wraps all of his gifts in, sitting in a pile of snow white tissue paper.
The second present is rectangular and rather thin. Underneath the wrapping is a framed picture done in charcoal of Harrowheart with Viatorus and Steve on either side of him wrapped into a group hug. Steve made sure to capture Harrow's big farm boy grin, the slightly nervous tilt of Viatorus' eyebrows at the physical contact despite clearly happy to be among friends, and his own bony hand gripping the back of Harrowheart's as Steve tries to return the gesture as best he can from the position he's in.
As soon as Harrow gets a look at the pipe he tosses his head back and barks a loud laugh. Then he takes it in his hands, holding it in both open palms while his expression swirls with surprise, joy, and confusion. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined Steve would get him something so... So... So perfectly trashy! He nearly picks Steve up and hugs him right there, but then he catches sight of the second gift. He slips the pipe into his shirt pocket for later and gets to unwrapping what he's already sure is bound to be art.
And even though he expected what it would be, he didn't expect this. So much of it is overwhelming. He looks it over inch by inch, his lips parting and his eyebrows twitching as he notices new details here and there. Now and then he steals glances Steve's way, smiling uncertainly as if it's hard to believe that this is his and he gets to keep it.
Eventually he touches it against his better judgement, but the charcoal is safely sealed and isn't damaged in the slightest by the brush of his fingertips. That's when he finally smiles and turns to Steve for good this time.
"I – I don't know what to say, man. It's... I mean, it's gorgeous! You did such a good job, everyone looks..." He glances back at the art and laughs quietly. "Like ourselves." Facing Steve once more he excitedly says, "I've never had art of my own! Shoot, I need someplace to hang it now. I hope Naugus don't mind if I put it up in his castle a while. Hell, I'm gonna be lookin' at this forever..."
And, indeed, he gets back to looking at it. The joy of art is one which never ends, but is periodically revisited.
Just because Steve Rogers can't have the stuff, doesn't mean he doesn't know what it is. Or how much Harrowheart enjoys America and every tacky decoration and shirt he can find.
"I thought you'd like that."
It's a wry smile he gives Harrow, but it's one that turns softer when Harrow opens the picture. Steve spent a lot of time thinking about what he was grateful for this year, and the friendship he has with these two stood out above and beyond. He's wanted to draw something like this for a while. Hopes Harrow understands how much their friendship means to Steve.
"Well, it'll last for a while hanging up somewhere, not to worry."
Fortyskey is likely to be the hardest gift-giving effort of the season, Harrowheart is sure of it. As far as he's aware she doesn't own a phone, but even if she did he doesn't have her number. Knowing himself and other undead who choose to live without a home she may not have a place of residence to find, but if she did it wouldn't be large. She didn't strike him as the sort to spend lavishly even if she had the means, so he was likely looking for an apartment. And, judging by how rarely he saw her in the Nexus and how he'd never seen her absorbing Nexus culture, it was unlikely that her potential apartment would be there. An apartment for a magically-minded Forsaken warlock likely involved in fighting the Legion, not overly loyal to the Horde?...
Dalaran.
Convenient, too, ever since Acherus' recent relocation to the Broken Isles means it's just a brief gryphon ride to the emerald amethyst city for him. Now, here, in the busy city, it ought to be simple enough to find her. After all, how many black-haired Forsaken women who talk like a filthy sailor could there be around here? Fortunately, not many. He only has to ask a few locals before he's pointed in the direction of a home for a perpetrator that matches the description.
There's a chance she won't be home. There's a chance she won't answer the door, too. And, of course, there's a chance she'll close it right on his snout when she opens the door to find a large worgen in Ebon Knight armor looming, but loom he does. In fairness, it's hard not to loom when you're a seven-foot-tall dog beast. With a present under one arm his detached hand-paws free he knocks gently on the door, loud enough to be heard yet softly enough not to seem too violent. He's seen how she melts burns faces, and he doesn't need a repeat of that.
