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Holding On	By : jadedragon83 Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 8594 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft, and I do not make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
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AN: Yay, next chapter is here! *dies*

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The next letter from Yessha did not come to the Crossroads for several months, though Zin found he hardly had the time to be concerned about it. His platoon had been worked to the point of exhaustion, a feat very difficult between the Orcs and Trolls, and often he found his group to be camped far into the wilderness, beyond the reach of any sort of civilization. Once the raids were completed, the spoils spread among the soldiers and the necessary cut toward Orgrimmar packed and sent on its way, Zin and his fellows were often times too worn out to do anything past force down a few mouthfuls of food, and limp off to their tents for a few scant hours of rest.

Through all the struggles of the war, through the blood shed and the singing in his veins as his daggers plunged between ribs and pierced vital organs, Zin discovered that Lilla Fairsky was not far from his thoughts. Strange, half formed questions would form in his mind, curiosities fluttering between his senses when he would normally become drone, focusing so intently on the battles that nothing existed beyond the howl of his comrades, their War Cry echoing on the wind. Out of the blue, the image of her young, Human face would cloud his vision, haunting him at the edges of his awareness like a ghost. The more it occurred, the angrier he would become, forcing the image away with sheer will, only to be beaten back as her large, tilted eyes called out to him, stripping him bare and leaving him raw with emotion.

He wished that he understood, knew what drive was pulling him toward her so. Her sadness, so easily read from the passages of her diary was staggering, but Zin could easily say that this was not the reason for his fixation. Of course, knowing what it wasn't didn't exactly help him discover what it was, and he spent many hours, alone in the night, asking the emptiness around him why.

By the time that his group had made it back to their base of operations, Zin was thoroughly spent, looking forward to spending long, luxurious hours of leave, soaking up the fresh river water, baking in the hot sun by the river bank. His particular group, Go'run included, were scheduled for nearly a month of down time, to give them a chance to rest up and prepare for the next wave of raids and pillaging. They would be replaced by a group of fresh warriors and casters, rogues and healers, due to arrive the following morning. But for the time being, he had a report to deliver to his commanding officer, then he was off for the central fire for some much needed nourishment. His bath would have to wait.

�Zin! Zin Ol'bij? Where can I find Zin Ol'bij!?�

Zin blinked, standing up to his full height so as to see over the heads of the Orcs around him, seeking out the high pitched voice, carrying over the camp. The accent was thick, hardly recognizable and muddling the Orcish dialogue to an almost disgusting degree. Whoever was calling out to him obviously did not hold study in high regard.

There. There it was. The voice was picking up in pitch, nearly squeaking, the words repeated over and over through the loud, darkly amused laughter of a group of Orcs. Apparently, whoever it was, was being taunted and prodded like a dog in a cage. Zin started forward, wondering what in the world was going on.

�What be 'appenin' 'ere?� he asked, his hands resting on the shoulder of a second onlooker, an Orc that chose to stay back from the growing mob. Zin had a slight shock of recognition, as though he should know this soldier, though the name tickled just at the edges of his awareness.

The Orc snorted, turning his attention back to the spectacle, �Some little neutral Carrier wandered into the camp. He'd be lucky to leave with his tail intact.�

That was painfully true. Zin had seen some of his companions remove extremities, fingers, tips of ears from the Neutral Postmen; the action was never enough to kill, just enough to send a message to the Alliance that their possibly spying dogs were not welcome. From the tone of this particular Carrier's voice, he had had truly no idea what he had been walking into.

�Zin Ol'bij! Where can I find Zin Ol'bij!� he squeaked again.

Zin sighed. He really had no desire to separate the pack from it's prey, but he could not, in good conscience, allow a maiming when he was so earnestly sought. He hoped the Carrier appreciated his actions, and would run like Hell once his message was delivered. Though, he could not help being confused � the only reason a Postman would come to such an out of the way place was if the package they carried was far too large to hold at the Office, or if it was a message of great import. Since Zin was a far cry from an Officer in the War, that only left the former conclusion, and that left his stomach in knots as he approached the Orcs surrounding the frightened man.

