#its like a single drop of water in the ocean of her innumerable observations | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

someonestolemyshoes · 3 years

Note

Yo, saw your post about levihan prompts:

How about Hange discovering Levi’s secret hobby (of your choice)

Feel free to do whatever you feel like

And I love your work! 💕 have a good day

Hello! So sorry for the delay in this one, but thank you so much for your patience 🙏 I got stuck for such a long time in the middle of this ksksks but it is finally done! I also played around a little bit with the whole...discovering a secret aspect, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway! And I hope you're ready for some sweet sweet childhood friends levihan~

Levi likes photography.

This, in itself, is no great secret. Hange can barely remember a time he wasn't following after her with a camera strapped around his neck, or packed into his bag—always within reach, should something striking catch his eye. A little neon plastic toy, at first; each click of the shutter cycled through preloaded images, expert shots of famous landscapes, places they could only dream of seeing. And then, a polaroid—still a toy, in essence, still plastic, still gaudy, but this one took real pictures in real time, and spit them out into their eager, shaking fingers within seconds.

Hange remembers them ruthlessly wafting the little laminate squares and watching with bated breath as black mottled into foggy grey, as the blurred silhouette of the park bench faded slowly into being. It was a fascinating thing, at the time. Magic at their fingertips. The picture turned out fuzzy and overexposed in places, where the sun had glared in over the corner of the park bench, but Levi had settled the little square on his little palms and looked at it like he held the whole world in his hands.

There were innumerable disposable cameras, too. Light little things with reels of film, never enough for Levi's insatiable desire to snap pictures of every single thing he saw. They spent half their childhood in the chemist, sitting in the hard plastic chairs, wriggling anxiously as they waited for the film to develop. Kuchel always handed them the envelope, fat with prints, with a small smile curling the corner of her mouth and a fond twinkle in her eye, and Levi always took it politely, while Hange gave a boisterous thanks, and the pair of them delved greedily into their spoils.

He was older, in his early teens, when he was gifted his first real camera. It was heavy, compared to all the others, a case made of metal with buttons and gadgets and a fancy screen on the back, to preview each picture he took. Levi was wholly enamoured with it. He spent hours adjusting it, figuring out what each button and knob did, how they affected each picture; took countless shots of the same rock in the park until he'd tested every combination of settings he could think of.

He had cycled through more cameras since then. Grown a small collection, each one a little different, a little more suited to particular shots. Hange understood the concept in theory, but the particulars were lost on her, and Levi never took the time to explain. Not that she minded—Levi's pictures were beautiful, breathtaking in the way he could capture even the most mundane details and make them something wondrous. Perhaps for the first and only time in her life, Hange had no desire for the magician to reveal his tricks.

He has an eye for things that Hange simply cannot see. She is observant—to a fault, at times, intensely analytical and endlessly curious. Everything is a question, an opportunity to research, to learn, but she doesn't see the way Levi does.

Wild daffodil. Narcissus pseudonarcissus. Hange sees a perennial flowering plant, native to Western Europe, classified by its pale yellow petals and elongated central trumpet. She sees phylogeny with a rich taxonomic history; subspecies originating all over the globe, some larger, some smaller, some more vibrant and some more muted. She sees anatomy, science.

Levi sees the way the evening sun rusts the buttery petals until they blush; sees the way dew drops hang like pearls from the tips of the leaves in the early morning, when the light is still smoky and thin. He sees a moment to be captured.

It should be impossible for a picture to hold so much detail. Hange can look at Levi's daffodil and feel the way the spring wind blows gently on her skin, the sun warm but the breeze a little biting, a remnant of the fading winter. She can smell the pollen heavy in the air, feel the tickle of short grass on her ankles, hear the trill of songbirds in the branches of distant trees.

His proclivity for photography grows with them. Hange's interests spear out in a thousand different directions, from physics and chemistry to botany, to engineering, to literature and mathematics, to history, languages and landscapes—life is a limitless source of information and Hange chases it every which way, insatiable.

And wherever she goes, Levi dutifully follows, with his camera in hand.

Until now.

Now, they are eighteen. The summer is lazily drawing to a close, and tomorrow, at 8:45am, Hange will be boarding a plane that will take her to the other side of the world to attend the university of her dreams.

And Levi will be staying here.

Despite Levi's perpetual scowling and indiscriminate grunting, their last evening together had overall been a pleasant one. Levi and Kuchel had worked hard on their meal, and it had been nice in a warm, filling kind of way, to spend her last night at home with the two of them.

Now, she and Levi are holed up in his bedroom, while Kuchel had insisted on doing the clean up herself. Hange's mind has been churning non-stop for weeks now, ramping up with each passing day, and tonight, her thoughts are unstoppable, and they spill from her with giddy, jittery excitement.

"The university is huge, but my course is pretty small—only like, 30 places. It'll be easy to get to know everybody."

"Nn."

"And did I tell you? There's a museum right on campus? They've got a huge collection, and I heard students can access it after the first semester."

"Hm."

"And there's a flower garden, too—they've got species from all over the world, Levi. They'll have plants I've never even heard of."

"You said."

"Oh! And—my accommodation isn't all that far from the coast. The water looks beautiful in all the pictures I've seen—look, see?"

"I know. You showed me already."

Hange looks up from her phone, where the screen is lit with a bright, sunny beach, tan sand and a stark blue ocean. Levi flicks his gaze over it and offers a noncommittal shrug of his shoulder. Hange frowns at him.

"You could at least pretend to be excited, you know."

Levi gives her a deadpan stare.

"It looks...warm."

Hange sits back with a thump, and kicks weakly at Levi's shin. She pouts over at him. "Better than nothing, I guess."

They sit at opposite ends of the window bench in Levi's bedroom, legs tangled haphazardly together in the space between them. The window was thrown open in some vain hope of tempting in a breeze, but the air is thick, and the soft wind that does blow is still stiflingly warm. It sways Levi's fringe against his brow, but does little to stave off the oppressive heat.

The sky outside is dark, but it is alive with stars. They cast bright sparks on an inky black canvas, and there is no moon in sight. Already, Levi has snapped pictures of it, twisted dials and pushed buttons and switched lenses until he was satisfied.

It is a beautiful sight. Infinite.

Hange lets one leg dangle out the open window. Levi gives her a sour look and wordlessly closes one hand around her other ankle. She has a long history of behaving carelessly—Levi has borne witness to one too many slips and stumbles to trust her entirely. It would be just like Hange, to miss her flight in favour of a trip to the emergency room.

His thumb strokes back and forth absently. There is a callus there, rough and catching, that scratches against her sensitive skin.

Her predominant feeling is one of excitement. Studying abroad had been a dream of hers for almost as long as Levi had owned a camera—to travel beyond the bounds of their small rural town, to see more, learn more, fuel the relentless hunger in her. But there is an undercurrent of something else, some squirming discomfort that refuses to settle. It intensifies with every sweep of Levi's thumb against her skin until it sits heavy in her gut.

She looks over at him. His gaze is trained out the window, a small frown furrowing the skin between his brows, but his eyes are glassy, with none of their usual sharp, unwavering focus. Whatever he is looking at, he is not really seeing it.

It would be a lie to say that his silence had not troubled her. He had been quiet throughout dinner, opting instead to listen to Hange and Kuchel's companionable chatter as he pushed his food around his plate, and he had barely said a word since they had cleared the table and retreated to his room. He had hardly even looked her way.

Irritation bubbles within her. Levi is always more subdued than she is, content to sit quietly while Hange babbles endlessly, about anything and everything. But he usually has something to say. His silence, today of all days, makes her angry. They have one night left like this—one more night to talk, face to face, before they will be separated for who knows how long, and Levi is offering her nothing.

"Levi," she says, before she can think. Something in her tone must startle him, for he blinks rapidly, as though pulled out of a daydream, and rolls his eyes to look in her direction. His gaze settles somewhere near her shoulder. She bristles. "Can you at least—"

"Levi?" Kuchel's voice is distant, floating up from the bottom of the stairs. Levi looks at the door instead. "Can you come give me a hand for a minute?"

Hange clamps her jaw shut. Levi casts her another sidelong glance, and ticks his tongue against the back of his teeth. He squeezes her ankle once, then pushes himself to his feet. "Don't fall, idiot. I won't be long."

