World of Warcraft®

Elves, all Elves, Druids, smelly-breathed Worgen, interfering Humans, cannibalistic gnome-eating Trolls, portal hopping Orcs and Big Blues, copper-grubbing Goblins, stone-brained dwarves, drunken rolly show-stealing Pandaren, and unsupportive gnomes. Grim crossed out all this writing and started over on a second sheet of poster board, grumbling: “Fewer distractions here in the Forlorn Caverns and still can’t stay on message.”

No, for this one time, Grim would have to deal with whoever showed up at his shop over in Stormwind. It was all part of the plan, even if he’d have to shower several times a day. Luckily the Blue Recluse was just across from the shop and he might be able to steal a sink-shower there.

He’d have to get his own hands dirty and it was all the fault of that unsupportive, misguided AAMS Bossgnome, Derscha. It had been a simple plan; he’d provide the corsages/boutonnieres for the Ball; they would hand them out to arriving guests. Simple.

That’s all she needed to know and it should have been a clear, quick agreement. Simple.

Then the elves would all get sick or loopy or whatever from the bloodthistle, spiked in each arrangement right before the Ball. Grim grinned. Simple.

Maybe some or most or . . . *deep breath* all of the elves . . . would die. Apparently, bloodthistle just didn’t agree with their race. Tsk, tsk. Grim happily patted his coat pocket and his Uncle’s journal inside it.

What could be more simple?

He should have known, however, when he entered their Booty Bay office and was sorely accosted by that nasty, mean spirited, elven lady, Arietha (a totally unwarranted accosting), that there would not be a reasonable, right thinking person on the AAMS staff.

In point of fact, Derscha had refused to do business with him outright. OUTRIGHT! No hesitation at all. Well, maybe a little hesitation but she then had resolutely refused. No . . no . . she had refused outright. Yes, that’s right. Outright.

Watching from the stairs, she’d let the elven lady have her way with Grim, and only then deigned to join them below, in the rustic first floor, front office – and not invited Grim up to the lushly appointed executive suite above.

She had Ooo’d and Aaahed and gushed over the samples he had brought. She had admitted that they were beautiful and worthy. But she still refused him. Mouthing some platitudes about “the Ball was not a commercial venture” but an event to blah blah “world peace” blah blah “everyone friends” blah blech.

Grim leaned back and grimaced at the gouge through the poster. He shook his head, pulled up a third sheet and started again. Thankfully, Uncle Grimtote (“May he rest in peace,” Grim chuckled) had this well stocked warehouse tucked away in the quiet Forlorn Caverns.

All he’d asked for was an exclusive contract to supply flowers to the people (if you would call them that) attending the AAMS Annual Armistice Ball. He’d even had a simple contract already drawn up and in his briefcase (under the floral samples he’d brought of his work). But she hadn’t even asked to peruse the contract.

She HAD asked to see the samples he’d brought (probably, he realized now, to steal design secrets) and had exclaimed how beautiful they were. She’d hinted that she might be open to negotiation if Grim gave her some small token (with a pointed glance at his prize Dewdrop, a beautiful, frail, white – nearly translucent -- flower). Which he had done - - with much reservation.

Would she then give a gnome a chance?

NoooOOOooOoOoOOOooo!

That’s what happens when you deal with people who keep elves.

Grim stepped back & inspected the handiwork of his 3rd poster, which read, among lots of floral and arboreal painted trimmings:

Grimtote’s Flowery!
Your destination for well scented, perfectly balanced, attention getting corsages and boutonnieres.
Order your Armistice Ball AAMS endorsed floral commemorative today!
Before time or supplies run out.
Delivery or pickup slated for Monday, September 22.
Payment required at time of ordering.
Don’t be left out unadorned at the Ball!

Grim nodded, pleased, then quickly scrawled along the bottom edge: Shop located inside Larson Clothiers, directly across from the Blue Recluse.

He then quickly made another copy on a fourth piece of poster board but along its bottom edge he wrote:

Horde shop manager wanted. Contact Todd Grimtote, Larson Clothiers, Stormwind, Mage Quarter.

Ah yes, these would do nicely. Slap these up around towns and have the poor saps come running.

Three weeks before the AAMS Armistice Ball, these posters are posted throughout the major cities of Azeroth.

The bottom edge of the Horde posters has been tastefully painted over and rescripted to read:
Contact our goblin shop manager, Renzly S. . .
(the end of the last name is smudged, the copier exactly matching the smudge that Grim had made of Renzly’s name on the original. The copier, none too happy with Grim, had failed to point out this flaw & instead copied it over on every Horde edition, and also failed to ask if a location should be added.)

