Ilsa Corbin

“Hmm… Yes.”

The red-haired warrior trainer Ilsa Corbin sighed as her colleague and long-time boyfriend, Wu Shen, ran his finger over the very small patch of bare skin that showed between her leather chest piece andleather trousers. They were not allowed to take any of it off during work hours, which included, at the last count, all hours. So you take your pleasure where you find it.

“Get a bloody room,” shouted Ander Germaine, from his vantage point on a small raised area at the end of the room. “Or give me a bucket!”

Ilsa ran her fingers through Shen’s dark hair.

“He’s just jealous,” she murmured.

“Would you like me to tell you what I’ll do to you when we get off shift?”

“Would it start with taking off this… Oh damn! Customers.”

With the efficiency of long, long practice, Shen and Ilsa leapt apart.

“And that is why the pole-arm is much to be preferred over a single-handed mace if you are a fury-specced warrior,” said Shen.

“Ahh… That’s not what they say at Elitist Jerks,” replied Ilsa.

“Oh what do they know?”

Ilsa felt a tap on the shoulder. She turned to the Dwarf Warrior standing in front of her.

“How may I help you?”

Another tap.

“Yes?”

Another tap.

“Oh come on. It wasn’t very funny the first time.”

Another tap.

“I’m adding five gold to the price every time you do that, you know?”

Tap.

“Get lost.”

Tap tap tap.

“You know, do that twenty-five times and I’m allowed to smack you.”

Tap.

“Oh, you’d like that? Jerk.”

Tap.

“I hate this job.”

Ilsa rolled her eyes, sighed, and waited for the Dwarf to get fed up with his game. Oh. He had. Well?

Nothing happened for a while. The dwarf didn’t move, though his eyes seemed to focus and unfocus. Occasionally, he took a step back or forward. She closed her eyes for a moment, realising what was happening. She heaved a deep, deep sigh. Yes, lad, let me explain. These things are called breasts. Every woman gets them, as a reward for putting up with monthly periods and daily men. For about a half year after childbirth, we use them to provide food for our children. The rest of the time, we use them to reduce the male of the species to dribbling morons. With considerable ease, I might add. There’s not a long way to go. Now if you’re a good little boy, and grow a brain, then some girls may even let you play with them. Yes, I know. Growing a brain is hard. For you, growing an extra arm may be easier, but I’m afraid we girls do insist on an actual working brain. You do realise that’s my boyfriend standing behind you, don’t you? And he’s a level fifty.

Ilsa blinked.

No, thank you my good Dwarf. I do not wish to run my hands through your beard. I’d get stuck halfway down and there’s things crawling through it. Now can I actually teach you anything today, or is this just a, haha, social call? Oh good. Yes, yes. Thunder Clap rank three. Heroic strike. Yes. Anything else? No shield tricks? No Intimidating Shout? Nothing defensive at all? Oh good. Enjoy your repair bill. Now bugger off like a good boy. I hear they need warriors in Feralas, and there’s half naked Night-elf chicks there. If you’re lucky, the little tarts will even dance for you.

As the dwarf turned round and walked out the door, Ilsa wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue at his disappearing back.

“Oh very mature,” said Shen, with a grin.

“Want any tonight? Then shut up,” said Ilsa.

Shen cowered in fear. “I said nothing. It must have been a whisper on the wind. A figment of something or other. And yes, I would like, please.”

“Good. Ye gods, is it Friday already? That’s the third trogg I get tonight.”

“Hey, at least you’ve got admirers. Me, I just get the what’s available, gimme, sod off without even a thank-you. Nobody looking at my chest, manly and muscular though it is.”

Ander Germaine snorted. “And you don’t even need to shave it yet!”

“Sod you.”

“No thanks. Not my thing.”

“Hah. See this woman? Remember what we were doing a few minutes back?”

“Trying not to. It might put me off, and then… Customers!”

“Oh good,” said Ilsa. “Listening to two guys trying to out-macho each other is like…”

“Here he is.”

Ilsa looked out of the corner of her eye. What would it be? Dwarf? Human? Perhaps even… Draenei?

She blinked. What the hell… She scowled and went for her spear.

“Ah. You’re back. You alright, love?”

Ilsa Corbin took a deep breath. Everything seemed to be working again. Ye gods, she wasn’t getting paid enough for this crap.

“What the hell is a bloody Undead Rogue doing in SI:7?”

“Probably hiding from the guards,” said Shen.

“Maybe he’s on a mission to kill the Boy King,” added Ander Germaine.

Ilsa looked at him. “Varian’s back,” she said.

“Is he? Good for him. Maybe now we can get off our butts and do something about that Horde scum.”

Shen slowly looked round to him. “I didn’t see you rush in to help us, you bastard.”

Ander Germain smiled smugly. “He wasn’t in my aggro radius. You know the rules. My hands are tied. Did it hurt?”

“Hope they make an achievement to kill you,” said Shen.

“Daily quest,” said Ilsa. She stepped over to Wu Shen, and kissed him, pulling his lower lip between her teeth.

“Let’s see if we can make him throw up,” she said.

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