It's About Damn Time

by Phinn
She was ready. Maybe. Probably.
Possibly.
Taking a deep breath she rubbed her palms against the unfamiliar and needlessly ornate leather garments she'd scrounged up to look more the part. Traveling to this part of the world had been the simple part. Then she had to scrounge the money for someone who would help teach her the basics, language and culture and history and all that junk. She'd found an old Orc war vet, down on his luck, who spoke her language and liked her gold better than he hated having to work with her. Then over time she started lurking in the shadows of the cities proper, listening. Listening to the way the language was used, watching the way people related to one another. By and large she liked the Orcs best. They seemed to know what was going on and didn't get too snooty about it.
Unfortunately Orgrimmar wasn't her destination. There was information she wanted, presumably her reason for being here, and to get it she was going to have to spend time in the place she probably liked the least, she had decided, out of the whole world. Worse than the big purple ones, these Elves were snooty times three. Fancy and prancy and...
Damn she needed a smoke.
Attempting to strike a match on the underside of her boot, she found it too soft and smooth to catch on. With a scowl she scraped it on a stone on the ground and used it to light the cigar in her mouth.
She took a deep drag, the smoke coiling up and around her face as she glared at the too-bright, fancy buildings of the Blood Elves. She tucked a flyaway strand of dark hair back in her haphazard ponytail, narrowing her slightly glowing whitish lavender eyes at the presumption of it all.
"Damn frippy Elves," Phinn Bennerton growled, and then tossed her cigar stub to the ground, smashing it under her boot. It was about damn time she got back to work again.
Category: Stories