Hange feels distinctly like a child on the verge of throwing a tantrum. It's immature, and perhaps it's unfair of her, but she had assumed that Levi's invitation for dinner might, at the very least, come with a little conversation.

She takes a deep, steadying breath. They never fight, not really—they bicker endlessly, poke each other's cheeks and pull each other's hair, childish rough housing that they never grew out of. But they don't fight and as grumpy as Hange feels about Levi's near silence, she doesn't want to start now. She runs a hand back through her hair and sweeps her eyes about the room, counting long, even breaths as she does.

Levi's room is immaculately neat and tidy. Everything has its place, on clean, dusted shelves, or stacked in straight, neat piles atop his desk. It is a level of organisation Hange has little energy for; she herself is a hurricane, picking up and dropping off detritus everywhere she goes.

But Levi's borderline obsessive cleanliness makes it easy to spot something that is out of place.

Hange's gaze falls on a drawer in the desk. The drawer itself is as immaculate as everything else, gleaming wood and a reflectively polished brass handle. What catches her eye is the corner of a glossy piece of paper, caught when the drawer had been closed.

Hange is a curious creature. Rarely can she hold herself back from exploring an unknown, and now is no different. She unfolds herself from the bench and stretches to stand, then crosses the room on light, tip-toed feet.

Levi is, by and large, a rather private person. He does not share much of himself openly, hides behind an impassive mask, guards what is dear to him close to his chest. Hange is an exception to this rule, whether Levi wanted her to be or not.

As such, she has no real issue prying the drawer open, and is unsurprised by the predictable contents within.

Photographs.

Of course it was photographs.

Her lips tug up in a fond smile and her eyes roll, but it is as she is reaching in to flatten out the rumpled picture that had been poking out of the drawer, that she notices what they are photographs of.

Her.

Hange picks out a stack and sits cross-legged in the desk chair. She flips through them, eyes growing wider with each new picture she uncovers. Every single one is of her. Some recent, some not so recent—some must be from the very first real camera, for she is still in her braces, all thin, gangly limbs and scruffy hair and taped up glasses.

There are pictures of her in the winter, mitten-clad hands wrapped around a paper cup of hot chocolate, blowing steam into the chill air. She can see in stark clarity, the red tip of her nose and the chill bitten over her cheeks; she can almost feel the cold, taste the cocoa on her tongue.

She finds a picture of her from an autumn years gone by. She remembers it as though it were yesterday—they had spent the whole afternoon raking fallen leaves in the courtyard behind Kuchel's cafe, scooping them into a terribly tempting mound beneath the shedding tree. Hange had been unable to resist. Levi had captured her moments after her dive into the pile, sitting up with her weight propped back on her hands, dry leaves clinging to her messy hair and sticking to the fibres of her cardigan. The sun was low, and it cast her in a golden glow, highlighting the vibrant red and orange of the fall foliage around her, drawing out the auburn undertone in her hair and the amber of her eyes. Her smile is almost blinding.

Another shows her in the spring, laying on her belly in the long grass beside a row of blooming daffodils. There is a book spread open before her and she is, as expected, engrossed in it; Levi has snapped the shutter as she was turning the page, the thin edge of the paper caught between the delicate tips of her fingers.

Hange has never considered herself to be particularly pretty. She is just...Hange, a little bit of wild, a little bit of manic, a lot of clumsy and dirty. Being attractive has never been of much concern.

But there is something in the way Levi has photographed her, time and time again, in the way the light catches her, the candid ease of each new picture, that looks....beautiful, in its own way. Somehow, he has made her mess into a masterpiece.

Levi likes taking pictures of things. Plants, rocks, rivers, landscapes and skylines—he likes capturing the mundanity of everyday life and turning it into something spectacular, but he has never done the same thing with people. As far as Hange was aware, Levi had taken very few pictures of anybody at all.

And yet, she holds this pile in her hands, and there are plenty more pictures littering the drawer before her.

There is a strange feeling brewing on her as she stares at them. She had been so excited about moving away to study, so eager to explore the world beyond their quiet countryside home, that the reality of leaving had never truly sunk in. She feels it now though, acutely; a hollow ache in her chest that grows with each picture she flicks through.

Levi has been her shadow for as long as she can remember. There are few memories that he is not a part of, few moments that she can recall in which Levi was not by her side—he has been a constant for her. Something certain and dependable.

And from tomorrow, he will no longer be there.

Hange had known this. She had known it from the moment she had accepted her offer, and she had known it as they looked through her options for accommodation together, as they explored the local area through pictures and videos and maps online. She had known it as they had prepared her visa, organised her finances. Booked her flights. Every step of the way she had understood, logically, rationally, that studying abroad meant leaving Levi behind.

But the weight of it is only hitting her now. The reality of it is like a slap in the face, a punch in the gut—it leaves her shaken and breathless in the worst way.

From tomorrow, Levi won't be with her at all.

Her grip tightens on the photographs hard enough to wrinkle the glossy paper.

She had done a pretty good job of not getting too emotional about the whole thing. For the most part, Hange had been overwhelmed by her own excitement—there had been no time for sadness between all the loose ends she’d had to tie up in order to make the move a possibility. Now though, all that is left is to head to the airport and board her plane. No more distractions.

Hange doesn’t realise she is crying until the bedroom door opens again, and Levi steps into the room, coming to a sudden halt halfway over the threshold.

Hange can't tell if Levi's look of shock is because of the open drawer and the pictures still clutched in her hands, or the tear tracks on her cheeks. He stops dead in the open doorway, fingers still curled around the handle, and for a moment he stares at her with eyes wider than Hange has ever seen them, but then his brow dips low and his lip curls, and his grip tightens around the door handle. Hange holds the pile of photographs close to her chest.

She is expecting anger. She doesn't suppose she could blame him if he lost his temper with her, then. She has a terrible habit of bulldozing into everything, after all, and perhaps this was the one thing Levi had longed to keep secret from her. Her snooping, on top of his already sullen mood—perhaps this is the final straw.

But instead, he turns his face away, staring resolutely into the corner of the room. Starlight spills through the open window. Even in the thin, muted light, Hange can see a vibrant flush colouring the skin high on Levi's cheeks.

Hange sniffles, and wipes clumsily at her cheeks.

"I didn't have you pegged as a closet pervert, Levi," she says, waving the handful of pictures at him. Her voice comes cracked, and weaker than she'd hoped. Levi's knuckles turn white.

It's a funny thing, seeing Levi embarrassed. His emotional expression is usually limited to small twitches, here and there—a slight furrow of his brow, a wrinkle of his nose, a soft twitch of his lip. Hange can count on one hand the number of times she has seen his feelings show so completely. It's almost painful to witness.

"I don't mind," she says. Levi doesn't look at her. Hange looks down at the pile again. "They're nice."

Levi finally releases his death grip on the handle and pushes the door closed. His eyes are still downcast and his cheek is still cherry red, but he hasn't run away and he hasn't snapped at her (yet). Hange takes these things as good signs.

"I didn't know you took pictures of people," Hange says.

"I don't."

"Are you saying I'm not people, Levi?"

Levi lets out a disgruntled sigh. He crosses the room, and plucks the pile of pictures from Hange's hands. His cheeks are still pink, and his brows are still furrowed, but he has composed himself some.

“No, you’re not,” he says. “You’re a creature. You’ve got snot all over your face.”

Hange laughs wetly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand and rubbing the mess on her pants. Levi gives her a look of pure disgust, parking his hip against the edge of the desk beside her and skimming through a few of the pictures. There’s a curious expression on his face, a softness in his eyes that Hange isn’t used to seeing.

“Stalker,” she says. Levi kicks at the desk chair without looking up. “If you wanted a photoshoot, you could have asked.”

Levi scowls. He straightens the edges of the pictures with care, and sets them carefully on the desk. “If I wanted to take pictures of you posing, I would have asked.”

“Wanted to capture me in all my natural glory, huh?” Hange braces her elbows on the desk and rests her chin in both hands, grinning cheekily up at Levi. It must look ridiculous, with her watery eyes and the red point of her nose, but Levi isn't even looking at her to notice.

