((A precursor to Jak Balthasar and Yva Darrows leaving for the Icecrown battle.))

“I can’t find my fucking shoes, Jakob.”

“Yva, the lich king doesn’t give a horses’s arse what shoes you’re wearing. JUST PUT SOMETHING ON.”

She stormed past him – tried to shoulder past him, really, but that failed spectacularly considering how large he was – and began rifling through the closet. “These are special shoes. Enchanted ones. I am not going toe to toe with Putricide in my bloody socks.”

Jak’s cheek ticked. “You have five minutes.”

“DON’T YOU DARE TRY TO RUSH ME.”

The answer was the clang of his sabatons across the floor, and then the slam of the front door.

“Jakob? JAKOB BALTHASAR GET BACK HERE!”

No answer.

Flaadhun lifted his head at the sing-song tones of his mistress having a complete and utter hissy fit. He padded over, stretching and grunting as he leaned against her legs. She cast him a sideward glance and a scowl. “Don’t think I don’t know this is your fault, Dog. I don’t know if hiding my shoes is your way of saying you don’t want to go, but it’s not going to change a damned . . . that miserable sod left without me. He really did. He went after ARTHAS on his own, after all we’ve been through. That horrid, domineering son of a bitch.” Her hands went to her hips as she glared at the spot Jakob Balthasar had occupied a moment ago.

She was getting ready for another round of ranting when there was a thud by her feet. She looked down. The mysteriously missing shoes were suddenly there, and Flaadhun was sitting beside them, the scaly monolith of his tail thudding against the carpets.

“Yes, you want me to tell you you’re good for returning what you stole? I think not.” He whined as she stooped to pull the shoes on, bitching all the while. “And believe you me, Flaadhun, when I find Jak, he’s going to wish he’d never heard my name. No one simply walks out on me, especially not when the most important fight in . . . EVER presents itself. Cad. What an utter CAD.” She grabbed her satchel of runes and stomped through the living room, felhound snorting in tow behind her. She felt one of his tentacles winding around the hem of her robe and tugging, as if he could hold her back.

“Good gods what! I’m in a mood, if you haven’t noticed, and you can thank your father for that.”

“I am not that thing’s father. It’s a fucking demon. Can we GO now?” She jerked her head up to see Jakob staring at her through the glass window of the front door. She blinked, her irritation fluttering away, replaced by red faced embarrassment that she’d likely been cursing him to the nether and back and he’d heard every word.

Because he was standing just outside the door waiting for her the entire time.

“Oh, of course. I . . right. I think I’m ready to . . . ”

His cheek ticked again.

She flashed him her best makeshift smile. “Shall we then?”