Just a snitbit of that Kikee/Zelun'jin story. It was supposed to be short and sweet, but it's going a lot deeper that I'd originally intended.
The warm tropical air was filled with joyous laughter and the smell of alcohol as the many races of the Horde gathered to celebrate Brewfest.
"I can't do dis!" Zelun'jin hissed as he stood up abruptly from the table, knocking over a couple drinks in the process.
"Awwww, come on ears," Zelun'jin stiffened at the use of the nickname, "Da real party hasn't even started yet!" Inatish gazed woefully up through his brilliant white hair, at the already fuming Darkspear. "Besides mon, everybody barely be gettin' here, so now da real partying can start if ya know what I mean." Inatish grinned charmingly as he wiggled his eyebrows.
Zelun'jin shot a distasteful glance at the Zandalari, "Dat's strange," the Darkspear tapped his lips in thought, "cause I'm pretteh sure when everybody starts showin' up, dat's my cue ta get da HELL OUTTA HERE."
"Eh, more fa me!" Inatish grinned widely as he waved off the irritable troll.
"Just be safe Zel! I love ya, ya big oaf!" Silluz hiccuped as she slammed her first mug of jungle brew onto the table, clearly already tipsy.
Zelun'jin eyed Silluz's already flushed face warily, and sighing, turned back to the Zandalari, "Uh, Inatish?"
"Ya, mon?" He looked up dreamily from his own mug.
"Make sure ta keep an eye on her, fa me?"
"Of course mon, anyting...ANYTHING fa you, ears," Inatish said, a little too seductively for Zelun'jin's liking.
"Ya, whateva... " Zelun'jin grumbled doubtfully as he finally headed out.
Dazar'alor was unusually quiet as it's inhabitants made their way down to the festivities at the Docks. Normaly he would've stayed until he was shitfaced drunk, but he felt restless. Over the years he'd only found one remedy to counter it.
Standing, sitting, he'd done it for several years straight on those Loa-forsaken Isles under Zalazane's rule. How he'd longed to climb the trees, to run, to just feel the ocean wash over his feet. Instead he was one of Zalazane's personal guards, and was posted in the same spot, unable to so much as lift a finger without his master's command. Being physically unable to move made his thoughts become evermore stagnant as well. The same dull routine. The same mundane thoughts, running through his mind.
When Zalazane was defeated it...was terrifying. He was scared of himself. It took him months to learn how to use his body again, to recognize his thoughts as his own. For so long he'd wanted to move, to go, to see, but now he was afraid.
Afraid of what he was capable of...