Levi says nothing. His gaze lingers on the pictures for a little longer, and the colour in his cheeks deepens. Hange nudges him with her elbow, smiling. The pictures are...sweet, in a way. There's something flattering about it. She slumps back in the chair, her smile wavering where a fresh wave of melancholy tugs at the edges of her lips.

“I’ll miss you, you know.” Hange’s voice cracks humiliatingly as she speaks. Levi looks over at her. Hange curses the wobble of her bottom lip and wipes at her eyes beneath her glasses. She isn’t expecting much; Levi is terrible at expressing feelings at the best of times, and so it’s more than surprising when, after a moment of consideration, he nods at her.

“Same.”

Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. Hange presses her fingers into her eyes, trying to stem the flow, ease the sting there. She doesn’t want to spend their last evening together crying, but now that the tears have begun, Hange can’t seem to stop them. A lump builds in her throat, aching beneath her tongue and she can feel her chin wobbling, lips pulling down at the corners. She sniffles pitifully, draws a shuddering breath.

“Oi…” Levi says, though he doesn’t sound angry, or even uncomfortable like she had expected. His tone is gentle. It rips a sob from her.

Hange feels him move closer. He jostles the front of the chair, and when she opens her eyes to look at him she finds him standing right in front of her, between chair and desk, looking at her with a furrowed brow. It’s different to his usual scowl—his brows are a little upturned in the middle, exposing some kinder emotion; something like worry, or concern.

Hange tilts forward until her forehead presses into his chest. Levi’s hand comes up quickly to the back of her head. His touch is familiar, comforting, and Hange cries a little harder when his fingers tunnel into her messy hair, cradling her against him.

She cries until she feels spent, sniffling and gulping empty air. Her fingers twist into the hem of Levi’s shirt as she composes herself, mumbling, “you’ll keep in touch, right? You won’t forget about me?”

Levi clicks his tongue at her. “Stupid,” he says. “As if you’d let me.”

“I’m serious.” She sits back and looks up at her. Her eyes are burning, raw and wet, and the skin of her cheeks stings from crying, but she looks at him with as much determination as ever and says, “call me. Every day.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not! Just once, every day. Even if it’s only five minutes.”

Levi flicks her between her brows. “You won’t have the time, dumbass.”

“I’ll make time.”

Levi scrutinizes her for a moment, then says, “I’ll text.”

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

Levi curls his lip and pulls at a lock of her fringe, muttering, “brat. Why don’t you call me?”

“I will,” Hange says plainly. Levi’s eyes widen a fraction. “I’ll call as much as I can. But you need to call me too, okay? I wanna hear from you a lot.”

There is a long pause, and then Levi turns his eyes away. The light in the room is pale and muted, but it is just enough to highlight the pale flush gathering anew on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. It’s almost cute.

“Fine. I’ll call. Happy?”

Hange grins at him. “Very. And I’ll send you photos of everything, all the time.”

Levi leans down towards her, pinching her nose between his thumb and forefinger and giving her head a little shake. “On your shitty phone camera?”

Hange nods. She bats his hand away and cranes herself up into his space, smiling something wicked. “You’ll hate it. They’ll be all blurry and I’ll have my thumb in the corner of every picture.”

“Pest.”

“Lots of selfies, too. So you won’t forget what I look like.” Hange blindly swipes up a picture from the desk, holding it up between them in front of her mouth and nose. Between Levi dipping down into her space and Hange stretching up into his, they are so close that Levi has to cross his eyes to get a look at it. “Not that I think it’ll be a problem.”

He rolls his gaze up to look at her over the top of the photograph. Up close, Hange can see just how bright the blue of his eyes is, how dark his lashes are; she can see the shadows they cast on his cheeks, the deepening flush bruising the skin red. Levi has always been a pale thing, but now, Hange can see the smattering of light freckles across his nose, barely visible in the low light. He looks pretty. Her heart stutters in her chest at the sight.

Hange has never fully understood Levi’s drive to photograph everything. To preserve any given moment, bottle up every minute detail. She sort of understands it, then—it’d be nice, she thinks absently, to save this particular view for forever. The thought makes her face grow warm.

“I won’t forget.” Levi’s voice is quiet, caught somewhere between embarrassment and uncertainty. He sways closer, rocks back, hesitates. And then he leans down and lets his forehead drop against hers. Hange can feel the press of his nose against her own, separated only by the picture between them.

Hange is used to being close to him. She’s a clingy person by nature, always grabbing him and hugging him, smooshing her cheek against his or shoving her face into his hair, but she is always the one to initiate such contact. Levi is tactile, in his own way—small, non-invasive touches, his fingers on her wrist or his palm at her back, always delicate, understated.

To have Levi enter so wholly into her space like this is new. It’s nice. Hange finds herself feeling very, very thankful for the paper between them, for the urge to lean forward and kiss him comes unbidden, so suddenly she isn’t sure she’d be able to resist the impulse if there hadn’t been a barrier in her way.

“Is it my dazzling good looks?” she says, acutely embarrassed by how breathless she sounds. Levi makes a small, noncommittal noise. His fingers find hers where she’s holding the picture, gripping it and pulling it until it slips out from between them. For the smallest moment, Hange feels the skin of Levi’s nose against hers, and the warm puff of breath on her lips, and then Levi straightens up, flipping the picture for her to see it.

“I’ve looked at your ugly mug every day for long enough. Don’t think I’d forget it so easily.”

It’s a truly unflattering photograph. Hange has her head tipped back, laughing boisterously at some thing or another, with her eyes pinched closed and chocolate sauce smeared over her lips, a drop of cream stuck to the end of her nose. Hange is sure she has looked better, but the thing is—despite her state, the picture still isn’t bad. Hange can hear the lilt of her own laughter and feel the tacky syrup, savour the sweetness of the cream on her tongue. There’s something so...animated about it, about the way the light dances over her skin and in her hair, and the way the background blurs around her, drawing her into sharp focus.

It’s nice, in a strange, unreserved kind of way.

But she’s still a mess. Hange snatches it and slams it down on the desk, glowering up at Levi.

“Why would you take that,” she whines, petulant. “You’re supposed to take pictures of nice things!”

“Because it’s very...you,” He says, neatly slotting the pictures back into the drawer, and moving back to sit on the window. Hange follows, drops herself onto the ledge opposite him with a pout.

“What, disgusting?”

Levi shrugs. “Messy. But...not bad.”

“I’m supposed to take that as a compliment, I guess? That’s almost sweet coming from you, Levi.”

Levi scowls over at her. She dangles one leg back out the open window, dropping the other heavily into Levi’s lap. He adjusts it until he is more comfortable, his hand wrapping again around her ankle, but does not let go once he has settled. He keeps a hold of her, his fingers tracing thoughtless patterns on her skin. The space between them is warm, comfortable. Hange leans her head back and breathes it in—the peace, the quiet, the simple pleasure of spending a tender evening with her favourite person in the whole world.

It’s nice. A small, frightened part of her doesn’t want it to ever end.

Hange has been set up in her student apartment for three weeks when the package arrives.

Moving had been harder than she had anticipated. She’d accounted for common issues—problems with her visa, her plane tickets, and had checked multiple transport options from the airport to her accommodation in case problems arose—but she hadn’t put all that much thought into what would happen once she settled at her apartment.

Unpacking had been boring. Her roommates were nice enough, the studious, bookworm-y type, but unlike Hange they weren’t overly sociable. They kept mostly to themselves in their rooms, perfectly content with brief conversations in the kitchen before retiring again, and with classes still two weeks away, Hange was finding the lack of social interaction difficult. She had explored some, but the city was vast in a cluttered, claustrophobic way. Hange had always enjoyed travelling, and had talked relentlessly of every adventure she could take herself on in a whole new country and all the new places she could explore, so much so that it was almost embarrassing, the way she had found herself so unwilling to stray too far from her accommodation without a companion by her side.

She’d felt a little homesick in the first couple of days, lonely and isolated. She missed the small comforts of the country, things she hadn’t even realised she had taken for granted. Quiet nights. Star studded skies. Long grass and trees and the fresh, earthy smell on the breeze. The city was unbearably loud at times, and even when the wail of sirens or the beep of car horns quieted, there was an unidentifiable hum beneath it all that never ceased even for a moment.

