RP Memes #1
Welcome to what will likely be the first in a series of installments where I ignore my various, very looming responsibilities and dodge my declining mental health to write out of character, out of canon memes instead. Some of these are vignettes straight out of Marvel’s “What If?”, some of these are just inside jokes committed to document, some are admittedly ripped off memes and Tik Toks, and some are just so purely made of chaos that I have no idea where they came from.
I’ll leave it to you to figure out which ones are which. Either way, enjoy this little brain dump.
Alternative Title: The Three Dalaran-eteer’s
Alia Atherton stood at her herbology table, plucking the dead petals off her Talandra's Rose. A younger woman now, with no scars and no ring around her finger, she was simply another student of Dalaran, spending her free time caring for her herbs rather than joining her classmates in the revelry common with the day off. Dalaran was experiencing a pleasant spring day; the sun was out, birds were singing, the hedges were recently trimmed. It was a peaceful, relaxing scene, and it was utterly shattered by the ruckus of a small blue-haired goblin throwing open the door to the door, and slamming it behind her just as quickly.
Pixi had only just arrived in Dalaran to begin her formal mage training a few months ago, but had quickly formed a close bond with Alia, and her confusing labeled companion Rorik. Both outcasts, both considered weirdos by their respective groups, the three had formed their own little coterie. Still, there were growing pains that come with any new friendship.
Panting, the young goblin plopped the burgeoning armful of scrap metal, gears and springs onto the floor in front of her, and stepped over the pile just as a small, black pool of oil began to seep out across the polished stone. Alia sighed, loudly, and Pixi, now lying stretched out on her bed, looked over. “What? I had to sprint through the dorms so the narcs didn’t see the supplies”
“I wish you would just ask for the scrap metal rather than steal it from Mr. Oshenko.” Alia said, biting back her words. The Netherbloom was looking sad from neglect, and she shifted her focus to the poor creature.
“Well,” Pixi flipped her blue hair off her shoulder, “It’s not my fault I got into this dump on a loophole, so-”
“And yet you still don’t have any common sense.”
The goblin sat straight up, “I have no common sense? Didn’t you date that tall’n’skinny kid with a N name?”
Alia turned to face her roommate. No getting out of this now, “Ugh, please do not bring that up!”
“Everybody knows not to date tall’n’skinny N names, Alia.”
“Says the goblin who can’t order food at the café by herself.”
Pixi kicked her shoes off, and now stood fully up on the bed - just to reach eye level with the human. “Aren’t you a nerd?”
“Aren’t you a Zarakie?”
A squeak of offense, “That’s different!”
“How is that different?” Alia pressed.
“I am not gonna argue with somebody whose crushes aren’t real! So there!” Pixi stuck out her tongue.
The force of the trowel slamming on the wooden gardening table shook the potted plants. Alia took a step with each word, closing the distance quickly until the two young women were almost touching noses. “Well I’m not going to argue with someone who still thinks The Great Akazamzarak is going to acknowledge her existence.”
“It could happen!” The goblin whined.
“It won’t.”
“That Manathistle is DEFINITELY messing with your cognitive functions.” Pixi pushed her friend back.
“I don’t even have that plant anymore!” Alia kept the distance, but shoved a pointed finger into her face.
“The brain damage has already set it” Pixi quipped.
“You were an accident!” Alia was shouting now.
Pixi matched her volume, “We were both accidents, screwup!”
“I am not the screwup!”
“Then who is?” Pixi threw her arms wide open.
The two paused, the tension hanging in the air punctuated only by the loud sound of the distinctively crunchy crust on a delicate, sweet-filled filo pastry. Distinctively crunchy crust? They looked back to the door, to a corner footstool where amongst a peculiar positioned blanket, was a red dragon whelpling of only a few months old. Rorikstraz was stuffing his face with pastries of all shapes and persuasions. His muzzle was covered in powdered sugar, his teeth stained with a kaleidoscope of multi-colored creams and jellies. Crumbs formed a trail from the nearly empty basket of goodies beside him, all over the upholstery, and up his little rotund scaled belly to his claws. Even from their distance, the two could tell that his hands were stickier than gnomish non-machine washable safe construction glue. Currently, Rorik was mid-chew into a bear-claw that took up half of his body, the other half presumably currently in his stomach digesting.
"Whaff?" Rorik asked, mouth too full to be understood.
Together, the girls looked back to one another in agreement. “It’s Rorik.”
Alternative Title: Silvermoon Parks and Rangers - The Coffee Pot Incident
“Who broke it? I'm not angry, I just want ta know.’