�'ere, now. I be Zin Ol'bij. Back up, mon, back up!�

The Orcs parted for him, recognizing the commanding tone of one of their own, smiling devilishly as the tall Troll made his way to the center of the group. Zin had to fight not to roll his eyes. The Draenei was a pathetic sight to behold: His clothes were dusty from the Barren's travel, his long hair struggling free of his high pony tail. His milky eyes were wide and frightened, a heavy sweat broken out all over his skin. He was crouched down on those animal like legs, looking about ready to wet himself. Instead, he looked up into Zin's face, hope and fear prominent in his features.

�Z-... Zin Ol'bij?�

Zin sighed, and nodded, �Ya, mon. I be Zin.�

�Oh thank the Naaru!� the smaller man cried out, standing up so quickly he nearly lost his balance. Thankfully, he managed to right himself before he fell over into the crowd, and hastily, he attempted to put himself to rights, straightening his shirt, patting down his hair, �You have no idea what I've been through!�

Zin could make a fairly educated guess, but he really didn't give a damn about the Draenei's problems at that point. Instead, his focus was on leather satchel that was slung over the Carrier's shoulder. The other man seemed to notice the draw in Zin's attention, and began bowing, apologizing profusely for the lapse in his duties. Zin wanted to tell him the shut the Hell up, but kept his tongue.

�I apologize for the delay, but getting here through normal trade routes have become quite a bother. Lots of pirates and raids, you know. Anyway, everything should be here,� He knelt down, opening the satchel, handing Zin two, brown paper wrapped packages, and a single envelope, �better late than never, yes?� he finished brightly, obviously becoming more comfortable in his surroundings now that he had done his duty. Zin sniffed at him, his lip curling over his tusks.

�If you say so, mon.� and abruptly, he turned away, missing the look of shock on the Draenei's face as the Orcs descended on him once again. His calls for help fell on deaf ears all around, and Zin made his way to his tent.

Thankfully, Go'run was still delivering his report to the CO, so he would be afforded some measure of privacy. He went to the envelope first, knowing somewhere in his gut what rest within the two, small packages. Her wax seal was familiar now, and he carefully peeled it away from the paper. The sheet of parchment inside bore her smell � chemicals and grave dirt. His nostrils flared, fighting back the burning behind his eyes as the smells wafted up to him. There was a damn good reason he normally chose to read these things out in the open, where the wind could carry the stink away.

Dear Mister Ol'bij,

I gather that from a single glance, you know what it is I have sent you. Rest assured, I have been fair in the amount of gold I am returning, and have even gone out of my way to exclude postage for the packages (which was not paltry sum, I assure you). I do hope they managed to reach you safely, and I would like to apologize for my lateness in returning them. I have been called forth to War, my Alchemy skills needed for the coming waves, and I fear I will no longer have the time to devote to our bargain.

But do not despair. While I was on my way to the front lines, I came across a very clever, talented linguist who would most assuredly help you. She is very accomplished and quick as a whip, so you need not fear her failure. I have already explained the circumstances to her, and she seemed very eager to meet with you.

I have enclosed her address below.

Sincerely
Y.J.

PS: I advise you bring plenty of gold with. My fees were a pittance in comparison.

So. That was that. Zin re-read Yessha's letter nearly 10 times over, though he could not understand why. She had done what she had promised: translated to the best of her abilities, and refunded his gold if there came a point where she could go no further. She had returned the gold and the book, and had even gone out of her way to secure him another translator, one who she suggested was far better than she herself. That admittance was nothing to take lightly, he knew, for Yessha was not the kind of woman to admit or allow anyone to exceed her in talent. So why did he feel so bothered?

Finally, he read the address that Yessha had left for him, and almost immediately, a headache started to build behind his eyes.

Shattrath City.

Shit.

- - - - - - - - - -

Zin always had had a soft spot for travel; he was a nomad at heart, really, despite the close knit ties his tribe held for each other. There was nothing quite like the feel of new grounds beneath his feet, the smell of new places, the taste of cuisines he had never tried before. But though he was fond for seeing the world and experiencing new things, Zin found himself in the absolutely last place he ever wanted to be.

That wasn't to say he wouldn't end up there one day, anyway, but he never imagined he would walk through the gates of Shattrath unless assigned a post here. No one, absolutely no one came to Shattrath for personal enjoyment. The city simply was not built for it. Of course, it was a beautiful thing to behold, full of extravagant designs and lush greenery tucked away in all the right places. But that was simply a cover, a filmy mask meant to hide the true purpose of this place.

