Love is in the Air

"It's that time of the year again. That special occasion when the single folks profess their feelings for one another, and the lovers do what they do best. I mean when it comes to this place, you can see it everywhere. You can see it in the gifts presented, the looks that are shared, and the all-too-public displays of affection. You can even see it between co-workers when they want to express that forced and awkward relationship that reminds them so much of the work they want to get away from. It's also that special time of year that brings those goblins from the Crown Chemical Co. swarming in to sell their wares to anyone they can shake a stick at. Don't ask me about that Peddlefeet guy, by the way. I still can't figure him out. Okay, back to love. For those who are lucky, the love folks experience continues to grow over time. Or, even better, they might get to discover the miracle of life. 

Infectious

((Some lovely music: Flute & Harp ))

Matron Mother Foxglove disapproves.

The Vindicater strolled through the Mage District in Stormwind. She passed a few human students listening to a Gnome teacher blather on about power densities of combustion-ready nether-spikes. She shook her head as she continued on.

The paths here were not paved, so the pounding behind her was muffled. She quickly turned, but not quick enough, blindsided by a blue blur. The Vindicator staggered under the unexpected onslaught. She clenched her plated fist as she planted her hooves, turning to meet her attacker...

"Mommy!"

The week-long vacation had gone by far too fast. From camping on the white sand of a beach, feeling the grains of sand between her toes as the salty sea breeze and noonday sun kissed her face to the cold, lacquered wooden floors of her kitchen on the soles of her feet and the burning cedar blocks in the hearth overlaying the woody scent of the forest on a winter morning. 

Reginald brushed her hair gently to one side and kissed the now bare nape of her neck, rest his chin on her shoulder and slid his arms around her waist as she poured a bit of cream into her oatmeal, “So, how are your evenings looking for the rest of the holiday?”

“Skitter Skitter, Spray, Skitter Skitter, Spray, they prance about delivering the treats, indifference wether the treats are wished for, perhaps the treatees desire a different treat. Possible, the treats smell of the vainity noble’s past perfection, noses twitching at the scent of exorbinant tastes of displeasure.” Lineya mused from a crouched position nearly hanging over the edge of the building in stormwind as she watched the antics of those eager to please the Crown Company for love tokens. Wrinkling her nose in displeasure each time someone doused another in a cloud of cologne or perfume. Other’s sometimes tossing bon bons and other tasty morsels instead of the dank toxic chemical clouds.

 Cerwis was livid with him. He knew this. He also knew she'd be even angrier with him for waiting as long as he had to try and patch this up, but he had to do this right. She might shoot him, if not.

Larosa sighed with relief as the last of her armor came off and hit the floor.  Rubbing a shoulder, she quickly surveyed herself in the mirror.  Scars crisscrossed her arms and abdomen, the most glaring was the one on her neck, but all of them were a source of pride, showing the world she'd survived.  Normally she covered them up, but tonight she wanted to show them off at the Festival. Especially since she had not been allowed into one in at least a decade.

She grabbed a hair brush and began to work on the knots her helm had created as she contemplated what to wear. Many of her robes were of human design, covering her form chin to toe. Only her fishing robe was less restrictive but still covered her far too much.  Larosa growled in frustration and lost the grip on her hairbrush.  She listened as it skittered across the floor and thunked dully against a small box in a corner.  A box a goblin had given her earlier that week as a thank you.

Larosa grinned as she picked up a dress of blue silk and let it run through her hands like water.  "If this didn't make an impact, then nothing will."

It was a dark land that she traversed through. The Barrens at night was only for the wild things. The cloud cover was thick this night, and so only a faint glow from the heavens made some sort of resemblance of company.

The season is ripe with love! Tauren share Kalu'ak kisses with Orcs, Elves profess their love for Undead, and Trolls just try to bang everybody!

The idea was put forth in chat today, that it would be fun to celebrate the holiday with A Love Is In the Air Event: The Dating Game!

'They need a whole holiday for...this?' Alynore shook her head and continued on her new patrol route, trying to ignore the couples floating in boats through the canals, or lovers picnicking on the Park lawn. She adjusted the blue, silver, and gold tabard of the Silver Dragoons to distract herself from a pair getting more than a little affectionate in a doorway. Not her business.

Memories flit through Alynore's mind, of muffled moans, thuds, and giggles nearly every night; if it was quiet, that just meant Ma was spending the night in some man's own bunk. Sometimes one of the men would be around a few weeks, or months; on two occasions, over a year. But then Ma'd get restless, and flirtatious, and one man would disappear and a new one would take his place.

Alynore never gave it much thought as a child, inured to it all rather early...

(( The following editorial appears in a number of Alliance newspapers and periodicals ... though Light only knows how the author managed to get it published. ))...

My Dearest Sara,

I have four hundred and thirty-five love notes for you.