#also tis just a rough draft i had in my head so forgive me if its...not up to par

[raginglesbian2006]

what if Alastor had someone he loved accidentally killed in one of his "escapades" and they ended up in heaven. When Alastor dies, he knows that his beloved was too pure to end up in the depths of hell so he begins his journey of gaining enough power to try to get his love back, in turn making a deal he regrets and stumbling upon the Hazbin Hotel. He doesn't speak of this special someone often- only Husk, Rosie, and Mimzy know of them.

All of this is based on the presumption that Al is just a big ol' sap deep down. Albeit a bit....dubiously motivated.

Edit: Turning this into a fic very soon! :) Stay tuned...

A glimpse into my fic based on this random thought- Ne Me Quitte Pas

[dracocheesecake]

Rough Rough Draft of Currently Untitled Story of How Kai Met His Wife In The AU:

“I have heard that you are in the market for a bride,” Lord Qian said.

Kai paused with the rim of his cup only just touching his lips. A smile quirked, once, barely a twitch, before settling back into an indifferent line.

Ah. There it was. Let the negotiations begin.

Kai put his cup down. “Oh? How’s that any business of yours?” He leaned back a little, insouciant, but his eye gleamed with amusement and slight interest.

The elders shifted a little in their seats, but their eyes were on their patriarch. Lord Qian put his cup down. His hoof was trembling, but in a rare display of mercy Kai didn’t show he acknowledged it. The old bull’s face was grave.

“...I have a daughter who is well into marriageable age. You would do me honor if you would take her as your wife.”

Kai yawned. “Why should I do that? I've never even met the girl. What are her qualifications? I'm China's most eligible bachelor, you know. I can't just settle.” He smirked.

The older bull clenched his jaw, his hooves trembling as he held his cup tighter. Really, Kai admired that he was holding himself together so well.

Lord Qian sighed, his voice still as cordial as ever. “She is a warrior of great renown and skill, especially for her age-”

“Psh. I've never heard of her.”

“-Her lineage is also one of honor, achievements and prestige. Our herd-”

“Yeah, you and every other herd from here to the edge of India” Kai waved his hoof dismissively. “Next.”

The rest of the elders folded their ears back and whispered among themselves. Lord Qian grit his teeth. Yet, again, to his credit, he still kept his voice calm.

“-She is a young woman of extreme beauty-”

“All fathers think their daughters are beautiful.”

“-I do not say so to boast. It is a fact. In every aesthetic sense, she is the epitome of the female gender.”

Kai scratched his stubble. “Hm. Doesn't convince me. You know I've seen plenty of heifers along my and my brother's travels. I can have my pick of China's bachelorettes...”

Finally, the old bull's restraint broke. He prostrated himself over the table, his head as low as he could get it. His voice was shaking as he spoke in a hurried rush, the truth of the matter, the reason Kai was even humoring this pretense:

“If you marry my daughter,” he said, “you will, through marriage, be the heir of my wealth and my land. That is the reason you are here- either through matrimony or conquest, you will have it, and I will not have the blood of my herd, my family, or the innocent villagers who make their homes here spilled. There you have it, Your Supremacy.”

Kai laughed. “The truth. There it is.”

He took another sip of his tea, nearly draining the cup before putting it back down with a loud sigh. “So, I guess now that’s settled, we just have to work out the wedding details-”

“No!” A voice boomed through the room, followed by angry hoofbeats- daintier than a bull’s, and so was the voice.

A heifer stormed in, glowering, steam puffing out of her nostrils. Her mane was- or had been- tied back by floral hairpins resembling hydrangeas, but it had come loose, so the inky black tresses of her mane fell over her shoulders and into her face, giving her a wild appearance. Despite the current expression of rage twisting her features, Kai could see her father hadn’t exaggerated when he spoke of her beauty. She whipped her lovely, angry face towards him and glared.

Kai raised his brow. “I’m guessing this is the lucky lady?”

She huffed and knelt down next to Lord Qian. A few of the elders tried to hold her back, but she brushed them off. She took his hoof between both of hers, gazing up at him beseechingly.

“Father, forgive me, but I overheard everything, and I could not bear the way he spoke to you. Would you allow it? Would you not fight for the honor of our village? For your own honor? For mine? Would you rather I marry him, than even allow me to attempt to-”

Her father reached up with a hoof, rubbing his brow. His expression was one of weary dismay.