---------------------

((OOCly let me say first off that no elves will be harmed in the making of this storyline; in fact none will even know ICly that bloodthistle was going to be involved. Only the Watch will know, and they will be taking suitable actions on Grim well before any deliveries are made. Renzly is also not aware of the bloodthistle plot; apparently she’s only in this to make a fast buck.

Also, and in keeping with the above, due to foreseen circumstances, Grim & Renzly will NOT be delivering any corsages or boutineers. I apologize now, as Grim never will.

There are certainly other florists in town providing suitable decorations for the ball that you may use. But if you’d like to become a disappointed customer, maybe have a common topic/scandal to discuss with other guests at the Ball, contact Ally Grimtote or Hordie Renzly. It was/will be fun doing business with you. And stay tuned for more.))

She was reduced to dealing with gnomes.

Worse, a stingy gnome who'd put her own father to shame with his copper-pinching. Water? He offers to buy her a drink and calls for water? She resisted the urge to give him an close and personal view of her favorite dagger. . . at least until after she got her money. She'd been on her own for months, cut off from a steady source of income, and she needed the extra coin. Even if it meant selling things for a gnome.

Her only consolation was that he seemed as disturbed by working with a goblin. At least they were both miserable.

She left Ratchet with samples of corsages and boutonnieres and barely-jingling coin purse to set up a shop front in Orgrimmar. She knew of a space available in the Drag that the owners wouldn't mind if she borrowed for a week or two. It was not like she needed a large space to sell some silly flowers.

She'd almost walked out on the deal- the need for cash flow or not - when Grimtote had mentioned the AAMS. Fortunately, he assured her there was absolutely no need for her to have any dealings with the company. He encouraged her to not have contact with them at all, which suited her just fine.

She gave a goblin kid some silver to act as a barker while she sat in the shade inside her shop. She wasn't going to go hoarse for the sake of some gnomish entrepreneur.

"Corsages! Boutonnierres! Award-winning flowers for the finest of tastes! Come get ya official AAMS Armistice Dall Ball flowers here! What formal event is complete without?"

She nodded to herself in approval- the barker had forgotten the term "award-winning" the first few times- and counted her remaining coins.

A finder's fee for locating the place...
A fee for decorating the place herself...
Her own salary, of course....

She grinned and put all the coins in her hidden pocket. She was going to make some money, one way or the other.

((This is an awesome idea.))

((I'm in a funny mood today, fair warning for the post which you are about to receive. ;P ))

Yotingo was having an argument with his headband.

Normally, he and his headband got along quite handsomely together, the strip of padded leather kindly keeping the sweat off his brow and the feathers doing their job at flicking away annoying flies, but today it was quite different.

Today, the headband was in a notorious sulk.

Headbands can't talk, so the only way Yotingo learned it was sulking was by experience, as I shall now relate to you:

Yotingo was up in the AAMS offices of Booty Bay doing his paperwork. This involved rather a lot of picking up all the paper in his IN-A-BOX and putting them in Dersha's or Arrayah's IN-A-BOX. Obviously, some of the senders of the mail hadn't gotten it into their heads that Yotingo was no longer An Authority, and it was only right that the real An Authorities got the work instead of him. This was Yotingo's new job since he had turned over the reins of CEO and Branch Manager, and he did it faithfully.

Insidiously, however, the temptation of dereliction of duty lurks in every corner...or as it was, flew in the window with an annoying hum like a bee who had flunked out of buzzing school.

The fly, as this particular temptation was better known as, buzzed about the room to finally land on Yotingo's long nose. Yotingo sniffed his nose left, then sniffed his nose right, which the fly replied to by crawling up to perch right between the troll's eyes. Such a fly-ish insult could not go unanswered, and Yotingo smacked himself in the face with the newest courier application.

The fly buzzed alarmingly, circled the troll's head twice, and settled on the wall, no doubt to hatch up new ways of tempting the virtuous Supervisor troll out of his duty. In the meantime, Yotingo had other worries.

"Mon, ya not be doin' yo' job." He reached up and poked the headband.

The headband did not reply.

"Really now, mon, if ya don't buckle down to yo' work, I be havin' ta fire ya."

The headband let out a loud raspberry. Either that, or the newest Recruit Courier had gone and set off the anti-burglary alarms near the outhouses again.

"Aw, mon, ya don't gotta be like dat. Dere, dere. How 'bout a nice walk ta soothe yo' nerves?"

