Friends get underfoot
Why did I dye my hair black? Did I think it was going to make any difference? I guess I must have been thinking that if I changed enough small details of my appearance, it would make up for the huge reasons I'm very easy to recognize if you know who you're looking for.
I must have been high.
Now, not only am I an abnormally, unmistakably malnourished, nine-toed elf with a mountain of identifying marks all over my body, I'm one-eared. Mix those together and you've got a good list of reasons trying to disguise my identity is ridiculous.
Mix those with the poorly dyed black hair, and I look like a psychopath. It had been a long time since I looked in a mirror, but I know I wasn't this bad. I mean, holy shit.
Of course, then Vorrick got a look at himself in the mirror and finally noticed that mustache I'd been adding to every time he decided it would be funny to fall asleep using my ribcage as a pillow. Took him forever to scrub that ink off. It had been soaking for days, by the time he'd washed his face enough to remove it his skin was scrubbed red, so he still looked ridiculous.
We've stopped in Ratchet to raise up a little money, then we need to pay off a mage to give us a portal to Shattrath and be quiet about it. Preferably the Aldor Rise. I think if we keep our distance and move quickly enough, we can get to Nagrand through the pass behind it before the Draenei decide to toss us off, and they're far less likely to have anyone with Magister contacts lounging around. Then we take it easy for a couple of weeks, and then... I don't know what, then.
What does he really think is going to happen, here? That we're just going to keep circling region after region giving the Council the slip for the rest of our lives? I had plans, if loose ones. But I can't do any of it with him here. I just don't know how to give him the hint.
The night before we set off, I left to get some of my things. When I came back, he was sitting there with a machete, looking like he'd seen a ghost. He asked if I was leaving. Said it was good I wasn't. I really don't like the way he was brandishing that thing when he said it, either. Creeped me the fuck out.
The message was clear enough: I'm not allowed to ditch him, and he's got absolutely nothing left to lose by sticking with me, and nothing to gain (that he can see) by staying on his own.
So what are we supposed to do, then, run in aimless circles until he gets himself killed? From the looks of things it can't be that much longer before he manages it. I intervene where I can, but he picks fights left and right, and when I try to fix them, things end up escalating from a couple of broken fingers to a couple of missing extremities.
We ran into Mort. I'm coercively named her godfather just as everyone else in her life runs off, promise I won't, and then run off, myself. Who didn't see that coming, really?
WHY DO PEOPLE LIKE ME ALL OF A SUDDEN FOR FUCK'S SAKE and why do they have to wait until I need them not to to start getting clingy about it
(( LJ has been going bananas. I've tried nine times to format this right and it won't stick. Sorry if it still looks wonky, but I give up. ))