To put in a REQUEST for a comment (meaning that I will get to you in the order I receive the request) Email me at arabian_roxy@yahoo.com.
Sunday, October 19
Chemical Creations
I have my own MySpace comments shop, and I have a lot of stock already up. I take requests, I can draw the item in question or I can find it and alter it to your needs. I can do names, pictures of pets and close friends, whatever! Completely free of charge! Here's a few samples, all of which are my own hand-drawn art pieces. I will post a second post to include my school spirit comments!
To put in a REQUEST for a comment (meaning that I will get to you in the order I receive the request) Email me at arabian_roxy@yahoo.com.
To put in a REQUEST for a comment (meaning that I will get to you in the order I receive the request) Email me at arabian_roxy@yahoo.com.
Got School Spirit? On MySpace?
This school spirit comment was made for friends and fans of WJHS. Email me for the code, it's on file ready to go. Email at arabian_roxy@yahoo.com.
YES, I will do comments for other schools, elementary, junior/middle and high schools. I have all of the middle and high school logos on file, but elementary schools will have to put in a special request, as well as schools not in the Jordan District of Utah. My apologies for this inconvenience.
Just email me with the form at the bottom of this post filled out. I can also link them to other sites instead of my gallery, if preferred. The details area is for other specialty adjustments, such as size, background color (which is by default white, unless the font color requires black.), and anything else.
*A word on the text layering- I can layer multiple colors of text in the same font, but certain fonts don't layer very well, so if the font you request doesn't look good double layered, then it will be a default single layer. Some fonts will do double layers but NOT triple, these will remain double layered.
**Fonts- If needed, I can provide a list of available fonts, or request a font I don't have.
EXAMPLE:
Name of school- Riverdale High
Group/club- Marching band
School colors- Green, gold, and black
Motto- One to rule
*Single, double, or triple text layers- Double
**Font- Requiem
Mascot- Blackbear
Link to- http://www.google.com/
Details- 600 x 200 pixels, black background, Requiem font
Blank form:
Name of school-
Group/club-
School colors-
Single, double, or triple text layers-
Motto-
Mascot-
Link to-
Extra detail-
YES, I will do comments for other schools, elementary, junior/middle and high schools. I have all of the middle and high school logos on file, but elementary schools will have to put in a special request, as well as schools not in the Jordan District of Utah. My apologies for this inconvenience.
Just email me with the form at the bottom of this post filled out. I can also link them to other sites instead of my gallery, if preferred. The details area is for other specialty adjustments, such as size, background color (which is by default white, unless the font color requires black.), and anything else.
*A word on the text layering- I can layer multiple colors of text in the same font, but certain fonts don't layer very well, so if the font you request doesn't look good double layered, then it will be a default single layer. Some fonts will do double layers but NOT triple, these will remain double layered.
**Fonts- If needed, I can provide a list of available fonts, or request a font I don't have.
EXAMPLE:
Name of school- Riverdale High
Group/club- Marching band
School colors- Green, gold, and black
Motto- One to rule
*Single, double, or triple text layers- Double
**Font- Requiem
Mascot- Blackbear
Link to- http://www.google.com/
Details- 600 x 200 pixels, black background, Requiem font
Blank form:
Name of school-
Group/club-
School colors-
Single, double, or triple text layers-
Motto-
Mascot-
Link to-
Extra detail-
Monday, September 22
Utahns - The Wasatch Fault
If you live in Utah, than no doubt (unless you hide under a rock) you will have heard of the Wasatch fault. But just how much do you know? I found this on Yahoo, watch it and then think for a bit. My guess is that it will shift, however little, during my lifetime. (I'm 16 right now, and that should be about 20-40 years.)
Saturday, September 20
Two Shades of Midnight
This is a piece I did for my creative writing class.
><><><><><><
Two Shades of Midnight
Everything was a blur between the two expert warriors, as the silver lightening of scimitars orbiting their bodies collided in blazing fast parries. All the strikes screeched and wailed like one long note. Lilithia panted softly, the sweat cascading over the white fuzz of her eyebrows, over her cheeks, to her tongue, where she could taste the salts mixing with the metallic taste of blood. Blood from a broken nose than slurped and burned inside her nostrils with every breath.
Drizzt was agile wearing his magically enhanced bracers, but Lilithia could keep pace as he feigned left, right, right and left. Neither could work the other off of the offense, so timed-out was each single manuever. Drizzt felt her strength in the hand-numbing blows her scimitars made on his, at times nearly sending his weapons soaring away from his grasp.
Time seemed to creep by, despite the flurry of their weapons.
Lilithia sensed Drizzt’s distraction when she held her breath, the questioning look in his eyes and the slightest, tiniest drop of his weapons. He was growing weary, and now he was open. Faster than lightening, like a comet’s tail, both of scimitars connected with his solidly, locking them together before twisting them from his grip.
The blades clanged to the floor, leaving her holding nothing as she shoulder blocked him into the far wall. As nimble as an alley cat walking down the chain link fences, Lilithia leapt onto his back and set her feet over his shoulders to pin him.
“I promised.” She said, snickering. The sheer white of her teeth against her ebony skin made her a spooky, but intricately beautiful, wraith. At perhaps sixteen, quite young for a drow, Lilithia had bested all but her uncle Jarlaxle with his nasty magical tricks. She had the body of a seductress, but looks were so often decieving with her race, for though she was barely five feet tall, she was a forced to be reckoned with. As Drizzt knew well.
Blacker than freshly mined coal, more supple than rabbit fur, a drow warrior of either gender was a ferociously deadly enemy to be avoided at all costs. Unless, of course, you’re a drow.
“Oh okay. Just… don’t tell Catti. This is… embarrasing.” Drizzt managed to grunt, trying to push her off of his back, to which she responded by grinding her heel into the nook of his spine, behind his head. Drizzt silently thought to himself to remind her of where she was.
“Ow!” he groaned, collapsing back to the floor in an armor-covered, mushy heap of body. “I give.”
“Exactly, now let’s go get something to eat, and perhaps procure a bath for ourselves. You look like the black tar in the deep mines.” Lilithia said, leaping again off of him and crouching to untangle the metal jigsaw that was their scimitars. With a curse, and some luck, she pried her weapons away from his, nursing a new, deep gash in her palm. Drizzt seemed concerned of the crimson creeping from her nose, or what had been but was now crusted over her lip.
As she looked away, turning her shoulder to him, Drizzt could see that most of her simple blouse had been shredded off of her shoulders, everything but what was sheltered by her thin, mithral chainmail. Her naturally, and wildly, curly hair hung damp to her shoulders like lilies with too much sunlight, darkening the lavender highlights she had recently dyed into her snow white locks.
“You dyed your hair?” Drizzt asked, stepping up after gathering his own weapons and replacing them in their sheaths. His hand coasted through the air to curl his fingers into one bunch of hair and gently tug it. “It’s beautiful, Lilithia.”
“Yes, believe it or not, Regis helped!” she said, laughing and turning on him. He saw his own violet eyes reflect in hers, and the contrast of the hues. He could see what he thought might be stars in a purple midnight sky, but in truth, they were flecks of gold and silver that speckled her lilac pupils. Drizzt became lost, and he didn’t notice when his daughter, for that was why Lilithia had the same color eyes, stepped closer and hugged him, her head finding the crook of his neck.
“Better next time.” She whispered, listening as his heart beat. Still faster than her own. Together, in thoughtful silence, the father and daughter warrior couple walked out the wooden door of the private training room they had in the large house of the gracious Lady Alustriel.
><><><><><><
Two Shades of Midnight
Everything was a blur between the two expert warriors, as the silver lightening of scimitars orbiting their bodies collided in blazing fast parries. All the strikes screeched and wailed like one long note. Lilithia panted softly, the sweat cascading over the white fuzz of her eyebrows, over her cheeks, to her tongue, where she could taste the salts mixing with the metallic taste of blood. Blood from a broken nose than slurped and burned inside her nostrils with every breath.
Drizzt was agile wearing his magically enhanced bracers, but Lilithia could keep pace as he feigned left, right, right and left. Neither could work the other off of the offense, so timed-out was each single manuever. Drizzt felt her strength in the hand-numbing blows her scimitars made on his, at times nearly sending his weapons soaring away from his grasp.
Time seemed to creep by, despite the flurry of their weapons.
Lilithia sensed Drizzt’s distraction when she held her breath, the questioning look in his eyes and the slightest, tiniest drop of his weapons. He was growing weary, and now he was open. Faster than lightening, like a comet’s tail, both of scimitars connected with his solidly, locking them together before twisting them from his grip.
The blades clanged to the floor, leaving her holding nothing as she shoulder blocked him into the far wall. As nimble as an alley cat walking down the chain link fences, Lilithia leapt onto his back and set her feet over his shoulders to pin him.
“I promised.” She said, snickering. The sheer white of her teeth against her ebony skin made her a spooky, but intricately beautiful, wraith. At perhaps sixteen, quite young for a drow, Lilithia had bested all but her uncle Jarlaxle with his nasty magical tricks. She had the body of a seductress, but looks were so often decieving with her race, for though she was barely five feet tall, she was a forced to be reckoned with. As Drizzt knew well.
Blacker than freshly mined coal, more supple than rabbit fur, a drow warrior of either gender was a ferociously deadly enemy to be avoided at all costs. Unless, of course, you’re a drow.
“Oh okay. Just… don’t tell Catti. This is… embarrasing.” Drizzt managed to grunt, trying to push her off of his back, to which she responded by grinding her heel into the nook of his spine, behind his head. Drizzt silently thought to himself to remind her of where she was.
“Ow!” he groaned, collapsing back to the floor in an armor-covered, mushy heap of body. “I give.”
“Exactly, now let’s go get something to eat, and perhaps procure a bath for ourselves. You look like the black tar in the deep mines.” Lilithia said, leaping again off of him and crouching to untangle the metal jigsaw that was their scimitars. With a curse, and some luck, she pried her weapons away from his, nursing a new, deep gash in her palm. Drizzt seemed concerned of the crimson creeping from her nose, or what had been but was now crusted over her lip.
As she looked away, turning her shoulder to him, Drizzt could see that most of her simple blouse had been shredded off of her shoulders, everything but what was sheltered by her thin, mithral chainmail. Her naturally, and wildly, curly hair hung damp to her shoulders like lilies with too much sunlight, darkening the lavender highlights she had recently dyed into her snow white locks.
“You dyed your hair?” Drizzt asked, stepping up after gathering his own weapons and replacing them in their sheaths. His hand coasted through the air to curl his fingers into one bunch of hair and gently tug it. “It’s beautiful, Lilithia.”
“Yes, believe it or not, Regis helped!” she said, laughing and turning on him. He saw his own violet eyes reflect in hers, and the contrast of the hues. He could see what he thought might be stars in a purple midnight sky, but in truth, they were flecks of gold and silver that speckled her lilac pupils. Drizzt became lost, and he didn’t notice when his daughter, for that was why Lilithia had the same color eyes, stepped closer and hugged him, her head finding the crook of his neck.
“Better next time.” She whispered, listening as his heart beat. Still faster than her own. Together, in thoughtful silence, the father and daughter warrior couple walked out the wooden door of the private training room they had in the large house of the gracious Lady Alustriel.
Sunday, September 7
Out of the Shadows
This is another story I've been working on, since Halfbreed Rise and Broken Queen have been canceled, Blood Princess is on hold, and Ashes On the Water too. (I'll extend some, others will be left off. I'm not concentrating on long works yet.)
(<><><><><>)
Out of the Shadows
It was four in the morning on Jersey Avenue when Ivanelina Posnikov stepped out of the passenger seat of a lavish Cadillac, still straightening her skirt out from the wild night. She pulled the wad of cash out of her bra as she stepped under the flickering street lamp's orange aura, counting the the bills. Ten, thirty, eighty dollars was what her customer had paid for that one 'job'. Iva, as most of her clients called her, stuffed all of it in her purse, reaching to smooth her tousled chin-length hair.
At almost sixteen, she knew the touch of death. Her mother had been almost like her, some eighteen years, and three unwanted pregnancies, earlier. Gregor and Georginia, the twins, had died early, at only four months. Kelstromm had died at birth. But the last child born, Iva, had lived on to see her mother murdered on this very street corner. Fox, her only friend and guardian, had given her his poor man's wisdom and was her pimp for the past five years. She would turn sixteen soon.
As Iva started up the street, a second car pulled up, following her slowly as the window rolled down.
"Pretty late for a perty thang like you to be out... alone."
Iva kept walking, noticing a familiarly shaped shadow approaching from the corner of her eye.
"No, she is no alone. Go be lost, you pigfoockers." Fox growled in a thick Russian accent, wrapping an arm over her waist. The car sped off, the driver cursing loudly all the way to the end of the dark avenue.
"Is my czarina hurt?" Fox demanded, bending a little closer and kissing her temple. Iva shook her head, passing him the filled purse and limply letting him guide her to their shared apartment. Fox stopped her to look into her pretty, deep hazel eyes.
"What is it?" He asked, kissing at the deep puckering frown lines going across her forehead. Iva shook her head and then took a deep breath, muttering something. Fox pulled her chin up, kissing her and using his free hand to stroke her supple cheek.
"Fox... I... missed my period. Twice."
"Oh fuck, Iva... My rose, who will be the baby's fa... father?" he breathed more than asked.
"I don't know, none of the men used condoms when..."
"Well what do you want?"
Fox's question made her breath catch in her chest, as she considered the aftermath of her ensuing choice of words. Fox had always been like a boyfriend to her, but her 'occupation' had ruled out any kind of lasting relationship. If he had ever claimed her, her customers would kill her or it could have troubled her, knowing that she was willingly cheating, and he, allowing it. But she never cared to lay beside any man, aside from him.
She craved it, and though Fox was twenty three, he had taken her to bed many, many times in the span of five years. He had good reason to believe the child may be his, and so did Ivanelina.
"Fox, I have a feeling," she murmured, kissing his strokign thumb and reaching for his hand. "This baby, will be yours, I quit whoring, and we'll go to Plum Point."
Fox gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing and begging her attention, but she staid fixated solely upon his facial expressions. Slowly, he considered her words. Was he ready to be a father? He had always thought that his sweet czarina would never be only his, but now...
"It is better than never, Iva... marry me?"
Fox blinked as the shocking words left his mouth, even as his thoughts wound up and into each other.
"But what if I am wrong...?" she asked innocently, her strong Russian accent returning as she relaxed from the whole tension of the night 'jobs'. She gave a nervous glance around the dark, still street. "What if baby is... Vlad's?"
"Ivanelina, I love you, I don't care who the papa is, I want you in my life. For good." Fox said, stressing the accent of his English. Though both were Russians, born in the US or in Russia, living in America had no effect on their use of Russian out of public. Had Ivanelina paid much attention, she would have realized that he had began speaking in English again, when she had started speaking Russian.
"God offers me my wish of five years, I must not be impolite. I will get an honest job, and you can raise our little one... far away from here." Fox said, sweeping her up in his arms bridal style. Iva's giggles brought a smile to his lips and a spring to his steps as he walked into their apartment block carrying her. Her apathetic at best, cold shell sizzled away when she was in this safe haven, away from the thugs and the 'badges'. When she was only with her prince, where she could be the fifteen year old princes Fox loved, in the light of the day, away from the dark streets.
(<><><><><>)
Out of the Shadows
It was four in the morning on Jersey Avenue when Ivanelina Posnikov stepped out of the passenger seat of a lavish Cadillac, still straightening her skirt out from the wild night. She pulled the wad of cash out of her bra as she stepped under the flickering street lamp's orange aura, counting the the bills. Ten, thirty, eighty dollars was what her customer had paid for that one 'job'. Iva, as most of her clients called her, stuffed all of it in her purse, reaching to smooth her tousled chin-length hair.