Shattrath, despite its elegant beauty, was a city of war. As such, Zin did not have a hard time understanding why a linguist had taken up residence there. With the amount of Alliance and Horde milling around, either doing work for their separate factions or leaning more toward a neutral pace, there obviously had to be someone there to translate. What he couldn't fathom, however, was where they had found someone to do such stressful work.

He had no illusions about his faction � despite Thrall's good intentions, his Orcs and Trolls were hotheaded and quick to anger, to say nothing about the Blood Elves and Forsaken. Tauren were generally even tempered, but they didn't care much for the intricacies of war. They only wanted Mulgor to be peaceful and untouched, really. He supposed that it could be one of the Bovine creatures who were serving as the linguist � he had heard rumor of Common speaking Druids residing in Moonglade. It was believable.

Zin took a deep breath, careful to do so through the mouth, the stink of the Lower City infecting his nostrils regardless. It smelled... well, �heavy� was really the only word he could think of. There were too many bodies there, too much sickness and not nearly enough of water. From all around him, hands of the destitute pawed at him, begging for coin or food or drink. Zin sneered, shaking the hands away as best he could, making sure to not make eye contact with anyone, and damned this linguist for making him go to such a horrible place. He or she had to be a fool, or completely mad.

Still, he pushed his way through the crowds, ignoring the calls of the various vendors along the way. Though he had never been the Shattrath before, he recognized the tones of their voices, the prices they chirped as they hawked their wares. Most, if not all, were useless baubles, sure to break within an hour of purchase.

Eventually he made his way to the center of the city, and up the elevator that would take him to the Scryer's Tier. The giant, magically living giants loomed before him, giving him hardly a glance as he made his way forward, toward the Inn. Yessha had not given an exact address for his new translator, per say, simply stating that he could find them among the Scryers. Zin deduced that his best bet would be to find him or her at the pub itself. If not there already, he could easily ask around. How hard could it be?

Very hard, apparently, when he stepped through the door, and was damn near hit in the head with a flying pint mug.

There was a huge brawl inside the pub, various races tumbling among themselves, though from the feel of the air around him, it was just a simple bar fight; nothing too serious. And from the expressions and actions of the bar tender and the single barmaid, such things were not uncommon in this establishment. Since they did not seemed concerned, Zin felt no need to be either, and made his way over to the bar.

Ordering a single mug of ale, he turned on his stool to examine the patrons around him. There was a healthy mix of Horde and Alliance alike, either laughing at the fight before them, or voraciously enjoying their drinks and food. None of them, he noticed, seemed very interested in him. So that meant his linguist was not there. Zin swallowed his disappointment, and reached out to grab the elbow of the barmaid. She stopped, staring at him, her FelGreen eyes blinking in curiosity.

�Yes, love? What can I get for you?�

Zin returned the stare of the pretty Blood Elf, wondering how he could possibly word this. If Yessha had not given him an exact address, then certainly there was some sort of secrecy to this meeting, but for what purpose, he could not fathom. Added to that uncertainty, there was the very fact that he did not even know this person's name, let alone their race, age, or gender. He was about to make a damn fool of himself.

�Umm...� he paused, trying to buy himself some time. The blond, willowy woman stood before him, cocking her hip to the side to rest her hand against it, her irritation starting to become clear. She had stopped, as was required, but apparently two seconds was the time limit he had before all hospitality fled and she reserved the right to turn into a snooty bitch.

�Look, buddy, unless you actually need me for something, I've got shit to do. Spit it out, or move along.�

Zin glared at her coldly, his stare having little to no affect. She only rolled her eyes and stepped away into the crowd of patrons. Zin was left alone, empty handed, and still no closer to his goal. He sighed audibly, and turned back to the bar top, taking a deep drink of his ale.

Well... apparently, all he could do was wait. And he had a feeling it would be a long, long wait at that.

- - - - - - - - - -

By the time Zin lost all patience, most of the pub was empty. Only a few people remained � the bartender, the barmaid, and three small tables, tucked away into corners. These patrons had been there not too long, seemingly preferring the late night emptiness of the place. Regardless of their late arrival, they were thoroughly drunk, laughing quietly, toasting to some such thing at random intervals. Zin himself was nursing his fifth drink of the evening, the alcohol making his skin warm and his nose delightfully numb. He wasn't nearly as intoxicated as everyone else, but he was getting there.

Pleasant, bubbly feeling aside, Zin tried hard not to dwell on the irritation that had been growing since earlier that afternoon. He had watched patrons come and go, and not a single one of them had caught his attention, made eye contact in a knowing way. They came, drank, and left, not even sparing him a second glance.

