westfallcorndog | Girls' Day Out (for Runa)

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Girls' Day Out (for Runa)

Life's got to be a little hectic when you're Viatorus Durant and Runa Soon-to-be-Durant. One moment you're enjoying a calming morning in your Nexus apartment, probably eating breakfast, and the next someone is bursting through your front door with a boisterous, "Y'ALL!"

It could only be Harrowheart, and in fact it is. He's got his hands bound today, and the one that hadn't slammed the door is holding onto a satchel full of something. He's uncharacteristically dressed for the weather in what looks an awful lot like the Azerothian clothes he wore when he stole Viatorus away for a Westfall fishing trip: beige trousers, tall boots, suspenders, a long sleeved shirt with a high, stiff collar, and a cabbie hat. His sword, as always, rests on his back, but it doesn't bother with as much as an eye glow as means of hello. Viatorus and Runa are used to it -- it knows it won't get a rise out of them.

Harrow strides over to where the young couple are and invites himself to scoop Runa into his arms, holding her like a bride (or a very large, very patient sort of cat.) He keeps her face on level with Viatorus' and says with a proud grin "Kiss him goodbye before I kidnap ya away forever and ever."

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When he hefts her over his shoulder again, Runa can't help but giggle, but when he reminds her to she quickly covers her mouth in an attempt to stifle it. Something which becomes exceptionally difficult as he charges to the house with her. At least her surprised yelp isn't a laugh exactly.

The hallway is reasonably spacious, a tidy area with all the homely touches one would expect from Runa's home. Wooden floors and a wooden staircase, wooden skirting boards painted white to match the pale wallpaper. It all looks exceptionally pleasant apart from the draugr who's just burst through the front door.

The second youngest Nyström is passing through the hall when Harrowheart charges in. Immediately after he issues his challenge, her ear piercing screech follows and the glass of orange juice in her hand splashes everywhere as she flails. Runa doesn't have to worry about smiling now that she's too busy wrinkling up her face as covering her ears. Luna doesn't stop screaming and scrambling until Arvid comes through one of the doors, a hunting rifle in hand.

"What is going on?" He asks with a voice so loud and deep that might be mildly intimidating if he didn't look utterly out of place with the weapon in his hands and stand a good bit shorter than the death knight. When he spots Harrowheart, Arvid blinks at him in shock.

Luna helpfully starts squealing and jabbering while she points an accusatory finger at Harrowheart. Presumably there are words somewhere in the burst of noise.

Listen to that SCREAM. There would have been a time when it excited him beyond measure, when the sound of a helpless civilian shrieking at the sight of him would have riled him up enough that he just might have turned this prank into something much worse. As it is, the jolt of satisfaction is immediately shattered like so much delicate crystal when her screeching gets higher and higher and louder and – GAH!

Harrowheart screws his eyes shut and winces. He involuntarily squeezes Runa a little too tightly around the midsection as he takes a single step back to regain his footing.

By the time Harrow's eyes open again Mister Nystrom himself has arrived, and he's got a GUN. The only thing that keeps Harrow from cringing in surprise is that Arvid beats him to it. They share that look of shock between them for a moment as Harrow silently readjusts his grip on Runa. He tries to be subtle when he whispers to her, "What the Hell, Runa, you didn't tell me your dad had a gun!"

Then he calls out, speaking loudly in a poor attempt to mask his sudden unconfidence, "Mister Nyström, don't you go shootin' me now! You might miss and hit Runa! And, uh... Guns ain't allowed! Ancient, uh... Traditional rules! No weapons in Mak'gora!"

His eyes dart rapidly between Runa and her father. Should they admit this was a prank, or?...

Runa's hair mostly hides her face from prying eyes as she pulls an embarrassed look of apology. Honestly, she forgot!

Arvid tightens his grip on the gun, holding it close as a form of comfort. His eyes dart between Runa and Harrowheart as he tries to figure this all out. Harrowheart doesn't really want him to fight, does he? The thought of facing such a tall, broad opponent has him pulling his gun even closer.

"Uh-Ah." He stammers and shuffles on the spot. "Can we talk about this?"

"Maybe," Runa pipes up. "We can bribe him with some gingerbread..."

"Bribe me?" Harrowheart's nostrils flare. He slowly swings his gaze from Runa to Arvid to Luna and back to Runa once more. "With bread? Bread for Runa's soul, huh?..."

He shifts his mouth from side to side. His right hand drops his runeblade, which continues to float menacingly, and he scratches at his chin. Hmm... Hmmmm!

Suddenly he shrugs his shoulder, bumping Runa up into the air. He catches her in his arm and delicately sets her back on her feet.

"I'll try it. If it's good enough y'all're off the hook. If it ain't, I'm eatin' Runa's soul."

He grabs his sword once more and sheaths it on his back, then motions vaguely down the hall. "Where's the kitchen? And who made the bread?"

Edited 2018-02-20 16:54 (UTC)

The small jump gets a squeak and a giggle from Runa. Fun as the entrance was, she's glad to be set back onto her feet. She takes a hold of Harrowheart's hand and leads him down the hall. On the way past her father she pats him on the arm. "You don't need that, Pappa."

Her bemused family members watch as she leads him to the furthest door away. The kitchen is large and spacious. Warm wooden counters make up most of the area, with the cabinets painted white. Light streams in from the windows, bouncing off of the pots and utensils hanging neatly under the higher cupboards. Despite its size and the weather outside, the room is warm and thick with the smell of baking and a light ginger spice. The reason sits neatly on an island covered by a couple of towels.

"I made it, of course." Runa shrugs her shoulders. "I can't help it. I get excited when we have guests." Then she hops over to the island, pinching a corner of a towel. She grins at him. "Are you ready?" A moment later she pulls the cloth off with a flourish. "Ta-da!"

The plate is filled with gingerbread men, birds and dinosaurs. Runa is already bouncing at the spot with an expectant grin, eager to see Harrowheart's reaction. "And we can decorate them, if you like! I have so much icing."