Indeed, the Orcs, as a general rule, find her entertaining enough to let her do her own thing whenever she's in Orgrimmar, and her relations with the other members of the Horde are wildly varying depending on the day, the individuals in question, and various other factors. This, sadly, lately has included her own 'race', such as it was, in the Forsaken Undead.
As a staunch supporter of Sylvanas Windrunner--or at least, the Sylvanas she knew when she was freed from the Scourge, even Fortyskey has her own questions about her Banshee Queen's motivation, particularly when involving the Valkyr and similar methods to the Lich King's own. Especially in recent years.
This reason, among (a likely massive list of) many others, is why she hasn't been staying in Undercity. At least until Jaina Proudmoore took over the Kiran Tor and kicked the Horde out of Dalaran for reasons Fortyskey was never entirely sure on. Oh sure, there were rumors, something Garrosh had done, using Dalaran's own portal network or something.
But now?
Now the Horde was tenuously allowed back into the floating city. Fortyskey even managed to get her old home back (How, was probably a story for another day). One of the smaller places out to itself in the massively populated city. Oh, sure, she was definitely well known. There were plenty of Forsaken with foul mouths, but Fortyskey was almost certainly the one who set the highest standard of cursing. Especially in Dalaran of all places. If Harrowheart had managed to ask any Orcs, they probably would have laughed while answering him, saying that they 'loved that little spitfire' or something similar.
Still, the knock is met with silence at first before there's a response, "I'm fucking paid up two months ahead, what the fuck happened now--" Cue the door being yanked open, the short, scrawny Warlock with a scowl on her face, staff in hand, ready for a fight-and-or-arguement with her landlord, before she stops short, and looks up, eyebrows furrowing as she takes a moment to recognize Harrowheart in his Worgen form.
She stares for a beat before saying something, "...Son of a bard's whore we're from the same fucking universe."
Forty opens the door with a staff in her hand and Harrowheart immediately leans back to avoid a sound bonking. But when no bonkings come he leans forward again and... Oh, he can't help himself, he's got to sniff and snuffle. He makes eye contact with her the whole time his twitching nose explores the tip of her staff and the air around her. Now that he has sniffed her, he truly knows her.
"Or maybe the Harrowheart you know from the Nexus told the Harrowheart from your universe to deliver his package to you?"
He jostles the package in his arm to draw attention to it, as if that will distract from the way he's stretching his furry neck out to get a peep (and a sniff) inside Forty's home.
It's one of those more elaborate looking Mage staves, too. Although Harrowheart, knowing from unfortunate face melting burning experience, can plainly see it's one that's corrupted from the Fel magic Fortyskey favors, dark green and twisted, with a black hole in reality between the prongs on the top of it.
That said, she, and the apartment, do all smell familiar, with that (somewhat, depending on the day) faint underscent of copper-and-brimstone that her Felflame tends to leave in its destructive wake.
Fortyskey gives him a flat look. And the deadpan tone continues, "I should be so lucky there'd be two of you in my fucking life." Despite the tone, she doesn't attack him--having no reason to at current. He's being civil and nonhostile, so she can be her usual, if... charming self, instead of lashing out and trying to turn him into ash.
Plus the local guards would probably frown on it, since it's a stipulation in her lease that she behaves and doesn't murder people for asinine reasons or summon demons in town (unless to defend it, or so-on-so-forth ... Or at least not make it obvious if she does).
"It's not a bad time, it's a fucking dead time," she waves her hand dismissively, leaning the staff on the wall and rolling her eyes, gesturing for him to come in. Fortyskey's savvy enough to know he'll probably pester her until she lets him in. The package is noted, though. "Stopping by on the way to spread more fucking Winter Veil cheer or something? It's not like I'm that fucking hard to find."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
For Viatorus, Isidor, and Mrs. Durant and the Archon
Past the wrapping paper it turns out the large box is filled with three smaller boxes, each also wrapped and each with their own nametag.
