Jakobus (mentioned)

It wasn't much, in all honesty. A simple bag rested near the door of the Dalaran loft, packed loosely with a mixture of clothing, journals (medical and otherwise), the usual day-to-day things that one might require. The bright red petals of a Talandra's Rose graced the top of the bag, sitting in wait for it's Mistress to collect it once more. And yet, she sat at her nearby desk instead, collecting final thoughts in a mixture of notes and letters to others.

 Madeleine wandered around the stands in Farstriders’ Square, looking over the various weaponry and armor. She had a hefty two gold from her advance sitting in her pocket! She wasn’t going to spend it on any of this stuff that was for sure; Maybe a nice bushel of strawberries or peaches. 

Her employers were probably getting restless, but meeting with this Dr. Nachtengaal fellow was going to take some time, especially if they wanted a quality job…Still, this two gold wasn’t going to last for long. She started when someone tapped her shoulder, “Hey there! You look like just the girl I need to help me work!”

She turned and tilted her head slightly at the tallish-dark haired blacksmith, “I do? How’s that work..?”

The days went by in short bursts, leaving only minutes, it seemed, for sleep. Héra had made so much progress on her projects and studies, lately, that it barely made time for other things when stuffed into the already crammed schedule. Her planner was full of neatly written notes and dates, times and names, codes and secret spots. All her t's could be crossed and all her i's would have their adorable little floaty-heart dots, but neatness in ink never turned her days any more orderly.

 "For every day you do not sleep - you are not my student."

The moon watches me, and I watch Hera. She's finally sleeping, there on the sand, curled up and at peace with the world. The moonlight on the soft waves of the ocean is a calming flow of light and darkness, and the pinpoints of stars pinned to the black velvet of the sky easily make this one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen--and it still can't compare to my Muse. Auburn waves framing her face, and that little smirk she wears in sleep or when awake, easily compete with the glory of the night itself. Even with all that I burdened her with tonight, she manages to sleep sweet and easy, confident in some secret belief that everything will turn out for the best.

Would that I were that easily soothed.

((I'm apologizing in advance for the dry, uninspired wall of text! Caveat lector.))

Three days ago I learned that, in spite of the old saying, you can go home again.

Moving quietly and having a gimp leg tend to be mutually exclusive activities. Stands to reason.

Doing it in the dark, with only the smallest of glows from the decorative crystals in the room to guide you whilst you hobble about? Or the wane light of the pre-dawn peeking through the curtains? Peak of idiocy. Invitation to disaster.

That is, unless you've had years upon years to practice.

(( To go with this song. ))

The pale blue light of the morning sun just beginning to illuminate the sky began to sift through the window over Lady Solisbane's desk, setting a pale glow over the polished finish, the stacks of paperwork, and the Lady herself, writing in a delicate, careful cursive by the weak light of a lone candle.  A knock at the door pulled her attention from her work as the elder sin'dorei let herself in, expertly balancing a china teapot and matching teacups, all decorated with red dragonhawks in midflight.  The servant gave Aramalia a weary look as she set the tray down on a nearby table and began to restore energy to the crystalline lamps lining the walls of the room.

"Working like that for too long will straing your eyes, milady."

"I did not want to wake the household, Shavarra."

Shavarra snorted, walking back to the table to start pouring the tea, "As if I wouldn't stay awake until you got home.  You were late, you know."

Aramalia could barely hold back a chuckle, though her eyes smiled with endearment at the old sin'dorei, "Gone are the days where you needed to hold my hand, dear Shava."

Even through her barking laughter, the elder continued to pour the tea after handing the lady her cup, "I remember a certain young girl saying similar words...Of course, that was back when she had to hold her father's shortsword with two hands and still struggled to lift the blade."

"While that may be," Aramalia answered with a hint of teasing warning, "it was not due to the doctor.  There was an altercation last night in the Row."

Shavarra's eyes followed Lady Solisbane's steps as she rushed up the steps to her office, already starting to remove pieces of her armor.  After hearing a familiar -click- of the office door closed and locked, she ventured up the stairs, knocking lightly.

"Milady, anything I can get for you?"

"I shall be taking my tea early this eve.  The usual additives."

"Right away."

By the time Shavarra had returned with the blue-tinted tea, Aramalia had changed into a silken housecoat and was leaning over her desk, glaring at the contents of a notebook.

"You seem out of sorts, milady," Shavarra spoke gently as she passed the steaming teacup.

Taking the cup, Lady Solisbane drank deeply, her muscles visibly relaxing, though her eyes remained focused on the notes, "I hate it when people lie to me."

Heavy wood slams, the lock clicks, and I'm finally alone again. Aside from Moros, who takes the opportunity to flap leisurely over to the bedpost, and he doesn't really count in the first place. To be alone with Moros is to be alone with my thoughts, and he's of comfort when I need silence.

I take my seat at the writing desk, closing my eyes and resting my head on my arms in defeat. Everything is spiraling out of my control. Each new arrival into my life, while it's the brighter for their presence, plays merry hell with my ability to read my weaves. They all interact, tangle, war with each other. And I'm left to try and interpret the method in the madness. And as a direct result of failing to keep my head down, I have predators on my little web of possibilities.

Polished platinum smiled back at Héra as she quietly admired and joyed in the return of her bountiful chestnut curls, brushing the ends of a few ringlets with her silver-handle comb. The short-lived nature of her playful Silvermoon red hair left not a trace on her head, thanks to the perfected skill of the Dalaran stylist.

The student housing situation had not yet been resolved from the day before, leaving the perky adolescent to the luxuries of the Ravnok Manor. A fouled safety rune was no doubt the case.  Within the comfort of her own room, Héra enjoyed her free evening how she liked: barely dressed, barefoot, and in the glow of her Level 70 Elite Tauren Chieftain posters.