By the time the hour struck 1am, he was thoroughly disgusted. The entire trip had, apparently, been a huge waste of time and coin. What was he doing, anyway, chasing after phantoms for the sake of a damn human story? Not for the first time, he berated himself for his unusual actions, his foolhardy, headstrong attitude to the whole situation. It got him nothing but lighter pockets, and time that was better used at the bank of the river. He could have been there right at that moment, his skin burning in the sun, a line full of freshly caught fish swimming against their snare in the water. He could be smoking on his pipe, sitting beneath the shade of a tree, listening to the gurgle of the water and drifting in and out of peaceful sleep.

Zin sneered, dropping a few coins on the bar top to pay for his tab, reaching down to his right to retrieve his pack, shouldering it with muttered curses and growls.

When he turned toward the door, he was not at all surprised to see someone standing in his path. Such was his luck, it seemed. In his anger, he at first did not take in the details, but when the person apparently refused to move out the way, Zin took a closer look.

She was human, he noted with surprise. Human, pale, and fair in the lamplight, though at that moment, her cheeks boasted a healthy, alcohol flush. Her hair was cropped short, mostly hidden beneath a silky hood, stray, orange wisps peeking out from the shadows, curling against the apples of her cheeks. She wore the robes of a Mage, of the Frostfire Regalia, the swirls of blue, purple, and steel gray appearing both elegant and deadly at the same time. She had forgone the headpiece and shoulders, making her look just slightly less intimidating. Zin saw, surprised that that particular detail out of them all caught his attention so strongly, that her eyes were nearly FelGreen, though lacking the shining light of those touched. She blinked at him then, slowly, sucking on her own tongue so her full, red lips pursed together, as though the flavor of the air around him left a strange lingering scum on her pallet. Her hip cocked to the side, one long fingered hand resting against the rounded swell of it, the other lifting an etched, pewter wineglass to her mouth. She took a slow slip, eying him over the rim of the cup, her expression haughty and gaging.

Zin had never been more shocked, more annoyed in his life. This Human was practically radiating a superiority complex, looking down at him as it were, as though he were no more than a bug on the bottom of her boot.

�Move your ass.� he snarled, a ticking irritation at the back of his mind, reminding him that she couldn't understand him anyway, and she was probably too drunk to realize the threat in his tone.

So he was surprised, yet again, when she tilted her face up to look him in the eyes, a slow smile spreading across her lips, and she spoke in clear, perfectly accented Orcish, �You need to speak with a bit more sugar before this ass does your bidding, darlin'.�

Zin had no time to soak in her words, for at that moment, her eyes rolled up behind her lids, and in a move more befitting to the theatrical stage, she turned in a half circle, and fell straight into his chest. He reacted instinctively, his hands coming out to grip her, to keep her steady, though from the sudden dampness against his feet, the remainders of the wine from her cup, he realized she was passed out. He looked up helplessly, at the bartender, the barmaid, the others in the bar. Surely she belonged to one of them? They would take care of her? But to his dismay, the only patron left was a currently passed out Tauren, and the employees were too busy wiping down tables to give a damn about his predicament.

Zin groaned, his eyes tilting up to the ceiling. He shuffled the Mage's weight in his arms, eventually getting her into a more manageable position, slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of vegetables, and made his way over to the Inn Counter.

The Inn Keeper could hardly keep the laughter out of his voice, the smile off of his face, �Can I help you, sir?�

Zin glared at him, too, disappointed to see that it had about as much affect on him than it did on the snooty barmaid. He sighed, instead, �Ya, mon. I needs 'ta know if dis Mage be known.�

The Inn Keeper made a little twirl with his fingertip, and Zin turned around so the man could look at her face. The Blood Elf laughed, patting the Mage's head.