At almost sixteen, she knew the touch of death. Her mother had been almost like her, some eighteen years, and three unwanted pregnancies, earlier. Gregor and Georginia, the twins, had died early, at only four months. Kelstromm had died at birth. But the last child born, Iva, had lived on to see her mother murdered on this very street corner. Fox, her only friend and guardian, had given her his poor man's wisdom and was her pimp for the past five years. She would turn sixteen soon.
As Iva started up the street, a second car pulled up, following her slowly as the window rolled down.
"Pretty late for a perty thang like you to be out... alone."
Iva kept walking, noticing a familiarly shaped shadow approaching from the corner of her eye.
"No, she is no alone. Go be lost, you pigfoockers." Fox growled in a thick Russian accent, wrapping an arm over her waist. The car sped off, the driver cursing loudly all the way to the end of the dark avenue.
"Is my czarina hurt?" Fox demanded, bending a little closer and kissing her temple. Iva shook her head, passing him the filled purse and limply letting him guide her to their shared apartment. Fox stopped her to look into her pretty, deep hazel eyes.
"What is it?" He asked, kissing at the deep puckering frown lines going across her forehead. Iva shook her head and then took a deep breath, muttering something. Fox pulled her chin up, kissing her and using his free hand to stroke her supple cheek.
"Fox... I... missed my period. Twice."
"Oh fuck, Iva... My rose, who will be the baby's fa... father?" he breathed more than asked.
"I don't know, none of the men used condoms when..."
"Well what do you want?"
Fox's question made her breath catch in her chest, as she considered the aftermath of her ensuing choice of words. Fox had always been like a boyfriend to her, but her 'occupation' had ruled out any kind of lasting relationship. If he had ever claimed her, her customers would kill her or it could have troubled her, knowing that she was willingly cheating, and he, allowing it. But she never cared to lay beside any man, aside from him.
She craved it, and though Fox was twenty three, he had taken her to bed many, many times in the span of five years. He had good reason to believe the child may be his, and so did Ivanelina.
"Fox, I have a feeling," she murmured, kissing his strokign thumb and reaching for his hand. "This baby, will be yours, I quit whoring, and we'll go to Plum Point."
Fox gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing and begging her attention, but she staid fixated solely upon his facial expressions. Slowly, he considered her words. Was he ready to be a father? He had always thought that his sweet czarina would never be only his, but now...
"It is better than never, Iva... marry me?"
Fox blinked as the shocking words left his mouth, even as his thoughts wound up and into each other.
"But what if I am wrong...?" she asked innocently, her strong Russian accent returning as she relaxed from the whole tension of the night 'jobs'. She gave a nervous glance around the dark, still street. "What if baby is... Vlad's?"
"Ivanelina, I love you, I don't care who the papa is, I want you in my life. For good." Fox said, stressing the accent of his English. Though both were Russians, born in the US or in Russia, living in America had no effect on their use of Russian out of public. Had Ivanelina paid much attention, she would have realized that he had began speaking in English again, when she had started speaking Russian.
"God offers me my wish of five years, I must not be impolite. I will get an honest job, and you can raise our little one... far away from here." Fox said, sweeping her up in his arms bridal style. Iva's giggles brought a smile to his lips and a spring to his steps as he walked into their apartment block carrying her. Her apathetic at best, cold shell sizzled away when she was in this safe haven, away from the thugs and the 'badges'. When she was only with her prince, where she could be the fifteen year old princes Fox loved, in the light of the day, away from the dark streets.
Thursday, September 4
Naming Your Characters
I've been interested following some stuff here. and I thought I'd put this out for anyone needing help with naming characters.
For multi-lingual inspiration, you can visit Yahoo! Babel Fish
Searching for something, usually one word, can get you started. (I.E.- hunter for a wide variety of words. (Hunter, blood, stalker, carnivore, villain...)
Swahili Translations are helpful too, for more natural or tribal sounding names.
I prefer exotic names, usually ones that stick in your head very easily. I like to use the letters M, Y, U, N, K E, R V, and Z or X in names, such as Khamunette, Manyx, and Zakyr. Latin can also offer base words but efficient and accurate translators are few and far between for it.
For more Forgotten Realms-ish names, I usually take two words to describe and bond them. (Stone, strength = Amsul Shinstones. A dwarven cleric?)
The names above and below are open for use until further notice, as an offer. None of them are claimed by my copy righted characters. Note, they are NOT in any order except that which they were composed in and I will try to update/add more when I get them. (Remember, these are generics. I can't be accounted for the meaning or whatnot. They're not race specific either.)
Akanhsa Kellan Kual Umna Hargyth Haramet Kammisut Paramier Ulan Khenner Tannar
Raegammon Senaed Sorrophena Alkern Haeyn Zaenner
Specific names: (SW. for Swahili meaning, IT. for Italian, SP. for Spanish, FR. for French, G for German.)
Uzuri *Zuri*- (SW.) 'Beauty'.
Makosa, Atakosa- (SW.) 'Sin'.
Umia, Umiza, Uchungu- (SW.) 'Pain'.
Haine- (FR.) 'Hatred'.
Odio- (IT.)'Hatred'.
For multi-lingual inspiration, you can visit Yahoo! Babel Fish
Searching for something, usually one word, can get you started. (I.E.- hunter for a wide variety of words. (Hunter, blood, stalker, carnivore, villain...)
Swahili Translations are helpful too, for more natural or tribal sounding names.
I prefer exotic names, usually ones that stick in your head very easily. I like to use the letters M, Y, U, N, K E, R V, and Z or X in names, such as Khamunette, Manyx, and Zakyr. Latin can also offer base words but efficient and accurate translators are few and far between for it.
For more Forgotten Realms-ish names, I usually take two words to describe and bond them. (Stone, strength = Amsul Shinstones. A dwarven cleric?)
The names above and below are open for use until further notice, as an offer. None of them are claimed by my copy righted characters. Note, they are NOT in any order except that which they were composed in and I will try to update/add more when I get them. (Remember, these are generics. I can't be accounted for the meaning or whatnot. They're not race specific either.)
Akanhsa Kellan Kual Umna Hargyth Haramet Kammisut Paramier Ulan Khenner Tannar
Raegammon Senaed Sorrophena Alkern Haeyn Zaenner
Specific names: (SW. for Swahili meaning, IT. for Italian, SP. for Spanish, FR. for French, G for German.)
Uzuri *Zuri*- (SW.) 'Beauty'.
Makosa, Atakosa- (SW.) 'Sin'.
Umia, Umiza, Uchungu- (SW.) 'Pain'.
Haine- (FR.) 'Hatred'.
Odio- (IT.)'Hatred'.
Sunday, August 17
Fear of Changes
This is something I found out among the many, many articles on the web. Sadly, I couldn't find the name of the author, but I'm sure that they won't mind.
"Sometimes a person is their own worst enemy.
The girl who fears change because she thinks she knows when she does, her 'friends' will all desert her. The person who has he heart of a lion, hides in the guise of a rat, to keep the spotlight of stares off their own back.
People who don't aspire to anything, or so they say, do jus that; They aspire to hide from those parts of themselves and those around them they think they cannot possibly embrace.
I have walked both paths, feeling at times only hatred and laziness, knowing without a doubt that love was a myth and kind deeds a weakness. Until those days a certain person touches me or a certain thing happens and then I see only where my heart lies, among the fields and meadows, next to my friends, next to my only lover's heart.
I find myself, everywhere, not inside, not outside, but in both places and in everyone I meet.
People may act as if some kinds of normal aren't normal. Not to them I believe, but to the person who believes that they are very normal. Normal isn't being a carbon copy, and those people who say 'be different!' would very much do well to listen to themselves!
Paris Hilton, Miley Cyrus and Oprah can, bluntly, fuck off. Not everyone has a million dollars to endorse their claims. Nor the freedom to put it on TV. Sometimes people need to turn the TV off, go outside and look up into a dark sky. The sky is never the same, so how can we be the same? People vary and change like the seasons, and what may be normal to a skinny person isn't the same to someone who is fluffed.
Certain people need to realize that sometimes the best changes are not a conscious choice at all. Most of the time, the best changes are those laid before us, the obstacles we face everyday morph us into who we should be.
And fearing change sets us into motion to change faster, and before you know it... you're either the lowliest scum, or you're the happiest person. My happiness isn't in money, I have often gone without it for months, surviving off of pittances from family and friends. But surrounding myself with loyal friends willing to do such for me when I run out of road... that they pave it for me... it makes me feel that I have the life I desire. And the one I love, when I hit a bump in the great road ahead of myself, he will always be there, no matter how far away or how much we think we hate each other at the moment.
Changes are not what we see. They are what we know to be true. Change is inevitable at best, impossible some times, and painful, always, even good changes. But that doesn't mean they're bad.
You can go through hell, but what does it matter if the experience you recount is happy, or a foreboding story to be retold? Even if you end up a lowly gangster, you have homies, and even then, when you're hated most by the 'normal people', you know you've been through it all and you can laugh in their face when they hide from such experiences.
Walk both paths, for the world is not divided among 'light' and 'dark'. Good and evil belong only in fairytales and myths, blind faith and blind wandering belong in the hearts of those unfaithful to themselves. Being a person, being yourself, and knowing the world around you, no matter if they accept you or not, is going to be the best of what you make of it is, after all, what everyone should have as their goal. There will always be peaces where war ensues, blood and tears of joy, sweat and a cool breeze. But come what may, it is your choice to change the light bulb when it flickers on that page of your life - That the light may reveal to you things are not so gloomy after all... It only takes one hand and fives fingers to change it, but it takes a mind and a heart to see the truth! And if you would rather leave that bulb to flicker, kudos - Those willing to brave the darkness are rewarded for their trials in the glorious rays of moonlight after the clouds pass.
May no two paths be the same, and well wishes to those who wish it upon themselves. Sometimes losing your way is actually finding another, often one you thought you would or could never traverse. Have faith in yourself and your friends."
Unknown Author.
"Sometimes a person is their own worst enemy.
The girl who fears change because she thinks she knows when she does, her 'friends' will all desert her. The person who has he heart of a lion, hides in the guise of a rat, to keep the spotlight of stares off their own back.
People who don't aspire to anything, or so they say, do jus that; They aspire to hide from those parts of themselves and those around them they think they cannot possibly embrace.
I have walked both paths, feeling at times only hatred and laziness, knowing without a doubt that love was a myth and kind deeds a weakness. Until those days a certain person touches me or a certain thing happens and then I see only where my heart lies, among the fields and meadows, next to my friends, next to my only lover's heart.
I find myself, everywhere, not inside, not outside, but in both places and in everyone I meet.
People may act as if some kinds of normal aren't normal. Not to them I believe, but to the person who believes that they are very normal. Normal isn't being a carbon copy, and those people who say 'be different!' would very much do well to listen to themselves!
Paris Hilton, Miley Cyrus and Oprah can, bluntly, fuck off. Not everyone has a million dollars to endorse their claims. Nor the freedom to put it on TV. Sometimes people need to turn the TV off, go outside and look up into a dark sky. The sky is never the same, so how can we be the same? People vary and change like the seasons, and what may be normal to a skinny person isn't the same to someone who is fluffed.
Certain people need to realize that sometimes the best changes are not a conscious choice at all. Most of the time, the best changes are those laid before us, the obstacles we face everyday morph us into who we should be.
And fearing change sets us into motion to change faster, and before you know it... you're either the lowliest scum, or you're the happiest person. My happiness isn't in money, I have often gone without it for months, surviving off of pittances from family and friends. But surrounding myself with loyal friends willing to do such for me when I run out of road... that they pave it for me... it makes me feel that I have the life I desire. And the one I love, when I hit a bump in the great road ahead of myself, he will always be there, no matter how far away or how much we think we hate each other at the moment.
Changes are not what we see. They are what we know to be true. Change is inevitable at best, impossible some times, and painful, always, even good changes. But that doesn't mean they're bad.
You can go through hell, but what does it matter if the experience you recount is happy, or a foreboding story to be retold? Even if you end up a lowly gangster, you have homies, and even then, when you're hated most by the 'normal people', you know you've been through it all and you can laugh in their face when they hide from such experiences.
Walk both paths, for the world is not divided among 'light' and 'dark'. Good and evil belong only in fairytales and myths, blind faith and blind wandering belong in the hearts of those unfaithful to themselves. Being a person, being yourself, and knowing the world around you, no matter if they accept you or not, is going to be the best of what you make of it is, after all, what everyone should have as their goal. There will always be peaces where war ensues, blood and tears of joy, sweat and a cool breeze. But come what may, it is your choice to change the light bulb when it flickers on that page of your life - That the light may reveal to you things are not so gloomy after all... It only takes one hand and fives fingers to change it, but it takes a mind and a heart to see the truth! And if you would rather leave that bulb to flicker, kudos - Those willing to brave the darkness are rewarded for their trials in the glorious rays of moonlight after the clouds pass.
May no two paths be the same, and well wishes to those who wish it upon themselves. Sometimes losing your way is actually finding another, often one you thought you would or could never traverse. Have faith in yourself and your friends."
Unknown Author.
Friday, August 8
Like Death Itself
Michelle makes her first move, but she's far from done. Joshua's lost his way, and for once his starry-eyed lover is guiding him... from beyond the coporeal realm!
Like Death Itself
Michelle stood bye silently, watching as Pero picked the homely slut up and took her away to god knows where. She knew where. She followed his overwhelming scent across the city, finding him and the same woman, both of them now half nude, in a private room, a very posh one at that, about to make love. And thuse she decided the girl’s life was a little pittance for Pero’s warning.
She battered the girl, and Pero noticed her hesitancy as she slipped out of the booty shorts. She chomped the soul up without a single explanation, smiling and slipping fully into the body. Used indeed, she could feel the whole inner workings of this woman from her pains in the kidneys to the headache waiting to the start. But pain meant little to nothing for a succubus.
Pero slid up beside her in the large satin and velvet draped floor, twining an arm around her legs and bidding her to lay down now, for it was so luxuriously soft down there. Something was also a lot more exotic, exuberant and alluring to him about Shezzebel tonight. Her dirty blond hair was suddenly a bit more soft and longer, shimmering in the candle glow, as was her skin, finally taking on a healthy glow. He liked his women pale, and though she was the color of the moon’s heavenly face, she seemed to glow like it was a deathly tan.
And it was. Her flesh was already hot and inviting, her touches more than exciting him tonight. As she moved to straddle him, guiding him onto his back, he didn’t protest, her kisses dulling his senses as she assumed the body she had been born with. Pero would, no doubt, recognize her. Black hair and piercing blue eyes stared back at him as he sobered, and a stronger than was natural hand clamped over his throat.
“A man watched by Countess of Black would do well to watch his back,” she growled in a vicious, demonic tongue. Pero bit back a threat as she dug hideous white cat’s claws into his throat, his vision shifting into the black realm where her etheral form shown. Her skin was outlined by a steaming hue of blue and green, the deeps of her slitted pupils the deepest black as was her skin, around it the bloodiest hues fo mauve and red.
She grinned, revealing row after row of sharp teeth and a long, rasping forked tongue. “You touch Joshua, you consider yourself a dead man, Perotino Valliano.”
Joshua awoke huffing and puffing in the dark room. Gagged so that he might not scream, bound and blindfolded, stuffed into a box to keep him standing. Torture wasn’t one of Pero’s better skills, but Pero’s ‘pet’ Jenzen would break his fingers one by one. The thought sent shivers up his spine, but suddenly he felt comforted. Little did her know that Pero was dressed and scared out of his ever-living in the next room over, looking again and again to the body that dissected itself atop him, holding him down to let the blood run over him.