She felt Levi’s absence most acutely. Hange had known she would, but she hadn’t been prepared for how much it would hurt to be apart. She felt silly for it—it was ridiculous, to miss her friend more than she missed her own family, even. But Levi’s presence had been more constant than anything else, back home, and without him, she felt like a small part of herself was missing.

He called, as promised. Once a day, though oftentimes it was very late in the night for him, and he sounded tired. If Hange were less selfish, she might tell him to get some sleep instead—but she missed him. Hearing from him was the best part of her day.

It was about an hour before their designated call time when the post came. Hange answers the bell with a frown, which only deepens when the delivery driver hands her the package.

She takes it into her room, settling cross legged on the bed and inspecting the mystery item. It's a decent size, like a large shoe box, wrapped neatly in brown paper with her address lettered in tidy, familiar handwriting in one corner. Hange’s stomach lurches—she’d have recognised the writing anywhere, but her suspicions are confirmed by the return address. Levi’s.

She rips into the paper quickly, snatching up her keys to tear through the tape on the top of the box. It is stuffed full with packing paper, an envelope with her name on it sitting on the top. Hange picks it up and with trembling fingers, she opens it and unfolds the short note inside.

Hange,

Sorry things have been kind of shitty. This stuff might help or it might make things worse, but I figure you can just throw it out if it’s no good. Or give it away. Whatever. I don’t even know if all of this shit will make it through customs, so if you get an empty box it’s not my fault.

I don’t get how you eat half this junk, but I hope it makes you feel better, anyway.

Look after yourself. Eat real food.

Levi

Hange presses the note to her chest, grinning. Her heart aches, but having Levi go to this much trouble for her...it feels nice. Knowing he is still thinking of her. She’d never have admitted it out loud, but Hange had been concerned that perhaps Levi would forget about her after all, without her there to pester him all the time.

She pulls out some of the packing paper, and smiles widely at the rest of the contents.

Levi had put together what Hange can only call a care package. There are packs of her favourite snacks and sweets, things she’d complained she hadn’t been able to find in stores here; crisps, chocolate, hard candy, little mini boxes of sickeningly sugary cereal. There are tea bags with blends Levi knows she likes, each neatly labelled with instructions on what temperature to brew at and how long for. Levi had also packed some of the soaps Hange likes, the ones he uses but she refuses to buy for herself. The lavender scent drifts up out of the box and Hange’s heart squeezes tight in her chest. There’s a shirt in there, too—Hange recognises it at once, as one of Levi’s old, worn tees, thin grey cotton that feels impossibly soft in her hands. It’s far too big for either of them, and had always been the go-to item Levi would chuck at her when she decided she was staying over for the night and had nothing to wear to bed. Hange pulls it on quickly, savouring the soft feel and the smell of it.

In the bottom of the box, there is another envelope. This one is thicker than the first, and Hange knows what it contains before she even opens it.

Photographs. A small pile of them, depicting places she and Levi had frequented from when they were children right up until this last year—her favourite part of the forest, where the trees thin out and the river pools at the foot of a small waterfall. The great, open fields, sometimes full of long grass, sometimes clipped short and striped with windrows. Kuchel’s cafe, with umbrellas raised to block the sun on the tables outside, or else warm and low-lit and cosy in the cold winter. Hange settles back on her pillows as she flicks through each picture, a soft smile on her face. Looking at the images of home hurts, but it isn’t a terrible pain—she longs for these old times and these familiar places, but each recovered memory makes her happy.

In Levi’s pictures she can vividly recall moments in each and every location. He works some kind of magic with a camera, to trigger so many sensory memories—the scent of freshly cut grass, the feel of hay, dry and sharp, poking into her back through her clothing, and the gentle trickle of the river water, the splash of it as it runs over the falls, the feel of it cool on her skin. The tangy zest of fresh-pressed orange juice in the cafe, peach fuzz on her lips and the soft flesh of ripe fruit bursting between her teeth, sticky nectar coating her fingers.

Hange looks at each picture in turn, until she reaches the bottom of the pile, and there she stops abruptly, eyes widening at the last photograph Levi has packed for her.

It is one of Hange, taken in the window of Levi’s bedroom. She was looking out at the night sky, her elbow braced on her bent knee, chin in her palm, a small smile lifting the corner of her mouth. The starlight haloed her, shining from her hair and illuminating the jut of her chin, the curve of her nose and the slope of her brow. Behind her, Levi had captured the bright glow of the stars like jewels on a deep velvet canvas. She looked peaceful. Happy. For lack of a better word, beautiful.

Hange grins widely. Her eyes sting and her throat aches, but the picture—the whole box, really—makes her happier than she's felt in weeks. She brews her favourite cup of tea from the blends Levi had sent her and settles into the corner of her bed, lifting her phone to snap a quick selfie. She sends it to Levi, complete with a caption: thank you for my presents 😊 all ready for your call!

Levi responds almost immediately, first with a simple you're welcome. And then, after a minute, you look good. Speak to you soon.

Hange sinks deeper into the cushions, cradling her tea close to her face, masking the pleased flush on her cheeks with the heat from the steam.

Hange keeps him longer than usual, today.

There is a simmering warmth in her stomach as she listens to Levi's voice over the line. It comes tinny through the speakers, low and rough in the late hour, and his dark, grainy image looks tired, lamp light casting him half in shadow. They talk of everything and nothing, same as always—Levi tells her about his day, about the cafe and Kuchel, and Hange pouts as she tells him how little progress she is making in befriending her new housemates. Levi never voices any concern for her aloud, but Hange can sense it in the dip of his brows as she talks. She gives him a genuine smile when she reassures him that classes will start soon, and she's confident she will settle better after that.

Levi seems reluctant to leave, but after a little over an hour of aimless, comfortable chatter, he is yawning and blinking heavily, the lower half of his face nuzzled into his pillow. In the end, Hange makes up some watery excuse about visiting the coast while the sun is still high, if only to let him get some sleep.

"Sure. Have fun."

"I will! Sleep well, Levi."

Levi hums. The view shifts, blurry and indistinct, the mic muffled by the rustle of sheets, and when everything settles he is laying on his side, fringe mussed and falling over his eyes. He covers another long yawn with his fist. "I will."

"You'll call tomorrow?"

Levi rolls his tired eyes, but the corner of his mouth pulls up in a fraction of a smile. "Sure."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Hange grins. Levi watches her for a long moment, eyes scanning over her face. Then he holds up a hand in a tired wave. "Night, Hange."

"Night."

Hange stares at the screen for too long when the call ends. That terribly selfish part of her would have loved to keep his company for the rest of the day. Maybe, with a little travel sized Levi in the palm of her hand, she'd have been brave enough to explore some more, enthused about all the new things to see with somebody to share them with.

Sighing, Hange drops her phone to the desk and stands from the bed, stretching. There are still things she can do—she has plenty of recommended reading to get through, a small mountain of books at her disposal, and she has mapped the route to her campus often enough that she isn't feeling too overwhelmed by the prospect of the journey.

As she heads for the door, Hange notices something on the floor beside the bed. A neat, rectangular piece of paper; one of the photographs Levi had sent her, laying face down on the ground.

She picks it up again and brings the paper close to her face. Levi had written something on the back of it in small, quick letters, less tidy than his usual practiced script, as though he’d scribbled it as an afterthought, or else that he wasn’t sure he really wanted her to read it.

There is a date, the same night she had found Levi’s secret photo stash, followed by Hange’s name, and the location of the shot. And beneath that Levi had scrawled a few words. Hange squints to read them, and then her eyes grow wide, blinking owlishly down at the note. Her heart swells almost painfully and something solid balloons within her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. Her lips tremble into a smile as she props the picture carefully on the bedside table.

The day is still young. Hange brews herself another cup of Levi’s tea and settles on the bed with one of her books, content to spend the next few hours reading—though she finds it strangely difficult to focus, with the words Levi had written on the back of the photograph swirling round and round in her head. Hange doubts they will leave her any time soon. They left her feeling more homesick than ever, but there is a soft, giddy kind of comfort in them all the same. It's a feeling that Hange will savour for as long as she possibly can.