The headband did not reply, which Yotingo took to mean as a yes. Besides, it was a lovely day out, and for once, maybe one of the other Supervisors could do the paper-pushing. Just in case they didn't, Yotingo slid his IN-A-BOX in Derscha's mailbox. Made sense to him.

The fly on the wall buzzed happily and rubbed its front feet together.

So Yotingo ducked out the door, tramped down the stairs, turned the corner, tramped down more stairs, made a wrong turn, then tramped up the stairs and out on to the docks. Really, goblin buildings could use less stairs and confusing turns, he thought, as he sniffed the sea air and looked up and down Booty Bay's kelp-covered "street".

"Something smells fishy, mon."

The headband did not reply.

A brightly-colored advertisement tacked on a wall caught the troll's eye. Thinking the headband maybe just needed a little company (or at the least, a new purchase to distract it from the lack of company), Yotingo siddled up next to it and read.

"Flowers, mm?" He poked the headband. "How would ya like a flower or two ta talk ta ya while I do my work?"

The headband said nothing.

"It be a floral commemorative o' da AAMS Armistice Ball. A little festivity won't do ya wrong."

The headband remained stonily silent. Yotingo decided on a different tack.

"What if we went an' bought Missy Derscha a bouquet or two, mon? Dey say dat doin' somethin' nice fo' others be doin' wonders fo' da blues."

The headband said nothing, though it did reach down to tap Yotingo's nose with a feather, as if to recall attention to the temptress fly or perhaps the fishy smell. The advertisement fluttered wildly in the wind.

Suddenly suspicious, Yotingo took a closer look at it. The headband continued to tap his nose until both wind and advertisement settled. Satisfied, Yotingo shrugged. "Seems legit." Nodding to himself, Yotingo stuck the flyer in his headband for company, thinking to later add it to the pile in Derscha's IN-A-BOX as a gift, and continued on his walk.

“That’s twice now. What’s his game?” Grim chewed at the left side of his mustache. The Larsons and their elf assistant, Sellandus, were all busy on the other side of the store boxing things up for the night, so Grim stepped up onto the counter. Singing a cantrip under his breath, Grim reached down to open the top of the now unlocked crate.

“Why was he hanging out here until closing? Did someone tip off the Watch? And why would they send that meddling Pandaren, Chan? For all they know, he’s a foreign spy. And if I were a betting gnome . . .” Grim fretted over this while, kneeling on the counter, he quickly scooted the loose flowers and his example boutineers and corsages off the counter and into the top tray of the crate.

Before replacing the lid, Grim briefly checked under the tray to be sure the Bloodthistle was still fresh. Once the lid was back on and secured by another cantrip, Grim tugged on the crate lid just to be sure. Not that he’d had any problems with the Larsons or their elf, but better safe than sorry.

Chan, the Pandaren under speculation, had pretended to be quite friendly, even offering to start up a cross continent partnership in flowers, which could give Grim the upper hand in the Eastern Kingdoms on the exotic new flora coming from Pandaria. It was a tempting and, likely, lucrative offer, but how could he trust such new, suspicious people like the Pandaren? Grim shook his head.

Good thing that this current project would come into full bloom, so to speak, in a week’s time. Grim smiled and briefly looked off into the distance. Afterwards, it would be all for the best that he leave this fel awful, foreigner infested, human capital and return back to the bothersome, but safe and less foreign, caverns of Ironforge.

“Can’t you fly straight?” Grim yelled into the wind at his gryphon taxi, the bird shifting in flight in response to Grim’s distracted nervous shifts, creating a rollercoaster of a ride. Rehashing the events of the night, scheming how best to “reward” those interfering Feathers of Iron folk, wondering if his plans for the AAMS Annual Armistice Ball were sufficient punishment for that bossy Derscha, fretting over how to recontact his supplier and get the mageroyal, bloodthistle & other flowers delivered in time for the Ball: Grim’s agitated state translated easily over to gryphon, and insured the ride back to Stormwind was very unpleasant.

He’d known it wasn’t a good idea to rendezvous in Booty Bay, so close to the new AAMS headquarters but both he & his agent were short of time with the Armistice Ball only a little more than a week away. Booty Bay was the logical half way meeting point, and Grim had thought he could avoid running into any of the AAMS agents by proposing an early dinner hour meeting in the Feather’s Tavern.

He’d settled into his seat in the main room of the Feather of Iron Tavern, scanning the large crowd. They’d even hired one of them Pandaren as a hostess; Althiel was her name. Like he cared; in point of fact, the Pandaren tongue was so unpleasant – sounded like sick wild beasts thrashing about.

