Mairèad & Shepard: January 7

Mairèad skids down the rockface, nearly failing to stop herself before she slides right into the water.

Shepard blinks at you.

Mairèad looks at Shepard sheepishly. "Y'weren' atcher bench an' I figgered you'd be by water somewhar, 'cause tha's whar y'go when y'wanna fink. Didja wanna be alone?"

Shepard shakes his head. "I do not mind the company. There were simply too many corpses walking around for my taste."

Mairèad says: I don' git why they hang 'round holy ground like tha'. 'Slike they like bein' in pain.
Mairèad brushes off her scraped hands on her damp trousers and inserts herself under Shepard's arm, as she typically does.

Shepard says: Hmf. It allows them to feel important, I suppose. The more they hurt themselves, the more attention they get.

Mairèad says: S'kinda dumb, people hurtin' 'emselves t'feel important. Why not jest finds summun an' become important to them, yahar?

Shepard says: Too much work.

Mairèad grins at this, poking Shepard lightly in the side. "Nawr, it ent. Yer important t'me an' y'ent done naught but sit 'ere an' let me babble atcha."

Shepard flicks an ear. "Hm. Then perhaps they simply do not wish to listen."
Shepard says: The problem may be one of vanity.

Mairèad says: Vanity? Ha' kin sumfin' what's dead be vain?

Shepard says: Apparently it is easier than we think.

Mairèad says: Mebbe they jest pertend t'be vain so they don' make i' so obby tha' they hate 'emselves.

Shepard says: Perhaps. Or maybe they just like being the darkest, hate-filled monster around. Or the most depressing. Or the most sickening.
Shepard says: I would not doubt that there are competitions to judge such things.

Mairèad wrinkles her nose. "Tha' sounds like a horr'bull way t'pass time. I'd rather be sailin' or explorin' or chattin' wiff nice people. Say, did Con go to Karazhan yet?"

Shepard says: Not that I know of. I believe he is waiting until I make the journey myself.

Mairèad says: And yer gunna, entcha? Even though you don' wanna?

Shepard grunts, scratching his mane. "More than likely."

Mairèad says: Are y'skeer'd?

Shepard says: Very.

Mairèad shifts so that her hand rests on top of Shepard's. "Whaddya fink's the wors' tha' could 'appen? Asides death, 'course."

Shepard says: Curses. Insanity. To be forever bound to the tower itself.

Mairèad says: Well. Fer curses, you kin always have summun come what kin git rid a' curses, like a priest or a mage or...kin shamans git rid 'a curses?

Shepard says: Curses forged from the Guardian's hand are of a different breed.

Mairèad says: Kin ya git summun t'pertectcha from 'em? Like mebbe a mage?

Shepard says: Most mages of our era cannot unravel what Medivh has set in place. It is why his last apprentice is still a withered old man.
Shepard says: The best defense is to simply be careful. Vigilant.

Mairèad says: Well, yer rill careful an' vigilant. If anyone kin avoid booby traps, you kin.

Shepard says: Hmf. It is not me I fear for.

Mairèad says: As fer insanity, if always hearin' all yer mem'ries over'n over ent driven you insane yet, I don' fink Medivh could come up wiff anyfin'.
Mairèad looks sideways at Shepard. "Yer a'fear'd fer Con."

Shepard flicks an ear. "Mm."

Mairèad says: Con's shortsighted in 'is werkin's, yer right. But 'e's a'ready halfway t'bein' okie fer havin' you so worried 'bout 'im.

Shepard says: Hmf. I can only do so much.

Mairèad snuggles closer to Shepard, pulling his arm around her without really thinking about it. "If y'do all you kin do and 'e still gits hurt, it ent yer fault."

Shepard 's eye twitches, but he says nothing of her arm-pulling. "I do not think I would see it that way."

Mairèad says: Why wouldn'tcha?

Shepard says: A guilt complex, I suppose.

Mairèad shifts so that she's facing Shepard more properly. "But if you do all you kin, then i' kin't be yer fault. That ent logical."

Shepard slowly nods, lips/jowls/whatever twitching into a soft smile. "And while I live by logic, there are certain things I cannot help feeling."