�Oh, yes! That's Cassara Gossum. She challenge you to a drinking contest, did she?�

Zin sighed, thankful beyond all comprehension that the Human was recognizable, �Nah, mon. She jus' passed out on me.�

Again, the Inn Keeper laughed, leaning against his counter, �Yes, that's normal for her too. I thank you for taking her, though. She can be a bit of a handful at times, and is bad for business when she wakes up on the bar, hangover in full swing. I'll tell you what, I'll write down her address for you, and I'm sure she will have space in the den for you to sleep. You look like you've had a long night.�

Zin nodded, not quite sure he was comfortable in taking up space in this stranger's home, though somewhere in his brain he concluded that it was just cause. She had passed out on him, she had allowed herself to become the burden of a Troll, an enemy of her faction, one that was not, currently, trying to rip her limbs off. The least she could do in repayment was let him occupy her floor for a few hours before he caught the next flight out. He watched the Blood Elf man scribble down the directions to the Mage's home, and with another sigh and a slight shift of her form, he made his way out and down the pathway.

Finding her home was surprisingly easy. The Scryer's Tier was not overly large, a small section of dome shaped houses branching off to the side of the Library, supposedly saved and maintained for the Mages belonging to the group. Hers was tucked away in the far corner, pristine as all the others with freshly painted roof and walls, and a well tended flower garden, circling the building as a whole.

It's quaintness was a stark contrast to the disaster Zin found inside.

At first, he thought that someone had ransacked the place. All around him were piles of discarded parchment, tipped inkwells staining the threadbare carpet. There were dishes stacked high in the modest sink, water dripping rhythmically from the faucet. There were clothes, shoes, books, various baubles strewn all across the floor and tabletop. Through it all there was a narrow path, leading directly from the door to the hammock, strung up in the corner. He shook his head, glancing sideways at the Mage's immobile backside with disbelief.

This Human was a mess, in more ways than one, it seemed.

He sighed and made his way through the disaster, staring at the hammock and the single blanket that lay across it, rumpled. How was he to go about this, now?

Carefully he eased her down to her feet, keeping the majority of her weight pressed against his chest. With fumbling fingers, he managed the leather ties that kept the robe secured, easing the fabric from her shoulders and arms. Inwardly, he thanks whatever God looking down on him that she wore a linen shirt beneath her gear. There were many he had encountered in his life that did not bother with such modesty. Fully disrobed, he eased the Human down into her hammock, turning her onto her side, just in case she woke from her sleep with a need to empty her stomach. Why he took this precaution, he did not no, nor was he in any mood to dwell on it. He pulled the blanket over her, up to her chin, and stared at her.

She seemed almost pretty then, asleep and peaceful, the moonlight spilling in from the window onto her face. She breathed deeply in her slumber, her brow smooth and free of all concerns. He envied her, a bit.

He sighed again, and made his way back through he mess. There was a large lump in the middle of the floor, and just as he suspected, beneath the piles of junk was a small sofa. As quietly as he could, he moved the books and papers and old quills from the cushions, pleasantly surprised to see a single, over stuffed pillow, and a second, old blanket, as if waiting for him to use them. Divesting himself of his own armor, Zin curled up on the sofa and closed his eyes. He only prayed that he would not wake to a Pyroblast between the eyes.

- - - - - - - - - -

When he did wake, it was to the pleasant smell of fried bacon, the sweet, salty tang of eggs. He cracked a single eye open, watching the back of the Human woman as she busied herself in the kitchen. There was a large, cast iron skillet on the stove top; the source of the pleasing smells. She was scrubbing vigorously at a plate, a stack of already cleaned dishes waiting to be dried and put in proper order. Zin opened his other eye, slowly sitting up. She was distracted by her chores, humming softly to herself as she worked. He noticed that she had shed the single shirt he had put her to bed in, in favor of a floor length, linen robe. Her hair, much longer than he had first suspected, sat pinned messily atop her head. The color was more vibrant in the day light, reminding him of exotic fruits, wild strawberries in the summer.

Mentally, he shook himself. What the Hell was wrong with his brain, lately?

To dispel his traitorous mind, Zin pushed the blanket away from himself, setting his feet on the floor, his elbows resting on his knees as he watched her work. She hadn't noticed his stirring.

�Yer burnin' da eggs, mon.�

Oh, that got her attention. She squeaked, her hand slipping, the plate she had been struggling with falling back into the basin with a splash. She spun on her heel, her bright green eyes wide and frightened, though they immediately calmed, and Zin was surprised to see that she did not, in fact, fear him at all. Instead, she looked at him curiously, almost with a manic expression, as though afraid he would disappear if she took a moment to blink.