She did quickly find a seat for Grim with a good view of the door as he’d requested, so he couldn’t really fault them on hiring her, but he would. Especially since the bourbon she brought him was disgusting. He grumbled over the ill-spent coppers. A little loudly.

Responding to Grim’s grumbles over the foul bourbon, some human lady at the adjacent table toasted Grim with her tea cup. “Bugger off!” was Grim’s reply. She seemed surprised by Grim’s gruff reply, apologizing for giving any offense. “Unless you are “Peanut”, & have some flowers for me, I really have nothing to say to you,” was Grim’s response; “Peanut” being the codename for his agent. She allowed as how she wasn’t “Peanut” and Grim quickly dismissed her, returning his gaze to the door, and then scanning the room in case he’d missed his agent’s entrance dealing with that annoying human.

He thought he’d been keeping a good eye on the door – didn’t want to miss his agent – but somehow, he’d missed Derscha entering and it wasn’t until she was near his table, talking to the hostess that he saw her. He quickly pulled his scrappy hat low over his eyes, thankful for the dangling bits of fabric that might prevent someone from getting a good look at his face. He’d had enough of her at their last meeting and certainly didn’t want to talk to her now. Especially, if she’d heard he’d been liberally using the AAMS name in his advertising. Which he was fairly sure (well knew for a fact) she’d refused him at their last meeting.

((I'll continue the narration of the events of that night over the next day or two, and welcome the perspectives of Cup, Altiel, or Derscha as the story progresses.))

So suddenly there she was all up in his face. She Had heard of his use of the AAMS name/endorsement in his advertising and was none too happy about it. As he expected, she quietly set out her arguments for why he should desist. But she was obviously crazy because she would not, most obstinately, listen to his own.

Here he was providing the AAMS organization FREE advertising for their Annual Ball and yet she was getting bent out of shape because apparently she did not want her organization associated with a commercial venture. Why ever not? She was plain ole batty. This was clearly a win-win situation, but she would have none of it.

Moving the AAMS' headquarters to he vicinity of Cup's establishment was doing nothing for Derscha's figure. However, with all the planning going on for the ball, being able to slip over for a decent meal after a long day's work was a minor blessing. She was speaking with the new Pandaren, Altiel, to see what was on the menu, when she heard a familiar tone of voice say the word "flowers."

She remembered the voice belonging to Todd Grimtote, a gnome who'd stopped by the offices to offer a deal to sell flowers for the Armistice Day Ball. While the flowers had been very lovely (Derscha was vaguely envious of whomever grew them), she had already made arrangements with vendors for the ball, and did not have the time to vet out any unknown new businesses. The AAMS may have been welcoming to all people, but that didn't mean they just said yes to anyone.

"If you'll excuse me a moment?" she nodded to Altiel and searched for the source of the voice: a small figure at a nearby table with a horribly ugly hood who was preoccupied with door-watching. She stood next to his chair and cleared her throat. Loudly.

Grimtote took a look out of the side of his hood, then quickly pulled it lower over his eyes. "Yes?" he asks in a very low voice.

"You sound familiar," Derscha said simply, giving him a chance. "I'm hoping you are who I'm looking for."

"No, it's not me. Unless you're 'Peanut.' Which you are obviously not. So, um, no, not me." He turned away from her.

She crossed her arms, certain she'd found the right gnome now. "No, I'm quite good at identifying people. My job and all."

"No, um, you must have confused me with another gnome." He waved his hand as if there were many gnome men present to chose from, eventually settling on Cup. "Maybe she's the one you're looking for."

Derscha blinked, looking at Cup, and giggled suddenly at a memory of case of mistaken identity. She quickly squashed the giggle, but it was enough to make Grimtote glance at her curiously.

"No," Derscha said firmly. "You're that flower seller who's been using the AAMS name!"

"Maybe. Maybe not. It's not like it's hurting your organization," he said pompously.

"Oh, please, as if you'd be happy if people were peddling wares using your name?"

"What?" Grimtote burst in anger. "Who is? Let me at them!"

"Ha! Thought so."

"Pardon me," Altiel's polite voice interrupted, "but I could not help but overhear." She turned to Grimtote. "In these situations, it is normally best to admit one's mistakes, and restore honor."

He sneered at her return. "Buzz off. Nobody asked you."

"Mr. Grimtote," Derscha said, "I must ask you to desist using the AAMS name to advertise your flowers."

He stood, putting his hands on his hips. "Hey, Lady, if you had agreed to a contract, I would have been splitting the proceeds with you. So it's your own fault."