It's weird here without you. Come home again soon x

#ask #levihan #my writing #snk #the way this has kicked my ass for hjkjhg MONTHS #I'm so sorry for the delay but thank you so much for the prompt!!! I was so excited to work on it #and I'm glad I finally got it finished :)#sorry it once again got incredibly out of hand length-wise #drabble my ass

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rimeshard · 5 years

Text

Back Catalog of Items

As a vendor, Riley tends to go through a ton of items at any one given market, shop stall, booth or festival. I’m keeping track of the items she sells in this post!

Some of them might return; some of them are too rare or meaningful. Who knows 💀

The most recent incarnation of the catalog can be found [ HERE ]. Note that the items there [ unless they have a ‘Restocked’ stamp! ] will not be listed here until they’ve been sold.

NOTE: I won’t be keeping track of who buys them; each marketplace will have its own post after its completion that announces that information.

[ Tarnished Scorn-Ring ]

A forlorn looking ring with a single blue-black gemstone of indeterminate worth set in its center. The band is thick, yet is able to stretch to fit on any finger that tries it on without yield or warping the metal, from Gnome to Tauren. Wearing this ring while unencumbered with the weight of emotional devotion to another fills its wearer with a sense of warmth and comfort, and they are able to easily remove it and re-gift it. A bearer that wears this ring while their heart is pledged to another will feel nothing but sorrow and boundless misery while their partner is close - eventually fostering a Pavlovian resentment towards them. What appears to be a simple strip of gold is in reality an indestructible, unknown alloy; taking a runic hammer to it, shooting it off or freezing the metal to make it brittle will not remove it from the bearer’s person; even removing the finger itself will cause the ring to simply materialize onto another one.

The only way to truly remove the ring for the burdened one is to terminate their feelings towards their loved one with full cognizance and determination. Only then will ring will then shatter off into brittle, blackened pieces. If the previous owner attempts to rekindle the relationship then unrestrained, the innumerably indestructible sharp shards of the ring’s remnants will stop at nothing to drive themselves into the loved one’s heart.

[ Kul Tiran Music Box ]

A carved wooden music box, pieced together from roughly-hewn, polished and lovingly lacquered driftwood, slightly larger than an average human male’s palm. When opened, it displays the obvious inner trappings of a music box anchored within; a contraption featuring rows of tiny keys that drag across a metallic rotary spindle dotted with raised pinpricks. The box does not appear to require any wind-up mechanism, and plays from where it last left off when closed. A slow, soothing melody, reminiscent of a joyous key of the Daughter of the Sea plays upon opening the lid to this music box, and a glistening arcane projection of two female figures embracing dance in the blank space of the vessel.

Opening this box to play on any shore of Kul Tiras will summon melancholy spirits of those that have drowned at sea, looking to be put to rest in finality from their untimely oceanic demise.

[ Scarlet Libram Bindings ]

Abandoned covers of what looks to have been a libram belonging to a paladin of the Scarlet Crusade. The pages have all been mercilessly torn from the spine in ragged clumps, leaving only shreds of parchment behind that stubbornly stayed glued to the baseboard. The libram’s covers are bedecked in untarnished gold, with large oval rubies bound by golden prongs in the four corners, and an embossed symbol of the kingdom of Lordaeron as a battle standard in the center. Behind it is the symbol of a flame, made to shine incandescent when the bindings are tilted and viewed at differing angles. All holy power seems to have been stripped from these bindings, leaving them as little more than decorative iconography. Perhaps a collector is interested in restoring or maintaining it.

No hidden effects here - these bindings can be used to repair a Crusader’s broken libram, or perhaps burnt in effigy by someone whom the Crusade has harmed.

[ Thorval’s Missing Blood Vial ]

A chipped vial covered in stickied fingerprints that persist no matter how forcefully one tries to wash them off. The vial is empty, but has a reddish tinge stained to its transparent glass, that likewise cannot be scoured. Adding even scant drops of any one creature’s fresh blood, several mana crystals, and then corking the vial and shaking it will cause the drops of blood inside to replicate at an abnormal rate. This blood is identical to the donor’s blood and can be used how one sees fit.

The longer one shakes the vial, the more blood is replicated. It is ill-advised to proceed once the glass container is filled, as doing so may force the coagulated blood to develop sentience, burst angrily from containment and wholly defend itself against further agitation.

[ Firehawk Fletching Pouch ]

A loose leather pouch of intensely colored, carefully formed and cut feathers, designed to aerodynamically help guide an arrow to its target. They have a color gradient ranging from a deep crimson to a vibrant white, and are perpetually warm to the touch. When correctly attached to an arrow shaft and fired from a skilled ranger’s bow, they appear to engulf the surrounding atmosphere in dazzling flames, leaving a trail of embers in their wake. Elongated and dagger-like, these sharpened feathers give off a vibe of unsettling anger and even betrayal.

A ranger that uses these feathers as fletching against a target that they hold considerable ire towards will find that shots explode on contact - dealing damage to only allies in a rain of red-hot embers.

[ Jar of L’ghorek Jelly ]

Riley and her former partner took place in an undersea battle with the might of the Alliance in order to protect Azeroth’s coasts from the risen demigod L’ghorek, manipulated by the Twilight’s Hammer into service to fulfill a sinister plot of destruction and mayhem. Riley herself was able to directly damage one of the creature’s many eyes, and recover a clay jar’s worth of inner eyeball jelly that had stuck to her armor. This jelly appears to retain an oily state when removed from water, making it perfect for machine lubricants, sloughing over healing wounds, moisturizing cracked skin and more.

Customers - especially those prone to whispers - are not recommended to attempt to use this jelly for personal lubrication, as it may still contain the taint of the Void, despite best attempts to have it purified.

[ Evercracked Geode ]

A small, plain rock, roughly the size of an elf’s closed fist. When broken open, the rock reveals itself to be a sparkling geode, rimmed with valuable crystals - the bulk of which are contained together into a large random gemstone, pre-polished and ready for sale, able to be safely chipped from the rock’s remnants. When left covered, the geode - no matter how small the pieces of which were crushed - will revert to its original form, so long as it remains undisturbed. Cracking it open again a full day later will reveal yet another precious stone; replicated and guaranteed to make the beholder wealthy through resale.

The buyer is cautioned to keep only the original pieces of the geode together and completely undisturbed during its reformation process. Attempts to manipulate the geode onto larger rocks to greedily facilitate the spread of the gems within will result in the rock instead taking a living form and attacking the owner without remorse or relent - once it is destroyed, the original geode replication rock cannot be recovered.

[ Vrykul Death Mask ]

Lesser Vrykul were not given the honorable death they so desired. Those made mortal by the curse of flesh who died in mundane ways - nothing inherently worthy, such as battle, or even through a worthy trade, like a smithing accident - were not given an interred burial in revered grounds like Shield Hill. Their shamed faces were covered with roughly carved wooden masks, and their bodies were cast out to be pecked apart by ravens, unclaimed by any who passed them. They were given no weaponry with which to defend themselves in Helheim. These rotten, fetid carvings, swollen by the elements and worn over time, took on echoes of the rage and sorrow their bearers feel while trapped within the inescapable realm of Helya’s domain.

Placing this mask on one’s face - covering their eyes, nose and mouth - will immediately cease all bodily functions within that person, effectively killing them. While their body bears this mask, their spirit is tethered to the body; able to move freely between material spaces or observe an opaque, blurred version of the Shadowlands. For all intents, the person wearing this mask is dead, and cannot be revived until someone else removes the mask.

[ Val’kyr Haunt Seeker ]

A finely sculpted lifelike statue, carved out of marble, in the shape of an ascending val’kyr; the very tips of her toes connecting with a flared base, her wings ablaze and pike raised aloft into the air in a gesture of triumph. The base is inscribed with a golden plaque bearing the name “ANNHYLDE” in faded vry’kul runes, smoothed over as if reverently stroked by passerby. This statue is imbued with the blessings of the Light most Radiant, and will seek out and destroy untethered wayward spirits when placed into an area in which one haunts. The val’kyr will briefly animate and reach out with its pike, pointing towards and firing a bolt of Light at the spirit to coalesce and ensnare it into itself. In this manner it will keep one’s home clean from rebellious souls.

If the Haunt Seeker is relied upon too heavily to maintain the spiritual cleansing of one’s hearth, it will gradually darken in both form and shade - the marble taking on an ashen appearance - until the figure ‘dies’ and is reborn as a vengeful Scourge val’kyr. It will animate fully, lifting off from the base, and release the dense cluster of souls it has collected over time in an orchestrated attack against its lackadaisical owners.

