World of Warcraft®

Salt spray and cawing gulls were all that greeted Snowe Straywillow as she navigated down the Stormwind docks, and that was just fine. Sailors shouted. Barrels and boxes of goods flowed through a river of men, grunting and sweating in the mid-day heat. Heads turned in her passing, and that was alright. She kept her moonlit eyes fixed on the City looming in the distance. All stone and mortar and opportunity.

Nobody detached from the port-side crowd to greet her, to introduce by way of pumping hands and 'glad you've made it's. There wasn't anyone in black shades, hurrying forward with key operation files tucked in manilla envelopes and that was okay.

Measured steps carrying her proud, Amazonian form into the gates of the City proper, the Kal'dorei was not for the first time completely and utterly alone. SI:7 would have nothing to do with her, deny she had ever existed, much less run ops for a decade. All operational funding was cut. Her personal coffers frozen. Her personal property seized.

And that was acceptable.

Because she had a head full of secrets, a comfortable robe, a sword, and a half-day to get started.

First order of business. Establish a headquarters. Taverns and pubs aplenty in the City of Humans. She could float in between them, a ghost of last call. Catch rumor and rest enough to see who was doing what, who needed favors.

Snowe frowned, dark lips quirking to the side of her mouth. Not a copper to her name. The familiar weight of one of her weapons shifted against her hip, its ribbon-wound hilt protruding from the belted part in her long-flowing robe. When you need money fast, you can sell or you can steal. She would sooner sell a finger than Osafune, or a hand. The blade's elegant, masterful curve nearly purred as she pressed her dark palm to it.

Steal, then.

If you have to steal, steal from a criminal. Nobody will care. A bit morally ambiguous. But needs must.

A cool City breeze drew the light windsilk of her robes over her tall, willowy figure. Long sleeves and a tapered tail flowed behind her in a steady stream, the Pandaren stylized water-art depicted on the material roiling tempestuously. White and blue, unstained like the body beneath. Like all Night Elves, Snowe was soft of skin and hard of muscle, long ears and lithe limbs. A short shock of white hair, disarrayed artlessly. As she strode beyond a row of boutiques, she glimpsed in the mirror her mother's beauty, but none of her father's mercy. Her eyes were too hard, her thin jaw too set to ever match his fathomless patience.

Would you hear me? If I called out to you, now. Would you hold me, if you knew my shame?

~

Snowe picked her course through puddle-strewn cobble. The words 'seedy' and 'underbelly' sprung to mind. Reminded her of an op in the gut of Dalaran. Minus, you know. The novelty of being suspended half a mile in the air. Plus, Dalaran never smelled quite this bad. Gutter-lined alleyways carved and twisted through imperiously tall, dark buildings. They seemed to loom and shrug against one another, rotted foundations threatening collapse. She figured there were worse ways to leave the world. With the privilege of a three-story tombstone.

She was unhurried. Stepped along, heel to toe, heel to toe. Picking turns at random, getting proper lost.

They waited until she discovered the dead end of a brick wall before stepping out of the shadows. Snowe made a big show of pressing her hand against the wall, cursing in Darnassian. Playing up her role. Lost prey. Two sets of footsteps moved in from behind. They barely cast shadows from barely-lit gas lamps. One was wearing fresh leather, squeaking in protest. Snowe gasped and painted an expression of virgin horror before turning to face them. She did not quite press herself squirming against the wall; it was quite filthy.

“Aww whatta we got here, Watch? Looks like one of them elfs.” He was short and stocky, bare sleeved vest stretched tight over plump muscle. Arms the size of her thighs. A hood pulled low over a trimmed beard. Rolling forward with the imperial swagger of a professional douche bag.

“Yeah Ward. One of them -elfs-.” Too tall, too thin. This guy was birdish, loping closer like an itchy stork. His outfit was composed of hundreds of belts and a tattered shoulder cape. A scarlet bandana pulled up over his nose, straight blonde hair framing gaunt cheeks. His eyes shimmered greedily, but he stayed a foot behind the little big guy.