The smell is heavenly, but what stops Harrowheart is the sight of the kitchen. Sunlight through the windows, a country sink, wood and white paint and the innate knowledge that this room is a place of love and family. He lingers in the doorway as he absorbs it all, his eyes softened by the memories of a family home in Westfall. Only ashes now...

Runa's words bring his attention back to reality and he grins to hear that she made the food. "Good!" He says, eagerly moving to the island and crouching down so that he's at eye level with the surprise awaiting him. "You're the best cook I know, hands down. Just don't tell my mother I said that."

And yes, of course he's ready to see what lies beneath! When she pulls the cloth off he instantly laughs. What a spread! He reaches immediately for a dinosaur, but before his dirty draugr hands touch it he pauses, then takes a little man instead. He sniffs it, smiles, tips it toward Runs in silent cheers, then bites down on its head. What bloodlust!

"Mmh!" It's good! No, of course it's good. Runa is a master chef. "Wow," he mumbles as he takes another, larger bite. "Oh, wow, is that molasses? That's real goo--omf." Harrow doesn't even finish his sentence before he eats the rest of the cookie.

One arm props him up against the island as he leans against it, legs crossed and ass far from the counter. He eats a dinosaur (the one he had nearly chosen before) and then a bird, and it's a good thing Runa made so much because he Just. Keeps. Eating. He doesn't stop to breathe or talk until he's eaten nearly all of the bread. When he's through he licks his fingers, wipes them on his pants, and leans over to give Runa a quick, friendly kiss on the top of the head.

"Your soul is safe," he says, then wags a finger at her. "This time."

But then the memory of something she said whispers through his mind. Decorate them... O-oh no... He's eaten most of this lovely display...

A shy little laugh precedes him rubbing his face and neck in embarrassment. "Shoot... Maybe we can ice cookies some other time? Besides..." He shrugs his shoulder, causing his satchel to bounce. "I got a surprise for you that you're gonna wanna try on."

Although Runa's smile was bright before, she beams when Harrowheart laughs and giggles when he finally bites into one of the gingerbread men, unable to resist voicing his approval. It's not hard to see just how much she appreciates the compliment of him going back for more. She swells with pride, beaming from ear to ear. That is, until she realises her accomplishment is being demolished.

Her father comes in to see the draugr devouring a plate full of biscuits. At least this time he gets to hear Harrowheart let Runa off the hook, the gun still in his hands though he looks like he's forgotten about it. He still looks uncertain, but the kiss to the top of his daughter's head is more cause for confusion than alarm.

Mention of a surprise gets Runa excited again and she bounces on the spot. "Oh! Let me help Luna clean up quickly and then you can give it to me!" She dashes to grab a towel and some kitchen roll and vanishes back out to the hall.

Arvid stands awkwardly just inside the door. He glances after her and then turns back to Harrowheart. A moment of silence passes before he speaks, voice quiet with uncertainty. "You... weren't really going to eat her soul, were you?"

Harrowheart watches Arvid expectantly as that silence builds. When the question is finally asked Harrow can't help the faintest smile that tugs one half of his face. He winks knowingly and says nothing until he's side by side with Arvid lightly draping his arm around his shoulder. He looks down at the other man and considers him with a gentle fondness.

"You're a good father, Mister Nyström."

Arvid isn't sure how he feels about the hug, or the answer, but he doesn't get much time to think up a response. Soon Runa is back to take Harrowheart's hand and tug it until he lets go of her father. She gives Arvid a quick kiss on the cheek and tells him, "Put that away, Pappa."

With that she leads Harrowheart back into the hall. They pass an open door where Luna is standing over her husband slouched on the couch who blinks up at her, bewildered as she gives out to him for managing to sleep through her terrified screams. Runa leads her guest upstairs, the floorboards creaking as she brings him to her room.

It's large and bright. There are touches of lace to all the fabric, and everything is either white or gentle pastels. There are window seats, a wardrobe set into one wall, a chest of drawers and a vanity table. Every surface seems to be covered with objects in a vaguely organsied way. There are several pictures hung on the wall and on the furniture. A healthy plant sits next to a phone charger and the bed looks ready to explode with cushions. Perhaps more relevant to their plans for the day are the boxes of makeup sitting on and around the vanity table.

As soon as they're inside, Runa closes the door like a teenage girl eager to keep her nosy parents out. She clasps her hands together and grins. "Make yourself comfortable!"

Harrow has to scrub at his mouth to keep from showing the smile he can't fight at the sight of Luna reprimanding her husband.

He takes his time climbing the stairs and pauses to consider the sounds of the floorboards. Light, but the Nystroms live so much like he once did. He's sure that he wouldn't hear that comforting creak in the Durant manor. Isidor or Lieselotte or the Archon, they would want it fixed if it were in their home.

Only when he realizes he's lagging behind does he hurry on up the stairs after his host. When he enters her room he doesn't immediately stop to scan the scenery, but shrugs off his satchel and his sheathed sword. The sword he props against a wall, the bag he thro– Woah! He scrambles forward and catches his bag as soon as it leaves his hands. He was going to toss it onto Runa's bed, but it's covered – absolutely covered! – in little pillows!

Everything in the room seems to come secondary. He looks at the plant, then back to the bed. The furniture, the bed, the pictures, the bed, the makeup, the bed... The Runa.

His confusion pitches up his voice when he asks, "What the hell you got so many pillows for, girl?"

Oh well, no matter. He sets his satchel down near her vanity, undoes the flap, and pulls out... Clothes! A dress, more precisely. When he holds it near his own body it looks rather small, but it ought to be a good match for Runa. Like his own outfit it's made of a naturally cream-colored linen and comes with a stiff, high collar split down the middle and rounded at the edges. Two simple swallows are embroidered in red thread on either side of the throat, and in their beaks are little shafts of wheat. The sleeves are puffed at the shoulder and cuffed halfway down the upper arm, where more red thread has sewn a simple rolling wave with a single cow and tree at the top of one peak.