But he did hear the last, wailing screech. It was that of something undead, hideous and devilish, drawing on the terror of the man. He thought it was just another dead whore Pero was beating for leaving him unsated. He felt a second, colder, shiver run up his spine inside that tiny, smelly box. He would sleep no more tonight.
Michelle watched them as she chuckled and stepped through the wall, leaving not a bit of evidence to get anyone in trouble. She had nothing against Pero, so long as the man didn’t lift a hair off of her precious Joshua’s head. Not one. Or she castrate Pero for the hell of it.
She snickered again, tinkering with the phone. If the guards weren’t superstitious, now they were when it rang up the police. Knowing this phone’s trace personally, the officers looked to each other over the office desk and their faces blanched. Gang wars were not uncommon, and if someone had claimed a coup on Pero, this would be the signal. Michelle had seen that in Pero’s greatest fears, but not before she’d stoled his seed. It didn’t matter if they made love, she had ways, and now… well, now she’d bring up a half-demon to her side to assist her before she killed it to obliterate a second, more devious crime scene.
And perhaps several more until Joshua was a free man. She listened to the horrified gasps as she walked through the three guards in turn, chanting a spell to make their scents more appealing to her, to remind the hungry succubus that she had more work to do when the night was over. Tonight, she had fasted, tomorrow she would assume the role of a vicious hunter once more.
All of the sudden, Richard and Joshua were reunited, in a bright flourescent-lit room with a window to a darker room. They were on bed, the whole of the room a starched, cleanly white. Richard made to move to stretch or to clean himself up, a six day beard appearring over his sunken cheeks. He felt his stomach rumble and looked around, but to no avail.
Pero, pacing behind the glass, talked to Barty and Neloman who sat watching and monitoring the two captives.
“See that the Richard one is taken out back and…” he began but then he thought back to Michelle’s ominous threat. “Let him go.”
Barty and Neloman looked too him, the shorter and more plump Neloman dropping his prized catch, a chocolate glazed donut. “What?!” they shrieked in unison.
Pero backhanded them both and swore up and down, until Barty walked to the door and called for Richard. “Just you.”
Joshua growled and stood in front of him, giving Richard a knowing look. He knew Pero disposed of the ‘worthless ones’ without mercy.
“No, Pero wants him freed.” Barty said, hurrying them on as he nervously watched the furious Pero and a cursing Neloman look to him at the hesitation. “We’ll give him a gun… and two bullets… a cell phone and a car too.”
Pero nodded and waved a hand. None of it matter, he had fleets of cars, boxes of guns and cell phones, a whole treasury of bullets and magazines. One or two wouldn’t make a difference.
Richard pushed Joshua aside and nodded, whispering something discreetly as he passed. “They need a sniffa fer yer gal.”
Joshua stifled the smile easily, knowing that she had outwitted that bastard again. Yet again, she had managed to disappear probably and this patter had them all worried, for what force might she have rallied in the last six days? And before then, even, a whole week or two now. Joshua did well to bite back a snapping comment at Pero while the door was open.
As was promised, Richard was given a gun with two bullets, a car and a phone and he sped away from Pero’s private island compound like the Southern breezes, heading for the border. If he got down to Temecula, he’d be safe, for in Temecula was a nuetral zone and Pero would have to stretch to worthless lengths to get just one man. Joshua and Michelle were king and queen of the better part of the city, championing the fight ti throw Pero off the city’s back for eight years now.
As soon as Richard was out of sight, Pero threw a great fit and in that time, he ordered Joshua released as well. Joshua headed north, without box or money, nor gun or phone, headed to hell knew where. Anywhere. Then he got pulled voer for speeding, on purpose. He’d be safest in the police compounds, and there he was in two hours.
Michelle saw the opportune moment and couldn’t skip it. Coming to a wanton call, she appeared before Joshua in a half-clad body, curling up in his arms and sighing.
“Joshua, I’ve nto much time to explain. I’m not able to be your wife and I’ve lost the child, to pay in for the gift my elderly uncle gave me… oh woe! This cursed gift… but you are safe, you will live…” she whispered. Joshua took it all in stride, kissing her and gasping prayers for her safe return. Or so he believed.
“This is a dream, I’ve not much longer. I’m safe, don’t look for me, and Pero will soon be… taken care of.” Michelle managed before her body fade. “I love you.” She squealed as her lack of energy return her to a deep lethargy in the Black, with dawn showing through the window. Joshua fell forward and cursed as her body slipped from his hands. This delusion left him with more questions than answer, though, for he now wondered what dark cold had befalled her to make her skin and voice so… cold.
Like Death itself.
Like Death Itself
Michelle stood bye silently, watching as Pero picked the homely slut up and took her away to god knows where. She knew where. She followed his overwhelming scent across the city, finding him and the same woman, both of them now half nude, in a private room, a very posh one at that, about to make love. And thuse she decided the girl’s life was a little pittance for Pero’s warning.
She battered the girl, and Pero noticed her hesitancy as she slipped out of the booty shorts. She chomped the soul up without a single explanation, smiling and slipping fully into the body. Used indeed, she could feel the whole inner workings of this woman from her pains in the kidneys to the headache waiting to the start. But pain meant little to nothing for a succubus.
Pero slid up beside her in the large satin and velvet draped floor, twining an arm around her legs and bidding her to lay down now, for it was so luxuriously soft down there. Something was also a lot more exotic, exuberant and alluring to him about Shezzebel tonight. Her dirty blond hair was suddenly a bit more soft and longer, shimmering in the candle glow, as was her skin, finally taking on a healthy glow. He liked his women pale, and though she was the color of the moon’s heavenly face, she seemed to glow like it was a deathly tan.
And it was. Her flesh was already hot and inviting, her touches more than exciting him tonight. As she moved to straddle him, guiding him onto his back, he didn’t protest, her kisses dulling his senses as she assumed the body she had been born with. Pero would, no doubt, recognize her. Black hair and piercing blue eyes stared back at him as he sobered, and a stronger than was natural hand clamped over his throat.
“A man watched by Countess of Black would do well to watch his back,” she growled in a vicious, demonic tongue. Pero bit back a threat as she dug hideous white cat’s claws into his throat, his vision shifting into the black realm where her etheral form shown. Her skin was outlined by a steaming hue of blue and green, the deeps of her slitted pupils the deepest black as was her skin, around it the bloodiest hues fo mauve and red.
She grinned, revealing row after row of sharp teeth and a long, rasping forked tongue. “You touch Joshua, you consider yourself a dead man, Perotino Valliano.”
Joshua awoke huffing and puffing in the dark room. Gagged so that he might not scream, bound and blindfolded, stuffed into a box to keep him standing. Torture wasn’t one of Pero’s better skills, but Pero’s ‘pet’ Jenzen would break his fingers one by one. The thought sent shivers up his spine, but suddenly he felt comforted. Little did her know that Pero was dressed and scared out of his ever-living in the next room over, looking again and again to the body that dissected itself atop him, holding him down to let the blood run over him.
But he did hear the last, wailing screech. It was that of something undead, hideous and devilish, drawing on the terror of the man. He thought it was just another dead whore Pero was beating for leaving him unsated. He felt a second, colder, shiver run up his spine inside that tiny, smelly box. He would sleep no more tonight.
Michelle watched them as she chuckled and stepped through the wall, leaving not a bit of evidence to get anyone in trouble. She had nothing against Pero, so long as the man didn’t lift a hair off of her precious Joshua’s head. Not one. Or she castrate Pero for the hell of it.
She snickered again, tinkering with the phone. If the guards weren’t superstitious, now they were when it rang up the police. Knowing this phone’s trace personally, the officers looked to each other over the office desk and their faces blanched. Gang wars were not uncommon, and if someone had claimed a coup on Pero, this would be the signal. Michelle had seen that in Pero’s greatest fears, but not before she’d stoled his seed. It didn’t matter if they made love, she had ways, and now… well, now she’d bring up a half-demon to her side to assist her before she killed it to obliterate a second, more devious crime scene.
And perhaps several more until Joshua was a free man. She listened to the horrified gasps as she walked through the three guards in turn, chanting a spell to make their scents more appealing to her, to remind the hungry succubus that she had more work to do when the night was over. Tonight, she had fasted, tomorrow she would assume the role of a vicious hunter once more.
All of the sudden, Richard and Joshua were reunited, in a bright flourescent-lit room with a window to a darker room. They were on bed, the whole of the room a starched, cleanly white. Richard made to move to stretch or to clean himself up, a six day beard appearring over his sunken cheeks. He felt his stomach rumble and looked around, but to no avail.
Pero, pacing behind the glass, talked to Barty and Neloman who sat watching and monitoring the two captives.
“See that the Richard one is taken out back and…” he began but then he thought back to Michelle’s ominous threat. “Let him go.”
Barty and Neloman looked too him, the shorter and more plump Neloman dropping his prized catch, a chocolate glazed donut. “What?!” they shrieked in unison.
Pero backhanded them both and swore up and down, until Barty walked to the door and called for Richard. “Just you.”
Joshua growled and stood in front of him, giving Richard a knowing look. He knew Pero disposed of the ‘worthless ones’ without mercy.
“No, Pero wants him freed.” Barty said, hurrying them on as he nervously watched the furious Pero and a cursing Neloman look to him at the hesitation. “We’ll give him a gun… and two bullets… a cell phone and a car too.”
Pero nodded and waved a hand. None of it matter, he had fleets of cars, boxes of guns and cell phones, a whole treasury of bullets and magazines. One or two wouldn’t make a difference.
Richard pushed Joshua aside and nodded, whispering something discreetly as he passed. “They need a sniffa fer yer gal.”
Joshua stifled the smile easily, knowing that she had outwitted that bastard again. Yet again, she had managed to disappear probably and this patter had them all worried, for what force might she have rallied in the last six days? And before then, even, a whole week or two now. Joshua did well to bite back a snapping comment at Pero while the door was open.
As was promised, Richard was given a gun with two bullets, a car and a phone and he sped away from Pero’s private island compound like the Southern breezes, heading for the border. If he got down to Temecula, he’d be safe, for in Temecula was a nuetral zone and Pero would have to stretch to worthless lengths to get just one man. Joshua and Michelle were king and queen of the better part of the city, championing the fight ti throw Pero off the city’s back for eight years now.
As soon as Richard was out of sight, Pero threw a great fit and in that time, he ordered Joshua released as well. Joshua headed north, without box or money, nor gun or phone, headed to hell knew where. Anywhere. Then he got pulled voer for speeding, on purpose. He’d be safest in the police compounds, and there he was in two hours.
Michelle saw the opportune moment and couldn’t skip it. Coming to a wanton call, she appeared before Joshua in a half-clad body, curling up in his arms and sighing.
“Joshua, I’ve nto much time to explain. I’m not able to be your wife and I’ve lost the child, to pay in for the gift my elderly uncle gave me… oh woe! This cursed gift… but you are safe, you will live…” she whispered. Joshua took it all in stride, kissing her and gasping prayers for her safe return. Or so he believed.
“This is a dream, I’ve not much longer. I’m safe, don’t look for me, and Pero will soon be… taken care of.” Michelle managed before her body fade. “I love you.” She squealed as her lack of energy return her to a deep lethargy in the Black, with dawn showing through the window. Joshua fell forward and cursed as her body slipped from his hands. This delusion left him with more questions than answer, though, for he now wondered what dark cold had befalled her to make her skin and voice so… cold.
Like Death itself.
Deathwish
Ah yes. It does seem like each of them has a deathwish of their own, but whose will be heard first?
Deathwish
Joshua pulled the abused cellphone from his pocket, looking at the dull screen and then at the locked door of his motel room. It had been a whole two weeks since Michelle had left him, and he was far from just beginning to worry about the girl. He was hysterical now, and Richard was barely able to keep him in the room. Richard, his roomy and as of late, his enemy, had been watching Joshua grow restless when she didn’t turn up.
Neither of them knew that for her to come anywhere near them now would be a death sentence. Quietly she had slipped from bedside to bedside many, many nights now, possessing the local whores off the streets in order to sip from the souls of the thugs and streetlife, and the occasional delicacies the richer men provided. Steengthening herself to fight Pero.
No, Joshua was convinced that Pero had kidnapped her off the street and it was his fault for dragging her into this war. The papers were still stashed with Richard in the thick wooden box. Incriminating papers that would get Pero, the crime lord of Los Angeles, locked away. For good this time.
Quickly he glanced around, noting that Richard had gone out for a smoke by the pool. He dialed the number to Pero’s own bedside phone and damn the man if he was busy fucking some whore. He needed to know where his girl was and now.
The dial tone clicked and buzzed until Pero picked up. “It’s traced, congrats you dumb fucking deadman!” he growled, slamming down the phone. Joshua hung it up and went for the door, dropping it as he slammed his fist on the door.
“Richard! Come now, fuck… Richard?!” he roared, leaning back against the wall and running a hand back through his hair. Pero didn’t have her or he would have tormented Joshua. Pero had the cops, waiting for this. Pero was in on whatever it was. Richard busted in the door, waving his arms and nearly slamming the knob of the door into Joshua’s gut in his rush.
“Whoa, whoa, who’s dyin’, what the feck is goin’ on Josh?” he groaned, looking over to him, his unusual accent thicker as he became more frustrated. “Ye’re gonna wake the fucken’ Devil o’ of these days!”
Joshua pushed him back and closed the door, his breathing hectic as he pointed to the phone, money and the infamous box. “Gather our shit up, we need to leave – tonight- because Pero traced my call…” he gasped, makign Richard’s lips go wide, the cigarette dropping onto the blankets.
“Fuck!” Richard said sharply, “You din’… yes you did. Josh ye stupid boy! You call’t Pero, you dumbass and now he’s on us!” he said, jumping off the bed as Joshua noded. Within five minutes they had everything packed in the car, the key was taped to the back of the locked door as they sped out of the parking lot.
Richard kept glancing over to Joshua, the car’s windows up as they took the best lit streets. “Was it worf it, eh Josh?” he asked softly.
Josh sobbed and hld his temples. “He doesn’t have her.” He whispered, shaking his head. “Michelle’s in the gutter somewhere and it’s all my god damn fault.”
Richard tapped the brakes as his eyes shot over to Joshua, making the bus behind them screech on its brakes and honk.
“It was then.” He gently answered, turning them off to a brightly lit carpark. “So ye knew yer sweet’art is safe.”
Joshua groaned and slammed a fist into his thigh, shaking his head and gritting his teeth. “But Pero’s flushed us out again. And he can track the phone, but how … he knew we were in that room. Cell phones can’t be tracked like landlines…” he blankly deliberated, relaxing. “He knew all along. And he knew Michelle was gone, knew that we wouldn’t leave until we had her… and he was bluffing that he had her to bring us in.”
Richard looked over and grinned. “Ah, then thanks to ye, fer getting’ us outta harms way. And thanks to yer smartass girl. Make sure I getta thank her someday and apologize for calling her a whore.” He said, chuckling. Joshua, for once, chuckled with him, the dark circles under his eyes seeming to fade the slightest bit.
Michelle wiped her lips with the corner of a blanket before leaving the bedside, bumping a candle to light the place on fire. As she willed the cloth into being with her strong mind, a white gown covered her corporeal body until it faded into that of a ghost with long, black tendrils for wings. She drifted up through the roof and out to the night sky, spreading the curled tendrils and soaring back towards her nest.
As she touched down on the landing, she sighed. She hadn’t counted the amount of time had passed since she had been transformed, but she was almost strong enough to kill Pero and to contact Joshua. Killing the deepest pit of courrption in the city would deeply taint her, and make her hungers vicious. After all, that’s what kept her going, feasting on the evil, transmuting chaos and corruption to order and goodliness.
