World of Warcraft®

A letter arrives at AAMS headquarters, written with purple crayon on yellow construction paper.

To:
Bosslady ARRRRRGBLAH
HAMS Delivery Service

From:
Khromie Overspark
Cathedral of the Light

Dear Bosslady ARRRRRRRRGBLAH,

Judging by your name, you are obviously a murloc! I happen to speak a bit of Murlocnese myself!

Clam shell.
Clam meat, clam meat, clam meat.
Pearl!!!!!
Clam shell.
Pearl?
Clam meat.

Clam meat, clam meat, clam meat.

Now that salutations are out of the way, I am writing to you to commend to the highest, super duperest extent the most excellent and awesome services of one of your HAM deliverers, Desky Kettlecorn.

Desky recently took, like, a bajillion deliveries for me! She is the most fantabulous messenger ever! There was only a slight incident when she accidentally littered and almost forgot to give me my receipt, but other than that, it was all smooth salami! (Do you also deliver salamis??)

Desky is so stylish and fab, don't you think? She is also as brave as she is fashion forward. She even agreed to take a delivery to Hordies at the risk of being eaten by trolls and sat on by tauren! Speaking of, do you think maybe you could give Desky better weapons to fight with than hatpins, pretty please? I worry about her!

In conclusion, Desky Kettlecorn is the bestest HAM deliverer of all time and I know that all of my cured and smoked meats as well as other goods are safe in her hands! Do you think she'll let me borrow her hat? Could you ask her for me?

Also in conclusion, I hope you will give Desky a huuuuuge raise in cakes and booze!!! She seems to prefer that to money (and who can blame her, right???)!!!

I hope you have the best day ever, ARRRRRRRRGBLAH!

XOXOXO,
Khromie

P.S. Could you tell Sprinkles hi for me, too? And could you remind her that she promised to give me some of that super old family cake?

Spriggel peeked around the main door of the AAMS Booty Bay office, just "checking" on who was currently in.

Only seeing the usual staff and neither of the bosses, Spriggel waved or said her hello's as she ever so (not-)casually headed for the bottom of the stairs, where she paused and put on a contemplative look. People should get the impression she was thinking, not listening for any sounds of movement upstairs.

Instead . . .

Focused on any goings on upstairs, she did not notice Gath'jin's approach.

"You be unwell, you?" He asked her, squatting down to take a good look for any symptoms besides the grimace on her face. "De healers ot be called, yes, dey called? You in so much pain, you, come ovah here and be laying down, you, til Da Docta be here. Day be sure ta fixin' wha' be ailing ya, day will." He reached for her elbow which she pulled away.

"No, no, no thank you," she stammered drawing away and taking the first few steps up the stairs. "I'm fine, really, I am. I was just <pondering> things, you know." She shoo'd him away, fluttering her hands at him. "You can go back to whatever it was you were doing. I assure you, I am as fit as fiddling."

From her vantage point on the stairs, over Gath'jin's shoulder she spied a yellow letter on the receptionist's desk. She hurried down the stairs, past the troll (who, recognizing that there was no use arguing with the gnome, wandered off, but not before asking the office staff to keep an eye on the "ailing" gnome, just in case).

"Oh my! Yellow! That's 7 stages down from a code fuchia letter." She looked up and around the room, announcing, "I'll hussle this up to Der . . . Arrayah's desk."

She wanted to hit herself for almost making that stupid slip, but not now with folks staring. Whisking the letter out of the In Box, she scurried upstairs and tossed it into Arrayah's In Box with a quick prayer to the Light that it might in some way warrant being there. Well if it didn't, Arrayah would sensibly send it back down stairs.

Spriggel froze in place for several seconds outside Derscha's door, straining to hear any noise at all, inside. Satisfied that no one was in, she turned the door knob to go in.

"Really!? With her desk gone?" Spriggel stared at the doorknob. She reached out and tried again. It was still locked. Spriggel shook her head and drew out her kit. Several minutes later, impressed with the upgrade Derscha had installed since Spriggel's last visit, Spriggel was able to slip inside.

She stopped just inside the door and again shook her head. Even desk-less, Derscha's materials were neatly arranged.

On the floor. Organized. Systematized. Found or accessed Easilyized.

Spriggel stared for several seconds, dumbfounded, before remembering why she was here . She whipped out her tape measure and measured the length & breadth of the room. Next she setup her sketch pad and pencils and began drawing the room - capturing how the room was lit, the colors of the walls, the organization of the owner-- basically capturing the essence, the feel of the room, with none of the sensitive particulars (letters, security, etc). It being Spriggel, the lack of the particulars but the capturing of the essence was in character and not intentional.

Mr. and Mrs. Mott had wanted to know what the room was like so that they could be sure that The Project would meld with or add to, not clash against, the room's "Ambeeyonce" (as they had called it – surely just a fancy way to say “up the charges”). Spriggel hoped her drawing would be sufficient as she was running out of time. The Project had to get fixed soon, although the Mott’s <had >warned her that it might be a whole loss.

{{Oh Khromie, you never flail to delight me. Kodos to you.}}