The top half of the dress is pleated from the neck to the breast and a number of tiny, domed buttons run from the throat to the bottom of the bust, where the flat, horizontal waist will cut the form and give a more feminine figure to what is otherwise a conservative outfit. Down at hip level the dress takes on a vertical pleating again until it ends abruptly at knee length. There's space in the legs to run and move. Room for farm work, surely.

But what's the point of a dress without accompaniments? After he tosses the dress her way he brings out a pair of brown leather boots in a decidedly Victorian style: pointed toe, straps rising halfway up the calf. There's no peg of a heel to these, though, but a sturdy sole designed to withstand outdoor use. The boots come with a matching set of overly thick leather gloves that might better suit Gry and her taloned birds.

"An Azerothian getup, just for you," he says, a faint and hopeful smile on his face. "So you and Viatorus can dress up together, or... Maybe take a trip my world someday?"

"For jumping on the bed," she answers as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

She clasps her hands behind her back while she waits for him for settle. At first she doesn't recognise what he's pulling out. Then she does and she tries to withhold her excitement. Is that for her? She hopes it's for her! Maybe it's just to borrow... Oh, but it looks so lovely.

The moment Harrowheart says it's for her the hopeful expression on her face immediately turns into one of pure joy. She lets go of the breath she was holding in an appreciative sigh and moves forward to take it from him. Holding it up against her she turns to a full length mirror and tries to get an idea of how it will look. Then she turns around to Harrowheart and beams. "It's beautiful, Harrowheart!" Looking at it again a small excited sound escapes her. "The embroidery...! Oh, it's beautiful! Thank you!"

"I... actually got something for you too." She sets the dress down on the bed and then goes to her wardrobe. It takes a bit of rummaging before she pulls out a couple of hangers. One holds a pair of jeans while the other has a nice quality top that looks like it will fit snugly on a broad chest. Finally she pulls out a warm looking knitted jumper with zig-zagging patterns running in a band around it and smiles at Harrowheart. "I thought you might like to try some of our clothes just for fun. Hemming is about your size. He's the only one who's as tall as you."

Harrow averts his eyes and smiles humbly when he sees how much Runa enjoys her gift. "My mom made it for ya. I told her you liked the clothes I gave to Viatorus, and she said she thought it'd be real fun to make you somethin' to match. She got to eat some pastries you made, you get to wear a dress she made... It's like a secret gift exchange. From a mother to a daughter."

His gentle smile slowly fades to parted-lipped confusion when Runa begins looking for a present for him. For him? This is unexpected! He tries not to be too excited, but when he sees what she's offering him his whole face alights. Sure, it's disappointing to hear that he'll only be able to try these on... But that's what today is all about, right? He takes the clothes as gingerly as if they were glass.

"I can't wait to try the jeans on," he whispers, as if saying it at full volume might mean someone will come in and stop him. "That's real Earth clothes!"

With a laugh he spins a finger and says, "Turn around! We'll try our clothes on right now! I promise I won't look 'til you're ready."

"She did?" Runa gasps in surprise, but then he mentions it being a gift exchange from a mother to a daughter. Her grateful smile twists and she presses her lips closed tightly. She can feel her eyes welling up and the moment she does she smiles again and turns around, fussing over the floor of her wardrobe.

It takes her exactly the same amount of time for her to keep any tears from running as it does for her to fish out a pair of sturdy walking boots. "I don't know if they're your size, but you can try."

Then she grabs her new clothes and heads to the other side of the bed to start changing. She completely trusts that he won't look, but if he did then he'd see she's got getting dressed in public while protecting her modesty down to a fine art. He'll hear when she's done before she says. With an excited squeal she jumps up, twisting and turning and doing a spin. "It's so comfortable! So free! I love it!"

If Harrowheart notices Runa's emotions he knows better than to make it known. He takes the shoes with a smile, looks them over, and nods approvingly. They might just fit!

Changing into the jeans is quick business, because he'd absolutely hate for Mister Nystrom to walk in at the wrong time. He wiggles into the sweater after, but putting on the shoes means undoing all the laces of his boots, which takes a little longer. Only when he's sure that Runa is ready does he turn around to show off his Hemming cosplay.

As soon as he hears her squeal he's laughing, and like an excited girl he clasps his hands together as he watches her spin. "Runa, you make it look so good!" He plants his hands on his hips and adds, "It's sturdy, too, and it'll wash out just fine if it gets dirty. You can garden in it when the springtime comes."

Then he looks down at himself and plucks at his sweater and pats down his jeans. He turns around and slaps his ass and can't help laughing again. "I like 'em! I oughta get a pair of my own."

He gestures to himself with a flourish from head to hips and with a little grin says, "Now let's finish our looks with a little makeup. Teach me your wisdom, Shan'do."

In her giddiness she does a small curtsy at Harrowheart's compliment and giggles again. Then she hops over and brushes over his chest and his shoulders. "And this suits you so well too! Keep the outfit! Hemming has plenty of clothes and he doesn't wear these anymore."

But then he's talking to her about makeup and her eyes flash. Grabbing his hand, apparently unconcerned about how cold they are, she leads him to the chair, then lets go of his hand to grab another and pull it over. "I am so excited! Do you know how cool glowing eyes are? And I've never done makeup on someone so pale. This is going to be exciting!"

She starts sorting through her many types of makeup and setting them out neatly on the vanity table. "I used to do this all the time with my sisters. Sometimes I do this with my niece Theresa, but she is so particular about her makeup." She stops to grin at Harrowheart. "It involves a lot of glitter. She thinks that's how you become an elf."

Keep them? He gets to keep the -- woah! Runa's enthusiasm knows no bounds, and before Harrow even has a chance to thank her for the clothes he's being led into a seat!