So they stared, he sitting, her standing, their eyes locked, neither one willing to break the contact and look away first. Finally, Zin grew tired of the contest, and sighed again, �Da eggs, Mage. 'less ya like da taste a charcoal.�

Immediately she spun back around, pulling the skillet from the stove. She shoveled the eggs onto a clean plate, depositing the pan into the sink with the rest of her dishes. When she turned again, she was looking a bit more timid, almost shy, as she made her way across to the room to him.

�I, um..� she said, stumbling over the foreign, Orcish words, �I didn't know how you liked them.�

Zin forced himself past the surprise, the shock of her near perfect dialogue, to glance at the meal she presented him. The eggs were fried, darkened by the bacon grease and slightly overcooked, though there were no visible scorch marks. He took the plate from her, looking up to her worried face.

�Na, mon. Dis is fine.�

Still, despite his assurances, the Human continued to stare at him. Defeated, Zin took a small bite, the flavor of yolk and spices melting in his mouth; she had definitely been generous with her spice cabinet. It was overwhelming, and he struggled not to choke from the strong bite of salt burning his tongue. Instead, he swallowed the small mouthful down, satisfied when the Human smiled shyly, and went back to her dishes.

Quietly, he ate, struggling through the small meal. The human seemed unconcerned by his presence, so he took the time he had to examine the small cottage in the daylight.

She had managed, somehow, to attempt a slight tidying of the place. Most of the books and papers were centralized, though their stacks could hardly be called neat. She had consolidated them to the North wall, stuffing them in shelves and on the table top. Her empty ink wells and broken quills were piled near the sink, waiting to be dropped out for waste. Otherwise, things looked much like they had the night prior. He studied the paint on the walls � old, and starting to peel at the corners, but a rather pleasant shade of blue. Like bird eggs, or cornflowers. Light and airy. The affect was marred, however, by the tall scorch marks behind the stove, and Zin actually felt himself smirking when he spied them.

The Human was, apparently, as much of a mess as her small home. Or maybe the state of her dwelling reflected what she was inside � a natural disaster. He found his amusement to this thought even more surprising than the growing smile on his face.

He was further entranced by the silliness of the situation, when he made his way next to her, depositing his empty plate in the wash basin. She had apparently been so lost to her own thoughts that his ambling gait had gone unnoticed, and she did not realize his presence until his bicep pressed against her shoulder, and the wash water splashed. She twitched, moving a fraction to the side instinctively, and looked up to his face. Zin could not help smiling at her, a strange emotion blossoming in his chest when she returned the gesture, tentatively at first, but soon spreading to her eyes. The moment was a silent one, but comfortable in a way Zin had not felt in years.

The sheer absurdity of it shook him, and he let the expression drop from his face. He did not know this person, this Human, and as such had no cause to let himself relax, to feel an easy emotion around her. She too adopted his posture, and began drying her hands on the front of her linen robe.

�Well, I suppose we should get down to business, then?� she stepped past him, to the small kitchen table, shuffling sheets of parchment around as she spoke, �The matter of payment is paramount, as I'm sure you'll agree. Nothing is for free, after all.�

Zin could hardly believe his ears, believe what her rolling, smooth expression of the Orcish language was saying to him. She actually expected him to pay her for letting him stay? She was absolutely insane!

When he made no sound to acknowledge her, she turned to repeat herself, only to find her nose nearly pressed to his solar plexus. She gasped, attempting to retreat a step, her backside bumping into the edge of the table. She overbalanced, and ended up with her hands braced behind her, one knee slightly raised, staring right up to his face. He was glaring at her now, his red eyes flaring beneath his heavy brow.

�Ya be crazy, girly, if ya 'tink I'm payin' for da use of ya couch.� he hissed, baring his upper teeth beneath a curled lip. His anger sizzled down, however, when she stared up at him, completely confused.

�My couch? Why would I charge for you sleeping on my couch? You're welcome to it!�

Zin would not let her disarm him so easily. She was up to something, and he would have none of it. He leaned in closer, satisfied to see her retreat further back, nearly resting against the piles of papers on her table top. He braced his hands on either side of hers, his own torso nearly pressing against her own. Her breathing was heaving, nearly panting in her fear, the motion making her breasts brush against him. Determinedly, he made that sensation inconsequential. He would not allow her to distract him.

�You da one dat became da burden. I coulda' left ya der, at da mercy of da Horde. But I brought ya home, made ya safe. Now ya ask for compensation? Stupid, girly.�

At the mention of her behavior the previous night, Zin was satisfied to see the embarrassed flush covering her cheeks. At least she had some modesty left.