Mairèad says: See, I don' e'en try t'live by logic. I jest figger me 'eart's gunna beat me 'ead in the end, so might's well save meself the grief.

Shepard cranes his head. "My grandmother said something similar. Often."

Mairèad grins, trying to move enough that Shepard can avoid neck strain without dislodging herself from him. "She's a smart lady, yer Grandmam."

Shepard says: Smartest I have known so far.

Mairèad says: ...what was the ovver fin' what skeerd ya?...oh yahar, bein' stuck in Karazhan ferever. Well that ent so bad. I'll come visit!

Shepard says: Mm. Being trapped in Karazhan would imply my death, and I would be a spirit.

Mairèad says: ...I'd still come visit.
Mairèad says: An' bring ya ghost books.

Shepard says: I would rather you did not. You would be safer that way.

Mairèad moves again, now sitting properly on Shepard's lap. "I be a privateer, Shep. If it be safe, it ent worff doin'."

Shepard grumbles. "Still. I would rather you not visit. A personal request."

Mairèad says: Kin I write t'you?

Shepard says: I do not think letters would be delivered to Karazhan.

Mairèad sits back some, still on Shepard's lap but now not leaning on him. "Mebbe thar be a magic mailbox somewhar an' no matter who yer sendin' mail to, it gits delivered. Then I could write t'you."

Shepard looks up, his eyes glazing over for a moment. "... Hm. That would be an interesting invention..."

Mairèad says: An' it be owned by a mailman what's magical, too! An' 'e sings an' dances an' sails th'seven seas. 'is name'd be Edgar.

Shepard says: Edgar? Why Edgar?

Mairèad says: Why not Edgar?

Shepard says: It is not a bad name. Just seems oddly specific.

Mairèad says: Anyway. Best way to deal wiff it's simple: I'll come wiff you an' Con to Karazhan.
Mairèad folds her arms across her chest and looks pleased with herself.

Shepard blinks. "What?"

Mairèad says: Well, see, i's simple. Ha' long y'been fightin' wiff knives an' notcher claws?

Shepard says: ... A month, one week.

Mairèad says: Ah, see, I been sword fightin' since I could walk, an' if yer gunna be the brains an' Con'll be the pew-pew, then y'need summun to 'it fin's wiff a sword, yahar?

Shepard says: I... I suppose you are right.

Mairèad says: Plus, if you git 'urt, I kin fix ya.

Shepard says: You do raise a good point.
Shepard grunts. "Very well. We will take you, too."

Mairèad bounces excitedly on Shepard's lap a few times, clapping her hands. "It'll be great, you won' regret i' one bit, Shep, not one bit." She throws her arms around his neck in a big ol' gratitude hug.

Shepard grunts at the bouncing. "I hope not. I would hate to see someone injured because of my decision."

Mairèad kisses him on the cheek and shakes her head. "Nawr, I'll be fine. Plus treasure-huntin's kinda a privateer fin', after all." As she says this, she resumes her earlier, less bouncy snuggle.

Shepard glances off towards the left. "I only pray what we find is truly treasure."

Mairèad says: Mebbe we'll find sumfin' be'er'n treasure thar.

Shepard says: Mmm. Empty space would be treasure enough for me, but perhaps.

Mairèad says: What'd be be'er'n treasure fer you?

Shepard says: A tracker.

Mairèad says: A tracker?

Shepard says: Mm. Something to help me find my grandmother.

Mairèad reaches up to scratch Shepard's neck. "Still fink she'd come if y'sang fer 'er. Might take 'er a while, but she'd come."

Shepard says: Perhaps...

Mairèad continues to scratch, thoughtfully. "Dunno what'd be be'er'n treasure fer me. 'Cept booty, 'a course. I mean, me mam's gotta lotta booty, but I could use some 'a me own, righ'?"

Shepard says: Being a fully-knighted Paladin?

Mairèad says: Mm. Tha'd be good, but I wanna git thar 'cause I werked addit, no' 'cause 'a wishin'.
Mairèad laughs. "Plus Chad'd be jealous. Me scratchin' ent bovverin' you, izzit?"

Shepard chuckles quietly. "It is not, no."