[ Tattered Heraldic Standard ]

A heraldic standard that, when untouched by any hand, bears a grayed and matted appearance, not giving any true clue to whom it belongs. It looks to be made of thick and rugged burlap, designed to withstand many battles and banner-waving, but has no iconography sewn into its bearing, or any hint of former house information. When a soldier under a council of repute touches the standard to shoulder it into a battle, the colors of their gallantly pledged order spread like watercolors onto the grey, dyeing down to the very fringes the soldier’s true colors of loyalty, along with the house sigil. In this way, a Sovereign, Duke, Lord or Baron may test their army’s patriotic dedication within their ranks; if one among them who bears this standard is treacherous, the banner will begin to warp as if touched by bleach to the turncoat’s true house colors.

If a soldier is truly loyal to none but themselves, the standard will remain tattered and grayed despite any goading or fevered attempts to impress those of a higher station with their sworn loyalties.

[ Thalassian Phoenix Earrings ]

A pair of ornately designed, filigree-encrusted truesilver earrings. They are dripping with flawless almond-shaped sapphires and Azerothian diamonds in a symmetrical pattern, visually evoking the plumed feathers of a rising phoenix, with the hoop viewed and formed as its beak gracefully clasping onto the wearer’s earlobe. The truesilver bird is at first shown with its feathers clasped to its breast, and while worn, slowly open to reveal what appears to be a triumphant approach into the dusk. While discernible as heavy and cumbersome to wear, they are unnervingly light to hold. They may have belonged to a Thalassian bride or even royalty, given their ornate design. Merely being in the earrings’ presence evocates an aura of morose loss.

One who is suffering from a yet-incurable illness can bear these earrings to have their body be put into a permanent stasis. Unlike other items that may go so far as to physically stall the bodily function of the bearer in question until such time as they are removed, these earrings merely put the sufferer into a stiff, dreamless sleep from which they cannot be awakened or interacted with, even through the Dream or in the Shadowlands. One is advised to remove the earrings before the truesilver phoenix fully appears to be taking flight, or the soul of the bound being will travel with it to parts unknown.

[ Bag of Underbelly Rats ]

A purple-dyed burlap sack bearing the Kirin Tor’s golden all-seeing eye sigil in its center. Opening the sack releases a single engorged rat from the Underbelly of the Dalaran Sewers. The rats are always slightly violet-tinged with phosphorescent white eyes, and bearing any conceivable mutation or temporary magical power from the multitudes of potions sent to the Sewers. The summoned rat is loyal only to the sack owner and will obey the orders given, but is instantly dispersed into a cloud of arcane dust if the sack is opened again to replace it with another at-random rat - in this manner, only one Underbelly rat can be summoned at any given time. There appears to be an infinite amount of rats summonable in this fashion. This sack functions as a one-way portal FROM Dalaran, and the bearer cannot use it to visit the Sewers themselves.

Attempting to summon more than one rat at once by vigorously shaking the bag upside down will instead summon a swarm of vicious and rabid rats that will turn on the sack-bearer.

[ Obrahiim’s Abandoned Scroll Case ]

An elongated, blackened and tattered scroll case, with a ripped, ragged strap affixed to its body designed for ease of shouldering it and its contents. The case itself is empty save for several undisturbed cobwebs; devoid of any parchment or quills. As a whole, this case looks to be engraved and branded with varying spider-like designs, evoking a Nerubian influence. Tarnished gold leaf flecks cover the breadth of the case, and it is speckled with cracked gemstones and sockets; it held obvious significance once, perhaps as a gift, but has been left to rot in abandonment.

The longer the case is held, the more fantastical the flood of architectural designs into one's mind becomes. However, an obsessive consultation of the case results in an increasingly arachnid and disturbing pattern given - influencing the case’s querent with nightmares of spindled legs and unceasing whispers.

[ King’s Amber Chunk ]

A roughly cut yellow gemstone, with innumerable facets man-made and otherwise inside and out on its face. Within the entirety of the crystal's length, and peppering the depths of its makeup, are tiny golden rivulets of various shimmering, refractory shades. King's Amber is formed from ancient trees located beyond the southernmost point of the Bleeding Hollow ruins in Terokkar Forest, and is incredibly difficult to gather by one's self - the broken trees, floating unstable islands and native wildlife is usually treacherous enough to deter the casual adventurer. While not very resonant, King’s Amber is mostly desired both for its natural luster in jewelry and study of fossilized remnants.

Cloudy King's Amber may be clarified in an oil-bath, as the oil fills the numerous pores that give the piece its turbidity. The resulting oil is then usually recommended by smiths in the know to quench finished blades being forged for nobility, as it gives the metal a sheen that normally requires hours of polishing. Cracking open the King’s Amber will release what appears to be hundreds of tiny fireflies that give the piece its luminosity; only skilled jewelers need apply to work with this material, unless they want to completely dull the intent of owning the piece.

[ Humble Veneration Candle ]

A candle traded to Riley at the Tournament of Ages in exchange for the bindings of a battered Scarlet libram. While humble in nature, with wax sourced from the Storm Peaks - nothing obtuse, such as foreign wax from Kul Tiras, or Pandaria - the candle is formed in a pillar with a thickened wick, allocating a long burn time. The candle itself gives off a pious appearance; humble, not dyed or painted white, and even rough in places from its handmade dipped formation. Riley was able to secure this candle, noting even in her state of undeath that it held great spiritual ties to the Light. The Forsaken - yes, Forsaken - paladin that had hand-formed this candle had done so in reverence and in use for quiet repose, not to be used in a pompous ceremony at a service for the passing of a collection plate, and thus it embodies the virtue of ‘the eye of the needle’.

[ Ruhkmar’s Scrutiny ]

What appears to be a natural gemstone the size of a Gnomish index finger, smooth and hexagon shaped, with a gradient scaling innard of piercing yellow to a depthless black from the surface to its core - giving off a sacred reminiscence of an unblinking, all-seeing iris. The gemstone itself contains no natural visible or invisible flaws within its structure; no air bubbles, no cleaved cavities, no clouding and no scuffs befouling its form. A jewelcrafter may be brought to stunned silence at the natural formation of this gem; the only ‘flaws’ being a scant remnant of stonework clinging to its underside, betraying its unethical removal and theft from an Arakkoan statue. This can be easily removed by one skilled at the craft. Perfectly formed, this gemstone collects, stores, refracts and then multiplies any sunlight or holy Light shot towards it; in this manner, it may be attached to a weapon as a foci for one versed in such practice.

The buyer is cautioned to not stare too deeply into the iris’ black center to trace back the beautiful hues comprising the gem - while they will not hear whispers attributed to the gods of old, they will however feel a white-hot burning in the back of their eyeballs that cannot be alleviated by any means, akin to gazing unblinking at the sun for a long period of time.

[ Azshara-Print Beach Towel ]

The last vestige of a very, very failed business venture on the part of a very, very entrepreneurial Goblin. His mindset being that beachgoers loved having their own unique towels with which to sun themselves on at the beach, many with customized prints - and why not an image of the most beautiful creature on Azeroth, the Queen of the Naga herself? A generously described “artist’s rendition” of the Queen was drawn up by a poorly compensated artist - always pay your artists! - who swelled her bosoms up to a size befitting the Goblin businessman’s aesthetic. The towels were printed and offered by beachside shack - another very poor business decision - and without delay a cadre of Naga Fathom-Lords had arrived, tridents in hand, to shred the Goblin, his shack, and the stock of badly-made merchandise. Hardly absorbent, threadbare and mass-produced with cheapened ink, this towel is the last of its kind due to the prior owner’s severed head being carried back into the tides with the Fathom-Lords on one of their trident prongs. None have tried to desecrate the Queen in such a manner since.

Waving this towel at a beachside will undoubtedly summon a small army’s worth of infuriated Naga, all of which are hellbent on recuperating the dignity of their beloved Queen. Otherwise, it’s a pretty awful rendition of Azshara’s person. Maybe it could be worth some coin to a fanatical Highborne? It doesn’t seem to have any curses or ill-intent otherwise.