Cool? She thinks his eyes are cool? Oh, Runa, stop, you're making him so self-conscious! And she even likes his skin-tone? His blue lips wobble with his hesitant smile. He's touched, but some part of him still refuses to believe her compliments. He knows the truth, after all.

But then he laughs and playfully nudges her shoulder. "She's right though! Elves love glitter! And sequins and rhinestones and real jewelry too. I'd say maybe next time we get your niece involved and dress up like elves, but I ain't ever been one for jewelry. That's for rich folks anyway."

He squares himself up in the seat and folds his hands neatly in his lap in preparation for the makeover to come. But a few seconds in he sighs a cold column of air through his nostrils.

"Which... You say you are? But..." He looks around the room using only his eyes, then looks Runa up and down. Dressed as she is it's impossible to imagine. "Your home is so much like my home when I grew up. And you're... Kind, and friendly, and not stuck up at all. You're not cruel, and you don't steal from poor folks. You're nothin' at all like..."

Like the Durants?

He averts his eyes but keeps his head very still. If she wants to have this sort of conversation while she's gussying him up he's ready to cooperate.

Edited 2018-02-22 21:17 (UTC)

"If she thought she could get blue eyes like yours she might want to be a draugr instead," she laughs.

It's convenient not having to roll up her sleeves, but she does tie up her hair into a loose bun. She wants to be able to see Harrowheart clearly while she does this. The fact that she's done this before shows. There's no hesitation in the way she takes his face, wiping it over gently, but thoroughly, with a face wipe before cracking out some moisturiser.

She only pauses when she realises where he's going with the conversation. He trails off and tilts her head. "Like who?" A moment passes. "Oh... You mean like Viatorus' family?" She laughs softly and shakes her head. "No, we're not like them."

Once she's done with the moisturiser she has to borrow Harrowheart's hand while she tries out different foundations. She might be here a while. "But we are rich. We all have big homes, lots of land, lots of cars and televisions... The Durants don't steal from poor people, either, and they're not cruel." She shrugs and looks up at him again. "It's like with any other family. There are different kinds of families and different kinds of people. Some neighbours are rude and unkind, some are warm and generous, and others just like to keep to themselves."

Harrowheart pulls a face when she's through, a mixture of guilt and... Guilt. Not much of a mixture after all, really. "It ain't like that where I come from. On Azeroth, only bad sorts of people are rich cause they know how to take advantage of everyone else," he says absently as he watches her try and fail to match a living color to his hand. He's got the complexion of bleu cheese, Runa. What do you think you're going to accomplish here?

"It's okay if it don't match," he says quietly. "Just have fun with it."

Then he clears his throat and continues the previous conversation. "I guess... Now that I think about it... Isidor don't make her money in a bad way. She told me that she does security. Guess I didn't really think about it much when she told me, but... That ain't the same as bein' a money lender or somethin'."

Another sigh. He turns to look at Runa's bedroom before he remembers he's got to keep facing her.

"If they were my neighbors, I guess I always woulda liked 'em. Even if they were rich. Cause they ain't so bad once you get to know 'em. Viatorus is real sweet, and Isidor's..." He stops himself short with a little grunt. "And I liked you soon as I met you, and I can't not like you just cause you're rich. And... I guess if bein' rich made you bad... Then I wouldn't like you... But I do..."

Ugh... Uuuuugh! He slumps down in his chair and rests his head against the back of it.

"I've been an asshole, huh?" he groans. Under his breath he mutters, "Now I gotta fuckin' apologize to her, and she's gonna rub it in my face..."

At the suggestion that she doesn't have to match the foundation, Runa glances at him and then focuses on her makeup again with a little blush. It's so difficult not to draw attention to the fact that he's no longer living, and that it's kind of a sad state for seemingly endless reasons.

The palest foundation she can find is picked out and she starts applying some primer. She's not stopping with his face, either, instead going right down his neck to the collar of his jumper. Now that she has to focus on his face it's not hard to spot the suppressed smile when he fails to pick a word to describe Isidor.

Harrowheart leans his head back and she takes it as an opportunity to make sure the primer is put on evenly. "You're so hard on yourself, Harrowheart. Nobody is perfect. We all make mistakes, and we learn and we grow… That's what life is about."

"I don't think you've been an asshole, and I don't think Isidor would rub it in your face," Runa assures him, holding his gaze just a moment to make sure he knows how much she believes that. Then she starts applying the lightest foundation she can find. This might take a while... "She's met enough rude people to tell the difference between someone who is genuinely rude and someone who's learning another culture."

"Rich people here are rich for all kinds of reasons. Some inherit their fortune, like me. Some earn it through hard work, or cleverness, or personality. Some earn it just for being handsome." She grins at him. "If you'd been born in this world you would have made a small fortune with your smile." Then it's back to applying makeup. "Some people start businesses or their ancestors were good business people and they grew their fortunes through the decades, or even centuries. That's how my father got his wealth. There are lots of ways to get rich here, and lots of different kinds of people who end up with a lot of money."

She tilts her head at him. "Are all rich people in your world really bad?"

Too hard on himself? He looks at Runa in a way that suggests he knows but refuses to admit it. There's a touch of remorse in the tilt of his eyebrows. Has anyone told him that before? Really come out and said it out loud? It leaves him quiet for the rest of Runa's words. When she holds his gaze he finds himself nodding almost imperceptibly. It's his natural inclination to agree with someone speaking with authority -- even if that somebody is little Runa half busy with makeup.

It's a good thing she's already patted him down with foundation by the time she compliments his smile. It means she doesn't have to see him blush, though his pursed lips and the aversion of his eyes gives away his humility and urge to (of course, as always) smile.

It's a relief to hear that Runa's family are simple business people, but he hadn't expected anything worse. He couldn't imagine them seizing the lands of country peasants in dire straights or any of the things he might have once figured the Durants for. But by the time she asks him about his world he finds he'd almost rather not speak. It's been so relaxing sitting in silence, Runa patting down his face with all her soft tools, him listening to her rather than speaking. It's how he used to be before he came to the Nexus. Quiet... But this time not alone. What a strange little twist.