Mairèad says: Good.

Shepard looks up, brows raised. "It never rains in Stormwind, does it?"

Mairèad says: Did durin' the lellumental invasions, so I 'eard.
Mairèad says: Sky'd go all grey an' dark an' then tornaders an' waves'd start batt'rin' Stormwind 'til people fought 'em off.

Shepard says: Huh. But no natural occurrences.

Mairèad says: Wunner if i's 'cause the mages keep fin's nice an' clear.
Mairèad says: ...d'you miss the rain, Shep?

Shepard says: A little. A comfort of home that I cannot seem to shake. While bleak to most, constant rain was... familiar.

Mairèad grins, closing her eyes and sighing softly, arms coming to rest around Shepard's waist again. "Kinna like the sound 'a waves an' rockin' under me feet. Don' always feel right fer th'ground to be still."

Shepard tugs on his beard, stealing a glance at Mairead. "Back home, the rain meant something special - Love had been found."

Mairèad says: Rilly? Ha' d'you mean?

Shepard says: There was a bard who roamed the beaten roads of Gilneas, singing beautiful songs of love. His words were said to shape the very world around him; when he spoke of sorrow, it would storm. When he spoke of joy, the sun's rays covered the land.
Shepard says: But for all of his skill, he could not find love for himself. Days upon days flew by as he toiled away to perfect his craft, to hopefully compose a ballad worthy of romance.

Mairèad smiles, eyes still closed, snuggling closer and giving a contented sigh.

Shepard says: Though he sang, none came to claim him. Other couples grew from his lyrics and went on to lead very happy lives. Years passed, and soon the bard grew old. Death was close.
Shepard says: Knowing this, he rewrote his own mortality and became an immortal wanderer, determined to find his true love.

Mairèad says: Did 'e?

Shepard says: Decades passed. Then centuries. Still he went wanting. One day, a young girl came along and asked, "Why don't you just write for someone to magically love you? Surely that'd be easier."

Mairèad says: Well 'cause then i' wouldn' be 'er choice.
Mairèad says: An' nobody wan's summun to love 'em 'cause they was forced ter.

Shepard says: With a smile, he simply shook his head and replied, "Because, dear child, that isn't love. That's slavery. Love must be true and honest, or else the happiness derived would be nothing but a mocking blow, over and over..."
Shepard says: "Beating at the heart without remorse."

Mairèad says: Tha's rill poetic. Was the bard Matteo Cr-- Crow-ley?

Shepard says: No. He was a man by the name of Delial Sandvark. And thanks to Mister Sandvark, every downpoar in Gilneas signified another new couple, created from his works.

Mairèad frowns, still snuggled against Shepard. "But 'e nevarrr found summun fer 'imself, didee?"

Shepard says: Not yet.

Mairèad says: Well. Mebbe when 'e does, it'll rain in Stormwind.

Shepard says: Perhaps. Or maybe the days will be peaceful, and filled with warmth. None of this chaos and bitter cold.

Mairèad sighs softly, smiling. "I ent cold na'. Ent been cold a night since I metcha."

Shepard tilts his head. "I suppose I am rather warm, thanks to the fur."

Mairèad says: Inside, I mean.

Shepard blinks. Slowly. "... Oh."

Mairèad says: Oh?

Shepard says: It is nothing.

Mairèad says: Nawr, y'said 'oh' fer some reason. Did I say sumfin' wrong?

Shepard quickly shakes his head. "You did not."

Mairèad says: Then what?

Shepard nervously stumbles over his words, his gaze focused rather intently on the water. "I- No. It is no-nothing. Ju-just... Hmf. Do not worry about it."

Mairèad says: ...okay. Hey Shep, kin I aks you sumfin' an' you promise no' t'freak out?

Shepard says: What is it?

Mairèad closes her eyes and yawns before asking, sleepily, "Do I make you warm inside, too?"

Shepard stares. STARES. At the water.

Mairèad is fading fast and snuggling closer. "She-ep?"

Shepard answers lightning quick. "Yes."

Mairèad grins sleepily, and because her player is falling asleep, becomes narcoleptic. "Mmm. Good."