For Viatorus:
An incredibly light, tall package contains, most prominently, a very tall, very pointy wizard's hat. It's an eye-catching royal purple with a thick design of golden filigree running along the base of the hat just above the wide, flat brim. Beneath the hat is folded a large piece of purple cloth that, when unraveled, turns out to be a similarly purple-and-gold tabard. The chest prominently features a large symbol of a golden eye with sharp arrows which project down the flowing front of the tabard. Though it seems large when held, should Viatorus put it on it has a way of fitting perfectly, neither too constricting nor too spacious. Perhaps it's enchanted to fit its wearer?
Hidden under the tabard is a folded note written in some kind of language that looks similar to written Thai. Each letter has been written very clearly and deliberately with a thick marker. Along with the letter is a guide to the encryption where each letter of the language has been associated with a corresponding English letter or sound. Even the punctuation has been translated. Strangely, the English characters were not written – they were printed digitally and pasted to the paper.
Should Viatorus choose to decipher the letter, it reads, phonetically:
"Viatorus Atlas Durant –
Happy Winterveil! These are the letters of my language spelling English words (I hope, and I hope you speak English.) My language is called 'Common,' because it was invented to be the common language of all people of the world. It is a very simple language to learn. I will teach you the words and rules some day, but first I thought you would enjoy learning to read.
Your other gifts are the clothes of the Kirin Tor. They are the magical authority on Azeroth. The hat may or may not be enchanted to help you think. I am not being coy, I truly do not know. Wear it. Have fun. Show the costume to your mother. I am sure she will find you very handsome.
Keep the costume in good condition. You will need it when you eventually visit Azeroth.
Your friend –
Harrowheart"
For Isidor:
Isidor, popular lady that she is, gets two packages. One has been labeled 'From Harrowheart,' while the other is 'From Anna.'
Anna's gift to Isidor is a knitted red scarf tipped with black, dangling strings. A black flower, something like a whimsical, swirling carnation, has been sewn near one end so that when the scarf is folded over her it will sit prominently at her chest. Attached by safety pin is a note that, thankfully, comes pre-translated by the magic of the Nexus:
"Isidor,
Thank you again for our meeting back when Dr. Hill gave us 'therapy.' Things have been much better between my brother and I since then. I can't imagine moving here to the Nexus while still on terrible terms with him. I did have that talk with him about being more respectful to you and your brother and more understanding of your lifestyle. I think he took it well, though perhaps with some embarrassment.
My brother told me that it can be cold where you live, and since it can be cold in the Nexus, too, I thought it would be fun to knit you a scarf. I thought red would go well with your complexion. I'm living in the Nexus now, hosted by a mage called Ixis Naugus, a friend of my brother. He has been very hospitable to my family and I. Still, I'm happy for any excuse to get out. If you find yourself in the Nexus with a little free time, please stop by! My family would be happy to meet you, and I would of course love to spend a day out with a friend.
Very much looking forward to seeing you again,
Anna Weatherhill"
The second gift is also red cloth, but nothing quite as normal as a scarf. No, apparently Harrowheart thought that what Isidor needed more than anything else in the world is a massive, flowing, dramatic cape. Around the shoulders it's designed to bunch, and it clasps in front of the neck with a large, golden brooch in the shape of the Kirin Tor's all-seeing eye. It's long for her, and only barely avoids dragging on the ground if she were to wear it in flat shoes. The weave is very tight, sure to keep out the cold, but is surprisingly light. This cape was certainly designed for dramatic flourishes and flashy exits.
Of course she also gets a note from Harrowheart. Like Viatorus', hers is written in Common to be read phonetically in English, and it comes with a similar key. It reads:
"Isidor Durant –
Happy Winterveil, Isidor. I know that capes are not customary on Earth, but they are very popular on Azeroth. If you doubt whether or not you will like it, I suggest you put it on. It will make you feel powerful and confident. That is not any magic, it is simply the way capes work.
I plan to teach my language, Common, to your brother. I have shared the alphabet with you, too. You are reading it already! (I hope.) I would be honored if you would allow me to teach you to speak it as well. I doubt anyone else on Earth will know it, so it would be an ideal secret language.
If you do not keep the cape, at least keep the brooch. I would like to invite the two of you to Azeroth soon, and you may find it will come in handy.