"On my world," he begins quietly, careful not to move his jaw too much when he speaks, "The strong take what they want from the weak. That's just the way it is. We all do it. Even I do it. And rich folk are strong, and poor folk are weak."

He pauses a moment, his blue eyes searching her face as he thinks. "Like this: There was a war up north in a place called Lordaeron. All the people had to leave their homes in a hurry, or they woulda died and turned undead. They had to flee to the south, to the kingdom of Stormwind, where I'm from. But that's all the way across the world. People who had the means to guide folks south made the refugees pay everything they had with 'em for protection. Whole lotta folks still didn't make it even after they paid their way, but you better believe the rich folks kept all the things they stole from 'em."

"It's the same with land, too. Wars come through, people lose everything, and the folks with the money swoop in and take and take. There ain't such a thing as charities, either. When you're rich and you got too much gold, you melt it down and paint it over statues of yourself just like the crown did in the capitol. The king had enough money to make a giant gold statue of himself in front of the keep, but not enough to repay all the Westfall masons who rebuilt the city after it burnt down."

He shrugs one shoulder and blinks slowly. "Just the way things are. Slave drivers, money lenders, warmongers... Only thieves and killers like that are rich. But it ain't like I got room to talk."

What an unpleasant note to leave his part of the conversation on. His eyes glance at the nearby mirror but he can't get a good look at himself.

"Back in the Scourge, death knights like me used to put ashes around our eyes to make the glow look brighter. You gonna put mascara on me? How bout eyeliner? You know, the kind that's like..." He sweeps his fingers upward from the corners of his eyes.

He doesn't want to sound too hopeful, but he just can't help it when he asks, "And I get to do all'a this to you, too, right?"

Thankfully war is something Runa has had any experience with. It's something that people talk about in the past tense, or in hushed voices. Just like Harrowheart, Runa liked the death knight the moment she met him. Hearing the pain and struggle his world and his people endure is difficult. Her brow turns upwards in sympathy and her lips press together to stop herself from looking too sad. She doesn't want to make him feel like he's upset her.

Still, she can't help but stop what she's doing and gasp when he tells her the fate of the Lordaeron refugees. "That's terrible! How could they do something like that?"

Her frown hardens in disapproval and she shakes her head at the thought of it. Rich people are fortunate, they don't suffer the same way as impoverished people. How they could add to the misfortune of others is beyond her. A small, frustrated huff is the only sign of how deeply she's thinking about this before Harrowheart goes and distracts her.

"Ashes?" She blinks at him and then smiles. "That's clever!"

Even with how unpleasant the topic of conversation has been, she still can't quite help a small laugh with his last question. "Of course you get to do my makeup. You can go wild with it!" She gets back to covering him in foundation. "And I can give you wings if you like, but I'll use eyeshadow too. You'll have a stare that even Isidor will envy."

How could they do something like that? Because there was nobody to stop them, Runa. Because morals on Azeroth, evidently, are much different than on Earth. There are dozens of explanations and excuses Harrowheart could give, but instead he lets that topic fade away It's not a question she really wants an answer to anyways, is it? Much more pleasant to focus on the makeup and have a little fun...

He smiles in return at the supposed cleverness of wearing ash around your eyes and a little more when she confirms that he'll get to reciprocate here. Even go wild! She might regret that in about ten minutes.

A stare that even Isidor will envy... That sparks something in him. His eyes shine with hope and mischief and his smile is so sincere, so eager even as he tries to subdue it. A chance to make Isidor react – maybe with jealousy or amusement or even pride – is such a wonderful thing. He presses his hands between his knees and sits forward in his excitement. Yes, Runa! Give him the eyeshadow!

Runa can't quite restrain the giggle that comes with seeing his eagerness. Once she's sure she's got him as skin-coloured as she can, she starts to build on her, well, foundation. She might only be a small lady compared to Harrowheart, and gentle, but she has absolutely no issue with giving Harrowheart instructions, taking his chin and pulling him this way and that. Thankfully he's more cooperative than her young niece, and better at staying still in awkward positions when she needs him to.

She talks a little bit about style and fashion as she goes, reminiscing about embarrassing crimped hair, and saying that of her sisters, only Carita doesn't have a goth or emo streak. In between her conversation bits she hums little tunes and sings a little whenever she's concentrating hardest. She does her best to give his exceptionally pale complexion some warmth. Contouring helps her emphasise his more masculine features, strengthening his jaw and lending angular aspects a bit of shadow. Though it's not as common for men, she even uses a very neutral lipstick to give him more life. Once that's all set she can set it with some powder and move into the next part.

Everything is carefully built upon until finally she gets to his eyes and eyebrows. Of everything this is where she spends the most time. His eyebrows have to be shaped just perfectly and it's more difficult than she though to work with glowing eyes. His eyelids look so different when they're closed. She picks out a particularly dark purple eyeshadow for a careful gradient to help her emphasise his eyes. The process of putting on the winged eyeliner is what gets her biting her lip and going silent with concentration.

Eventually she sits back and lets go of the breath she was holding. She nibbles her lip some more, scanning his face to see if there's anything she missed or should add. It looks quite good, she thinks, but she can't help but be nervous. What if Harrowheart doesn't like it? What if it's not a good enough job and he just gets reminded that he's no longer living? She's done the best job she can, but what if that's not enough?

She worries at her lip some more, and then smiles at him, trying to push her worries aside. "Ok. You can look now."

It's so calming, being painted like this. There's something in the way she feels so free to make contact with him that reminds him of turning into a worgen and suddenly having friends' hands on his face and ears and neck in ways that they would never touch him otherwise. An impersonality to it... A distance and a closeness at the same time in a way he can't quite describe but recognizes on some level.