Michelle smiled softly as she slipped into her private room, away from the two servant maids left to her by Camangelo. She need privacy to think about this. She had to know, when and where, she could time it all out to make it easier to kill the man. How complicated it seemed for only one body, but well worth it.
Pero walked out from behind one of the brightly lit cement pillars clapping and smilign under the black hood. “Good job, nice show.” He grimly commented. He had, indeed, been tracking Joshua and Richard from the hospital. He had, however, lost tabs on Michelle when she seemingly vanished from the face of the earth.
Richard turned pale, and Joshua stiffened as more thugs closed on the car, slashing the tires and plugging the exhaust. They both exited the car, but then a cold wind whipped up. Something was amiss about Pero, normally the cocky man would walk anywhere without fear. Why was he now hiding his face?
Lilithia watched, still planning his demise. She would not let him hurt Joshua, but until she could make her move she could not interfere. She phased through the car, taking the box and the money. Pero would gain nothing.
She knew they would feel her, but as she locked their guns up with the pangs of her deepest chaos, she turned and stepped through the Blackdoor with confidence. No gain, no murders.
Joshua and Pero looked around but then Pero threw bck the hood. “Bind and gag them, search the car then mar and burn the damn thing.” He said, turning. No elborate murder schemes tonight, both Richard and Joshua noticed. Pero was uncomfortable in his own city.
Later that night, Pero picked up his phone, calling the cellphone that had been left near the bunred out shell of Richard’s car. He left a terrifying message, at least terrifying to the normal populace.
“If you don’t bring me the box, he dies at midnight.” He said, calm and coolly. Surely she’d be smart enough. But however she had gotten the box in a hand off had escaped him. He’d seen everything, and there were no fake copies of that box. He was afraid, afraid because for once he didn’t hold the better hand of cards at his own table.
Michelle looked on in concern as the phone rang. She had revisited the scene to ensure her slight intervention had done nothing, and indeed, it hadn’t. She listened to the ominous message and laughed. Pero couldn’t kill a man wo had the protection of the single most powerful demoness aside from Lucifer’s own minions.
She laughed all the louder as she picked up the phone and crushed it in a single hand, though anyone watching would have thought that it imploded of its own accord.
“A man so hated by the Countess of Black would do well to watch his back.” She whispered cryptically., dropping the phone, or what was left after it had been ground into sand. Yes, soon she would be able to turn the tables and knock every single thug from the face of the earth in her city.
Deathwish
Joshua pulled the abused cellphone from his pocket, looking at the dull screen and then at the locked door of his motel room. It had been a whole two weeks since Michelle had left him, and he was far from just beginning to worry about the girl. He was hysterical now, and Richard was barely able to keep him in the room. Richard, his roomy and as of late, his enemy, had been watching Joshua grow restless when she didn’t turn up.
Neither of them knew that for her to come anywhere near them now would be a death sentence. Quietly she had slipped from bedside to bedside many, many nights now, possessing the local whores off the streets in order to sip from the souls of the thugs and streetlife, and the occasional delicacies the richer men provided. Steengthening herself to fight Pero.
No, Joshua was convinced that Pero had kidnapped her off the street and it was his fault for dragging her into this war. The papers were still stashed with Richard in the thick wooden box. Incriminating papers that would get Pero, the crime lord of Los Angeles, locked away. For good this time.
Quickly he glanced around, noting that Richard had gone out for a smoke by the pool. He dialed the number to Pero’s own bedside phone and damn the man if he was busy fucking some whore. He needed to know where his girl was and now.
The dial tone clicked and buzzed until Pero picked up. “It’s traced, congrats you dumb fucking deadman!” he growled, slamming down the phone. Joshua hung it up and went for the door, dropping it as he slammed his fist on the door.
“Richard! Come now, fuck… Richard?!” he roared, leaning back against the wall and running a hand back through his hair. Pero didn’t have her or he would have tormented Joshua. Pero had the cops, waiting for this. Pero was in on whatever it was. Richard busted in the door, waving his arms and nearly slamming the knob of the door into Joshua’s gut in his rush.
“Whoa, whoa, who’s dyin’, what the feck is goin’ on Josh?” he groaned, looking over to him, his unusual accent thicker as he became more frustrated. “Ye’re gonna wake the fucken’ Devil o’ of these days!”
Joshua pushed him back and closed the door, his breathing hectic as he pointed to the phone, money and the infamous box. “Gather our shit up, we need to leave – tonight- because Pero traced my call…” he gasped, makign Richard’s lips go wide, the cigarette dropping onto the blankets.
“Fuck!” Richard said sharply, “You din’… yes you did. Josh ye stupid boy! You call’t Pero, you dumbass and now he’s on us!” he said, jumping off the bed as Joshua noded. Within five minutes they had everything packed in the car, the key was taped to the back of the locked door as they sped out of the parking lot.
Richard kept glancing over to Joshua, the car’s windows up as they took the best lit streets. “Was it worf it, eh Josh?” he asked softly.
Josh sobbed and hld his temples. “He doesn’t have her.” He whispered, shaking his head. “Michelle’s in the gutter somewhere and it’s all my god damn fault.”
Richard tapped the brakes as his eyes shot over to Joshua, making the bus behind them screech on its brakes and honk.
“It was then.” He gently answered, turning them off to a brightly lit carpark. “So ye knew yer sweet’art is safe.”
Joshua groaned and slammed a fist into his thigh, shaking his head and gritting his teeth. “But Pero’s flushed us out again. And he can track the phone, but how … he knew we were in that room. Cell phones can’t be tracked like landlines…” he blankly deliberated, relaxing. “He knew all along. And he knew Michelle was gone, knew that we wouldn’t leave until we had her… and he was bluffing that he had her to bring us in.”
Richard looked over and grinned. “Ah, then thanks to ye, fer getting’ us outta harms way. And thanks to yer smartass girl. Make sure I getta thank her someday and apologize for calling her a whore.” He said, chuckling. Joshua, for once, chuckled with him, the dark circles under his eyes seeming to fade the slightest bit.
Michelle wiped her lips with the corner of a blanket before leaving the bedside, bumping a candle to light the place on fire. As she willed the cloth into being with her strong mind, a white gown covered her corporeal body until it faded into that of a ghost with long, black tendrils for wings. She drifted up through the roof and out to the night sky, spreading the curled tendrils and soaring back towards her nest.
As she touched down on the landing, she sighed. She hadn’t counted the amount of time had passed since she had been transformed, but she was almost strong enough to kill Pero and to contact Joshua. Killing the deepest pit of courrption in the city would deeply taint her, and make her hungers vicious. After all, that’s what kept her going, feasting on the evil, transmuting chaos and corruption to order and goodliness.
Michelle smiled softly as she slipped into her private room, away from the two servant maids left to her by Camangelo. She need privacy to think about this. She had to know, when and where, she could time it all out to make it easier to kill the man. How complicated it seemed for only one body, but well worth it.
Pero walked out from behind one of the brightly lit cement pillars clapping and smilign under the black hood. “Good job, nice show.” He grimly commented. He had, indeed, been tracking Joshua and Richard from the hospital. He had, however, lost tabs on Michelle when she seemingly vanished from the face of the earth.
Richard turned pale, and Joshua stiffened as more thugs closed on the car, slashing the tires and plugging the exhaust. They both exited the car, but then a cold wind whipped up. Something was amiss about Pero, normally the cocky man would walk anywhere without fear. Why was he now hiding his face?
Lilithia watched, still planning his demise. She would not let him hurt Joshua, but until she could make her move she could not interfere. She phased through the car, taking the box and the money. Pero would gain nothing.
She knew they would feel her, but as she locked their guns up with the pangs of her deepest chaos, she turned and stepped through the Blackdoor with confidence. No gain, no murders.
Joshua and Pero looked around but then Pero threw bck the hood. “Bind and gag them, search the car then mar and burn the damn thing.” He said, turning. No elborate murder schemes tonight, both Richard and Joshua noticed. Pero was uncomfortable in his own city.
Later that night, Pero picked up his phone, calling the cellphone that had been left near the bunred out shell of Richard’s car. He left a terrifying message, at least terrifying to the normal populace.
“If you don’t bring me the box, he dies at midnight.” He said, calm and coolly. Surely she’d be smart enough. But however she had gotten the box in a hand off had escaped him. He’d seen everything, and there were no fake copies of that box. He was afraid, afraid because for once he didn’t hold the better hand of cards at his own table.
Michelle looked on in concern as the phone rang. She had revisited the scene to ensure her slight intervention had done nothing, and indeed, it hadn’t. She listened to the ominous message and laughed. Pero couldn’t kill a man wo had the protection of the single most powerful demoness aside from Lucifer’s own minions.
She laughed all the louder as she picked up the phone and crushed it in a single hand, though anyone watching would have thought that it imploded of its own accord.
“A man so hated by the Countess of Black would do well to watch his back.” She whispered cryptically., dropping the phone, or what was left after it had been ground into sand. Yes, soon she would be able to turn the tables and knock every single thug from the face of the earth in her city.
The Change
Dun dun dunnn! Michelle leaves Joshua in the darkness... literally, as she is taken away to pass the torch of her family's secretive - and utterly chaotic - lore-filled past heritage. The heritage of the incubus Camangelo of Black.
The Change
Joshua glanced at Michelle as they walked out of the hospital hand in hand a week after the shooting. They had spent the last few nights deliberating what they would do after they left, and finally she convinced him to let her split up from his side to go with her inner ‘gut’. Joshua had refused and avoided it, but she had won him over, and he knew she was right. Pero wasn’t after her, Pero was after him and if he wasn’t with her, all the better.
Joshua glanced over at her and sighed. “So when will I see you again?” he asked, squeezing her hand and avoiding her startling eyes as they strode down the street. Michelle stopped, leadign him aside into a dark alley.
“Soon.” Is all her heard as s great darkness dropped over them, wisping her away before his eyes. He felt his heart drop as her warmth left him, the darkness brooding. On instinct, he stumbled backwards, and then the sunlight was back in full. Strange. This wasn’t the street he’d been on before. He was in the better side of the city now, somewhere Pero’s rein had never leeched out to. Somewhere he could wait out the next few nights in peace. Until Pero found him and sent his thug-buddies to retrieve him.
Michelle stepped through the Darkdoor, something she had only learned about recently in her dreams where the ‘Angel of Death’ himself had visited her. How could this portly elderly man be Death? She wondered, barely able to get out of his chair, quiet like the spring breeze. Or was it a fake weakness he used to lure victims in, victims deserving of their fate?
With a raspy voice, he waved his hand to bring her closer, not by any will of her own, foecing her to kneel beside the chair. “You have been chosen, by blood and blood before you,” he grated, making her look at him, his blank, listless eyes sending chills up her spine. “You are the Countess… of the Other side.” He explained.
She knew the family lore. Somewhere along the line, where fantasy and reality blurred the lines and spilled into one another, they had claimed the heritage of a single black angel, Camangelo. He was never referenced in other lore. She would be the last living relative, and now havign found her great uncle, though she did not know how or why, she’d come full circle and would become the second countess of the Black.
“Michelle, what do you know about Camangelo?” he asked, turning away from her.
“He… was a fairytale. It’s family lore, uncle, you should know.” She said, in little more than a whisper. The older man smiled.
“He was the most powerful angel of black, the patriarch of your – our- family, an incubus of great power. I am Camangelo.” He gritted, turning to her with a wide, wicked smile. “And I am nearing the end of my three century life. I have chosen you to carry on the greatest legacy.”
Michelle nearly dropped cold. Had it only been a fairytale? She had to believe the blackness in his eyes. “Cam-Camangelo? I am… I am to be…” she stuttered.
Camangelo nodded and stood, his body shivering violently. “Soon. Tonight, I believe. Come, come… time to pass the torch.” He said, his smile dimming. “I only regret that I have not the will to force you to the deed, it is your choice to take this gift.”
He explained, offering his hand to her. She couldn’t think straight, couldn’t begin to comprehend this. She could refuse, and go back to a normal life but no, it was much too late for that. But what did this all mean? Oh, too little time, too many paths were there for her.
“What would… to become Countess of Black, what would be asked of me?” she asked in a soft tone. Camangelo’s smile expired.
“The child. Succubi cannot have children in the Black, only after your two-hundreth year may you choose a successor. You may not marry. You will not age until your three-hundred and eighty-eight year of life as Countess. You may not show yourself to goodly folk except to tell of serious impending doom, or to join past lovers. Daytime is forbidden to you, and your body will become ethereal.”
Michelle didn’t even feel the tears and the lump in her throat as she took her hand and determinedly nodded. She knew the powers of succubi were a great gift, and she knew that with them she might protect Joshua. But that he would never live to see her choose the successor.
That night, as Camangelo lay in the bed next to her, she felt the changes begin. His body turned to ashes and bones next to her, but she couldn’t notice through the agony. She groaned as she felt the aches in her bones and her flesh’s tingling as they became less than touchable. Soon, she could see that, through her tears, she couldn’t see herself showing up on the pool of water beside the bed. Until she willed herself to
As a scantilly clad maiden. She was no different, but her beauty had an exotic allure now. Even women would be sorely tempted by her in the many years to come.
Michelle turned to what was left of Camangelo’s body, whispering her thanks and smirking. Pero always had a soft spot for beautiful women, what might he do if his arch enemy’s wife to behold showed up nude at his bedside?
The Change
Joshua glanced at Michelle as they walked out of the hospital hand in hand a week after the shooting. They had spent the last few nights deliberating what they would do after they left, and finally she convinced him to let her split up from his side to go with her inner ‘gut’. Joshua had refused and avoided it, but she had won him over, and he knew she was right. Pero wasn’t after her, Pero was after him and if he wasn’t with her, all the better.
Joshua glanced over at her and sighed. “So when will I see you again?” he asked, squeezing her hand and avoiding her startling eyes as they strode down the street. Michelle stopped, leadign him aside into a dark alley.
“Soon.” Is all her heard as s great darkness dropped over them, wisping her away before his eyes. He felt his heart drop as her warmth left him, the darkness brooding. On instinct, he stumbled backwards, and then the sunlight was back in full. Strange. This wasn’t the street he’d been on before. He was in the better side of the city now, somewhere Pero’s rein had never leeched out to. Somewhere he could wait out the next few nights in peace. Until Pero found him and sent his thug-buddies to retrieve him.
Michelle stepped through the Darkdoor, something she had only learned about recently in her dreams where the ‘Angel of Death’ himself had visited her. How could this portly elderly man be Death? She wondered, barely able to get out of his chair, quiet like the spring breeze. Or was it a fake weakness he used to lure victims in, victims deserving of their fate?
With a raspy voice, he waved his hand to bring her closer, not by any will of her own, foecing her to kneel beside the chair. “You have been chosen, by blood and blood before you,” he grated, making her look at him, his blank, listless eyes sending chills up her spine. “You are the Countess… of the Other side.” He explained.
She knew the family lore. Somewhere along the line, where fantasy and reality blurred the lines and spilled into one another, they had claimed the heritage of a single black angel, Camangelo. He was never referenced in other lore. She would be the last living relative, and now havign found her great uncle, though she did not know how or why, she’d come full circle and would become the second countess of the Black.
“Michelle, what do you know about Camangelo?” he asked, turning away from her.
“He… was a fairytale. It’s family lore, uncle, you should know.” She said, in little more than a whisper. The older man smiled.
“He was the most powerful angel of black, the patriarch of your – our- family, an incubus of great power. I am Camangelo.” He gritted, turning to her with a wide, wicked smile. “And I am nearing the end of my three century life. I have chosen you to carry on the greatest legacy.”
Michelle nearly dropped cold. Had it only been a fairytale? She had to believe the blackness in his eyes. “Cam-Camangelo? I am… I am to be…” she stuttered.
