I really don't understand Calindrava sometimes. He sold the tuxedo.
Sold it. Gloated about it, quite rudely I might add. And then... with the money he made from selling the tuxedo...
...he bought me all the patterns so that once I can sew well enough, I can make tuxedos. He can be such a brat one moment, and then so sweet!*
I've begun working in Tranquillien now, and my goodness the Blood Elves do need help down here. They're working terribly hard themselves to try to clear the Scourge out of their lands - I'm pleased to note that everyone here is well aware of what needs to be done. It's one thing to refuse to be depressed by circumstances, and another to willfully ignore the true state of affairs the way some Blood Elves further north do. I met one young girl, living alone, who simply refused to believe that anything truly bad could have happened, and then there was that lord presiding over his never-ending party... In any case, everyone here in the Ghostlands is doing their part and refusing to despair.
And oh, the Ghostlands! Oh my! The atmosphere! I get happy tingles up my spine whenever I look around at the clouded sky, the darkened scenery, the little scuttling spiders underfoot... it's beautiful! Once, in Stormwind - ah, back when I was alive, that is - I heard a gnome talking about "ideal environments" and "personal niches". I still don't understand everything she was talking about (what's "fung shway"?), but I think I've found my ideal environment!
* I'm still going to paddle his rear for selling the tuxedo. I don't care if he's a big scary warlock now, he's still my bratty little brother!