He had to hold his breath, however, when he felt one of her small, trembling hands press to his chest. Not enough to push him away � she would need the strength of at least three men to do that � but just enough to let him know that she was there, that she was uncomfortable with his closeness. Strangely, it made him want to press forward even more, to trap her hand between them. That desire intensified when she cast her eyes down, staring at the way her pale skin drew a sharp contrast against his own blue flesh, her answer mumbled and difficult to hear.

�I... I apologize for my foolishness. I must have been such a bother...� she took a deep breath, pausing only to overlook the fact that Zin had snorted at her, �But I was not speaking of rent due. I was... I was just suggesting we discuss how much you will owe me once I am finished with your book.�

Had someone snuck up behind him and dumped a whole bucket of icy water over his head? It sure as Hells felt like it.

�Yer da translator?� Oh Gods... how had he not seen it? Not realized it? She had been speaking fluent Orcish this entire time, her lips forming around the words effortlessly, and the possibility had not even crossed his damn brain. What had he been thinking about? Strawberry hair. Soft skin. Eyes green enough for shamrocks... Zin shut his eyes tightly, wishing he could force himself to move, if only to smack himself upside the head. He was such an idiot.

The Human must have thought so too, for her posture was straightening again, and he could practically feel the indignation rolling off of her in waves, �Well, of course I am! What did you think this was about?�

Zin refused to answer that, if only for his own sanity. He didn't really know where his thoughts were taking him, and he had a feeling she would not appreciate a confession of his innermost curiosities. Particularly, whether or not she was wearing a shirt beneath her house robe, as she had with her Frostfire Regalia. Instead, he scoffed, and moved away from her, pacing back toward the sofa. Why he flopped down, his arms crossing defiantly across his chest, instead of storming out of the house, he couldn't explain. He stared at her, watching as she righted herself, crossing her own arms. Adopting his own pose only seemed to hold him in thrall. Did she always imitate those around her in that way?

�So why'd ya not tell me last night, mon? I be at da bar fer hours.�

At that, she blushed again, turning her face a way a little in her shame. Well, that was certainly interesting.

�If you did not notice, Troll, I was a little... incapacitated.�

Zin snorted, �Ya were practically boneless, mon.� He felt an odd satisfaction when she smirked, a little of her earlier humor sparking in the green of her eyes.

�Yeah, okay, so I was drunk. The point is, I was hardly in a state to discuss business dealings with you.�

Zin shrugged, �True, dat. So why ya not say nuttin' earlier, over da eggs?�

Again, the woman blushed a little, toeing at a particularly thin section of carpet, �I was curious about you. Yessha had said you were a little... different, compared to most Trolls. She said your interest in Lilla's story went beyond simple curiosity.�

It wasn't as though what she said were a lie. In fact, Zin had slowly begun to accept that particular fact about himself. But to hear it? So blatantly spelled out, loud and in the open? It made his insides chill, and he wanted to deny it vehemently.

�Why are you so interested?� she asked, her voice oddly soft, and Zin turned to find that she was practically leaning over him. How had he missed her moving toward him? How could he have let himself drop his guard so easily? He refused to be intimidated by this slip of a creature, however, and did not move away, even as she moved in closer. She had a stern look on her face, as though demanding an answer immediately. And, oddly, Zin could not seem to spit out the lies he had tumbling through his mind.

No, for this woman, for some reason, there could only be truth.

�She is... inspirational, mon. I dun know da whole story, but I feel like... like she got somethin' important ta say ta me.�

The Human seemed satisfied with his answer, gifting him with a slight nod of her head. She eased back, retreating from his personal space, leaving a cold feel behind for him to soak in. It was odd, he mused, that she had the ability to affect him so, and for the first time, he wondered if perhaps she was using a subtle form of magic on him, shifting the elements around her to further manipulate him. Though for what purpose her manipulations would stem, he couldn't fathom. As such, he let the theory slide.

�What you doin?� he asked her, staring at her back as she shoved parchment and books aside. She was hunched over the table again � he could not tell if she were searching for something, or if she were simply clearing off space.