Sincerely –
Harrowheart"
For Mrs. Durant and the Archon:
The final gift in the package is not wrapped, and the letter is in no way sealed, though an envelope has been placed with it. It's up to Viatorus and Isidor whether or not these offerings are good enough to be presented to either of their parents.
The gift itself is a simple wooden box with a sliding lid. Inside is a scroll with veneered wooden handles. Unraveling it reveals a watercolored drawing of some kind of cannon ship, strangely without sails. A massive golden eagle decorates the bow. Large rudders have been affixed in strange places. They couldn't possibly be for pushing this vessel through water, could they? Below the rendering is written:
"Arguably the most famous vessel in Azerothian history, The Skyfire is modeled here in 1:300 scale. The Skyfire was created as the spiritual successor to the first Alliance gunship, The Skybreaker, which bore Alliance heroes to Icecrown Citadel in the battle against the Lich King. In the wake of the Cataclysm, heroes of the Alliance and Horde boarded The Skyfire in the final battle against the black dragon aspect, Neltharion (Deathwing.) With Sky Admiral Catherine Rogers at the helm, the crew of The Skyfire became the first of the Alliance to see the continent of Pandaria after the parting of the Mists. In the subsequent war for control of the continent, The Skyfire took part in numerous bombings, including the Siege of Domination Point and an assault against the Mantid swarms. When the demonic Legion made landfall on Azeroth, The Skyfire carried scores of the Alliance's bravest heroes to the Broken Shore for a confrontation that would ultimately take the life of the King of Stormwind, Varian Wrynn. The Skyfire finally met its own fateful end in Stormheim after an altercation with the forces of the Banshee Queen, Sylvanas Windrunner. Its wreckage remains among the mountaintops."
Beneath the scroll are separate sets of miniature parts of The Skyfire waiting to be assembled. By the looks of it, it would easily take a few hours to build the foot-long ship. Luckily it comes with instructions. And finally, there in the very bottom of the box, is a simple wooden wand. According to the instructions, tapping it to the completed Skyfire will cause the model to hover magically on the desk or shelf on which it is placed.
Lastly, the letter from 'Harrowheart,' whose very proper handwriting is suspiciously similar to Anna's:
"Mrs. Durant and the Archon, Mr. Durant,
I realize I never thanked you for your gracious hospitality the evening you allowed me into your home and at your table, and I would like to make amends for my unintentional rudeness. I regret that we did not properly get to know each other that evening, but urgent business called me away. Hopefully soon you will allow me the opportunity to introduce myself and get to know you in kind. Until then please accept and enjoy this gift, a representation of the history of my world and a small example of the everyday magic that is part of the lives of every Azerothian. Perhaps when the two of you would like to pass a quiet and thoughtful evening you may enjoy assembling it together.
Warm regards,
Harrowheart"
For The Steve
Still, he's mindful when he knocks on Steve's door not to be overly loud or to sound too urgent. He doesn't want to scare the guy. It's not Halloween, after all – it's Christmas!
"Ho ho ho!" he calls through the door in a deep and theatrical voice. "Meeeerry Christmas! Steve Rogers, come and get your presents, boy!"
It's too bad he isn't dressed as
Greatfather WinterSanta Claus. He's his normal, everyday self with the addition of his ridiculous Winterveil sweater and a sack slung over his shoulder.http://orig06.deviantart.net/f8d9/f/2012/196/e/8/avengers_pkmn___justice_by_feriowind-d57axku.jpg
"Easy, easy!" Steve's muffled voice is heard a moment later. "Come on now, make some room so I can open the door--" Steve comes into view then with the door cracked open, hair a bit mussed yet from having just woken up. He's an early riser too, but Harrow's beaten him up today. "Harrow? Harrow! Come on in. Mind your feet. They're very friendly."
He pushes the door further open bringing two little creatures into view. One small orange dogish looking creature, and a little dinosaur guy with a rather eccentric head shape. Further inside perched atop the tallest bookshelf Steve owns is the bird Harrow had heard, feathers ruffled and clearly wary of the stranger.