Emo, he learns, has something to do with being vibrantly, publicly sad, but in a sense enjoying it and reveling in the emotionality of it all. He likes it. Of course he does. And when she hums and sings, he likes that, too, but he has to keep from smiling as it will ruin her perspective on his face. He keeps a steely, dead-eyed stare throughout, except for moments where she leans back to inspect her work and he can't help but let his enjoyment show through in a twist of his lips.

Such anticipation builds as he watches her become increasingly serious about her difficult task. Her work slows as her technique becomes more and more precise around his eyebrows and eyes. The first time she plucks a stray hair at his brow he blinks, surprised, but he quickly realizes that perfect brows don't stop with one pluck and he reverts to stoicism until the work is done.

Before he knows it she tells him those three magic words: You can look. He doesn't hesitate to turn to the mirror and see himself, and his immediate reaction is a quiet gasp. His eyebrows rise and he blinks in confusion as he looks over himself. More has changed than stayed the same! He traces a finger over his eyebrows and the perfectly crisp line of his sideburns where she'd taken a few out of place hairs. A little 'ah' escapes when he touches his cheeks and finds that the shadowy dimension she's given him is only an illusion of sharp cheekbones.

He turns slightly and looks at himself out of the corners of his eyes, then turns the other way and considers how symmetrical he is. "Shoot," he whispers, his voice so low he can hardly hear himself. Next he leans in to look closely at himself. His lips purse and he blows air through them, then he smiles, then he frowns. He presses them together and glides them back and forth to feel the strangely smooth texture of the lipstick there.

But his eyes... His eyes are what give it all away. Eyeliner conceals the blueness beneath his lashes except for where the dead color of his tear ducts give the magic away. Well, that and the literal magic of his blue eyes. He lightly touches the winged eyeliner and quietly chuckles. She did it just like he asked, and yet it's still so strange to see on himself.

"Shoot..." he repeats, a little louder this time. He sits back in his chair and stares and stares. A pleased little tilt of his lips gives away what he thinks of her work. How completely different he looks...

"I don't even look like me!" he says, turning to Runa with a shy little laugh. He reaches out and playfully cuffs her shoulder, then quickly hooks an arm around her and pulls her in for a side-hug and a chance to look at themselves side by side in the mirror. He pats her arm gently as he smiles at their reflections.

"I look..."

What's the word he wants here? He shakes his head lightly even as he smiles. He snorts a little huff that turns into a few genuine laughs.

"Like a prostitute."

He shakes Runa playfully and says, "But I like it! My eyebrows look so good! And you gave me cheekbones and everything! And look at my eyelashes!" He blinks them quickly just to show them off. "You did the little swoops just like I wanted! Light, I gotta show Isidor."

He hurries up and fishes out his phone so that he can hold it above them for a selfie. Smile, Runa! Click-click. Click. Click. As soon as the pictures are taken he leafs through them for quality assurance. Finding them worthy fills him with renewed excitement and he squeezes Runa in another hug. That'll do, hun. That'll do.

He sets his phone down on the vanity, releases Runa, and leans back to inspect her. "Now it's my turn, and this time we're gonna gossip."

Runa's eyes dart back and forth between Harrowheart and his reflection. She's so eager to see his reaction that she doesn't do much of a job hiding her nerves. Thankfully he's mostly focused on examining his new face.

Initially his smiling and impressed surprise seems like a good thing. She beams when he pulls her in for a side hug. It's as they're both looking at the mirror that she thinks to herself that maybe she did a better job than she thought. Swiftly followed by his comparison to a prostitute. She gasps, jumping into an apologetic expression, though she covers her mouth with her hand.

Then just as quickly he's reassuring her and pulling out his phone. She doesn't even have time to apologise or offer to redo her makeover. Swept up by his enthusiasm, all she can do is smile for the camera, the upturn of her eyebrows betraying her sheepishness.

By the time he's finished checking his photography skills she's had time to let his reassurances sink in. She smiles broadly and nods. "That sounds good. If you don't know what something is I can tell you," she says with a quick wave to the makeup around them. Then she turns to grin excitedly at him. "What are we going to gossip about?"

Harrow spends a moment trying to arrange the bottles and palettes in the order that she worked in. This clearish-white stuff first, and then... It was the foundations, wasn't it? But which one? Oh! Yes! He'll test them on her hand, just like she did to him! Grinning, he squirts a little moisturizer into his hands and rubs it around to warm ––

No... Oh, when he puts his hands on Runa's face they're so cold! The moisturizer is spread thinly and warms quickly enough, but it's a good thing that he's going for a brush next because even a Swede might get a little chilly if he were going to spread it all with his fingers.

As he goes for the foundation he catches sight of himself in the mirror and pauses to look. A fast glance turns into admiration. He can't help but feel a little handsome, suddenly. He has to touch his cheek again, and a little smile warms his face.

"Boys," Harrow says as he looks back to Runa. "We're gossiping about boys! About a boy, anyway. A young master Durant..."

He dabs a little bit of foundation onto Runa's hand but finds it's far too pale. That's about the color she used on him! She's got more life in her than that. Hmm, hmm, hmm... Decisions, decisions... He looks his options over and his eyes now and then drift slyly back to her.

"Has he gotten any braver when it comes to romance? I saw he kissed you before I stole you away today. And he hardly even blushed! Almost like he's gettin' used to lovin' his lovely little lady."

Harrowheart probably won't be surprised that when he puts his hands on Runa's face she squeaks and then giggles to hide her discomfort. That's the worst part over since, thankfully, he switches to brushes. It's also good that he's using her hand first, because when he stops to examine his makeup she can't resist beaming proudly.

The topic of choice only makes her blush a little bit, and although she ducks her head shyly, her smile reassures that she's not as uncomfortable discussing it as her fiancé.

"He's trying," she says. "It was difficult after Halloween for a while. When he was ill he didn't want anyone close, and…" Her eyes stare into the distance and she goes quiet for a moment. When she focuses again she looks back to Harrowheart. "I think he was embarrassed afterwards. But he's still trying. Sometimes we go for walks, and we watch movies together."