“I have told you, Zan-”

“Then please, Father, allow me to-”

“There is no need-”

“There is plenty of need! The need has never been greater than now! If you would only let me defend us from this bru-”

“Hold your tongue! You are making a disgrace of yourself and this household, in front of the General, no less!”

“He disgraces you! Disgraces our herd, our family, with his insolence and threats! I will not have it any longer!”

She slammed her hoof down on the table, making the contents jump. Kai’s cup overturned, spilling tea into his lap, but he barely noticed. His blue eyes were locked with her mahogany brown ones, and he could not pull them free (and did not want to). She glared at him more severely.

“I will duel you,” she said, low, “a fair trial by combat, just between you and myself. One weapon each. If I win, then you will take your threats, your army, General Oogway, and yourself away from here, and never return.”

Silence reigned over the room. Kai raised his brows.

“And if I win?”

She nodded. “Then I will marry you without complaint.”

Kai smirked. “Then I accept. When and where?”

“Dawn. The western courtyard.”

“See you there.”

“I will.” She bowed to him, but the outrage burned still in her eyes. She turned on her heel, leaving the room, and as the doors closed behind her she could be heard giving orders to her retainers to have her armor ready.

Again, the room was utterly silent. Lord Qian and the elders of his herd all looked at the floor, their heads bowed, distraught and anxious.

Kai poured himself a new cup of tea and then took a long sip. He chuckled. “I can see why you’re trying to get that one out of the house,” he said. He smacked and then placed the cup back down, rising and stretching. There was still a tea stain on his hanfu, but to one used to being covered in worse things, it was nothing to his pride. He yawned.

“Well, not to worry. I'll be taking her out of your hooves. See you all tomorrow.”

None of them said a word, but Kai could read the room: they knew Zan had no chance, and this entire pretense was only Kai humoring her for his own amusement. There was only going to be one outcome to this fight- his future bride just didn't know it yet…

…Or so he thought.

[disappearingmuse]

(Spicy Eizen/Rokurou where they navigate asexuality. No warnings apply.)

Under the cut, I talk about my process for writing this little guy because I'm a nerd for that kind of stuff! There are spoilers in it, so I suggest reading the fic first before diving into it.

Wet, Crooked Colt: Using Form and Language to Convey Tone

I thought WCC would be the best test subject to get deeper into this topic since the form and language are very distinct! This is one of the weirdest things I've ever written- not because of the premise, but because of the way the story is told.

Form as a vessel for conveying tone

I think the most effective experimental styles are the ones that enhance certain aspects of the story, whether that be a theme, a character’s mindset, etc. The form I chose for WCC- formatting the dialogue like a script- ties in thematically with Rokurou (and as Rokurou soon discovers, Eizen) following a script for foreplay. The script format also has the effect of starkly separating the dialogue from the action, which exemplifies how Rokurou feels a disconnect between his words and his thoughts. Finally, it gives the story a cheeky, playful, rough-around-the edges feel, like the back-and-forth whip of sitcom dialogue. 

I wasn’t completely consciously aware of these things while drafting. I stumbled on the form by accident. I originally wrote WCC with normal-looking dialogue, but the story wasn’t working. It was time to get funky.

At the time, I was reading Big Swiss by Jen Beagin, which is told partially through transcripts. Beagin executes this style expertly. 

I thought, what can I do with that? How can I adapt that to WCC? 

I tried it out and never looked back. I Big-Swissified Eizen and Rokurou. 

I didn’t have much of a better explanation for my bizarre choice other than “this feels right for the story and I can’t imagine it any other way.” While editing, I was much more intentional with applying it so that it benefitted the story.

Apart from the dialogue, one thing that sets the form apart is the stream-of-consciousness description. (Please forgive my gratuitous sins against comma usage.) I think it works because, for the most part, Rokurou is very much in his own head instead of in the moment.

It also meant I didn't have to edit the idiosyncrasies of the drafting process out. The way I wrote the story was very stream-of-conscious; I wrote everything completely out of order. If I wanted a line, I threw it in, regardless of whether it made sense in context. Mass chaos. Fingers were going in places they didn't belong. It was one of the most freeing, lovely drafting processes I've ever had.