Local thugs. Watch and Ward. Matching belt buckles. Too adorable.

“Oh!” she gasped, clutching the high throat of her robe. “Is this not the route to Elwynn? This City can just be so. Confusing!” She did not try too hard, forcing an inch of panic into the smooth measure of her voice. Its an easy sell, frightened damsel. Men are quick to loosen their guard, when they feel in control. And their pants. Watch was doing a fairly decent buzzard's impression, gawping at the bare knee beneath the part of her robe.

“Oh sure sure,” Ward grumbled. His voice was low and seasoned, broken in from hard years of shouting. Ex-military? Any angle could help. “We can getcha to Elwynn, sweetheart. Just ah, call us your tour guides.”

“Watch n' Ward, Stormwin's finest,” Watch pitched in with a caw of a chuckle.

“Right right. Stormwind's finest. Licensed too. Got it on the wall at our office. Wanna come see?”

Snow swallowed purposefully, slouched to make herself seem smaller, somewhere between the two. She willed her moonlit eyes wider. “...please. I just want to go home-”

“Heh. Oh we'll get you there, we'll get you there. But ah. The tour ain't free.” Ward strolled closer, thumbs in his belt. Goddess Above, but his arms were big!

“Maybe we'll give this one a discount, hey Ward? Fer bein a friend of the company.”

“Hm. Yeah, I like it. Friend of the company.” He stepped closer still. Watch loomed nearer, his fingers starting to twitch. “You can be friendly, cantcha sweetheart?”

Snowe Straywillow smiled. “Oh, you will find me -very- amiable.”

And she swept forward and was upon them before their hideous miscalculation could register.

~

“This is all?”

They nodded and pouted, staring at the cobble street like a pair of abashed little boys. Fifteen silver between them.

“What manner of robbers are you?” Snowe chided, slipping her new coin pouch into a concealed pocket. “Fifteen silver. Is'naleth mall'insi.”

“Look lady, times is tough.” Ward huffed demoralized, his hood concealing a swollen eye and split lip.

“Erbody's turning independent revenue flow into low-interest estate investment anyway,” confirmed Watch. Snowe was a little worried she might have beaten him smart.

“I need money boys,” she stated, leaning her elbow on Osafune's exposed handle. The thugs recoiled. They were fortunate she did not feel the need to actually -draw- the exotic blade. “My problem is now your problem.”

They groaned.

“Hey. None of that, now. That is no way to celebrate our new partnership.”

Ward's thick shoulders deflated. Watch found some sudden insight in the clouds passing overhead.

“What.”

“Well the thing is, lady-”

“Call me Snowe.”

“Well the thing is, Snowe,” Ward didn't seem quite ready to buy into the idea that he'd been beaten up by a girl named 'Snow' of all things. “We ain' exactly uh. Freelancin. We's in deep with Rind's boys, an he's not the type to uh. Conversate with people whats owes him money.”

Ah. Now we're getting somewhere. If you need to steal, steal from a criminal. If you need to steal from a criminal, steal from a -boss.-

“Listen up. I want to meet with this Rind. You're going to set that up for me. Tell him, I don't know, you've landed him a new client. Whatever.”

“Yeah buh-”

“You're going. To set. That up. For me.”

Ward hushed real quick. Snowe was grateful not to have to hit him again. He seemed like the sort of man who'd suffered a string of bad luck and badder choices, to end up where he was. Maybe he was laid off, and couldn't pick up work. Or maybe he got burned by a covert organization. She smiled involuntarily. It was not a friendly expression. Watch and Ward found someplace else to look.

“I'll meet you here in twenty four hours. Get yourselves cleaned up. And boys?” She leaned in. They leaned away.

“If you try anything foolish, I will rain down upon you a monsoon of hurt.”