Jazabu stood at the head of a circle, her adoptive children around her. She looked at each of them in turn, waiting for an answer; Kol’var Ar'nareth on her right, Macko Ar'nareth on his. Next to her was Slade Ar'nareth and the eldest, Lyanna Ravenwing (usually called Raven by others). Finally was Dannth Denholm - an addon who had chosen to hang around Lyanna over his sister - and Pixisticks, the only goblin among them. In the middle of the circle was a coffee set, sitting on a wooden table. Revendreth in make, it had been brought over from the Shadowlands as a spoil of world saving adventures. It was metal in make, burnished silver that was stained black so it took on an oily grimy appearance, without the smudging one would expect with its appearance. Now it was broken, dented and torn apart beyond repair, handles crushed, tiny espresso cups shattered into pieces, and a distinctive soot smell permeated around it. Raising this crime to an absolutely heinous nature was the fact that it was the only set in the Ar'nareth Estate in which they all had gathered, and all but two of those in attendance were known heavy drinkers of the Blended-Bean water… and without their daily dose this morning, were likely to turn violent.
“I did.” Kol’var offered, “I broke it. It was late and-”
Jazabu shook her head, “No no you did not… Slade?”
The blond Sin'dorei was taken aback. “Don't look at me! Look at Raven!”
Lyanna gawked at her comrade. “What? I didn't break it!”
“Huh, that's weird. How did you even know it was broken?”
She crossed her arms, “Because it is sitting right in front of us, and it's broken.”
Slade leaned close to her face, “Hmm, suspicious.”
“No, it’s not!” Lyanna shoved Slade away.
Slade got right back into her face, and the two Rangers had to be pulled away from each other before they came to blows. Danneth held Raven back with a firm hand gripping her upper arm, while Kol’var and Macko both were needed to pull Slade back.
“If-If it matters, probably not, but Lady Ar'nareth was the last one to use it.” Danneth’s urbane voice carried over the growing growling match between the two Rangers.
Macko froze, her head whipping around to face the undead priest,” LIAR! I don’t even drink that crap!”
He cocked his head to the side, “Oh really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier?”
“I was using the wooden stirs to push back my cuticles!” She raised her hand defiantly, shoving perfectly manicured nails into his face, “Everyone knows that, DENHOLM.”
Kol’var stretched himself wide to keep both his cousin and now his wife barely under control, “Okay, okay! Let us not fight. I broke it, let me pay for it Jaza-”
The druidess stomped her foot on the hard marble floor, “No. Who broke it?”
The room around them was silent, the thud reigning in the budding chaos around her. Everyone turned to look at the Zandalri troll woman, and then at each other. Wary eyes were plentiful. Nervous ticks came to the surface. Who broke the coffee set? Who was responsible for depriving the Ar'nareth household of their sweet, precious blended-bean water? The culprit had to be someone amongst them.
It was Lyanna, the first of Jazabu’s children, to break the silence. “Jaza…Pixi’s been really quiet.”
“REALLY?” Pixi’s shrill voice pierced ears, and the room fell into utter chaos. Distracted by the new accusation, Lyanna did not see Slade break free from his restraints and close the distance. An elbow-push into her back, and Ravenwing was once again embroiled in a sort-of friendly, standing wrestling match with Slade. Distracted by Slade, Kol’var lost the plot, leaving Macko free to spin on her little heels and face off against the taller, older, Danneth. In the chaos, Pixi must have said something biting for Kol’var to give up his efforts on the other Ar'nareth’s, and snap back at the goblin. Lyanna stepped in for her friend, and soon Slade, Kol’var, and Macko were in a shouting match, though the overlapping was so extreme no real sense could be made of it.
It was out of this catastrophe that the Jazabu slipped out into the morning sun. The shouting could be heard even through the heavy front door. She sighed. Three ravens approached from the air, perching on a tree above her. The one she recognized as Corvos, the first of Raven’s flock, gave her a look of avian confusion. Jaza only shrugged.
“I broke it. It burned ma hand so I punched it. I predict ten minutes from now dey’ll be at each other’s throats with war-paint on der faces and a bloodied Blood Knight’s helmet on a stick.” She looked back into the room, at the chaos unfolding. A satisfied smile shaped her lips, “Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.”
The three birds cawed in a broken chorus. It sounded like laughter.
Alternative Title: Lyanna the Secret Lesbian (or) How Did None Of Us Notice It Beforehand?
“Lyanna, I have a problem with a man.”
Lyanna paused, her emerald eyes narrowing in thought. She turned around from her position making drinks in her apartment to face Macko. Perched perfectly in the bar stool, she was idly tracing the rim of a glass with her finger. She did not make eye contact with her friend.