Language as a vessel for conveying tone

The atmosphere of WCC is awkward, off-kilter, and a little bit nasty, so I wanted to use words and descriptions that sound that way. The best example of this, I think, is the title. Finding the right title kicked my ass because nothing sounded like it fit the piece. While brainstorming, the phrase “Wet, Crooked Colt” popped in my head (the title is so obscure that you would think it came from a line, but no, it was the other way around.) I tried to resist, because it was just so weird! Who the fuck names a story that?? 

Me. I do.

The title’s symbolism was immediately apparent to me: they’re still figuring each other out, and they’re figuring their relationships to sex out, and things are disjointed like a newborn horse with its wacky new legs covered in afterbirth. (Fun fact that I realized while writing this: this isn’t the first time I’ve used afterbirth/birth imagery with Eizen and Rokurou. See my other work “Liminality.” This was NOT intentional, and no, I don’t know what my subconscious is doing.)

Here are some more lines and moments that aid the tone (whether they're awkward, off-kilter, nasty, or all of the above):

“They clasped hands as if shaking on a dull business contract.”

 “...pour the words down Rokurou’s throat so they turned into more digestible bits, got ground into formless bile.”

There’s a motif of putting clothes back on, which reflects a reluctance towards sex. Eizen tightens the drawstring on Rokurou’s pants instead of taking them off, and in the end, they put each other’s clothes back on.

I can nerd out on this stuff for ages, but I’ll close off here. TL;DR read Soggy Pony

[geartime]

Rough Draft Chapter 4: Berries and Oranges

-Blueberry’s pov

*Knock, knock, knock*

“I’LL GET IT!”

I ran to the door, curious who the mystery visitor was. A List of names went running through my head. Toriel, Asgore, Alphys, Undyne, Muffet, Grillby? Nope, it was a complete stranger.

“Hello there stranger! I, THE MAGNIFICENT SANS, Insist that you come inside immediately!”

Full of excitement at the thought of making this stranger my friend, I stepped aside so they could enter the house.

“Oh, um, ok.”

They seemed rather timid and, scared?

“Bro, who’s the stranger?”

“I do not know brother, but I am determined to make them my friend! MWEHEHEHE!”

“So, what’s your name?”

Papyrus had directed the question to the stranger. Their attention was on the kid however, who was having fun playing with the little doodles and swirls that appeared to be coming from the strangers giant pencil, glowing in a variety of colors. Interesting, their pencil reminded me a lot of Ink’s paintbrush.

“Excuse me, but what is your name!?”

“Oh, um, Ink sent me. My name is Draft.”

They responded, looking away from the kid as the doodles stopped flowing from their pencil. My eyes lit up at the mention of Ink’s name.

-Draft’s pov

The little skeleton seemed to beam with joy at the mention of Ink’s name. Their simple blue eyes reshaping into sparkling blue stars.

“You know Ink!? THAT’S GREAT!”

“I like your name, it’s interesting.”

The child who I had previously been playing with now looked at me with deep curiosity. Their skin was a pale white to match their deep red eyes. They wore simple brown boots that matched their shorts. Their hair was also brown and was at shoulder length and their cheeks had a natural light blush. Finally, they wore a green sweater with a yellow stripe. I already knew we were going to be great friends.

“So, what’s with the magic doodles that were coming from your pencil?”

I then noticed a taller skeleton lounging on a couch. They were wearing orange and white sneakers, brown shorts, and an orange pull over hoodie. They had a cigarette currently in their mouth which I found rather interesting. I suppose there really was no problem with it, seeing as how being a skeleton means you don’t have lungs to damage.

“I’m not really sure. I saw the kid and decided to show them my pencil. Suddenly, swirls of different colors and doodles started to come out.”

Thinking about it, I realized it was the first time anything possibly relating to my magic had happened.

“THAT’S AMAZING! We should probably introduce ourselves to you Draft! I am the magnificent Sans, however most just call me Blueberry!”

He was most certainly loud. He wore light blue boots with matching gloves, dark blue pants, and body armor over a light grey short sleeved t-shirt. Around their neck they had a light blue scarf that was slightly worn and tied in a bow in the back. They seemed to be full of energy, ready to pounce at any moment.

