Calm Within The Storm
“You look good in uniform,” Ash said with a small smile, her greatsword rested over her shoulder. She crossed the room to where Shani was sitting on a few supply crates.
“I look good in anything,” Shani countered, releasing the garment to rest her hands on Ash’s hips instead, pulling her closer.
The sky above the Vale rumbled; the clouds thick enough to bloat out almost all light. The landscape beyond the relative safety of Mogu’shan Palace was bathed in a violet hue, the normally peaceful air of the valley replaced by a deathly chill. The very atmosphere felt choking, the tension almost palpable. Everyone within the Palace was on edge; ready for the fight they knew was coming.
The Black Empire was here, again. It seemed to be focusing on the Vale and on Uldum, switching back and forth to keep anyone from really getting their footing against it. For the Flamestriders’, the two who were still battle-ready, a tentative routine was forming. The goal remained the same; stay where the fighting is thickest. Follow the madness and cut it down.
So here they were, in a back room of the Palace’s sprawling halls, donning their armor and checking supplies. The assaults had taken their toll on each of them, visibly so. Ash’s armor had taken a beating- she had repaired what she could, but several pieces were either ramshackled together or missing entirely. She had also found it very difficult to shake her more vampiric side; her eyes glowed too red, her nails too long and sharp, her skin nearly grey, and her fangs considerably too long.
Shani had nearly the opposite problem; not trusting herself to keep the demon within at bay with her sanity under constant siege, she had refused to transform in combat. Because of this, her injuries weren’t allowed to recover. A long gash across her forehead stemmed from a missing horn on her left side. The right one was mostly intact, with a long crack going down the middle that was barely held together with bandaging. Her armor had been replaced as a whole; her sister, Adora, had insisted she wear something with more…*coverage*, which was agreeable only because she had no need to transform. She pulled at the cuirass of her Sentinel’s armor in discomfort, looking down at it in clear distaste.
“You look good in uniform,” Ash said with a small smile, her greatsword rested over her shoulder. She crossed the room to where Shani was sitting on a few supply crates.
“I look good in anything,” Shani countered, releasing the garment to rest her hands on Ash’s hips instead, pulling her closer.
“A fact I am eternally grateful for,” she chuckled, putting her sword down by her side so she could tilt Shani’s head up by the chin. She was wearing one of her less-flashy glasses and no blindfold; her green eyes gleaming behind them and meeting her own. She was beautiful- she always would be to Ash, but she looked like hell. Dark circles hung beneath her eyes and countless cuts and bruises covered her skin.
“Are we getting too old for this?” Shani asked with a quiet laugh, clearly having observed the same exhaustion in Ash.
“Neither of us can get any older, darling,” she answered, carefully pressing her forehead against Shani’s.
“I suppose not,” she hummed softly in agreement, closing her eyes to the touch. Ash’s hand moved from her chin to caress her cheek instead, tracing her thumb along the tattoo there.
“Are you ready?” Ashryne murmured. “We can wait a few moments more.”
Shani shook her head, leaning into the hand but opening her eyes again. “I’m ready now.”
“Once more into the fray, then?”
“Once, twice, a thousand times,” Shani said, a hand guiding Ash backwards to give herself room to stand. She leaned down, her lips brushing Ash’s. “However many it takes.”