[ Handcarved Reed Flute ]

A memento from a famous traveling singer and verdant-clad performance artist who made his living busking in the busy streets of the Seven Kingdoms. When particularly pleased with the accompaniment of a performing child to draw in the admiring eyes of a generous crowd, this artist would gift his impromptu partner with a piccolo carved from a simple hollow reed, to keep them amused when he would leave until such time that he would return. The minstrel made the grave mistake of visiting the cursed city of Stratholme on the day that the crown prince of Lordaeron made his choice to purge it of its festering rot. Struck down, the minstrel’s spirit wanders the streets of the ever-burning city, refusing to stop performing for the lost souls of the damned, in the hope of providing even the smallest respite.

This reed-carved flute has retained its shape and tensile strength over time, and is still a functional instrument. Even a feeble attempt to play it will almost always lull the player’s audience into a calm stupor, regardless of their feral nature, drunken rage or bloodlust. If played by a particularly skilled performer, it will add a concerto depth and a ghostly accompaniment to their song by an unseen, grateful partner.

[ Unending Pouch of Jerky ]

A leather piece that folds open into a bisected wallet. One can pull out countless pieces of a meaty jerky - the source of which is entirely unknown - that fills the stomach of the owner and whomever they wish to share it with. This is not your typical mana-based mage food; it is wholly filling, and does not appear to be constructed from arcane magics. The cohesion, flavor and chewiness of the jerky changes each time a piece is withdrawn, as if the meat source was not consistent; sometimes stringy, sometimes beef-flavored or chicken-flavored; sometimes exotic foods appear, such as venison, zhevra, basilisk, boar, chimera, Barrens kodo, Icecrown penguin, or even supple hawkstrider and toughened corehound meat; on rare occasions, the owner may withdraw a rotted, fetid piece of flesh from an abomination in Acherus.

The exceedingly greedy may find their muscles atrophying when using the wallet too much as a primary food source, suggesting that the constant divvying is depleting their own flesh for sustenance.

[ Slice of Petrified World Tree ]

The intense heat and pressure from the fires of Teldrassil crushed the boughs of the great Tree beneath its own crumbling weight. This compression forced a rushed petrification of the remaining wood; what wasn’t wholly consumed in the fire remained as an eerily beautiful organic sculpture of twisted, blackened lumber, and when the ash is dusted away, it reveals a piece with innumerably beautiful layers. It is hard to tell if this is directly from the Tree, or a Kaldorei building that nestled within Dolanaar or other Kaldorei settlements. This is a unique piece; several palm lengths tall and an inch thick.

The purchase of this item invites the spirit of a lost Kaldorei that perished in the fires of Teldrassil to haunt your home. They will soil your food, wilt your plant life and snuff your hearth - for obvious reasons.

[ Cartel Multitool ]

A beaten-down and worn looking wooden pocket knife with innumerable layered tools stashed within, bearing the mark of what one assumes is a foreign Goblin cartel. Only the attuned buyer - or one gifted it - may utilize this device, and fold it open to its full size; while human finger-length, it has obviously been enchanted by a prior crafter to expand outwards when necessary to retrieve the needed tool. When opened, this item can function as anything reasonably designated as a hand-powered tool. This includes, on record: an axe, a crowbar, a small hammer, a saw, a collapsing drill, a can opener, a hole punch, three varieties of screwdriver, a dagger, nail clippers, a leather punch, spring-bearing scissors, a metal file, a wood chisel, a pair of removable tiny pliers, a magnifying lens with two settings, a multipurpose hook, a stainless steel pin, a wire scraper, a cuticle pusher, a fish scaler, and a corkscrew. One gets the impression that nearly any man-powered tool can be pulled from the folded depths.

The buyer is recommended to replace the tool that is withdrawn from the multitool promptly when finished with it. Giving more than a passing glance over some of the more otherwise unremarkable tools within the set reveal them to be embossed with hardened bone and toughened sinew, not metal and leather; conclusions can be drawn that the tool has recouped its losses of items from the previous owners in trade for their carelessness.

[ Morose Stuffed Owlbeast Plush ]

The forlorn remains of a half-charred owlbeast plush, presumably recovered from a Darnassian settlement following the destruction of many Kaldorei homesteads. This owlbeast has foul-smelling burnt false hair, is missing a soft felt horn, and has a large rip in its midsection; half of its stuffing is spilling, and one of its button eyes is coming undone and needs to be resewn. It is able to manifest a morose ‘hoot’ when gently squeezed - just so, though, as to not encourage more stuffing to fall out. The owlbeast, when encountered by one who would foster it back to ‘health’ with lovingkindness and care, immediately imprints upon such a prospective owner, and fills them with an aura of comfort.

Keeping this stuffed animal around other dolls unattended will result in their wanton destruction - stuffing ripped out, eyes pulled off, outfits slashed - by the jealous spirit of the creature. If the owlbeast is completely repaired by its purchaser, the ensuing rampages will stop, but the comforting aura will persist and magnify.

[ Silver Hand Tabard Shreds ]

Shreds of what was once a tabard of the Silver Hand, braided together in a rope as to not be torn apart. The embroidered silver fist emblem of the Hand can be felt within its pleats, giving off an almost unnaturally warm glow when held by those that reverently follow the path of the Light. Those in the close presence of this braided relic are often brought to a deferential silence, in memory of the Order’s - and in particular - Highlord Tirion Fordring’s sacrifices; grasping it while ungloved will fill the beholder with visions and warmth of the Light’s will - superseding their own, in some ways, with its gentle guidance.

Reliance on this tabard for grace will inevitably lead to an unhealthy dependency on it - the beholder not being able to draw on their own connection to the Most Radiant. The more they try to seek validation and pleasure through the Light’s warmth, the more the tabard is reduced to a ratty, tattered cloth, the braid coming undone and the fabric fraying into meaningless threads.

[ Candescent Vase ]

An unoffending flower vase, hand-blown and translucent. It has tinges of seafoam greens and blues that swirl through its form, culminating in a pure white rolled rim, and is threaded with thin veins of pyrite throughout. The vase is reminiscent of an animated ocean’s rolling tide when viewed at varying angles. Placing greenery within this vase, along with pure water, will ensure that it never wilts; not a petal or pistil is out of place once its stalk is placed inside. Those partial to keeping the flowers everlasting within the vase may yet feel slightly anemic themselves for as long as the flora remains within.

While useful for continual harvest of rare herbs and flowers, one is cautioned to not keep more carnivorous plants such as the Gorgrond Flytrap in this vase, as it tends to draw more upon the owner’s life force to thrive.

[ Cracked Gold-Rimmed Monocle ]

A dandy plate-glass circular lens, rimmed in gold; it is missing its securing chain. While the glass was once pristine, it is now spiderwebbed and the metal bezel is bent and tarnished. Acquiring and affixing it in one's dominant eye orbit offers them a distinguished appearance, inviting confidence and camaraderie. Despite the glass's thickened cracks, once the monocle is worn, one is able to see through the lens with odd clarity - especially viewing the more affluent; the lens highlights coins and jewelry the viewer's target has on their person, regardless of where the wealth is shrouded.

Wearing this monocle for extended periods will cause the bearer to see nothing but hallucinogenic projections of untouchable coins and piles of jewels in seemingly innocuous locations.

[ Broken Jinyu Pearl Set ]

What appears to be a broken set of pearl jewelry; a necklace and set of earrings nestled within a crushed velvet jewelry box. One gets the sense that if the earrings were fully put together, they would construct something evocative of Jinyu aesthetic - a pile of unrepaired jewelry parts sits in the box, tangled up into itself. There are a set of opalescent blue pearls, threaded through knots of thin silver chains; unseemingly bent trident-like fork rounds out as a clutch for the pearl pair. The necklace in question has a set of tangled pearls equal if not larger in size than the earrings, and is interspersed with dripping, torn chains of cracked teal-tinted diamonds in pear cuts. A skilled artisan could repair these pieces and sell them for a decent enough price, given that their knowledge of Jinyu jewelcrafting suffices.