Camangelo nodded and stood, his body shivering violently. “Soon. Tonight, I believe. Come, come… time to pass the torch.” He said, his smile dimming. “I only regret that I have not the will to force you to the deed, it is your choice to take this gift.”
He explained, offering his hand to her. She couldn’t think straight, couldn’t begin to comprehend this. She could refuse, and go back to a normal life but no, it was much too late for that. But what did this all mean? Oh, too little time, too many paths were there for her.
“What would… to become Countess of Black, what would be asked of me?” she asked in a soft tone. Camangelo’s smile expired.
“The child. Succubi cannot have children in the Black, only after your two-hundreth year may you choose a successor. You may not marry. You will not age until your three-hundred and eighty-eight year of life as Countess. You may not show yourself to goodly folk except to tell of serious impending doom, or to join past lovers. Daytime is forbidden to you, and your body will become ethereal.”
Michelle didn’t even feel the tears and the lump in her throat as she took her hand and determinedly nodded. She knew the powers of succubi were a great gift, and she knew that with them she might protect Joshua. But that he would never live to see her choose the successor.
That night, as Camangelo lay in the bed next to her, she felt the changes begin. His body turned to ashes and bones next to her, but she couldn’t notice through the agony. She groaned as she felt the aches in her bones and her flesh’s tingling as they became less than touchable. Soon, she could see that, through her tears, she couldn’t see herself showing up on the pool of water beside the bed. Until she willed herself to
As a scantilly clad maiden. She was no different, but her beauty had an exotic allure now. Even women would be sorely tempted by her in the many years to come.
Michelle turned to what was left of Camangelo’s body, whispering her thanks and smirking. Pero always had a soft spot for beautiful women, what might he do if his arch enemy’s wife to behold showed up nude at his bedside?
Thursday, August 7
Bodies and Minds - Part Two
Another update, the second part of Bodies and Minds. (Betcha didn't see that coming!) I am going to try my hardest to keep this story alive, if it takes pins and needles to do it. Note the new divider, chapters are going to be going through one or more areas at a time. I didn't have much choice on dividers, sadly. (If I make my own, I'll edit them in ASAP...)
Malifain felt odd as he handled the two scimitars he’d been instructed to wield for now. Poison, in his left hand, glowed and angry green and gold, while Paradise hummed with a light silver and blue highlights.
“Now, show me what you know, as you please.” Lilithia silently bade him, watching and making noises as he tried his damndest to make use of them. The blade caught, steel ground together and with a clang, both of the scimitars hit the dirt five feet away. Malifain swore and tromped over to pick them up, pausing as Lilithia took control of his body. He felt the natural numbness as his nerves began to heed her call, being sectioned off into his own mind.
“Like this,” She said aloud, her voice as clear as the sunshine outside in the dirt arena. “Not so fast at first.” Lilithia instructed him, weaving the scimitars after having picked them up. “Use this one,” she said, lifting Poison to act out an attack. “To attack, the other,” she murmured, feigning and making a strong parry with Paradise. “To parry.”
Again, the numbness as she back away, letting him flow back into the body. He shivered, following her movements.
“Good.” She whispered, tinkering with her mind to let him see he fighting rituals, which she had been known to join with Drizzt in the early summer mornings. Left, over that stump, up, hack-hacking away at the dead stump. As he followed her guidance, soon the wood chips were fine and smooth, the scimitars answering his every call.
But he was not expecting her next step, as she reached out with her psionic powers and excited the wood of the stump.
“Retreat!” she briskly reminded him as the wood heated and splintered in his face, just as he rolled off to the side. Chuckling as she watched him pull bits of burning bark out of his long black ponytail, she reminded him not to stop moving the blades. “You’d be a dead elf.” She hissed.
“That’s enough fo today.” Cadderly chimed, smiling as he watched Malifain. The scimitars snapped back into their sheaths as Malifain returned the greeting with a smile of his own.
“Hello Cadderly.” Lilithia whispered through all three of their thoughts. Cadderly nodded and replied, though Malfain couldn’t hear it.
“Progress?” he questioned, his raised brow completeing the punctuation. She replied, making him smile, though Malifainknew better than to think she was making jokes at his horrible fight skills.
“Well, I see that you’re doing well,” Cadderly said, looking to Malifain and chuckling. “We’ve received a runner set by Drizzt.”
Both Malifain and Lilithia connected the dots, their shared heart stopping briefly. Cadderly smiled as Malifain’s smile almost wilted.
Cadderly shook his head. “No, good news. Drizzt and Catti-Brie have met and are close to getting the cure for her.”
They both heaved a sigh together, Lilithia and Malifain, both of them having become as one almost in their body. It would soon be time for them to chase Solanil down. As Cadderly departed, leaving them to think, Lilithia asked Malifain the key question.
“Will they make it back soon enough?” She whispered, her tone blank of sarcasm, anger or pride. Malifain shook his head, reaching with a hand to wipe the bead of sweat off his brow. They could only pray that he would make it back before her body expired, trapping her in Malifain’s thoughts.
Drizzt reigned in his tall black stallion, looking back over his shoulder to where Catti-Brie and her spotted white gelding were sinking into the mire. Somewhere far to the east a thunder bolt sounded, reminding them of the shortly-passed thunder storm. Catti-Brie groaned as she slid out of the soaked saddle to lead her horse up to Drizzt, handing the reins to him as she got up behind him. He handed her back the reins as he walked the stallion up the dimly moonlit trail ahead of them.
“Dawn will come soon.” He assured her, pushing back the soggy cowl of his cloak to look up into the stars, then farther ahead. When all he heard in return was a sigh, he glanced back at her. Shaking her head, Catti-Brie frowned.
“Why did ye never tell me?” she whispered, folding her arms and wobbling as the stallion’s hoof slipped in the muck. “Ye had a daughter and now she’s about to die and ye never telled me.”
Drizzt’s shoulders slumped as he took a deep breath. “I did not even know I had a child, until I saw her… fighting. She’s much like Zaknafein.” He told her, his tone soft and reminiscent of better times past. “It’s a shame he never met her.”
“And a shame I might not either!” she said, so suddenly it made the stallion flinch. Drizzt stopped the horse and turned to her.
“She adores you, Catti-Brie. Lilithia is searching for her hero, as I found in my father, and perhaps… perhaps she needs a hero in you.” He said, his curious smile infecting her and making her grin.
“Oh no ye’re not! Ye can’t-“ she was about to protest that he obviously wanted Catti-Brie to be as her sister.
“Not for an old friend?” Drizzt prodded, signalling the horse on and looking ahead. He smiled all the wider as Catti-Brie laughed.
“Okay, ye want me to foster yer little girl because she’s not a daddy’s girl.” She said, waving away what might have been a completely different proposition. Drizzt shrugged.
“I cannot be the mother she never had.” He grimly reminded Catti-Brie. He had slain her mother some years ago, when Lilithia was barely a toddler. She had been raised for the greater part of her life by Jarlaxle and his band of criminals, raised into the height of sorcery when they had been forced to return her to her grandmother, Matron Baenre.
Catti-Brie winced. “I will. For her.” She conceded, patting him gently on the shoulder. He smiled again, glancing back to her.
“You will, no doubt, find in her the sister you yourself never had.” He pointed out. “Two more miles and then we let the horses rest while we dry off.”
Malifain felt odd as he handled the two scimitars he’d been instructed to wield for now. Poison, in his left hand, glowed and angry green and gold, while Paradise hummed with a light silver and blue highlights.
“Now, show me what you know, as you please.” Lilithia silently bade him, watching and making noises as he tried his damndest to make use of them. The blade caught, steel ground together and with a clang, both of the scimitars hit the dirt five feet away. Malifain swore and tromped over to pick them up, pausing as Lilithia took control of his body. He felt the natural numbness as his nerves began to heed her call, being sectioned off into his own mind.
“Like this,” She said aloud, her voice as clear as the sunshine outside in the dirt arena. “Not so fast at first.” Lilithia instructed him, weaving the scimitars after having picked them up. “Use this one,” she said, lifting Poison to act out an attack. “To attack, the other,” she murmured, feigning and making a strong parry with Paradise. “To parry.”
Again, the numbness as she back away, letting him flow back into the body. He shivered, following her movements.
“Good.” She whispered, tinkering with her mind to let him see he fighting rituals, which she had been known to join with Drizzt in the early summer mornings. Left, over that stump, up, hack-hacking away at the dead stump. As he followed her guidance, soon the wood chips were fine and smooth, the scimitars answering his every call.
But he was not expecting her next step, as she reached out with her psionic powers and excited the wood of the stump.
“Retreat!” she briskly reminded him as the wood heated and splintered in his face, just as he rolled off to the side. Chuckling as she watched him pull bits of burning bark out of his long black ponytail, she reminded him not to stop moving the blades. “You’d be a dead elf.” She hissed.
“That’s enough fo today.” Cadderly chimed, smiling as he watched Malifain. The scimitars snapped back into their sheaths as Malifain returned the greeting with a smile of his own.
“Hello Cadderly.” Lilithia whispered through all three of their thoughts. Cadderly nodded and replied, though Malfain couldn’t hear it.
“Progress?” he questioned, his raised brow completeing the punctuation. She replied, making him smile, though Malifainknew better than to think she was making jokes at his horrible fight skills.
“Well, I see that you’re doing well,” Cadderly said, looking to Malifain and chuckling. “We’ve received a runner set by Drizzt.”
Both Malifain and Lilithia connected the dots, their shared heart stopping briefly. Cadderly smiled as Malifain’s smile almost wilted.
Cadderly shook his head. “No, good news. Drizzt and Catti-Brie have met and are close to getting the cure for her.”
They both heaved a sigh together, Lilithia and Malifain, both of them having become as one almost in their body. It would soon be time for them to chase Solanil down. As Cadderly departed, leaving them to think, Lilithia asked Malifain the key question.
“Will they make it back soon enough?” She whispered, her tone blank of sarcasm, anger or pride. Malifain shook his head, reaching with a hand to wipe the bead of sweat off his brow. They could only pray that he would make it back before her body expired, trapping her in Malifain’s thoughts.
Drizzt reigned in his tall black stallion, looking back over his shoulder to where Catti-Brie and her spotted white gelding were sinking into the mire. Somewhere far to the east a thunder bolt sounded, reminding them of the shortly-passed thunder storm. Catti-Brie groaned as she slid out of the soaked saddle to lead her horse up to Drizzt, handing the reins to him as she got up behind him. He handed her back the reins as he walked the stallion up the dimly moonlit trail ahead of them.
“Dawn will come soon.” He assured her, pushing back the soggy cowl of his cloak to look up into the stars, then farther ahead. When all he heard in return was a sigh, he glanced back at her. Shaking her head, Catti-Brie frowned.
“Why did ye never tell me?” she whispered, folding her arms and wobbling as the stallion’s hoof slipped in the muck. “Ye had a daughter and now she’s about to die and ye never telled me.”
Drizzt’s shoulders slumped as he took a deep breath. “I did not even know I had a child, until I saw her… fighting. She’s much like Zaknafein.” He told her, his tone soft and reminiscent of better times past. “It’s a shame he never met her.”
“And a shame I might not either!” she said, so suddenly it made the stallion flinch. Drizzt stopped the horse and turned to her.
“She adores you, Catti-Brie. Lilithia is searching for her hero, as I found in my father, and perhaps… perhaps she needs a hero in you.” He said, his curious smile infecting her and making her grin.
“Oh no ye’re not! Ye can’t-“ she was about to protest that he obviously wanted Catti-Brie to be as her sister.
“Not for an old friend?” Drizzt prodded, signalling the horse on and looking ahead. He smiled all the wider as Catti-Brie laughed.
“Okay, ye want me to foster yer little girl because she’s not a daddy’s girl.” She said, waving away what might have been a completely different proposition. Drizzt shrugged.
“I cannot be the mother she never had.” He grimly reminded Catti-Brie. He had slain her mother some years ago, when Lilithia was barely a toddler. She had been raised for the greater part of her life by Jarlaxle and his band of criminals, raised into the height of sorcery when they had been forced to return her to her grandmother, Matron Baenre.
Catti-Brie winced. “I will. For her.” She conceded, patting him gently on the shoulder. He smiled again, glancing back to her.
“You will, no doubt, find in her the sister you yourself never had.” He pointed out. “Two more miles and then we let the horses rest while we dry off.”
Monday, August 4
Bodies and Minds
WOO! Another Lilithia update, although it's a bit thick and bleh... and short too, it's something. We'll visit back to Drizzt and Catti-Brie later on, and then find out how much fun Malifain and Lilithia are having just learning to fight as one...
Bodies and Minds
Malifain sat near Lilithia, looking to Celaine in question. They had been discussing a body-switch, to allow Lilithia to go and find Solani as Drizzt searched for the herbs to save her body. Without a doubt, Lilithia had agreed.
“Let me, Malifain.” She fought stubbornly, coughing black ooze up onto her lips. Malifain shook his head again, frustrated with her.
“And what of your body, and mine, if you are killed?” he asked, looking from her to Celaine. Celaine shook her head and shrugged, not able to explain before Lilithia cut in again.
“If I die, your body will again switch with mine. There is another way, though the magical taxation might kill a lesser mage.” Lilithia dared mention, sighing. “Cadderly can help. Summon Cadderly magically, he can transfer my conscious into Malifain’s and my body will become moot.” She rasped, turning over to sleep. Malifain shook his head again, questioning this wisdom as he stood, tucking the drow elfess in as she slumbered. He and Celaine turned and left the cottage after garnering the supplies they would need to call for Cadderly.
“I can’t let her do this,” he hissed, frowning with Lilithia’s ultimatum squarely on his shoulders. “Her father would be angered if he came back to find a living dead body.”
Celaine only nodded, wanting to be done with her task.
“I can’t do this alone.” She stiffly reminded him, his eyes glazing over as he begasn to think of loopholes on the grounds why Lilithia couldn’t borrow his body. He found nothing, and then he saw, as Lilithia intruded upon him, that she meant not only to borrow his body, she was going to use it as her own!
“Well Lolth be damned and Mielikki be proud…” he muttered as she began to impart visions of her previous feats. He chuckled at her prowess s she slipped away again, perhaps taking off that amulet to better sleep. Or perhaps silently probing his thoughts.
Are you ever concerned she’ll see something in there she does nto like, Malifain?” Celaine asked, putting the finishin touches on the inter-planar gate as he shook his head.
“Merely she’ll find something she likes too much.” He lamented, sighing. Celaine smiled, chanting softly and soon, before them, the puddle of silver that was the inter-planar gate splashed forth, an no doubt, another one in Cadderly’s private chambers. Celaine looked to Malifain, and for neither had seen cadderly, Malifain would speak for Lilithia.
“Cadderly, sir, we have with us a friend of your friend. Drizzt Do’Urden’s daughter has fallen ill and he is now out on the path to get her a cure, but we need use of her body. She is conscious, but is too weak to help us hunt the would-be murderer down.” He explained, his face not hiding the concerns. Cadderly nodded and gestured to the pool.
“Is it thick enough to walk through?” he asked, looking to the woman beside Malifain.
“Oh, pardon, I am Celaine and this is Malifain Sachereil and yes, it should be stable.” Celaine quickly spurted, stepping back and trying to develop her concentration. Gate-stepping was a tricky task, and exhausting too. Cadderly stepped through, and the puddle dried up suddenly, cutting off a sliver of his pant leg.
“Oops.” Celaine whispered, blushing and apologising. Cadderly waved off the apologies, turning directly to Malifain.