"Not to butt in, but… you guys wanna argue over some food? Arguin' onna empty tunny's gotta be bad for ya, right?"

Derscha gave Cup an apologetic look, suddenly aware that she was holding the argument in the middle of the Feather of Iron's tavern. Altiel was still watching them, as were several customers. "Oh! Very sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt your business."

"S'fine! You got problems jus' like everybody else! Jus' makin' sure ya don't starve while ya work it out!"

Grimtote clenched his fist in frustration. "No! I won't want any food!"

"Chill, dude! I ain't gonna force-feed ya! Fierce-feed? Make ya eat."

"Sir," Altiel spoke, "Feathers has been nothing but pleasant with you. You would be wise to remember you are a guest, and act appropriately."

He turned sharply to her. "Properly? Properly! I was behaving myself properly until THIS lady interrupted me!" He poked Derscha in the shoulder. She looked down at her shoulder in shock, then brushed off the imaginary dirt left behind.

"No reason? You are impinging on my company's name!"

Cup agreed. "Yeah, that's not cool, yo. You can't like, fake-be-a-AAAAMS-guy…."

"So I've being using her organization's name… only to help."

"Help your sales, maybe," Derscha muttered.

"Why doncha… y'know… try an' work for 'em, if ya wanna use the name?" Cup asked.

He waves his arms around. "Here I am selling flowers to help decorate the guest of her ball. And it's NOT like I DIDN'T ASK first."

Derscha nodded. "You asked, I said no. Now I insist you respect that."

"But I'm not causing any trouble," Grimtote said, clearly confused. "You really have nothing to be upset about."

"Your gold is tainted with lies, and same will visit you upon any further dealings, while a good name is dishonored through your actions," Altiel said. Grimtote still didn't seem to get the point.

Derscha sighed and crossed her arms again. "Very well. If you won't stop using our name, I'll just find a way to stop you from selling."

"You know…" Grimtote looked at Derscha, Cup, and Altiel with anger, "I really don't need this tonight. So I'll just be on my way." He shoved his chair at Altiel, then pushed his way between Cup and Derscha, heading for the door.

"I'll be seeing you again, Mr. Grimtote!" Derscha called after him, straightening her hat.

"Yeah, yeah," he said as he stomped out the door.

"Man, what a rusty widget!" Cup exclaimed. "You alright, Derscha?"

"Oh, I'm fine, thank you," she replied. "I apologize again for causing a disturbance."

"Hey, it wasn't your fault he was stepping' on your biz."

Things settled down after that, and Derscha finally got her long-awaited meal (delicious, as always.) She pulled out her notebook as she ate, noting down a few notes. She was definitely going to have to do something about Todd Grimtote.

The shop was doing a moderate amount of business. It had been a few days since she'd last been contacted by the gnome, and she'd yet to receive the actual shipment of flowers to distribute.

Not that she was getting antsy. Renzly had already arranged to have her fair cut in a safe place. However, she was starting to regret (even more than usual) trusting a gnome to treat a goblin fairly and uphold his end of the bargain. Gnomes simply didn't give contracts their proper respect; he didn't even care enough to craft his own loopholes and trick clauses, having offered her a standard boiler-plate contract available to any casual hobbyist. Clearly he was a gnome who took such things lightly and should not have been trusted.

She carefully closed up the shop, leaving a sign in the window in case anyone came by.

Shop Closed for Inventory

Merchandise will be available for pickup before ball.

Please address all inquiries to

Todd Grimtote, proprietor
Grimtote's Flowers

((Grim's arrest will go here when I've got it edited up all pretty like.))

((and in case he runs on as he tends to do, I'll save some extra space, plus I need some time/room to figure how Grim is going to divert Renzly's wrath to the appropriate place - the AAMS organization, of course.))

The judge’s gavel pounded the table loudly and Todd Grimtote just stood there. He wasn’t expecting a reasonable judgement from a human court, but this went beyond the pale.

Public service plus time served.

It didn’t sound too bad, as the judge pronounced it, until he elaborated.

Grim was consigned to Public Transport Provider at the AAMS Annual Armistice Ball, putting him at the beck and call of Derscha and her AAMS organization and in the presence of guests who had placed orders with him. Since the Watch had confiscated all his inventory, deliveries were obviously not possible.

This was pure and simple human evil; worse than Grim could ever have imagined.

((Grimtote will be available to summon guests to the Ball tonight. Whisper him if you need a leg up to the fun at the top of Hyjal. And since he won’t wish you a fun and good evening, let me do so now. Cheers everyone.))

Bah, the courts in that city...