Short but Evil

[Sunshine]

The Void Reaver stood idly breakdancing close to the center of the ruined cavernous room. Ilarra felt hot, tired, and very slightly weightless from Tempest Keep's second-rate gravity, and the voice in her ear said:

"How much ta give his name t'all the pretty boys and girls?"

She blinked amidst lighting a cigarette; glanced about her allies until she found Bricu Bittertongue. He had a buzzbox in his hand; he had just whispered into it. He saw her looking at him and winked.

She grinned, glanced around again until she saw Delion-- who desperately needed to get laid-- and moved her mouth to the microphone mounted on her collar. Her lips barely moved around the cigarette. Tiny receptors picked up the soft whisper of her breath, amplified it, and carried her words across complicated air waves until they reached Bricu. They were:

"Oh, hell, that oughta be free, darlin."

"Make it clear that he's interested in the long term," said Bricu into his buzzbox. "Loving..."

Ilarra started cackling. People around her gave her odd looks, but they were used to her being odd.

"Polyamorous," added Bricu. Ilarra laughed so hard she started choking on her cigarette.
---

Later, at home, in her dressing gown:

Ilarra blew a kiss into her home buzzbox. "So you'll call on him?"

"Why of course, darling! My, he sounds dreamy," said a voice on the other end of the line.

"Oh, he is, I promise. Hell, I'd go for him myself if I liked men. One thing though, don't tell him it was me let you know about him, 'kay? It's a surprise," said Ilarra, then stifled a giggle. "Thanks, babe. Ciao!"

She clicked off the box, picked a pen up from her desk, and scratched off a name on a pad of thick paper. Then she looked at the next name on the list and started punching in the number that went with it.

Poor Delion really did desperately need to get laid.

[Delion]

"Y-... No, I-... Yes, I'm quite sure it-... For Light's sake, no!" *click*

Delion near threw his buzzbox down on the counter. That was the third call tonight, all of HIGHLY suggestive nature. If his apprentice had the faintest snicker or grin on his face when he had come home he would have suspected the man, but Sol'remy seemed as confused as he was.

And there was a knock at the door. With a weary sigh, Delion opened it with a curt "What is it."
"Parcel for yer mister Oreweave, innit? Yer got some flowers an' a buncha letters, yer know." Delivery boys, it seemed, were creatures of little grammar.

The flowers, well... They were lovely. They were immediately found a home for, set in a pretty little vase on his tea table. He sat down there to go through the letters.


Darling, I hear you're in need of some help. I happen to be well-versed in such relief. If you don't drop me a line on my buzzbox (number attached) within the next few days, I'll call you - I think shy is cute.
~ Lillia Lovecock ~


.......Well then. That little note was set aside, and he opened the next. It was short and to the point.


Hey babe, I'm a big guy - think you can handle me? Why don't we find out, your place or mine-


*ahem*. That one was most probably for Sol'remy. It too was set aside in the 'I'd rather forget about that' pile, and Delion took this moment to quickly flick through the envelopes of the others. Most had no return address, a couple smelt like perfume, and there wasn't a tax notice or advertisement in sight. He loved tax notices, too.

Very well. There was nothing else to do but go through them all. Another envelope was opened, spilling a handful of dry rose petals onto the table. How... classy.


Roses are red
Kal'dorei are blue
I've heard it said
That you haven't a clue

Peacebloom is white
Dreaming glory is yellow
Come spend the night
With another fellow

For your taste is fine
I'll treat you to dinner
We'll talk over wine
As the moon becomes thinner

And after that's done
you'll find you're in luck
the night's just begun
And I'm one awesome f-


That. Most certainly. Had to be for Sol'remy. Stars above, this was absolutely ridiculous. He chose to completely ignore his buzzbox as it chimed in an enquiring tone, instead looking down his nose at the next letter. At least it looked normal at a glance.


Dear Mr. Oreweave
I have heard of your store, and was wondering if I might request a special item from you. It must be black and especially lacy, perhaps with the thinnest of burgundy ribbons - these colours to match my ivory black hair and chocolate skin. It must be a very close fit, as it is a very closely personal item. Perhaps we could organise a fitting at a time where we won't be interrupted? My measurements are 54 - 26 - 34, I'm sure you'll get to see for yourself. Don't fret, I'm 18.
- Glenysse V. LaRoue


Delion crumpled that one in his palm as the door knocked again. With a glare at the unopened letters he rose to answer it, finding two youthful human men with slick hair and tight pants standing on his porch. They both seemed to stare at him like hungry wolves.

"Man, she didn't lie at all, you're quite handsome aren't you?"

The door slammed shut, the tailor stormed over to pick up all the letters and marched his way up the stairs just as Sol'remy was coming down. All the papers and fragrant parchments were thrust at the apprentice's chest as the man near cursed in the kal'dorei tongue.

"Open that door on pain of DEATH, Sol'remy."

The younger kal'dorei just blinked as his mentor kept on striding up those stairs to his room. Huh. He knelt to pick up some of the letters that had fallen, pausing just long enough to get the general gist that they were all pretty damn raunchy.

"Score."

True to command Sol'remy didn't lay a finger on the doorknob, instead opening the window.

"Dor'ano falo lo dur rah, bebe."

[Alishe]

((*snarffle*))