“I’m Papyrus, but you can call me Orange since you are probably going to meet other versions of me.”

“And I’m Chara. I really like your outfit.”

“Thank you Chara. Hello. Um, Orange, did you say other versions?”

Blueberry immediately lit up with excitement, obviously ready to tell me all about something. He kind of bobbed up and down in anticipation.

“You may want to take a seat Draft. This may take a while.”

I did as Orange suggested and sat on the floor next to Chara. Upon sitting down Blueberry immediately started explaining how their world, Underswap, was based off of the original universe called Undertale. There were thousands of other universes like Underfell, Aftertale, Outertale, and many more. He then explained how Ink wasn’t from a physical universe and more just a wild universe hopper who was a protector of the multiverse and creative helper in creating new AU’s.

“I also noticed that your right eye is a star!”

“Ya, Dream seemed to notice to, he said there was something special about it but he wouldn’t tell me. Said there was someone else who would get upset if he told me instead of them.”

“OMG, YOU’VE MET DREAM TOO!? I guess I might as well tell you! Together, Ink, Dream, and I create a group called THE STAR SANSES!”

With that he then struck a pose as he said the name of the group, his eyes once again forming stars. I understood the reasoning behind the name and found it rather clever. Thinking about it, I then realized why Blue was so excited and why Dream had pointed out my right eye.

“So, you’re saying that because I have a star as my right eye, I can be part of the group if I wanted to?”

“YES!”

I thought about it. This was one of the only good things I had heard in awhile since…

‘OMG, INK AND DREAM!’

“No. no. No, NO NOOOOO!”

“What? What’s wrong?”

I looked down at Chara full of concern and fear. I couldn’t keep my thoughts in order as I began to panic.

“Ink and Dream, I hope they are ok. Before Ink brought me here they were fighting two other Sanses named Error and Nightmare.”

“WAIT! YOU MET NIGHTMARE AND ERROR!? Also, Ink and Dream are fighting both of them, ALONE!?”

The way Blue’s voice was laced in fear only worsened my current state. I tried my hardest to keep it together however.

“YA! I thought they would come here after they were done.”

“Well I am sure they can handle it, this isn’t the first time they have battled.”

Orange tried to reassure me, but it wasn’t working. They were the only friends I knew aside from Blueberry, Orange, and Chara. More importantly, they were my first friends. Along with this, if what Blue had said about Ink was true, then maybe the reason Ink was there when I woke up was because he had been there to help in my creation. Without Ink, I possibly wouldn’t be who I am, I wouldn’t have discovered my name, I would never have met Dream the way I did. The possibilities just kept going. Suddenly, two skeletons came crashing down on the floor in front of me.

-Chara’s pov

Ink and Dream were suddenly on the living room floor in one big heap. They were in terrible shape. Bones were cracked, they were both covered in Nightmares black goop, and Ink’s paintbrush was even cracked.

“Oh my. Ink, Dream, are you guys ok!?”

I could see Draft get up and move over to them helping them up onto the couch while Blueberry worked to heal them with his healing magic. As the green light began to fill the room, Draft started to panic, blaming herself for what had happened to them as she went off to a corner, curling herself into a small ball.

“Negh, t-thanks Blue.”

“No problem guys! What happened!?”

I got up as Ink and Dream began to explain what had happened during the battle. I didn’t really pay attention because I was busy trying to comfort Draft. She had started crying and saying over and over again that she wished he had never been created, otherwise Nightmare wouldn’t have taken her and Ink and Dream wouldn’t have had to risk their lives for her.

“Shh, Draft, stop saying that. They do this kind of stuff all the time. Do you have any idea how Papyrus gets whenever Blueberry goes with them. It is nearly impossible to get him to sleep.”

“I *hick* I know, it’s *gasp* just, I wish I c-could have he-helped!”

“Draft, look at me.”

Ink had gotten up and moved over to were me and Draft were sitting. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward his face so she was looking at him. She shivered as she tried to calm down. Her face stained with magenta and yellow magic from crying so much. His eye’s were filled with so much care.

“It is not your fault, we are fine. I promise, we will train you, help you learn what powers you hold. Most importantly, we will never give up on eachother and assume the worse. NEVER blame yourself for anything, ok?”