“I have waited for so long to hear from the ranger again, and his is the daughter I am seeing?” he asked with a courteous smile. Malifain nodded and showed the priest in, sitting beside the bed as he talked quietly with the ailing elfess. Soon, both had nodded their agreement, Lilithia providing the whereabouts of all her weapons, and then her magical items as well. Cadderly prepared the herbs right there in the room, for Malifain and Celaine to watch. Cadderly rolled Lilithia over, clasping her hand with Malifain’s as he sat beside the bed on a wood chair, then tying them together with spider’s silk. He motioned Celaine over, and Cadderly guiding her, began the chant that would permit Lilithia to fully take over Malifain’s body. After fifteen minutes, they left the room, so the other two could discuss privately their goals. Lilithia’s body breathed slower now, coughing less and never moving. But Malifain jerked as Lilithia spread her being into the corners of his mind. She cursed him silently, for they only heard each other’s thoughts, nothing more, and he had not lowered one wall of anger to let her see what lay beneath it.
“Malifain, for the sake of the gods…” she asked, pressing again. It was givign him a headache, but if it did, so be it. She didn’t need to know his fears.
“N… no…” he grunted, shifting on the floor. Lilithia was too wise, too impatient for such a fight, and he fought her smile as she consciously took over his nerves, imparting feelings on his body the way she had learned in Menzoberranzan.
He felt light like a feather, all his body displaced of time and cares. He was warm, so warm he wanted to take off his clothing, and so he did at her bidding. And then, a trick of the mind, Lilithia’s bare body appearred before him, encircling his and teasing it with kisses across his jaw, but nothing more.
“Malifain, Malfain…” she chided in mental whispers, “Now come, come to my bed my sweet rose.”
Malifain obeyed. Without knowing it, he remembered ending up on the bed, Lilithia’s visual thoughts of her body entwined around his, above his. As her lips met his, the sensation was more than real, but as they made love, something went terribly wrong.
To him at least.
At last, she slipped past the wall, lowered by his lust and excitement, and now she looked upon those thoughts as he thrashed in the bed. Her visual thoughts of her own body had dissapated, he’d realized, right as she bored through. He began to growl as she sauntered into that all-private grouping of thoughts.
“You… you fiend…” he growled, only making her force him still with magical chants. She could feel the immense, overwhelming hatred, the jealousy and the grief at Solanil injuring her. So her assumptions were right, he observed, as she let him see her thoughts more clearly in the clouded interior of his mind. She backed away, pushing her own hatred and jealousy of Celaine into that small corner and then she did something purely miraculous.
She obliterated all that hatred.
“Now,” she whispered, releasing his body and willing him to dress, “Trust me as you would trust yourself, Malifain, for if we are not working and thinking as one, we will die… as one.”
Malifain nodded, though he knew she was thought-speaking to him. As he strapped on her belt of weapons, along with her amulet and her timeless leather wrist bracers, he smiled, feeling weightless without the guilt and the hate. Cadderly and Celaine had re-entered to check on them, and they saw the twinkle of golden and violet behind Malifain’s blue eyes. But silently, Lilithia reminded Malifain this was only the beginning.
Bodies and Minds
Malifain sat near Lilithia, looking to Celaine in question. They had been discussing a body-switch, to allow Lilithia to go and find Solani as Drizzt searched for the herbs to save her body. Without a doubt, Lilithia had agreed.
“Let me, Malifain.” She fought stubbornly, coughing black ooze up onto her lips. Malifain shook his head again, frustrated with her.
“And what of your body, and mine, if you are killed?” he asked, looking from her to Celaine. Celaine shook her head and shrugged, not able to explain before Lilithia cut in again.
“If I die, your body will again switch with mine. There is another way, though the magical taxation might kill a lesser mage.” Lilithia dared mention, sighing. “Cadderly can help. Summon Cadderly magically, he can transfer my conscious into Malifain’s and my body will become moot.” She rasped, turning over to sleep. Malifain shook his head again, questioning this wisdom as he stood, tucking the drow elfess in as she slumbered. He and Celaine turned and left the cottage after garnering the supplies they would need to call for Cadderly.
“I can’t let her do this,” he hissed, frowning with Lilithia’s ultimatum squarely on his shoulders. “Her father would be angered if he came back to find a living dead body.”
Celaine only nodded, wanting to be done with her task.
“I can’t do this alone.” She stiffly reminded him, his eyes glazing over as he begasn to think of loopholes on the grounds why Lilithia couldn’t borrow his body. He found nothing, and then he saw, as Lilithia intruded upon him, that she meant not only to borrow his body, she was going to use it as her own!
“Well Lolth be damned and Mielikki be proud…” he muttered as she began to impart visions of her previous feats. He chuckled at her prowess s she slipped away again, perhaps taking off that amulet to better sleep. Or perhaps silently probing his thoughts.
Are you ever concerned she’ll see something in there she does nto like, Malifain?” Celaine asked, putting the finishin touches on the inter-planar gate as he shook his head.
“Merely she’ll find something she likes too much.” He lamented, sighing. Celaine smiled, chanting softly and soon, before them, the puddle of silver that was the inter-planar gate splashed forth, an no doubt, another one in Cadderly’s private chambers. Celaine looked to Malifain, and for neither had seen cadderly, Malifain would speak for Lilithia.
“Cadderly, sir, we have with us a friend of your friend. Drizzt Do’Urden’s daughter has fallen ill and he is now out on the path to get her a cure, but we need use of her body. She is conscious, but is too weak to help us hunt the would-be murderer down.” He explained, his face not hiding the concerns. Cadderly nodded and gestured to the pool.
“Is it thick enough to walk through?” he asked, looking to the woman beside Malifain.
“Oh, pardon, I am Celaine and this is Malifain Sachereil and yes, it should be stable.” Celaine quickly spurted, stepping back and trying to develop her concentration. Gate-stepping was a tricky task, and exhausting too. Cadderly stepped through, and the puddle dried up suddenly, cutting off a sliver of his pant leg.
“Oops.” Celaine whispered, blushing and apologising. Cadderly waved off the apologies, turning directly to Malifain.
“I have waited for so long to hear from the ranger again, and his is the daughter I am seeing?” he asked with a courteous smile. Malifain nodded and showed the priest in, sitting beside the bed as he talked quietly with the ailing elfess. Soon, both had nodded their agreement, Lilithia providing the whereabouts of all her weapons, and then her magical items as well. Cadderly prepared the herbs right there in the room, for Malifain and Celaine to watch. Cadderly rolled Lilithia over, clasping her hand with Malifain’s as he sat beside the bed on a wood chair, then tying them together with spider’s silk. He motioned Celaine over, and Cadderly guiding her, began the chant that would permit Lilithia to fully take over Malifain’s body. After fifteen minutes, they left the room, so the other two could discuss privately their goals. Lilithia’s body breathed slower now, coughing less and never moving. But Malifain jerked as Lilithia spread her being into the corners of his mind. She cursed him silently, for they only heard each other’s thoughts, nothing more, and he had not lowered one wall of anger to let her see what lay beneath it.
“Malifain, for the sake of the gods…” she asked, pressing again. It was givign him a headache, but if it did, so be it. She didn’t need to know his fears.
“N… no…” he grunted, shifting on the floor. Lilithia was too wise, too impatient for such a fight, and he fought her smile as she consciously took over his nerves, imparting feelings on his body the way she had learned in Menzoberranzan.
He felt light like a feather, all his body displaced of time and cares. He was warm, so warm he wanted to take off his clothing, and so he did at her bidding. And then, a trick of the mind, Lilithia’s bare body appearred before him, encircling his and teasing it with kisses across his jaw, but nothing more.
“Malifain, Malfain…” she chided in mental whispers, “Now come, come to my bed my sweet rose.”
Malifain obeyed. Without knowing it, he remembered ending up on the bed, Lilithia’s visual thoughts of her body entwined around his, above his. As her lips met his, the sensation was more than real, but as they made love, something went terribly wrong.
To him at least.
At last, she slipped past the wall, lowered by his lust and excitement, and now she looked upon those thoughts as he thrashed in the bed. Her visual thoughts of her own body had dissapated, he’d realized, right as she bored through. He began to growl as she sauntered into that all-private grouping of thoughts.
“You… you fiend…” he growled, only making her force him still with magical chants. She could feel the immense, overwhelming hatred, the jealousy and the grief at Solanil injuring her. So her assumptions were right, he observed, as she let him see her thoughts more clearly in the clouded interior of his mind. She backed away, pushing her own hatred and jealousy of Celaine into that small corner and then she did something purely miraculous.
She obliterated all that hatred.
“Now,” she whispered, releasing his body and willing him to dress, “Trust me as you would trust yourself, Malifain, for if we are not working and thinking as one, we will die… as one.”
Malifain nodded, though he knew she was thought-speaking to him. As he strapped on her belt of weapons, along with her amulet and her timeless leather wrist bracers, he smiled, feeling weightless without the guilt and the hate. Cadderly and Celaine had re-entered to check on them, and they saw the twinkle of golden and violet behind Malifain’s blue eyes. But silently, Lilithia reminded Malifain this was only the beginning.
Friday, August 1
Bulletin #2
New chapter - not finished. So... it got badly neglected and I may just have to rewrite it anyways, I hate the layout. I've been working on art projects left and right, and they're eating my brain, plus papers to fill out and sign. Fresh out of summer school, no problems. I will try to get that chapter up so I can get the next after it too.
Wednesday, July 23
My Heart Slipped On A Puddle of Love
I was listening to a mixture of country western love songs and John Michael Montgomery's 'I Love the Way You Love Me' and this and another one came to me... though the other one is a song actually.
My Heart Slipped On A Puddle of Love
I think I got myself into one big muddle
When my heart saw you and slipped on a puddle
I love the glitter in your eyes
The way your hands fit just up above my thighs
Boy, you have me in a mess
My heart saw you and now I feel blessed
The touch of your hand
Baby, ain’t this so grand
I feel sick, I feel great
My heart saw you and knew we were fate
Dancing in the moonlight
Damn, this is just almost a little too right
Baby, I just gotta speak of
My heart saw you and slipped on a puddle of love
And head over heels I went
Loving the way you’re loving me, my exes can get bent
Oh yes, it’s true
My heart slipped on a puddle of love and it saw you
Now we’re in a giant tangle
One the floor, let’s hope we don’t get strangled
Also, while thinking about lovers and divorces, I wrote another one about one very determined couple. (Dedicated in part to my sister and her husband, making it almost eight years!)
No Such Word As 'Divorce' In This Dictionary
There’s lovers who’ve tried,
Lovers who lied,
Then there’s lovers who just don’t give up
Divorce isn’t cheap and it sure ain’t pretty,
But like or not we’ll lift our marriage up
There’s no such word as ‘divorce’ in this dictionary
It don’t come before ‘father’ or after ‘canary’
We have the love
We sure know trust
There’s no such word as ‘divorce’ in this dictionary
All those people that act like they can’t fix it,
They could,
They’re just not like us
People are too willing to give up the trust
He said, she said,
Take all of our problems,
Sweep ‘em under the bed
While we make love….
And there’s no such word as ‘divorce’ in our dictionary
It don’t come before 'father' or after ‘canary’
We have the love
We sure know trust
And there’s no such word and ‘divorce’ in our dictionary
My Heart Slipped On A Puddle of Love
I think I got myself into one big muddle
When my heart saw you and slipped on a puddle
I love the glitter in your eyes
The way your hands fit just up above my thighs
Boy, you have me in a mess
My heart saw you and now I feel blessed
The touch of your hand
Baby, ain’t this so grand
I feel sick, I feel great
My heart saw you and knew we were fate
Dancing in the moonlight
Damn, this is just almost a little too right
Baby, I just gotta speak of
My heart saw you and slipped on a puddle of love
And head over heels I went
Loving the way you’re loving me, my exes can get bent
Oh yes, it’s true
My heart slipped on a puddle of love and it saw you
Now we’re in a giant tangle
One the floor, let’s hope we don’t get strangled
Also, while thinking about lovers and divorces, I wrote another one about one very determined couple. (Dedicated in part to my sister and her husband, making it almost eight years!)
No Such Word As 'Divorce' In This Dictionary
There’s lovers who’ve tried,
Lovers who lied,
Then there’s lovers who just don’t give up
Divorce isn’t cheap and it sure ain’t pretty,
But like or not we’ll lift our marriage up
There’s no such word as ‘divorce’ in this dictionary
It don’t come before ‘father’ or after ‘canary’
We have the love
We sure know trust
There’s no such word as ‘divorce’ in this dictionary
All those people that act like they can’t fix it,
They could,
They’re just not like us
People are too willing to give up the trust
He said, she said,
Take all of our problems,
Sweep ‘em under the bed
While we make love….
And there’s no such word as ‘divorce’ in our dictionary
It don’t come before 'father' or after ‘canary’
We have the love
We sure know trust
And there’s no such word and ‘divorce’ in our dictionary
Sunday, July 20
Future
Hmmm, I was just sitting around really when one of my older, half-eaten ideas came along again. This time, I feel more of an oompf to try them. And kick ass while doing so. Prove the WORLD wrong...
What I want to do before age 35-
Get in shape - Lose some weight - Be healthy.
I'm sick of always being a bit pudgy. And having somewhat oogleh teeth. And flat feet, weak joints, bad eyesight... I want to feel strong, I want to be healthy and feel healthy too.
Overcome all my mental and physical barriers.
Fear of heights, fear of spiders, weak emotional barriers. I want to blast it all away and become the person everyone else strives to become too.
Graduate with a G.E.D. or better.
I know I'm smart, and I can do it if I want to.
Choose a career, perhaps in the Navy, Air Force or Marines.
Military careers a bit appealing, for the challenges they offer. If I end up being the drill sergeant's breakfast in the Marines, the Navy is a second choice. If I make up for my lacking skills, perhaps the Air Force. (Probably not flying the planes.)
Become accomplished in that career.
I want to do things I never thought I would, I want to live a happy adult life... I want to not have to worry about my job being pulled from under me at any moment.
Obtain some college skill throughout the course.
College degrees may have falling values, but it never hurts to shoot for Pluto.
What I want to do before age 35-
Get in shape - Lose some weight - Be healthy.
I'm sick of always being a bit pudgy. And having somewhat oogleh teeth. And flat feet, weak joints, bad eyesight... I want to feel strong, I want to be healthy and feel healthy too.
Overcome all my mental and physical barriers.
Fear of heights, fear of spiders, weak emotional barriers. I want to blast it all away and become the person everyone else strives to become too.
Graduate with a G.E.D. or better.
I know I'm smart, and I can do it if I want to.
Choose a career, perhaps in the Navy, Air Force or Marines.
Military careers a bit appealing, for the challenges they offer. If I end up being the drill sergeant's breakfast in the Marines, the Navy is a second choice. If I make up for my lacking skills, perhaps the Air Force. (Probably not flying the planes.)
Become accomplished in that career.
I want to do things I never thought I would, I want to live a happy adult life... I want to not have to worry about my job being pulled from under me at any moment.
Obtain some college skill throughout the course.
College degrees may have falling values, but it never hurts to shoot for Pluto.
Friday, July 18
Bulletin #1
There may not be another update to either of the stories for the next two weeks after this Friday, 18th of July. I'm working on one, but it's coming along really, deathly slow. I've got about... one page of a chapter on the slate though, but it's going to take time. Hopefully I get back to speed after these summer classes are over. (And I ace them and get good grades.)
Monday, July 14
Heart and Sword PT. 2
And so it goes, the second part of Heart and Sword. Will Lilithia die during the long night? Or perhaps will she survive...
Heart and Sword, Part Two
Lilithia awoke the next day, with Malifain still by her side. As she groaned from the searing pain in her ribs, she opened her eyes, and though she couldn’t see Malifain through her bleary vision, Lilithia knew who the owner of the voice that greeted her as she woke up.