She rolls her eyes and grins. "There as so many movies he hasn't seen."

Was his illness really that bad? Harrow's eyebrows upturn worriedly as he considers what Runa is saying. Viatorus assured him that it was nothing, really, and he took it at face value. But he didn't want anyone near? Not even his fiancée? He distracts himself from his creeping guilt by testing new foundations on Runa's skin. Unfortunately he's picked a decent match on the second guess. So much for that.

He flashes a smile to hear that Runa's cracking Viatorus' shell. Just as soon as his brush touches her nose she mentions all the movies Viatorus doesn't know and he pulls back abruptly. "Oh, I know!" he says, crossing one arm over his stomach and resting his elbow on the back of that hand.

The paint brush flops to point at Runa and he says, "Isidor too! She ain't even seen Beauty and the Beast. Can you believe that?" Harrow clucks his tongue and shakes his head and only then remembers that he's got to learn to do makeup and chat at the same time. He leans in once more and returns to painting Runa's face. A streak on the nose, one on each cheek, a line across the forehead. Chin? Lip? Hmm... First he'll spread what he's got on and see how far that takes him.

Turns out he's placed enough to cover her face, but what harm could a second coat do? He's pretty sure he can still see her pores. That means he needs more, right? Juuuust a little bit here and there... And here again... Around the curves of her nostrils, around her lips... Good, good, nice and uniform. Smooth.

So what comes next? Once more he's considering his options on the vanity. "You ever watch scary movies with him?" he asks absently as his hand hovers uncertainly over a circle of blush. "You oughta try that. Somethin' that ain't really scary, but you pretend to be scared anyway. Act like you need him to save you. That'll make him feel real good I bet. Powerful, useful, whatever he figures a husband oughta be."

Seeing Harrowheart suddenly acting like a teenage girl is a… pleasant surprise. Runa giggles, and then gasps appropriately at the news Isidor is just as uneducated as her brother. She can't express her shock too much, though. It's her turn to stay still, always with a light smile on her lips.

Harrowheart's suggestion is met with a thoughtful hum. "Mm, no. He doesn't seem to like scary movies very much. We've watched a lot of romances and comedies. It's a good way to laugh together." Her mouth twists until she's unable to suppress her grin. "Have you watched any movies with Isidor?"

Harrow snatches up the blush and accumulates a light dusting on a rather puffy brush. Only when Runa is through speaking does he begin to delicately rouge her cheeks and nose. Just a little bit. Conservative. Wonderful, yes...

"Oh, loads!" he says as he powders her cheeks. "First was Beauty and the Beast, of course, but then I got her watchin' all sorts of things. Cartoons and murder mysteries, comedies, a movie about a good dragon that helps out a knight... But I think she liked the action movies best. She'd get all excited, and..." He trails off and averts his eyes as shy smile creeps over his face. A few seconds pass before he realizes it's there and in an instant stamps it out, a single blink from warmth and love to dead-eyed nothingness. He's got to keep his composure. He can't let Runa get the ~~right~~ wrong idea.

That rouge on Runa's face is simply too subtle. Maybe a little bit more. Otherwise who will be able to see his work? The soft bristles skate across her cheeks until he's decided he's through with that and moves on to the most important part of doing makeup: The eyes. She did such a tremendous job with his and he's sure his work won't compare, but that's not going to stop him from trying.

He looks into her eyes for a second or two to judge just what color they are and what he ought to match them with. Blue eye shadow, he decides, ought to make her look good. A bright, electric shock of color to contrast her 'hint' of a blush. Perfect. He dabs a smaller brush against the eye shadow and caaaarefully begins to color her eyelids with it. One at a time, each done just as thick as the rest of her makeup.

And here she thought he was going to deny spending any time with Isidor at all. Once her surprise passes, she smiles warmly, allowing herself to get swept along with his enthusiasm. After being around his bright energy now and then it's nice to get to experience it properly.

She's a little confused when his expression dies away, but then he's putting on her eyeshadow and she has to close her eyes. But she can't keep them in silence. They are meant to be gossiping, after all.

Her grin grows wide until in blooms into a toothy smile. "So when you were watching an action movie... did you kiss her?"

"Runa!" he fumbles the brush and scrambles to catch it before it hits the floor, then immediately reaches out and gives her a shove on the shoulder. "Don't say that!" Worried that someone might have heard he looks toward the door, but only his runeblade waits there. When he turns back to Runa he pushes her shoulder again, this time less harshly but with a firm frown on his face.

"Why would I go and do somethin' like that, huh?"

The palette of makeup is a good distraction and he taps that fine brush into the blue eye shadow again and again, quickly forming a shallow divot. He gradually slows as he begins to realize how incriminating this must look. Instead he finds his lighter and a cigarette in his trouser pocket. As he goes to light his smoke he looks past the tip of it and sees Runa again. He strikes the lighter, but instead of taking the cigarette himself he offers it first to Runa. It's only good manners to share, after all. If she refuses he'll smoke it himself, but if she takes it he'll find himself another.

"Come on, Runa," he says around his cigarette. "You're practically a Durant these days, you know the rules. And besides..."

He picks up the brush again and, calm once more, returns to his work and tries to dust her other eye to match the first. "There's a world for the livin' and a world for the dead, and sometimes that's the end of the story."

Try as she might not to laugh when he drops the brush, a giggle escapes when he looks around worriedly and gives her shoulder a shove. It's adorable. Even a death knight looks cute when he's nervous and smitten.

She politely declines a cigarette and does her best not to laugh again in case he takes it the wrong way. Once he's calmed down a bit she feels free to smile a bit wider again.

"Love is a rebel who hates the rules. We can't help who we fall in love with. Besides, you're not dead, you're undead. There's a difference," she tells him with a shrug. "You do have a crush on her, don't you?"

Harrowheart openly rolls his eyes at the distinction of his undeath. If he knew what a pedant was he might call her one.

