Furtive Father Winter
Anyone who has spent any time with me knows that I’m a very giving sort of guy. (Editor’s Note: That is not entirely accurate. He always asks for separate checks, and will stick someone else with the extra appetizer that he ordered.) On my blog I try to offer tips for classes and gold making. In my various guild(s) I often donate gold, mats, and crafted items. Even my Battle Pets are fed a constant diet of battles. (Editor’s Note: Okay maybe we stand corrected.) So you see, my awesomeness is surpassed only by my modesty. (Editor’s Note: And boom goes the dynamite.)
As part of the Blog Azeroth’s 2012 Furtive Father Winter event, I was anxious to see who I would be assigned to prepare a gift for. I was pretty stoked when the word came in – Cymre, of Bubbles of Mischief and The Cym Daily fame. Now here was a person who knew how to enjoy themselves in Azeroth – Raider, Transmogger, Pet Battler, and an overall Giver to the Masses. I rubbed my chin, scholar-like, and thought to myself that this was going to be a breeze.
Boy was I wrong.
Like every scholarly man does during the holiday season, I decided to wander blindly through the various stores and hoped the Right Gift would jump off the shelf and smack me square in the face.
After a good hour of pacing around the stores, the only thing that had smacked me in the face was disappointment. Also, saleswomen. Apparently Cymre’s awesome holiday gift wasn’t going to voluntarily surrender itself.
Fine. We’d do it the hard way then.
“Maybe she’d appreciate some transmog gear,” I thought to myself, but that idea trailed off in laughter before it even cleared my skull hole. I was the absolute last person who should be getting items for other people to wear. I mean, I have to write myself a note every day as a reminder to put on pants before I leave the cave. I can barely dress myself; there’s no way I should be offering fashion tips to other people.
Pacing and thinking, thinking and pacing. It was after I watched a squirrel run up a nearby tree that it hit me – LUNCH!
But also pets. YES! BATTLE PETS!
The feel-good moment dissolved when I realized I needed an expert’s help in this field. As much as it pained me, due to our love/hate relationship, I decided to swallow my pride and ask my mechanical battle pet Jeeves for assistance.
Since I couldn’t get any answers there, I went to the one place where you could find pretty much anything in Azeroth. That’s right, the Auction House! I just knew that, with a little searching and a little more luck, I’d be able to find a suitable pet in there somwh -
I plopped myself down on a bench, defeated. I was at a dead end. No, it couldn’t end like this. I tried to think, tried to put together a strategy, make some kind of list in my head of possible ideas for -
And that’s when the two Hoo-mans who had been chatting nearby decided to whip out their Battle Pets and started to, well, Battle.
I watched them and felt the anger build inside my chest. Every engagement mocked me. Every pet that won or lost, attacked or parried, every one was another stabbing knife to my stomach. I wanted to get Cymre a gift, a Battle Pet, something on her short list of pets that she didn’t have, and these two pale skinned sacks of soggy meat were throwing my failure back in my face with their hey what was that?
My rage stopped in mid-boil. Did… did that Hoo-man have a Landros’s Lil’ XT Battle Pet? As in the Landros’s Lil’ XT Battle Pet that Cymre didn’t have yet and would make an awesome gift?
Oookay, time to be smooth. Calm. Use that Death Knight charm. I waited until the battle was over before I approached. A respectable thing to do. “Excuse me good sir, I couldn’t help but notice that you have in your possession a Landros’s Lil’ XT Battle Pet.”
The Hoo-man started at me blankly. Typical rude Hoo-man behaviour. I was somehow able to let it pass. Must be the Holiday Spirit. “My good man, I would like to purchase that Battle Pet from you.”
The Hoo-man’s silly moustache twitched. He blinked twice. “I’ll give you ten gold for it,” I offered.
My bid was met with a shrug. “So, it’s to be extortion is it? Fine. One Hundred Gold!”
The Hoo-man gave me some kind of lop-sided smile and shook his head, as if he couldn’t understand what I was saying. But I knew. Oh I knew. Everyone understands the universal language of money-speak. Not only was he now insulting me, but he was keeping me from delivering Holiday Cheer.
That. Would. Not. Do.
I decided to change tactics and spoke to him in another international language – Hooman-Smashing.
Being the responsible gift-giver, I gave the Landros’s Lil’ XT a thorough cleaning before I sent it. Fun fact: you can get most stains out of a chassis with a high grain sandpaper and a little elbow grease.