“Lilith! Oh, I thought your fever wouldn’t break…” He said, pressing a cool hand to her brow. She was still quite hot to the touch, but the fever was slowly easing. Malifain’s blurry but cheerful smile made her shift just slightly, but she found herself wrapped tightly in his arms, held to his chest. She must have been squirming and fighting, drenched in sweat now. She felt a cool rag move across her forehead as she closed her eyes, though the light in the room was dim. She could remember Solanil shooting her with two arrows. That explained the pains in her stomach and ribs.
“Where…” She began, her voice too soft for Malifain to really hear. He shook his head and covered her lips with a palm to quiet her, having taken her amulet and worn it around his neck as long as he had been with her when she was sick. He had seen her dreams and her thoughts, though some were very clouded and distorted. His face turned a slightly paler shade of fine ivory as he remembered seeing through her eyes the murder of his sister.
“That one?” The male soldier standing next to Lilithia had asked. She nodded, chanting a low incantation as she watched the girl. She took an arrow, the same one used by the surface elves, and strung it on a short bow that had been made with the stiff tendon of a dragon. As she shot the arrow, it blasted through Aya’s chest, the hole sizzling as the girl dropped and bled to death in the dirt. She would never have taken such precaution in killing just one child unless it was important. This was. Lolth herself had told Lilithia of the child’s future, the child was to be her rival. So she had slain the girl to open her own path to becoming a goddess.
Lilithia gave the bow to her soldier with a sneer of disgust and smiled, though the light burned her skin and eyes, she knew Lolth would be pleased. Maybe one day she would even push Lolth off her thrown and claim it for herself, but she must be careful.
Malifain sighed, knowing that she couldn’t have helped it. Though he had not seen the death blow himself, he knew now that the stories were very, very real.
“You and I are in Celaine’s cottage.” The elf whispered, prying himself away to kneel beside the cot and check her bandages. He saw the wicked wound in her ribs, the arrow head was still lodged deep within her flesh. Malifain picked up a slender scoop like utensil off the table, looking to her.
“I was advised to wait until you were awake for this, I need you to help.” He told her calmly as he pushed the blankets back. He slowly pushed the small scoop into the hole, searching for the metal arrowhead. Lilithia nearly fainted at the pain in her ribs, moaning lowly and barely managing not to move to curl away from the cruel pain.
“Deeper.” She gasped, her hands wrapping around his fore arm. Deeper went the scoop, and Malifain smiled as he wiggled the small metal point free, working it back out of her skin. He saw her jaw tense and the tears welling from her eyes, but once the bloody arrowhead was set on the table he smiled.
“It’s out now.” He said, wiping the blood away from the small hole. Then he saw the dark green paste on her skin. Poison! On Solanil’s arrows? Solanil had been planning, he had known he would get only one shot. Malifain knew now why her fever hadn’t broken. Malifain kept calm, wiping the poisoned paste carefully away and frowning. If it was the type Malifain suspected, Lilithia had a slim chance of surviving, and if she did she may never see or hear after this tenday. Celaine entered just then and saw his troubled expression.
“Malifain, what is…” She almost asked until held the green and red splotched rag up. She gasped, biting her lip and shaking her head. She doubted that she had the experience to counter the powerful potion, with Solanil gone at least. He alone knew the cure, and as the village’s leader, chaos had followed his swift escape.
“I cannot.” She whispered as she closed the door, her thin lips curling into a slight pout. She really wished she could help him, despite her jealousy of Lilithia for gaining his attention. “It’s Atropa Belladonna, I’m sure… but I don’t know how to make the antidote, Solanil never taught me.” Celaine said, shrugging and leaning on the door. She knew it was too late to have sucked the poisons out, and even then, the person that did that would be poisoned slightly.
“Wait!” She said, shaking one hand as she darted across the room to the cupboard. Solanil, as the main botanist, had a supply of herbs here for her, and if she could find the powder that he had recently placed in there, she could cure Lilithia. “Damnit!” She spat as she closed the cupboard and crossed the room again. Malifain stood, dropping the rag on the small desk by the bed and walking towards Celaine cautiously.
“It’s gone.” He said, having heard the powerful outburst of thoughts. He frowned and hooked an arm over her shoulder, leading her out the door so they could both get some fresh air. “I suspected he was planning this, after he started being restless the last few days she’s been here. The council refused to send her away.”
Celaine nodded as she looked to him, his stark blue eyes piercing straight to her soul. He knew that she had loved him, and perhaps that might change, he hoped. He wanted her to see that he wasn’t the only one looking at her. One of Celaine’s friends was always watching her, like Malifain watched Lilithia.
“Where is her father?” Celaine asked him, her ideas running through the ways she might acquire the antidote to the poisons. The salve was made to be slow acting, Lilithia might have three weeks at best. Just enough time for her father to find and return the beans that would save her. Malifain shrugged and nodded to the dark elf approaching from the path ahead. Drizzt’s face was stoic, a few small worry wrinkles creasing his cheeks around his lips.
“Is she awake?” He asked Malifain, nodding to Celaine as she smiled. Malifain shook his head and took a deep breath.
“She’s been poisoned, but we know the cure. Celaine and I will need your help to get the pods.” He said, glancing at Celaine, who was busy closing her mouth as she wondered how he’d know her every thought without her speaking them. Drizzt nodded and relaxed, leaning back on his heels to digest their information. He was worried that there had been poison on the dart, he was the first to suspect that there may have been.
“Pods?” He asked, quirking a brow. Malifain nodded.
“Bean pods to make the potion antidote and counteract the effects of the poison,” He said, taking his arm off of Celaine’s shoulder to step forward. “Solanil himself created the poison salve, and he found a way to make the naturally quickly fatal poisons last for weeks.”
Drizzt nodded slowly and looked to Celaine. He had known that she was Solanil’s assistant, but what could she know?
“Celaine,” He asked, shifting to face her, “Where is this bean and how long do I have to find it?”
Celaine bit her lip, gnawing on them as she calmed her thoughts.
“Three weeks. You must go to Waterdeep and ask Gruez. He knows where to find the bean pods.” She said, hoping he was up to the task. Drizzt nodded and shifted again, anxious to be on his way.
“I need supplies and a horse, I’ll leave tonight.” He said, planning his route slowly. He would have to pass through Mirabar, but he decided against that. He’d have to travel off the road, many still did not welcome him with open arms. After that, he wasn’t sure, but he knew it would be a rough task to complete in only three weeks.
Malifain whistled, bringing a large smoky grey gelding up from the back of the house. He smiled, walking towards the shed to saddle the horse up and fill a pack for Drizzt to have him on his way. They both knew, without words, the troubles and difficulty that lay ahead. Once Drizzt had the pack and his water skin strapped on and he was mounted on the big grey, he nodded to Malifain where he stood, again, with Celaine in front of the hut.
“Goodspeed, light trails and fair weather.” Malifain promised as Drizzt wheeled the horse about and jogged away. Malifain secretly hoped that he could find some cure here before he had had to send him away. Three weeks away with his daughter about to die. But Malifain understood Drizzt too well. He turned to Celaine, sighing and letting his smile pass away. Celaine nodded and they both returned to the comfort of the cottage, Malifain to sleep once more at Lilithia’s side, Celaine to search through Solanil’s abandoned tomes for the cure.
Heart and Sword, Part Two
Lilithia awoke the next day, with Malifain still by her side. As she groaned from the searing pain in her ribs, she opened her eyes, and though she couldn’t see Malifain through her bleary vision, Lilithia knew who the owner of the voice that greeted her as she woke up.
“Lilith! Oh, I thought your fever wouldn’t break…” He said, pressing a cool hand to her brow. She was still quite hot to the touch, but the fever was slowly easing. Malifain’s blurry but cheerful smile made her shift just slightly, but she found herself wrapped tightly in his arms, held to his chest. She must have been squirming and fighting, drenched in sweat now. She felt a cool rag move across her forehead as she closed her eyes, though the light in the room was dim. She could remember Solanil shooting her with two arrows. That explained the pains in her stomach and ribs.
“Where…” She began, her voice too soft for Malifain to really hear. He shook his head and covered her lips with a palm to quiet her, having taken her amulet and worn it around his neck as long as he had been with her when she was sick. He had seen her dreams and her thoughts, though some were very clouded and distorted. His face turned a slightly paler shade of fine ivory as he remembered seeing through her eyes the murder of his sister.
“That one?” The male soldier standing next to Lilithia had asked. She nodded, chanting a low incantation as she watched the girl. She took an arrow, the same one used by the surface elves, and strung it on a short bow that had been made with the stiff tendon of a dragon. As she shot the arrow, it blasted through Aya’s chest, the hole sizzling as the girl dropped and bled to death in the dirt. She would never have taken such precaution in killing just one child unless it was important. This was. Lolth herself had told Lilithia of the child’s future, the child was to be her rival. So she had slain the girl to open her own path to becoming a goddess.
Lilithia gave the bow to her soldier with a sneer of disgust and smiled, though the light burned her skin and eyes, she knew Lolth would be pleased. Maybe one day she would even push Lolth off her thrown and claim it for herself, but she must be careful.
Malifain sighed, knowing that she couldn’t have helped it. Though he had not seen the death blow himself, he knew now that the stories were very, very real.
“You and I are in Celaine’s cottage.” The elf whispered, prying himself away to kneel beside the cot and check her bandages. He saw the wicked wound in her ribs, the arrow head was still lodged deep within her flesh. Malifain picked up a slender scoop like utensil off the table, looking to her.
“I was advised to wait until you were awake for this, I need you to help.” He told her calmly as he pushed the blankets back. He slowly pushed the small scoop into the hole, searching for the metal arrowhead. Lilithia nearly fainted at the pain in her ribs, moaning lowly and barely managing not to move to curl away from the cruel pain.
“Deeper.” She gasped, her hands wrapping around his fore arm. Deeper went the scoop, and Malifain smiled as he wiggled the small metal point free, working it back out of her skin. He saw her jaw tense and the tears welling from her eyes, but once the bloody arrowhead was set on the table he smiled.
“It’s out now.” He said, wiping the blood away from the small hole. Then he saw the dark green paste on her skin. Poison! On Solanil’s arrows? Solanil had been planning, he had known he would get only one shot. Malifain knew now why her fever hadn’t broken. Malifain kept calm, wiping the poisoned paste carefully away and frowning. If it was the type Malifain suspected, Lilithia had a slim chance of surviving, and if she did she may never see or hear after this tenday. Celaine entered just then and saw his troubled expression.
“Malifain, what is…” She almost asked until held the green and red splotched rag up. She gasped, biting her lip and shaking her head. She doubted that she had the experience to counter the powerful potion, with Solanil gone at least. He alone knew the cure, and as the village’s leader, chaos had followed his swift escape.
“I cannot.” She whispered as she closed the door, her thin lips curling into a slight pout. She really wished she could help him, despite her jealousy of Lilithia for gaining his attention. “It’s Atropa Belladonna, I’m sure… but I don’t know how to make the antidote, Solanil never taught me.” Celaine said, shrugging and leaning on the door. She knew it was too late to have sucked the poisons out, and even then, the person that did that would be poisoned slightly.
“Wait!” She said, shaking one hand as she darted across the room to the cupboard. Solanil, as the main botanist, had a supply of herbs here for her, and if she could find the powder that he had recently placed in there, she could cure Lilithia. “Damnit!” She spat as she closed the cupboard and crossed the room again. Malifain stood, dropping the rag on the small desk by the bed and walking towards Celaine cautiously.
“It’s gone.” He said, having heard the powerful outburst of thoughts. He frowned and hooked an arm over her shoulder, leading her out the door so they could both get some fresh air. “I suspected he was planning this, after he started being restless the last few days she’s been here. The council refused to send her away.”
Celaine nodded as she looked to him, his stark blue eyes piercing straight to her soul. He knew that she had loved him, and perhaps that might change, he hoped. He wanted her to see that he wasn’t the only one looking at her. One of Celaine’s friends was always watching her, like Malifain watched Lilithia.
“Where is her father?” Celaine asked him, her ideas running through the ways she might acquire the antidote to the poisons. The salve was made to be slow acting, Lilithia might have three weeks at best. Just enough time for her father to find and return the beans that would save her. Malifain shrugged and nodded to the dark elf approaching from the path ahead. Drizzt’s face was stoic, a few small worry wrinkles creasing his cheeks around his lips.
“Is she awake?” He asked Malifain, nodding to Celaine as she smiled. Malifain shook his head and took a deep breath.
“She’s been poisoned, but we know the cure. Celaine and I will need your help to get the pods.” He said, glancing at Celaine, who was busy closing her mouth as she wondered how he’d know her every thought without her speaking them. Drizzt nodded and relaxed, leaning back on his heels to digest their information. He was worried that there had been poison on the dart, he was the first to suspect that there may have been.
“Pods?” He asked, quirking a brow. Malifain nodded.
“Bean pods to make the potion antidote and counteract the effects of the poison,” He said, taking his arm off of Celaine’s shoulder to step forward. “Solanil himself created the poison salve, and he found a way to make the naturally quickly fatal poisons last for weeks.”
Drizzt nodded slowly and looked to Celaine. He had known that she was Solanil’s assistant, but what could she know?
“Celaine,” He asked, shifting to face her, “Where is this bean and how long do I have to find it?”
Celaine bit her lip, gnawing on them as she calmed her thoughts.
“Three weeks. You must go to Waterdeep and ask Gruez. He knows where to find the bean pods.” She said, hoping he was up to the task. Drizzt nodded and shifted again, anxious to be on his way.
“I need supplies and a horse, I’ll leave tonight.” He said, planning his route slowly. He would have to pass through Mirabar, but he decided against that. He’d have to travel off the road, many still did not welcome him with open arms. After that, he wasn’t sure, but he knew it would be a rough task to complete in only three weeks.
Malifain whistled, bringing a large smoky grey gelding up from the back of the house. He smiled, walking towards the shed to saddle the horse up and fill a pack for Drizzt to have him on his way. They both knew, without words, the troubles and difficulty that lay ahead. Once Drizzt had the pack and his water skin strapped on and he was mounted on the big grey, he nodded to Malifain where he stood, again, with Celaine in front of the hut.
“Goodspeed, light trails and fair weather.” Malifain promised as Drizzt wheeled the horse about and jogged away. Malifain secretly hoped that he could find some cure here before he had had to send him away. Three weeks away with his daughter about to die. But Malifain understood Drizzt too well. He turned to Celaine, sighing and letting his smile pass away. Celaine nodded and they both returned to the comfort of the cottage, Malifain to sleep once more at Lilithia’s side, Celaine to search through Solanil’s abandoned tomes for the cure.
Saturday, July 12
Heart and Sword
Here's the newest piece of Lilithia's story, Heart and Sword. I'll put a short description, it's neccessary because this portion is actually cut into two smaller pieces. I might start adding a little tidbit of Lilithia's own thoughts, in the style of R. A. Salvatore's books, but so far I think just getting these post rounded off evenly and posted is quite enough. (Though don't doubt that I might as well try!)
Short description:
Lilithia is given a test by the elves of Riverdale, unknowing of what is truly underfoot. Solanil has plans to get Lilithia in some deep trouble, perhaps earning an exile from the valley. Malifain woories for her, despite her growing confidence that she can overcome the boundaries of color and intent. But Solanil will not let it go that easily.
In Her Eyes...
Like Entreri and the fights he waged against my father, Solanil shall surely attempt a second run of making my life miserable. Making it so, as he believes, because I have earned it in some way. I am no more a murderer, I have come to see where I stumbled. My father's paths and my own, so very much alike and so very different. Where he was able to escape, I saw myself drawing into that web of lies. I could not help it, I was a high priestess, earning a reputation beyond that of my own mother. A reputation splashed by the blood of a hundred innocents.
