World of Warcraft®

The normally sterile hospital hallways were decorated in pink ribbons and hearts, marking the annual "Love Is In The Air" festival, where all of Azeroth spent two weeks celebrating love. Derscha barely gave the bright displays a passing thought as she located the administrator's office.

"Oh, so you're making the delivery this week, Miss Kettlebomb?" the elderly gnome sitting behind the counter greeted her as she approached. He tapped his hand on the counter for her to set the box down. "Haven't see you in a while."

"The AAMS has been keeping me very busy," Derscha Kettlebomb replied with a smile. "But I haven't forgotten."

"AAMS?" a younger, pink-haired girl looked over curiously. She was dressed in scrubs, likely an intern from New University of Gnomeregan. "Shouldn't you be in white?"

The courier in question, indeed, was not in her white uniform, but a sturdy plain outfit similar to the intern's. Even her jaunty hat was missing, her hair held in place by pinned-up braids.


The first gnome laughed. "Not an AAMS delivery, just our regular shipment from Blastbeaker's. Derscha Kettlebomb's been taking turns making the delivery for a couple of years, now."

"I promised I would," Derscha said. "Nothing's changed about that."

The other gnome grinned at her slyly. "But I bet Blastbeaky's getting some good deals shipping his wares now, isn't he?"

"Hey! That's not fair. I wouldn't-"

He laughed again. "Oh, I know you wouldn't. And he wouldn't ask you. But since you're here," the gnome returned to a serious note, "Doc Whipstitch could use your help in ward three."

"Certainly. And let's see if I ever give you a deal, Frezzen."

Derscha found her way to ward three, occasionally nodding a greeting to those she knew. The hospital's staff was almost exclusively gnomes, although it wasn't uncommon to see a dwarf or, very rarely, an awkwardly-big human.

Gnomes in various states of distressed filled the beds of ward three. The ward was dedicated to non-life threatening injuries, and it was generally never less than two-thirds full. Gnomes had a habit of experimenting, and experiments had a habit of going awry. There was an odd mix of broken bones, lacerations, and at least one gnome who had turned himself yellow. She also volunteered in ward five, dedicated to treating irradiation sickness, but fewer and fewer gnomes were being rescued these days. There wasn't as much need for an extra hand.

Derscha found a nurses's station, shoved off the Lovely Decorations cluttering the desk, and spent the next hour helping check in patients and measuring out their prescribed medications.

"Well, if it isn't the Jingle Gnome, ho ho! Long time no see!"

Doc Whipstitch slapped Derscha heartily on the back, and she felt her face burn. "Love it! Brilliant! Why haven't you written something for us?"

"I didn't write it," Derscha protested. "I only sang it."

"You should sing it for us, then. We could use some extra cheer-"

"Doc!" Derscha cut him off, a pained note in her voice. "Doc, I'm not here to sing." She pointed to the flask of medicine she was attempting to pour before he caught her off-guard.

"Pity that. Getting tired of requests?"

"I've been too busy to get many singing requests."

"Oh, yes. Box socials, candy deliveries, love notes, secret love notes. Very busy time of the year for the AAMS?"

"That's only half of it," she muttered.

"Oh?" The Doc peered intensely at her.

"I've been appointed branch manager."

"Ho ho! Congratulations." He shook his finger at her. "Now, of course I've already heard that through the old Gnomer U alumnus g#%##vine. Been keeping tabs on the AAMS since you joined up. Can't spare enough time to send your old teacher a note or two? Making me resort to gossip?"

"I've been busy."

"Oh, yes. I can imagine you couldn't pass up the opportunity to buy a box lunch-"

"Didn't attend."

"No?" Doc Whipstitch looked genuinely shocked. "I heard the AAMS helped run the event."

"I was… " Derscha trailed off. "I let the newer recruits have the experience, and took care of the deliveries."

"Hmm-hmm." He crossed him arms across his chest. "We had an AAMS courier distributing flyers about a Lover's Day Ball. How did that go?"

She sighed. "That's tonight, actually. Right now."

"Tonight! Derscha! Rusty cogs, why are you here?"

"There was delivery to Dun Morogh, and since I hadn't been here in a while, either, I took the job and let the others attend. They'll have more fun than I would." She giggled at a sudden memory. "You should see the way one of them's been moonstruck by-"

"Derscha Kettlebomb. You are better than that."

The reproving tone stopped her cold.

Derscha cast her eyes downward, and set down the flask she was still holding. "I know," she said softly. "It just would be… awkward."

"No one expects you to be a perfect manager straight away."

Derscha glanced up sharply at him. He didn't notice, and continued his speech.

"But you're not going to acclimate if you avoid your duties! You've never backed down from a challenge before. What happened to the gnome who blew up ward seven? Who helped lead the evacuation during the earthquakes? Don't run away from managerial duties because it would be 'awkward.'"

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" Derscha asked quietly. She fell silent a long a moment, staring at the bits of pink streamers decorating the room. "I can see why it looks like that way."

"I don't want you hiding here. We need more gnomes out there, taking charge. If I find out you're using this hospital as an excuse, I'll revoke your license to work here, you understand me?"

"Doc! And then who will you badger into singing silly tunes?"

"I'll hold you to that, ho ho."

Doc Whipstitch returned to doing his rounds, and Derscha stayed at the hospital until the night shift started and the emergency crowd thinned out.

The hospital was only a short distance from a Derscha's own house, on the outskirts of a gnomish settlement founded by those who didn't like crowding into Ironforge. Little buildings were built in the foothills of the mountains. Even here, pink hearts decorated doorways and mailboxes, goblin-run holiday or not. Gnomes would use any excuse to celebrate and have fun.

Hers was one of the newer homes, only a few years old, although it was already falling into disrepair. The shutters on the windows needed to be straightened after the last large storm, and the light on the porch no longer lit. The nearby greenhouse was empty and padlocked.

Derscha critically eyed the crooked pink heart someone had thoughtfully pinned to her front door, but let it be.

Inside, the house was better tended and organized, if a little dusty. There was a precision to every piece of furniture: the two armchairs angled together "just so" near the potbelly stove, the twin chairs tucked in the same distance at the table, the escritoire with its neat stack of papers and leather-bound notebooks. The two bookshelves were filled with categorized texts: alchemic and medical journals on the right, geology and travel journals on the left. Her AAMS uniform and courier satchel were put away in the bedroom, from when she'd stopped by earlier to change.

She plopped into her armchair with a sigh.

Doc Whipstitch was mistaken.

She'd thrown herself, hard, into the her work with the AAMS. Getting the promotion gave her the excuse to work even harder, to the point where she could almost forget it was a holiday, despite all the reminders. Pink ribbons. Goblin hawkers. A certain courier's shy crush. She'd been so busy she hadn't even bought a box of chocolates.

She wasn't running away from her job. It was merely a coincidence that she'd been promoted just as the holiday began.

Still, his words stung. He may have missed his mark, but his arrow hadn't gone far astray.

In the corner of the room was a wine humidor. Half a dozen bottles were stored inside. On the top rack was an elven red, shipped from Auberdine. She crossed the room and reverently retrieved the unopened bottle.

The bottle-tag read, "To my Cheery Bomb-Bomb."

She popped the quark with ease, and poured the red liquid into one of two matching burgundy wine glasses. She raised the glass in a toast to an absent companion.

"No more running," she promised.

The next morning, as she left dressed in her AAMS uniform, she stopped to straighten the heart pinned to the door.

((I've really regretted missing both the Box Social, and the upcoming ball tonight, so here's an IC explanation to why Derscha would be skipping those events.))