Lyanna set the glass she was cleaning down. “…like you can’t fit his dead body into a bag kind of problem, or… you like him kind of problem?”
Macko sat up. Was she joking? She was joking right? Looking into Lyanna’s eyes, she could see that she was in fact, not joking.
“The second one-“ She said hesitantly.
Lyanna rolled her eyes, and turned back to her cleaning, ”I can’t help you then.”
Alternative Title: The Old Coots Club Podcast
And now, it’s time for Old Coots Giving Out Bad Advice. The part of the show where the Old Coots™ come out and give bad advice. For today's radio broadcast, we join our Coots live from their market tent in the Zocalo. So without further ado, Old Coots Giving Out Bad Advice.
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| From left to right: Unknown, Kol'var, Danneth, Jazabu, Fate, Ilene. |
"All things can be handled through conversation." - Kol’var (the red headed one)
"Only hurts until the nerves die" - Fate (the goggled one)
“Go ahead; what could go wrong?” - Ilene Denholm (the bird-masked one)
"When learning ta fly, always weave a little, and all dey others will stay away from you." - Jazabu (the raptor one)
"If you see a worgen and don’t have time to run away, hug it. Wolves cannot scratch their stomachs." - Danneth Denholm (the metal jawed one)
“Don’t ever take a fence down until you know why it was put up.” - Unknown (the monk hatted one)
This has been Old Coots Giving Out Bad Advice. Tune in next time to hear the Old Coots™ give advice while singing...showtunes? Gallywix's Golden Goose who approved this?
Alternative Title: What People Say And What They Actually Mean By “Character Retirement”
In the living room of the supposedly abandoned Ravenwing Estate, which in all transparency was structured more like a townhouse located in the serene Falconwing Square off of the main throughways of Silvermoon than an actual noblewoman's estate, stood three confused sin'dorei. Closest to the open front door was Slade and Kol’var Ar'nareth, holding onto, or holding back at least nine elf children between the ages of four and twenty-four. In front of them, in full on pandaren styled kimono bathrobe, raven faced slippers, "I woke up like this" messy hair, dark circles, book in one hand and cup of hot coffee in the other was a very tired, also *very* confused Lyanna Ravenwing, the rightful owner of the Estate.
She was also supposed to have been dead and buried for the last two centuries now, so one will have to excuse the rudeness of the two men.
Slade recovered from his shock first, defensively pointing at the recently-un-deceased woman. “We thought you were dead!”
“No, I was just upstairs having a nap…" Lyanna pointed half-heartedly behind her to the spiral staircase that led to the rest of her home. Her eyebrows raised, she asked, "What the fuck is going on?”
The men looked to each other, but having no words, Kol'var was forced to take the bait, “You were very still, we poked you and-”
“I’m a very sound sleeper- S…sorry," Lyanna set down her book and coffee, and with hands on hips turned to her guests with increasingly flabbergasted rage. Her tonal pitch raised to such a degree that the younger children wriggled out of their fathers grasp to escape her wrath from the still wide open door. "You thought I was dead, and instead of calling for Jaz or getting my soul back from the Maw yourself, you pumped out nine kids with my bestfriend and brought them here to start singing FUCKING SHOWTUNES?!”
Silence. Then, Slade, muttered apologetically:
“The show must go on…and the kids needed piano lessons...”
“Oh this is bullshit! ” Lyanna grabbed the book and flung it at his head, a lifetime of Ranger skills landing the pages spine-edge first into his forehead, which crumbled the man down to the marble floor.
Alternative Title: Cloven Truther
"Jon, I have a very important question for you."
The couple known as the Chess' were sitting at their customary table at Goldman's Cafe in Boralus. A regular Sunday occasion when in the city, the two were once again enjoying their usual order of Suramar Tea, mocha, Bloodberry tart and Spiced Falcosaur Omelet. Jon had been halfway through a bite of fluffy egg when Alia, his beloved wife, stopped him with a gentle hand.
"Yes love, what do you ask of me?"
"Honestly, have you ever gone out and just… nibbled on the grass. You know, after the whole sheep thing?"
Jon put his fork down, and took his wife's hands into his own.
"Beloved, there are two possible answers: If you ask me again, and I have not tasted clover of my own accord, then I would say, 'No Beloved, I have not.' However, if I slipped out into the night and tasted clover without the requisite polymorphing, I would only respond with, 'No Beloved, I have not.' So, I will ask you first... Do you still want to know?"
Alia scrunched her nose, a sign of defeat. "No...You really are a rat bastard."
Jon smiled, and raised his tea in a toast, “Born and raised.”
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