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When Steve shows himself Harrow smiles at the sight and immediately goes in for a hug. It's a little too tight, but blessedly short-lived. Harrow quickly takes up the invitation to go inside, mindful of the strange creatures on the ground, of course.
"You startin' a ranch in here? When'd you wind up with all these critters, Steve?" he asks, looking each over with a poorly-restrained grin. They're adorable, each in their own way. A few steps into the apartment he crouches down with a bound, open-palmed hand out for Growlithe and Shieldon to explore. Rufflet he keeps his distance from, for now. Birds can be a terrifying mystery...
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Like last year Steve has a small fake tree classically decorated on the floor next to the large window on the far side of his apartment. He'd prefer a real tree but there's no way he'd be able to carry it up five flights of stairs. It does the job nicely and that's all that matters.
"D'you want anything to drink? Coffee? hot chocolate?"
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To coffee and hot chocolate he shakes his head. "You go ahead and make yourself some, though, if you want. I won't think you're rude for drinkin' while I got nothin'. Besides, I didn't come for coffee: I came to give you presents! So get your pot boilin' and come sit down."
He heads for Steve's nearest table and sets down his sack. Sounds like there's something heavy and hollow in there. Porcelain, perhaps? It's big, too, about knee high and vaguely statue-esque.
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Steve raises his voice so he can be heard while he rummages through his kitchen to get a pot of coffee put on before wandering back to the living room area. He's got on an oversized sweater when he returns and plops down on the sofa. It won't be long until the Pokemon have had their fill of investigating the new person and have gone back to their own little play area Steve has set up for them by the large window.
"I've got a gift for you too. it's that time of year and all." He smiles wide up at his friend.
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When Steve is back with mentions of presents for him, Harrow rubs his hands together. He's already excited! "We'll get to my presents after we do yours, how 'bout that?"
And, speaking of Steve's presents, Harrow turns around the sack so that the figure inside will be facing Steve. Then he does the honors of pulling down the sack to reveal... A Virgin Mary statue. She is wreathed in a gold and pastel blue veil which flows down to her feet like a cloak behind her white and gold robes. Her skin is painted light like Steve's and her hair has been non-traditionally depicted as blonde. A serene yet solemn expression defines her face. Her eyes are downcast, her hands down and palms open in a gesture of blessing and protection.
And there, dangling from one of her delicate hands, is some sort of bronze coin on a chain. On closer inspection it features the image of a bald-headed monk holding a child, both of them crowned by halos. By the classical depiction it is Saint Anthony of Padua without a doubt, and those words carved along the edge of the coin confirm it.
Harrow watches Steve closely as it's all revealed, and keeps a comfortable distance from the holy gifts he's giving.
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He can still name every single member of the congregation and remembers his mother's funeral. For a moment he forgets he's in the Nexus when he takes a step forward to look it over.
"Harrow. This is....how did you...?" Steve is choking up and finding trouble speaking. It's been the hardest thing to take with him from his old world.
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"I got curious about your religion and decided to read a while. I learned that saints are important to y'all and decided I wanted to get you a few. Figured since it's a religious holiday I could get you a religious gift, right? So I found a nice little store here in the Nexus where they sell things like this. I told the shopkeeps all about you – hope ya don't mind – and they helped me find a saint for you. They thought St. Anthony was right, and I thought so too. I picked Mary on my own. She seemed like someone you needed in your life, and they had this one that was painted like this. I thought, 'She looks like she could be Steve's ma.' I knew as soon as I saw her I had to buy her." He laughs quietly and shakes his head. "I had to put her on layaway while I earned the cash. I'm glad they didn't sell her in the mean time. Guess it was meant to be, huh? That she'd wind up here, lookin' after you?"
His hand grips Steve's shoulder gently. "I'm just glad you like 'em, Steve. I just hope they... Work?... Look after you, and all. Keep you safe and loved."