Once repaired, if a potential buyer has a strong rapport with the sea - Kul Tiran in blood, a shaman that specializes in healing waters, an elf that may have been a seafaring merchant, even a mage talented in frost magics - any sort of oceanic affinity may belong here - they may find themselves drawn to wearing the jewelry, and it will greatly amplify any connection to all forms of water and its manipulation. However, doing so will force any food or water that is near their lips to turn to a sickening pitch consistency while wearing the jewelry - their hands can grasp the food, and even others may attempt to feed them to circumvent this - but the nourishment will consistently turn to the viscosity of repulsive sludge once it nears them. Rapidly removing and re-adding the jewelry will not bypass this effect, as its curse is immediate, and lingers for several days after the jewelry’s removal.

[ Coronet of the Waning Crescent ]

A beautifully thin silver circlet, the face of which is set with a series of round-cut opaque moonstones and glimmering opals. When a buyer places this crown on their brow, they instantly become physically blind - unable to see anything on the mortal plane that has not been touched by pure moonlight. The landscape that has been illuminated by this light shows a shifting and blending history of past, present and future, specifically happening at the highlighted location. These isochronous cycles will happen in a loop until the coronet is removed and sight is returned to the owner.

Excessive use is not advised. Constant reliance on the past and future visions provided by this coronet may cause the bearer to begin seeing blended versions of history from varying failed and successful timelines interfering with their normal sight to where they cannot discern what is ‘real’, what is the Prime timeline, and what is tangible.

[ Isochronous Lantern ]

A tiny lantern with four unique stained glass sides on a rotatable bezel. Each panel of the crafted glass displays a different seasonal depiction of a lone tree atop a hill; in the spring, the tree is blooming with buds; in the summer, it is fully blossomed and shade-bearing; in the fall, a harmonious color of descending leaves piles around it, and in the winter, it is a dignified, barren trunk, covered in a layer of pure snow. The lantern, while the panels are sizable, only has enough space in its bottom hinged drawer for a tealight-sized candle; luckily, four of these are included for the buyer’s convenience. When lit and kept only within the confines of the drawer, while turning the panels towards its corresponding scene, the lantern will emit without end a warm light and a pleasing seasonal scent, until the owner blows it out or it is otherwise snuffed with malevolence.

The tealights are, in color, season and scent: • A green Spring, carrying the scent of the perpetual springtime of Eversong Woods; light and floral, with a hint of melancholy petrichor. • A yellow Summer, featuring the scent of Pandaria’s Heartland in the Valley; an earthy, summery dew with blooming flowers and ripe vegetables. • An orange Fall, giving off the scent of the forests of Lordaeron prior to the Scourge’s rampage. Heavy with oak, and the perfume of soil and crunching leaves underfoot. • A blue Winter, the dead stillness and iron-wrought, bloodied scent of Wintergrasp. A light and brisk scent of peppermint with an undertone of metal and copper.

Sometimes curios are just that - curious. There appears to be nothing malevolent behind this lantern��s existence; only the morose feeling of one waiting seasons for a loved soldier to return home.

[ Arakkoan Solar Orb ]

A perfectly sculpted, spherical orb made of an unbelievably thin glasslike material. There is not a single point on this human palm-sized orb that belies where the crafter finished their task to shape its form, giving the impression that it just appeared naturally; swirled with a brilliant bevy of gradient reds to whites, the orb is reminiscent of a pure sunrise, devoid of any obfuscating clouds. It functions much like a touch-lamp; tapping the orb in varying degrees and holding down one’s hand intensifies the heat and light given to a near-unbearable point. Tapping it again while on reverses the glow to an ‘off’ tinge. The orb is safe to use around flammable objects and small children, as its surface remains cool, despite the heat and light it gives.

The owner is cautioned not to drop, crack or break the orb, as doing so will flash the surrounding area - albeit briefly - with the heat, light and intensity of the sun, many magnitudes beyond what even the most capable fire mage is capable of handling in abjuration; scorching the expanse of the orb’s field of light like a solar flare to where not even ashes remain.

[ Steelspindle Spider Webbing ]

A spool of carefully threaded spider webbing, harvested from the Steelspindle spider. While the thread is thin, this particular breed is imposingly large - roughly the size of a yak calf, with a fully grown leg span comparable to the height of a healthy male Draenei. Their webbing is prized for being twice as strong as equivalent cables of Titansteel when properly processed, and is not used to stickily trap; strung only to trip up prey in a catacomb to bear down upon them with powerful jaws in group formations. Their tendency to engage in vicious in-fighting in the wild, combined with Horde and Alliance conflicts in the outer reaches of Terrokar Forest (their natural habitat) has dwindled the population to near-extinction. Luckily, Riley had contacts with a prior Outpost established in Draenor, beset by grown Steelspindles that had escaped a clutch brood.

There is nothing overtly dangerous about the usage of a Steelspindle spider thread spool, or its webbing. The obvious weaknesses to spider threading apply; tension, fire and frost, though it takes an inordinate amount of each to break the threading. Nonetheless, one is advised to check for any remaining egg casings; while the Steelspindle starts very small, it has a voracious appetite and can quickly take over a living space with impunity. The most important trait of the Steelspindle spider is its asexual egg sac reproduction - if even one gets loose, you’ll have a full infestation on your hands.

[ Oblationary Skull Candle ]

What appears to be a greasy, crooked set of candles made from an unknown tallow. They are joined together at their flattened ends and wrapped into a solid mass by a length of blackened twine, sealed with a wax stamp of a tusked skull. The candle itself is slippery and difficult to hold level. When one end is lit, the other flickers to life, and the thinned wick begins burning equally at an unnerving rate. This appears to be lifted from a shrine in particular dedicated to Bwonsamdi, and kindling it will not be taken without heed by the loa - who sees the action as both a challenge and a pair of potential offerings.

Alarmingly enough, in a catalog of dangerous things, this is easily the most dangerous. The one who lights the candle will wager their life with the act of prolonging the life of their target in kind, in cases of grievous injury that cannot be easily mended. Both ends, one representing the wounded and one the stabilizer, burn equally, until they reach the wax skull seal. Should the skull be melted in full before the injured is brought from the brink of death, both lives will be forfeit; the enkindler must stabilize their target, or lose both of their souls in the process. Snuffing the candle in any capacity once lit is not recommended, as deals reneged are looked upon poorly by the loa of Death.

[ Defiled Temple Hookah ]

A traditional water-based smoking pipe, operated by loading tobacco into a bowl, placing it atop a stem, warming the bowl with coals, and drawing the smoke through a downstem and into a cooling chamber of water - which is then siphoned into the user’s drawn breath by hose. This particular hookah is in immaculate condition for its age and appears to be sin’dorei inspired; the glass base is blown with wreathed, arcing flames and imparted real gold sparks atop its lip. The downstem is a brilliant gold and has four valves, and the accompanying clay bowl with which to fluff the tobacco into is a lacquered black. The hookah includes four hoses, to be shared with a large party; hookah is intended as a social activity, after all. The hookah and its accessories are packaged into a shellacked wooden box for easy transport.

Smoking any manner of tobacco or felweed with this hookah as a vessel will impart the inhaler with hallucinogenic, untrustworthy visions of the past in the location which the smoking session takes place. Not all visions are preferable to witness. One is advised to not remain under the effects of the smoked substance for too long; drawing through this hookah for elongated periods of time causes irreparable damage to the smoker’s lungs - not biological, but manifests as a buildup of gunked fel tar, the source of which can be traced back to the Black Temple itself.

[ Emerald Dream Flower Stamens ]

Sourced from trusted - and well compensated - druids that have access to the Emerald Dream, these collected stamens (the protruding male part of a flower that has the pollen on it, for the botanically uninclined) are housed in a small glass bottle with a corked stopper. Enchanted to not dry out, this pollen can be used to cross-breed with other Azerothian plants, resulting in bigger blooms, larger yields and awe-inspiring colors. This item is recommended only for the most skilled tenders. There are whispers that what lies within the darkest parts of the Dream, presumably purged by skilled adventurers and Cenarius himself, has yet lived on through these unblemished grains.

This item may facilitate a gardener or practiced Druid of the Grove to be able to replicate plants from within the Dream, or hybridization with other plants - advancing endless possibility for the most creative or adept. They are forewarned that scant grains of the pollen collected may be tainted by whatever had previously affected the Dream’s peaceful rest; some wounds, while healed over, are not so superficially burnished.

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