�I'm trying to find my conversion tables. Though the money system is, in essence, an exact mirror, the words the Alliance use are far different from the Horde. I want to make sure that our dealings are honest and accurate.�

He stood, then, and helped her search. He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for, and was forced to shove papers under her nose when he thought he may have hit something, slowing their progress down more than helping it along. She did not seem to mind, though; more so, she seemed to enjoy his aid, despite the fact that he was digging through her things like a common scavenger. Even when he came across some rather accurate, nude sketches of various Azeroth Races, she did not falter, did not hide or look shamed. She only laughed, plucked the parchment from his fingertips, and slid the drawings between the covers of an old, leather bound book.

�Should I even ask, mon?�

She laughed again, waving him away to the other side of the North Wall, �It was for Science, I promise. I like to know how things work. To this day I'm still disappointed that I did not go into Engineering.�

Mentally, Zin screamed at himself. He chided, he berated, he demanded to know why he was being so familiar with her, so comfortable. And why, in the name of all things Holy, was he opening his mouth, giving up a piece of himself, a clue into who he was, for the sake of a Human he hardly knew?

�Ya know, mah' cousin, Atal, he be interested in da machines. He could prolly show ya 'ting or two.�

He had said it offhandedly, as though it were just a passing suggestion. But when his words were met with silence, he was not at all prepared to look up, to see the expression on her face. It was very nearly blank, her brows creasing just slightly above the button that was her nose. The only thing in her that was animated was her eyes. She was stunned, and completely confused by his offer. Zin found himself embarrassed, mortified. What had he done?

�Um.. thank you.� she whispered, the companionable moment broken. Dammit, he had made things worse. Mostly for himself.

Like a child, a youngling, he blushed hard, and turned back to the task at hand, muttering a �welcome� to her as quietly as he could. They searched in silence from that point forward, and after another hour, the woman produced the desired sheet of parchment.

Then, surprising Zin yet again � how much could he handle in a single morning? - she swept her arm out, dumping all the papers and books and bottles off of the table and onto the floor. Reaching into her pocket, she produced a sharp quill, and a small jar of unopened ink. Deftly, she began scribbling calculations into the margins. Zin sat across from her at the table, watching her.

It was strange, really, the little nuances she had. He stared at her mouth, at the way her small, pink lips would move as she did the math, mouthing out the numbers and words privately to herself. He watched her hand, the way she would run the soft, feathery tip of the quill against the tip of her nose as she thought hard. He sat back a little, at first curious, then again amused, when the table began shaking; he quickly realized that she was bouncing her knee, the whole motion making her body shake in counterpoint, the table trembling in response. She was an uncontrollable fidgeter.

Finally, she seemed satisfied with her scribblings. She slid the paper across the table to him, and Zin examined her calculations. As Yessha had promised, the Human's rates were far higher than her own had been, and Zin felt his stomach cringe. The translations would nearly tap him out. Was a small, stupid diary really worth it?

That and more.

�Done.� He said, pleasantly, sliding the sheet of paper back over to her. The human grinned at him, the smile reaching her eyes, making them shut partially and small age lines appear at the corners. They weren't overly pronounced � she still had several decades left to her lifespan � and they did not make her appear old. Instead, it only brought her laughter out the more, though she did not make a sound. It was almost hypnotic to him, to watch her laugh with her eyes.

�Alright, then! All we need now is to write up the contract, and have the Notary check things over, and we're in business!�

Zin nodded, and stood. He was on his way back to the sofa, to where his armor was laying, when a tiny, warm hand grabbed his wrist. He halted, looking down at the captured appendage, fascinated by the way that her fingers were not even long enough to wrap all the way around. It was startling, and strangely pleasurable to his brain.

�What's da problem?� he asked.

Cassara had the good sense to look flustered, another pretty flush staining her cheeks, �Well... the Notary isn't available.�

Zin lifted a hairless brow, �How do ya know 'less ya look?�

The flush on the Human's cheeks intensified, and she glanced sideways to avoid his steady, questioning gaze, �Because.. um... It's a Friday. He always closes shop on Fridays. He won't be available again until Monday.�

Zin was silent, only because he felt as though he had just taken a punch straight to the stomach. He was stuck in Shattrath for the next 3 days. He was about to go broke on a crazy, pointless endeavor to read a damn book. His leave was wasting away, he didn't know anyone in the town except for a small, alcoholic disaster area. And her hand was still holding onto his wrist.

�Oh.� he said, getting an odd notion that by the end of this trip, he would have permanent brain damage.

- - - - - - - - - -

AN: Wow. Long, boring chapter. Sorry about that guys! The next one should be more... entertaining. *love*

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Holding On