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"My Ma was a nurse. We'd go to church together every Sunday unless one of us was sick." He smiles through the tears at Harrow's explanation and gives a laugh that's very much grateful despite the mess his face is in. "This means so much to me, you know? It's...it's harder than you'd think to find a Catholic church that teaches the same thing as what I call it back home."
He takes a moment to reach out and brush his fingers gently against the chain with the bronzed St. Anthony coin at the end of it.
"I lost my family Bible when I ended up here. I don't worry so much about things by and large, but it was one of the few things I had left from my Pa. I can't thank you enough for these."
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A small moment passes in silence with Harrow considering the gifts and the way Steve himself considers them. Then he breaks away that hug and steps away, giving his friend some room to breathe.
"What was it like?" he asks. "Goin' to church? Bein' Catholic and all? You don't talk too much about it, but I bet you got some knowledge those books I read don't. Will you tell me about it? What it means to you? How it's important and all?"
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Steve sucks in a breath and looks down at his hands. He's hardly a shining example of the Church, but he believes in the spirit of the teachings. Is he even qualified to try and explain god? There are 'gods' walking around the Nexus. He's heard the claims.
"For me, it was about the community. Havin' somewhere to belong, because frankly most of us felt like we didn't belong anywhere else. The nitty gritty details of the rules sometimes contradict themselves, but at its core...it's about how we're all equals. All Children of God. We're all deserving of decency and basic rights."
And for someone born with so much less it means a lot to Steve to remember he's no lesser man than anyone else.
"It's how we should all forgive and be decent to each other. And sometimes, it's hard. I think about what Hitler is doing in Europe and I wonder how a Loving God can let it happen. But we made the mess. We should solve it. Because we're strong enough to."
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It's Hitler and Nazis and killing – something he thinks he might understand a little more than Christianity and unity in the Holy Spirit – that finally gets him nodding. How easy it is to remember that Steve doesn't come from the same Earth as so many others. He comes from an Earth with war, with hatred, with starvation and poverty. He comes from a world where he lives, essentially, alone. Alone in a society of torment. And he so small, so poor.
Harrowheart begins to nod again. Things seem to be coming together. Community would mean a lot in a world like that, in a body like Steve's, in a lonely life of loss. Equality. Family. 'Children of God.' Now it's making sense. The look of confusion on his face has slowly given way to a sense of understanding that hopefully Steve will recognize without any words needing to be said. He's not sure he can articulate it all regardless.
"It sounds nice," he says, hushed and in the kind of placating tone usually reserved for mourners at funerals. "I don't really think religion's like that on my world. Not any ones I know, anyway. The idea of people bein' equal is..." He laughs humorlessly, almost guiltily. Some people are just better than others on Azeroth. That's the reality. And while one paladin or priest might swear the Light illuminates all souls, he certainly doesn't feel part of the that 'inclusive' majority. It's hard to, when everything about what he is is the antithesis of the Light.
"I'd say I'd try goin' to church with you sometime, but I'd probably melt if I stepped inside." This time his laugh comes with a little honesty, and he pats Steve lightly on the back to cheer him up and rouse him from his grim thoughtfulness. "I had to get all dressed up in layers when I went to that Christian store just in case I bumped into any holy relics on accident. Shoot, you shoulda seen me. I looked like Steve Rogers when Reynard came to town."
Another laugh, this one the most sincere of all, quickly fades away to neutrality and eventually a small, thoughtful frown. He's quiet a while as he watches Steve. Eventually he opens his mouth to say, "Sorry about all'a that stuff that happened with Reynard, by the way. Last winter, y'know. I feel like we kinda never really talked about it. Never really talked about what happened with our bodies, either..."
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Steve reaches over and pokes Harrow in the chest, right over where his heart would be beating if he were alive. Steve knows logically that Harrow isn't alive and that the rules of good and bad don't always apply the same between worlds.
But Steve also remembers the Winter last year and the body swap between them and Viatorus and Steve knows something truthfully that he'd never waver on.
"We might not always agree on what's right, but you've got a good heart. I don't hold you any ill will from last Winter, and the whole body swap thing brought all three of us closer together. I don't regret a minute of it."
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A good heart.
