I thought it might be a hoot to put up a tale of Regatta (or my other characters) every Tuesday to keep me blogging, and to keep my writing muscles (located just above the snark gland) toned.
So for your pleasure, a story written not too long ago, about Regatta reuniting with her fiance from her life.
“I couldn’t quite believe it when I heard the name. But here you are.”
Regatta looked up, the voice was familiar, yet different. Hollow and empty, lacking something.. something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
She turned. She squinted her eyes and tried to place the voice.
He lifted the helm from his head, and looked at her, with his shy half lidded gaze.
There was no sharp intake of breath, no sign of surprise. It seemed to make sense to her, that this is what would become of them. She felt the first pangs of self-pity, followed by self loathing. How dare she feel bad for herself?
“I was hoping you’d still remember me.”
“Why would I forget?”
“Well, you have a new life now, new things.. new name..”
“It’s an old name. I’ve always been Regatta, just.. not to you.”
He laughed, and it was as cold and hollow as the ice caves in the Stormpeaks.
They stood there staring at each other for a long time.
“I’m sure you have much to do…” He turned then, with a disappointed frown.
“Not really, no.” He looked back at her, and she smiled.
“You know John, it’s very rare to have someone in your life who has known you since you were small. But they’re great to have. They help bridge the gap, from your old life, to your new one. Childhood, to adulthood. Life, to Death.”
He leaned in close to her and put dry, cold lips to her cheek.
He whispered, “Would you be my bridge, Regina?”
But what she heard were the words he’d spoken, only a few years earlier, so painfully far away…
“Would you be my bride, Regina?”
And her answer was the same.
A letter a day keeps the blues away.
Regatta dragged a surly and resistant Zuckerman through the streets of Dalaran. He pulled and tugged, but she won. She’d gotten stronger, and that bothered him. But it pleased her.
“*grumble mumble* Zuckerman! Cooperate! Gods….” An extra fierce yank and he was tumbling into her ankles. She sighed and blew an errant strand of hair off of her forehead.
“You’re a miserable lout, you know that?”
He looked up at her, pleased.
She rolled her eyes and reached a hand into the mailbox.
“Not for me, not for me, not for me, For me…Auction House.. nice… not for me, not for me, not for me…Hello? What’s this?”
In an elegant script that was unfamiliar to her, she saw her name. “Priestess Regina Regatta DeBlanc”
She opened it, and didn’t bother to contain her smile.
I hope this letter finds you well.
I know you’re quite busy, so I won’t steal too much of your time, but I do hope to see you soon.
Perhaps you will be in Icecrown to continue your work? Or, I could come to you?
Let me know, won’t you?
She covered her smile with her hand, and laughed softly.
Apparently, he was looking to court her all over again.
She was quite sure he’d be successful.
The stairs to her rooms seemed too steep, and too narrow tonight. It felt like ages to the top, and the door when she got there, weighed far more then it had this morning when she’d left. It took everything she had in her to push it open.
It was dark, but she knew her way around well. She settled her bags on the floor in a heap, set her book of prayers on the table, the old and warped pages rustling softly as they settled. Set her mace next to it, and began to remove her armor.
The cumbersome wrappings, the heavy shoulders, her gloves, and bracers, embroidered runes glowing faintly in the dark.
She sat on the edge of the bed and began to remove her boots. She winced at the rustle of sheets. His hand touched her waist, and she could feel a little chill through the cloth.
“You sound tired.”
Even his whispers echoed.
“I am. Very long night. But we all came out of it all right. Little mending to do, but we’re all in one piece. Mostly. Did I wake you?”
She wrenched a foot free and dropped the boot to the floor, no longer worrying about waking him.
“No. I just laid down. Your pig and I played chess.”
She lifted her head. Zuckerman plays chess? I bet he cheats.
“Did you win?”
“No. He cheats.”
She dropped her other boot.
“I thought he might. He cheats at all games.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“Nothing surprises you.” She turned to him, “I find it really odd, and, actually quite creepy that you two get along so well.”
“Why is that disturbing?”
“Because he’s a bastard, that’s why. He’s a mean, surly bastard.”
“Then why do you keep him?”
“Because he’s my mean, surly bastard.”
“That makes complete sense.”
He sat up and put his forehead to the back of her neck.
“Are you ready for bed yet?”
“In a minute. I have to wash the blood off.”
He nodded, and kissed the back of her neck.
“Tomorrow, you have no duties? No chores?”
“Not a thing. Just lazy bliss.”
“Then we don’t need to sleep right away.”
She reached her hand up and tangled her fingers in his hair.
“I suppose we don’t.”