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Sometimes All You Have Left...

Linu Theillos's picture

It was getting on toward midnight as a lone stone drake ghosted its way through the soft poofy clouds of the Valley of the Four Winds and coalescing into the form of John Dempsy as it landed in front of one of many farmhouses that dotted the tranquil heartland of Pandaria. As always, unable to sleep, Yishy ran to him and hugged him tightly. The Pandaren was strong and healthy, and John could feel the pressure of the embrace even through his armor, but it was the familiar intoxicating scent that always stole his breath as he buried his muzzle into her hair right near the curve of her neck and inhaled deeply.


Their conversations were quiet, despite the lack of any real need. The worgen changed out of his armor and uniform, folding the latter up with a neatness that the boxer rarely reserved for any articles of clothing. He told her about the meeting and most of what happened, leaving discussion about the meeting on Saturday at Aerie Peak until tomorrow.  Still, she could feel his tension and leaned against his back and massaged his shoulders as he told her about checking in on Sergeant Harrigan and the look on his face after returning old Hellfire’s distinctive blade from the battlefield of the Blasted Lands.


The talks themselves were testament to how far Yishy had come since those dark days where she’d wake up with almost complete amnesia in a guest chamber at the Cathedral in Stormwind, scared and confused as to how she’d gotten there or why people insist she stay calm and remain where she was. Now Yishy knew a large number of the people that John mentioned during this evening’s talk… or at least seemed familiar in passing, and those things no matter how little always felt like a victory for the boxer.


As always, John took down an account of events from Yishy about what all happened between the time he had left, and the time he’d returned… and in another book he recounted his own events during that time so they could be referenced and fill in any fuzzy patches. The bookcase that he’d cobbled together was certainly starting to serve its purpose as a new journal would take the place of the old as they accumulated on the shelf.


An hour passed between his return and the present. Yishy had gotten ready for bed and John had blown out most of the lamps save for the one at the table. The pandaren watched him from the bed with a relaxed smile and sleepy eyes, reassured that he’d be joining her soon after just a little more writing…


“I feel like I’m running out of time… and I am. In a week the whole world’s gonna change and no matter which way I go, there’s gonna be a good chance Saturday’ll be the last time I’ll ever see certain members of my new family. Folk talk bout makin’ the best out of a bad situation, but sometimes all ya got left is two bad decisions. I refuse to split us… I know in my heart such a thing’d kill her worse and harder than if I’d slipped her the dagger myself. Her worst nightmare’d come real and someday she’d wake, look at that spear of hers, wonder what a strange name John is, wonder why she’d carved it… and start screamin’…


So it’s gonna come down to us deciding to go together, or stay together. If we go… I give the Dragoons somethin’ they desperately need. They need scouts, they need intel, they need a monster or two who can stalk a camp in the night, cut throats in their sleep, and keep the team alive for another day. But as far as I know that means we go to Yishy’s personal hell… and every five minutes she remembers the trauma of her airship crash with every explosion, clank of Iron Horde warmachinery, and blistering heat of fire. Harri didn’t think we should go… an episode would compromise the two of us, possibly more and endanger the unit.


If we stayed… there’s alotta work to do here on this side. ‘Ain’t gardening and flowering arranging’ as the Sarge put it. Dragoons gotta hold together with most of the command staff and specialists broke off from it, and the world’s gotta know that we can still protect her. But I know the Commander and the others need what I do… what we do. When you have more skillsets you have more options and less likely to be backed into a corner, or you at least have a better chance of finding a way out. Can I live with myself if something happens over there and we could have been the tipping point? I don’t know… but I’ve gotta figure it out, and soon.”



John leaned back from the table and sighed… closing the journal and glancing toward the bed before blowing out the lamp. Yishy had drifted off, her sleep unburdened. Right now she had everything she really wanted or needed. All was right in the world. He got undressed and slipped quietly into bed, wrapping his arms around her and soon getting lost in a sea of long hair. Even before getting bit and becoming a worgen, John had been used to juggling two aspects of himself that always seemed paradoxical. Sometimes it was his reputation as Black Jack Dempsy set against the man he was inside. Sometimes it was the thief against the passionate boxer, and sometimes it was the murderer versus the victim of a murderer. Throughout everything John had stayed true to himself and knew inside what path he needed to follow. Right now though he was at a crossroads and both paths seemed dark and uninviting. Sometimes all you have left are bad choices.