His brows come together and his eyes slip away into deep and distant thoughts. It doesn't feel right to let Steve keep believing that... But he isn't sure he has the strength to confront it. He has to skirt the issue, distract from it with a vague nod. There are other things to discuss.
"It did bring us together," he mumbles absently. "I learned a lot about myself. And about you, too. You're a real strong guy, you know that? You put up with a lot more than I ever had to, and you're... You're so much braver about it than I ever could'a been. There's somethin' special about what you're made of, Steve. I just... I ain't sure I'm smart enough to say it right. Maybe it ain't even somethin' you can describe. It's like an aura, man. Like an aura of confidence, determination. It's..."
Something brings a little smile back to his face then. He reaches out and gently returns that poke to Steve's heart. "It's this."
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Steve shrugs at Harrowheart even as his friend is poking him back in the chest. It's not right to think of himself as anything special. He didn't even get to pull his own weight like others were doing. "Maybe there's something in the water there."
The joke covers up how much he misses his home. The life he could have had.
He has to remember what this place has given him. The friends, the knowledge, the opportunities he never had. Steve isn't wanting for a roof over his head here. He gets by. Is sick less often.
"Meetin' you guys has been the best thing that's happened to me." He admits quietly. "Thanks for being around, Harrow."
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He glances toward the gifts he'd given, then turns back to Steve. "But enough of that sappy shit. I think you mentioned gifts earlier?" He bounces his eyebrows as a smile creeps across his face.
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Steve gives his own presents one last extremely touched look while he scrambles to get to his feet and wander over to the little artificial tree he'd decorated for the holiday. The Shieldon gets up from where she'd been dozing and noses two of the packages from the modest pile over to Steve as he approaches and gets a fond headrub for helping a guy out.
"Thanks. Sorry I woke you." He murmurs before carrying both packages over to Harrow.
"Okay so...I made you your gift a while ago but I was shopping the other day and found something I pretty much had to get you."
He hands Harrow the smaller of the two gifts first with a nervous chuckle. Truly a marijuana pipe has never been more tastefully wrapped. It's in it's own little white and gold Christmas box underneath the brown craft paper Steve wraps all of his gifts in, sitting in a pile of snow white tissue paper.
The second present is rectangular and rather thin. Underneath the wrapping is a framed picture done in charcoal of Harrowheart with Viatorus and Steve on either side of him wrapped into a group hug. Steve made sure to capture Harrow's big farm boy grin, the slightly nervous tilt of Viatorus' eyebrows at the physical contact despite clearly happy to be among friends, and his own bony hand gripping the back of Harrowheart's as Steve tries to return the gesture as best he can from the position he's in.
"Merry Christmas, Harrow."
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And even though he expected what it would be, he didn't expect this. So much of it is overwhelming. He looks it over inch by inch, his lips parting and his eyebrows twitching as he notices new details here and there. Now and then he steals glances Steve's way, smiling uncertainly as if it's hard to believe that this is his and he gets to keep it.
Eventually he touches it against his better judgement, but the charcoal is safely sealed and isn't damaged in the slightest by the brush of his fingertips. That's when he finally smiles and turns to Steve for good this time.
"I – I don't know what to say, man. It's... I mean, it's gorgeous! You did such a good job, everyone looks..." He glances back at the art and laughs quietly. "Like ourselves." Facing Steve once more he excitedly says, "I've never had art of my own! Shoot, I need someplace to hang it now. I hope Naugus don't mind if I put it up in his castle a while. Hell, I'm gonna be lookin' at this forever..."
And, indeed, he gets back to looking at it. The joy of art is one which never ends, but is periodically revisited.
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"I thought you'd like that."
It's a wry smile he gives Harrow, but it's one that turns softer when Harrow opens the picture. Steve spent a lot of time thinking about what he was grateful for this year, and the friendship he has with these two stood out above and beyond. He's wanted to draw something like this for a while. Hopes Harrow understands how much their friendship means to Steve.
"Well, it'll last for a while hanging up somewhere, not to worry."