"You can't tell anyone, okay? I mean it, Runa." He fidgets with his cigarette and with the brush until he sighs heavily and sets down the eye shadow. Might as well try to figure out how to do mascara. He pulls the little bristle brush out of the tube and turns it around as he considers it. This should be easy... Right?...

His shoulders go slack and he watches Runa worriedly. "I mean it," he whispers. "If anyone found out – I mean even Viatorus – she'd be shamed forever. Can you imagine what folks would say if they knew the draugr liked Isidor Durant? Imagine what Poenia would say to her, or all those gossipin' old folks at parties. Then there's the Archon, who'd probably make sure I never saw any of y'all again..."

He shakes his head and leans in to try and glide the mascara brush over her upper eye lashes. It's not ideal, but they are darker now... If chunky.

"Don't even tell Isidor, okay? She ain't allowed to know." The unspoken part being 'that you know, Runa.' It's not a lie if it's only a half-truth, right?...

Suddenly he buries his face in his hands (though his cigarette sticks out between them) and heaves a sigh. "I'm so bad at keepin' it to myself," he groans. "But I can't help it, Runa!" With his face still covered he shakes his head again. "She's so perfect! She's smart and determined and powerful and gorgeous!"

His hands slide down his face but fortunately his makeup doesn't smear. His wide, guilty eyes search Runa's face for answers. In a pathetic whisper he croaks, "What am I gonna do?..."

This time she doesn't laugh. She smiles gently as he pleads for her to keep this private. It's not as though she doesn't understand. Becoming a part of the world of the Durants, a person quickly gets the impression that privacy is a matter of survival. Listening to Isidor only makes that twice as clear.

"I won't tell anyone. I promise," she assures him softly.

His searching eyes find her looking at him with a face full of sympathy, a gentle smile on her lips. She rests a hand on his shoulder and leans in closer to try and offer some comfort. "Sometimes it's not about doing anything."

With a sigh, she tilts her head and offers him a broader smile. "Life is a messy journey of experiences. Most of them we don't even have control over. I think the important thing is to enjoy what you have."

"There is a Danish concept called Hygge. It's not easy to translate into one word, but... it's about taking pleasure from the simple things in life. Fresh socks, sitting quietly by a cosy fire, drinking and chatting with your friends..." She nudges him lightly. "Sharing a smile with someone you like... I think sometimes that's the best way to live your life. It's a journey. So you should take every piece of happiness you can. You deserve to be happy, Harrowheart, however you can be."

Hygge. He listens to Runa's description of this new concept, and when she's through he spends a short time in silence thinking this over. Part of his mind is busy processing the idea she's just presented, and the other is forcefully stopping himself from defying what she said last. It's hard to hear that sort of sentiment. That he deserves to be happy. It always conjures up mistakes. The cruel things he's done and will continue to do comes to the forefront of his thoughts, but he refuses to focus on them for long.

Eventually he quietly says, "I figure you're right, aren't you? Even if what a person's got ain't everything he wants... It's what he's got. It's all there is. He can enjoy it, or he can suffer."

He lets out a thoughtful little 'hmm' that shakes his shoulders. Then he's leaning in to finish up the mascara on her other eye. It's nearly even, he thinks, and with that his work is done. He sits back, inspects from afar to be entirely sure, and, smiling with a twinge of worry, turns her toward the mirror so that she can see what he's done to her.

Enjoy it or suffer. Well that's a harsh way of putting it. With a sheepish laugh she gets ready to gently explain further, but she stops when he sounds thoughtful. She'd much rather he comes to his own conclusions first. If he's still thinking about hygge she doesn't find out. Instead he turns her around and all thoughts of forbidden love is forgotten.

First her eyebrows shoot up and her mouth forms a little 'o'. She didn't even know mascara could clump that much, or that foundation could crack around creases. The last thing she wants to do is insult Harrowheart, so she fills the silence with soft, thoughtful sounds. Leaning in closer, she inspects her face from every angle.

"It's very good for a first attempt," she tells him, doing her best to sound genuine without sounding condescending.

Harrowheart shakes his head and laughs through his nose. "Runa, I appreciate you lyin' to me. You're a good friend." It brings him an honest smile, and he quickly captures the moment with another selfie of the two of them. He shows it to Runa and says, "Look at us. All dolled up with nowhere to go."

Harrow looks around her room, fully absorbing the sight of it. It's so warm, so bright, so pleasant. What a wonderful home she has.

"I think..." he begins, his voice distant and his eyes thoughtful... But then his eyes flash with a scheme.

"We oughta party. Drink a lot, dance a little, wreck the general peace and tranquility of this place like young people and draugrs are supposed to. Whaddya say?"

Runa twists her lips thoughtfully to one side. "Hm…" She smiles at Harrowheart. "Let see where Luna is. She said she was going to take Klemens out shopping."

Standing up, she remembers her new dress and beams brightly, twisting just enough to make the skirt swish around her knees. "And while I'm down I can get us some drinks!"

As it turns out, Luna is just on her way out, suddenly eager to get out of the house after her scare. Harrowheart might hear a squeal as she spots her little sister's new look. When Runa returns it's with a carefully held assortment of food and drink. She explains as she holds up the things precariously gripped by each finger. "You look like a beer man, you sound like a cider man, and I like spirits."

With crisps and dips to help them along, Runa starts by giving Harrowheart a crash course in modern music. Fishing out her brightly colour, customised laptop, the two of them delve into the endless world of music videos and streaming sites. Runa does her best to share dance moves, and happily makes a fool of herself copying what she can from the videos. At one point an utterly giddy Runa insists they sneak downstairs to find Erling. Luna's husband is asleep on the couch yet again. With Harrowheart's help, they 'decorate' his face with a marker and, successful, Runa nearly falls over trying to laugh quietly.

It's a long day of gentle drinking, energetic dancing, makeshift snacks, and as much gossip as they can get out of each other. A long day, but one filled with good memories.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Girls' Day Out (for Runa)

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