My father says that, perhaps, I am like his sister, before she was forced under the water of those lies for too long and her inner innocence was destroyed, was stripped away. Yet Solanil, he condemns me. I am never to be better, never to change. Why can I be charged for the way I was trained, told to act as a child, but when I take things into my own hands and try to correct where I veered off the path... If I had been who I was then I would have just slaughtered him for his closed heart. Blast and let him live in the Nine screaming Hells for all eternity.
But I cannot. This is my second childhood, learning what I should know and forgetting that which I must. Solanil may have tried to kill me but he is not my concern. The elves of Riverdale see what I have become and smile, how rare and lucky I may have been to earn this. But my father forged the path for me long ago, I must walk it in turn and trim the branches that have overgrown.
I must see and hear and think for myself out of the delusions of the wicked Spider Queen, and I must learn to forgive if others cannot. But never forget. Solanil could have learned a lot had he listened to my father as I have. I saw with my own eyes that day that he would never change.
(Picture by Anna Rigby, editing done by me. Lilithia is mine.)
Heart and Sword
Drizzt watched s Malifain paced across the decorative rug in front of the cabin’s door, his arms crossed over his chest and his face a slight bit concerned. The young elf seemed to worry more when Lilithia was absent from his careful watch, but he never voiced that concern to anyone. The door cracked open as a person entered, but it was not Lilithia, as Malifain soon realized. He fell back into his quiet brooding and pacing as Solanil closed the door behind himself.
“She has done well.” Solanil stated, a wry smile brushing over his lips. The half elf man looked to Drizzt, with the same respect he laid upon Malifain, and nodded. “Lilithia may never be innocent in my eyes but in the eyes of Mielikki she is accepted.”
Drizzt nodded and stood, bowing to Solanil. He had taught her himself how to work with animals, and as a test of her patience, they had given her a lively filly to tame and ride today. Drizzt had known that his daughter could tame the horse easily, it was the unknown trial that he knew he could not have prepared her for. Malifain was surprised, but even more shocked that Lilithia hadn’t returned yet. In the previous tendays, he had become close to her, as it was his duty to watch over her and teach her.
“And where is she, Solanil?” He asked, stopping in front of his brother to look him in the eyes. Solanil shook his head and smiled, laying a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder.
“Rest easy, I know you’re fond of the girl, I haven’t given her too much trouble.” Solanil promised, somewhat envious of his younger brother. Malifain was always the ‘younger’ one, but nobody but Solanil and Malifain understood that he was many years older. Solanil had drawn Lilithia aside to explain this, that Malifain was nearly ninety years old. Elves did not age, though, and Solanil was half human. He had lived to be forty, but the age had taken its toll and he looked the proper age. The room was silent for a long while as Malifain and Solanil conversed within their facial expressions, neither truly needing words. Finally, Malifain broke the silence.
“She was injured.” He stated, not pointing out that he believed Solanil responsible in some part for that. Solanil nodded, though he didn’t have to, and Malifain’s powerful scowl put him in his place before he could explain.
“What happened?” Malifain demanded before his brother could make an excuse. Malifain and Solanil got along well, but they were not exactly brothers. Malifain never hated his brother, but he often wondered why, after the wrongful murder of his elvish father, that his mother had taken on a human man as her lover. He expressed that in his venomous glare when Solanil took his time answering.
“One of her spells rebounded off of a mirror and hit her…” He said, seeming not to care. Malifain grew impatient with Solanil’s games.
“Where is she? I want to see her to see how bad it is.” He insisted, turning to the door and opening it. Solanil shook his head, noticing his brother’s odd behavior. It wasn’t like Malifain to take particular interest in only one person, and especially not a girl. And definitely not a drow maiden.
“She refused our help.” He insisted, but Malifain was the door and down the path before even Drizzt could react. Drizzt let Solanil leave of his own accord, listening to the soft mutterings he heard with his eyes half closed.
Malifain found Lilithia is a small meadow, her tunic off as she sat in the shade of an oak, at the edge of a shallow pond. She cringed as she washed at a magical gash in her shoulder, likely from a bolt she herself had created, as Solanil had said. He made a great attempt at being silent, but he realized that his best chance to not surprise her was to be noticed. He could hear her gasp as her finger touched the wound. The rocks under his boots made little sound, just enough to make her turn to him from over her shoulder.
“Malifain, I…” She stammered, but before she could insist he leave he was right beside her, using a clean rag to wipe away the blood trickling down her bare front. They were unaware that they had two people watching them.
“I know. You are hurt, and badly it seems.” He said, his musical voice calming her just enough. She could smell Drizzt nearby, but she thought it only to be the tunic she had borrowed. Little did she know he was behind her in the bush, watching over her as Malifain had lead him to her. He intended to make sure Solanil did not interfere with the two. Solanil did not know about the drow hiding twenty feet to his left in the same trees, each of them fifteen feet from the couple.
Malifain could sense his brother’s magic, but it was weak, as though he was a few miles away. He shrugged off the thought as he looked to Lilithia’s wound with the utmost care. As she winced, a crystal tear streaked down over her cheek. Malifain noticed and stopped, leaning close to her to wipe it away on his thumb.
“I am sorry. Maybe I could find something to dull the pain…” He said, but before he could react, she had leaned forward and collapsed into his arms, sobbing softly.
“It’s not the pain, I failed. After the spell backfired the filly kicked me and bolted. Solanil was very angry.” She said between deep breaths. “I ran away in shame.”
Malifain shook his head, holding her close. Shame? She didn’t realize that the real test had been in just convincing Solanil that she had the knowledge and confidence to try, to go out and get the horse, to ask for the pasture, to walk among the elves as if she were one. He wasn’t smiling though, as he ignored the blood on his shoulder from her wound.
“No, Lilith. That was worthless. The only thing that matter was that you have proved your willingness to be as one of us. And some of your patience with animals.” Malifain said, having to twist his head to the side to speak to her, his breath drifting across her ear. Lilithia turned her head up just then as she was digesting his words, their eyes meeting. Before either could say a word, they closed their mouths, staying silently entwined as the birds in the forest around them continued to twitter and chirp for the next few moments. Drizzt slipped silently away to give them privacy, but Solanil became angry, barely holding back. He watched as Malifain, with Lilithia supported in his lithe arms, leaned further down towards her lavender gaze, his lips pressing to hers in a chaste kiss before pulling back, angry that the wench had been apt at seducing his brother. Lilithia leaned up into the kiss, her lips parting slightly as Malifain moved away.
The moment’s silence was shattered as Solanil stormed out of the trees, his bow knocked once, then again as Lilithia tried to draw her scimitars. The arrows barely nicked Malifain as he tried to protect her by intercepting them, watching in horror as one lodged deep into her belly and the other snagged between her ribs. He looked to Solanil in a shocked rage, as Drizzt, called by the sound of flying arrows, burst out of the trees opposite Solanil. He rushed to Lilithia, sheathing his scimitars and taking her as she fainted. Malifain stood and pulled out his two elvish swords, charging Solanil in an unbridled rage.
“You seek to kill the girl!” He growled, wincing as Solanil used the bow to knock the blades away. Drizzt left the two to their fight as he broke the arrow shafts off and carried Lilithia away, swiftly making his way to the village healer. Only her low groans kept him going, knowing that she would fight for life yet. The arrow in her belly had been in a vital area and Drizzt knew to dally with such a wound would be fatal. Soon, the echoes of metal on metal reached his ears as he arrived at the healer’s cottage.
Solanil’s blades slammed into Malifain’s as he parried, making the elf’s arms tingle. The fight raged, Solanil driven back on his heels by the furious slashes and lunges that Malifain was using, was not as quickly tiring as his brother. Malifain slowed suddenly and Solanil noticed the shock, but not before her felt the searing pain tat could only mean one thing.
Malifain’s blade left a deep gash between Solanil’s ribs, not a fatal wound but something that easily could have killed without proper treatment. Solanil turned, noticing that his forgiving elf brother hadn’t struck to kill, and ran head long into the forest. Malifain turned without even wiping his blade, his face grim as he started off to find where Drizzt Lilithia. He would never forgive his brother if the girl died, and if she had, he would hunt him down to bring justice to him.
His worries were sent away as he found Lilithia in the healer’s bed, sleeping soundly. They had given her a powerful sleep potion, she would be out for a few days they had said. He didn’t care as he sat beside her, her every noise, every sleep movement noted as he waited for her to awaken. He slept on the floor beside her cot that first night, he took his meals in the chair across the room. He rarely left the room except to change his clothing, to bathe, and to clean his bloody sword. He was glad that Celaine, the beautiful healer elf who had visited to care for Lilithia, had changed her out of her gear, the silk gown beautiful on the sleeping drow. The creamy white silk fell over her every curve perfectly, making her look almost angelic, something Malifain noticed was common for Lilithia.
Celaine paused one night as she set Malifain’s meal before him, sitting beside him at the demure wooden table.
“You care for her greatly.” She said, folding her arms on the table. She had fancied Malifain for many years, but always he had been too busy as a ranger to notice her. She was envious that a near-dead girl, and a drow at that! Could have swept him off his feet with such a lasting impact.
“Yes I do,” He said, eating slowly, “She deserves every chance to know forgiveness. And not hatred.” He explained, though he knew it was only partly true. Celaine frowned, her beautiful face turned down as the sharp answer.
“You lo…” She was about to say, but Malifain’s pleading glance silenced her. Celaine never questioned him again after that, for his look was so foul it might curl flowers at twenty yards. Even for an elf, Malifain disliked intrusions on his private thoughts.
Another Update
As promised. I had to search a tiny bit for this one, since it wasn't saved in a different segment like I usually do. If there are typos, try to survive while reading I didn't get as much time to edit as I would have liked.
Ashes on the Water - Part Three
Ashes on the Water - Part Three
Michelle woke with a jerk, finding Joshua’s arms still wound around her tightly when she shifted. Joshua smiled, the corner of his lip showing a bloody cut that had not been tended to. Michelle kissed his jaw, sitting up and blinking in the warm afternoon heat, her hoodie still soaked and coated on one arm by thick black sludge mud. She looked to his wounded shoulder, noting his stiffness and the cringe as he reached to touch her cheek. One of her nails had been torn off in the scuffle, his forehead at a cut by his hairline.
“We need to see a doctor.” She whispered, her voice soft and dry from sleep. Joshua nodded, standing and pulling her up with him.
“Yeah, I was waitin’ for you to wake up doll.” He whispered, cupping her to his chest with his good arm and reaching to pinch her nose. “Broken?”
“No, I don’t think Raz broke it.” She answered before he could try to convince her to let him fix it. In truth, she knew by the odd angle that it was broken, but not badly. Joshua led her out of the alley, on their way back to where Razuko had been attacked. Joshua saw the cop lights from around the corner and quickly held Michelle back, her concerned look telling him her fears. He peeked around, noting the pool of blood across the cement. Joshua promised himself he wouldn’t tell Michelle what he’d done to Razuko with the four other bullets in that gun.
He turned, passing her and grabbing her elbow, leading her down towards the river and pulling out the gun. No, he reconsidered, this was too close to the murder scene. He continued leading her up the street, ten miles up the river almost. They needed the gun anyways, with one bullet, for they were in the worst part of the city and only on foot. Joshua let Michelle stop to rest, and on the final mile je picked her up, cradling her in his arms. He was a strong man, a whole foot taller than her at six-foot-seven and a pretty scary man when pissed. That’s what she loved about him, that he would often scare her but she found his anger curious and if anything it drew her closer.
He had been careful not to become angry at her, the discipline of a Marine who had been hardened by eight years across seas in a small war in
A honk brought Michelle and Joshua back to the mangy street corner they stood on, across from the hospital. Someone’s car alarm had been set off and was going haywire. Michelle, exhausted from the walk and feeling it strongly, buried her head into his good shoulder and slept some more as he walked to the canal behind the river. He looked at the gun before throwing it out into the fast moving canal waters, turning and walking into the ER. He walked to one of the nurses and sat Michelle against the counter as he talked to the nurse.
“She’s got a broken nail and a broken nose I think. She’s pregnant too. I’ve got a gunshot in my shoulder, not critical, and a broken finger. A scrape on my forehead and a busted lip too.”
The nurse nodded, her fingers clicking in the information as he told her, before she stood and walked into the small office behind the desk. Two male nurses in blue scrubs walked out, helping to get Michelle strapped onto the gurney they had wheeled out. She stirred as they finished, looking to Joshua before passing out again, her hand curling and uncurling at her side. They took them both to a small room and set Joshua down to begin washing his wounds. He was stoic as they put the alcohol onto his shoulder, looking from the wound to Michelle as they worked with her too. He could see her cry as they fixed her nose, the doctor leaning over her on the opposite side of the gurney whispering to the nurse. She nodded and walked out, as the doctor looked at Michelle’s badly bent arm. Broken, Joshua guessed.
It broke his heart to see his little ‘Kiss’ in pain. He snarled softly as the nurse stuck a swab into his wound, his eyes narrowing. Who knows what that bastard Pero had told her when he was gone? He thought. And what was she dealing with Razuko for? The nurse gave him a quiet apology as the doctor helped wheel Michelle’s gurney out. They were back in an hour, Joshua waiting quietly on the bed in the painfully plain white room, his forehead stitched and bandaged, his lip also stitched, and his entire shoulder in a sling. Michelle’s arm was in a dark blue cast when they returned, her engagement ring having been removed. Kindly the doctor handed Joshua the ring and smiled.
“Baby’s fine and she’ll wake up shortly. We gave her heavy painkillers for us to fix that arm. Joshua smiled appreciatively and hugged the man, speechless for a moment.
“My health care should pay the bills, right doc?” Joshua asked, reaching for his wallet, but the doctor stopped him.
“Look, Josh, I’ll make sure to put as much onto your healthcare as I can, the rest I’ll pay personally. Michelle told us what happened to her, and we know she prefers her business to be left to herself.” He told Josh, giving the younger man’s wrist a gentle squeeze. Josh nodded, clapping the man on the shoulder and passed him to pull up a chair beside Michelle. He lay on the edge of the bed, his jacket and shirt on the chair, his good arm supporting his head as he watched her sleeping peacefully. She looked so beautiful to him that the temptation of having her in that gown was pretty strong, but he would wait until a more appropriate time. He noticed her moving and shifted closer, listening to her whisper in a dry voice. He kissed her and shook his head, standing and walking to the small sink and filling a paper cup with water, returning and holding her head up to dribble it into her lips. She smiled after he set the cup down, turning to him and opening her eyes. Her left eye had a light black spot under it, almost too puffy to be opened Joshua noted.
“Mmm, how long have I been out?” She whispered, wiggling the fingers of her right arm in the cast. He just shrugged, he hadn’t been counting the hours but he knew it to be late.
“Hey, they said the baby’s fine. I’m okay.” He said, clipping off her next question as that troubled look passed her face. He kissed her, pulling a blanket up over her and pulling her close to his warm body. He could feel the normal heat of the wound in his left shoulder, he wasn’t new to being a gun target. He’d survived being shot in the same shoulder six years ago. He looked down on her as she smiled in silence, his hand running from the knee where her gown ended, up to her hip, his thumb rubbing soft circles there. He knew his calloused hand to be rough, but she had thick skin and had even told him that she liked the feeling.
“Josh?” She whispered into his ear as he leaned to kiss her neck, trailing his hand around to her inner thigh and grinning like a wicked dog. Michelle bite her lip, shifting as best she could with her back so achy and stiff. She gave him a concerned look but he shook his head and moved his hand back out. He would wait until later, he had promised. Right now he just wanted to kiss her and bring her some pleasure for all the pain.
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