For Fortyskey
Dalaran.
Convenient, too, ever since Acherus' recent relocation to the Broken Isles means it's just a brief gryphon ride to the
emeraldamethyst city for him. Now, here, in the busy city, it ought to be simple enough to find her. After all, how many black-haired Forsaken women who talk like a filthy sailor could there be around here? Fortunately, not many. He only has to ask a few locals before he's pointed in the direction of a home for a perpetrator that matches the description.There's a chance she won't be home. There's a chance she won't answer the door, too. And, of course, there's a chance she'll close it right on his snout when she opens the door to find a large worgen in Ebon Knight armor looming, but loom he does. In fairness, it's hard not to loom when you're a seven-foot-tall dog beast. With a present under one arm his detached hand-paws free he knocks gently on the door, loud enough to be heard yet softly enough not to seem too violent. He's seen how she
meltsburns faces, and he doesn't need a repeat of that.no subject
As a staunch supporter of Sylvanas Windrunner--or at least, the Sylvanas she knew when she was freed from the Scourge, even Fortyskey has her own questions about her Banshee Queen's motivation, particularly when involving the Valkyr and similar methods to the Lich King's own. Especially in recent years.
This reason, among (a likely massive list of) many others, is why she hasn't been staying in Undercity. At least until Jaina Proudmoore took over the Kiran Tor and kicked the Horde out of Dalaran for reasons Fortyskey was never entirely sure on. Oh sure, there were rumors, something Garrosh had done, using Dalaran's own portal network or something.
But now?
Now the Horde was tenuously allowed back into the floating city. Fortyskey even managed to get her old home back (How, was probably a story for another day). One of the smaller places out to itself in the massively populated city. Oh, sure, she was definitely well known. There were plenty of Forsaken with foul mouths, but Fortyskey was almost certainly the one who set the highest standard of cursing. Especially in Dalaran of all places. If Harrowheart had managed to ask any Orcs, they probably would have laughed while answering him, saying that they 'loved that little spitfire' or something similar.
Still, the knock is met with silence at first before there's a response, "I'm fucking paid up two months ahead, what the fuck happened now--" Cue the door being yanked open, the short, scrawny Warlock with a scowl on her face, staff in hand, ready for a fight-and-or-arguement with her landlord, before she stops short, and looks up, eyebrows furrowing as she takes a moment to recognize Harrowheart in his Worgen form.
She stares for a beat before saying something, "...Son of a bard's whore we're from the same fucking universe."
Dead. Pan.
In that way that only the Dead Can.
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"Or maybe the Harrowheart you know from the Nexus told the Harrowheart from your universe to deliver his package to you?"
He jostles the package in his arm to draw attention to it, as if that will distract from the way he's stretching his furry neck out to get a peep (and a sniff) inside Forty's home.
"Is this a bad time? I can come in, right?"
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meltingburning experience, can plainly see it's one that's corrupted from the Fel magic Fortyskey favors, dark green and twisted, with a black hole in reality between the prongs on the top of it.That said, she, and the apartment, do all smell familiar, with that (somewhat, depending on the day) faint underscent of copper-and-brimstone that her Felflame tends to leave in its destructive wake.
Fortyskey gives him a flat look. And the deadpan tone continues, "I should be so lucky there'd be two of you in my fucking life." Despite the tone, she doesn't attack him--having no reason to at current. He's being civil and nonhostile, so she can be her usual, if... charming self, instead of lashing out and trying to turn him into ash.
Plus the local guards would probably frown on it, since it's a stipulation in her lease that she behaves and doesn't murder people for asinine reasons or summon demons in town (unless to defend it, or so-on-so-forth ... Or at least not make it obvious if she does).
"It's not a bad time, it's a fucking dead time," she waves her hand dismissively, leaning the staff on the wall and rolling her eyes, gesturing for him to come in. Fortyskey's savvy enough to know he'll probably pester her until she lets him in. The package is noted, though. "Stopping by on the way to spread more fucking Winter Veil cheer or something? It's not like I'm that fucking hard to find."
She really isn't, all considered.