With this, he pulled her into a hug so as to comfort her. She flinched at first but gave in as she hugged back, clearly needing the extra support.

“O *sniff* okay.”

She nodded her head as she responded. She began to cry silently, still not fully forgiving herself for what had taken place. Calmed down, we all sat down as Blueberry went off to make tacos. Things were calm, and everyone was fine, for now at least.

______________ <Beginning : <Back : Next>

Draft by me Underswap by ??? (sorry)

Sorry it’s been a while since I last posted a part.

[elsakey]

Drabble:: Duke and Courtesan

Fandom: Game of Thrones/ASOIAF Characters/Pairing: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen Genre: AU/Canon-Divergent

Author’s Note: All I can offer about this AU is this: Daenerys is a courtesan of Braavos, the Targaryen Dynasty never happened in Westeros, but the Doom of Valyria still casts its shadow over all. This is a rough draft that may or may not be a fic one day, we’ll see.

Also, please rip this apart. Tear into it.  Tell me why this AU doesn’t exactly work. Do it.

Overall, the party was not disappointing.

Being on the arm of the Sealord’s son was never a dull affair, if she was to be honest. So many fascinating people approached him for a word, and she always lent an ear for the latest gossip of happenings in the Free Cities, the Slaver’s Bay, and even the uncultured land of Westeros across the Narrow Sea.

Tonight, a particular guest from that continent had inserted himself into more than a few of the whispers that reached her that night.

“The Duke of Black is planning on another trip throughout Essos, it seems,” a lord muttered in their midst. “I hear he petitioned the Iron Bank just this morning. Gambling debts, perhaps? It is easy for a foreign lord to lose his coin in these lands…”

“That sword of his has been kept nice and sharp since its last journey, I’ve heard,” chattered a wine merchant. “I’ve heard he’s hoping to meet up with the Golden Company.” The merchant paused and nodded deferentially towards her. “Forgive me my impropriety in mentioning those vagabonds, O Moon.”

She had merely smiled, dipping her head in conciliation. “No offense is taken, Alu Kazok. Though I am curious as to why a foreign prince would take up with mercenaries on our shores. Surely Westeros has its own fill of them.”

The merchant’s expression wizened in speculation. “A bastard prince, O Moon. Perhaps he means to overthrow his trueborn cousins and seat himself as King of Winter? And the trade routes were already unbearable with those cursed ironborn...”

“It is clear from the amount of gold dragons he requested that the country of Winter is facing some serious trouble,” a banker offered to them over a cup of golden wine. “I heard from the banker he met with that he intends to buy a fleet of ships. Does he mean to follow the ways of the ironborn and take up some reaving himself? If so, I hope it is not done on Braavosi shores…”

The Sealord’s son had laughed at that. “No need to worry, honorable banker. It would take more than a newborn fleet to overcome the might of my father and I on Braavosi ships.”

She placed her hand to interlock with the other near his elbow. “A strength that all of Braavos is grateful for, now ensconced in my arms.” The banker and Sealord’s son had both chortled in good humor.

But all accounts had paled to what fell from the lips of the foreign duke himself.

“We have been hearing so much about you tonight,” the Sealord’s son exclaimed as they approached the man. The duke had just been relieved from conversing with another lord, and had paused the glass of wine making its way towards his lips as he beheld them. Or rather, as he beheld her.

It never failed to both amuse and satisfy her when she saw the effect of her beauty on unsuspecting men. This duke was no different. His eyes roved over her hair, eyes, and lips in utter fascination and awe before he looked at her face proper. The growing touch of familiarity in his gaze made it evident that he had seen her before, perhaps in the marketplace or on one of her nightly trips to a welcoming patron.

“My lord,” he bowed towards the Sealord’s son. “My lady,” he deferred next. The sword tied to his waist slightly rippled as he bowed, its brown scabbard a not unwelcome contrast to the ebony silks and boiled leather he wore.

“Is that the famous Longclaw?” she asked, nodding towards his sword. “There are stories that it possesses the mad power of cleaving ironborn in one stroke.”

His hand moved towards the sword in an unconscious motion. “I have yet to hear that story myself, my lady.” His smile was quick and fleeting, a snort of humor. “The only power I know of is its ability to convey the gratitude of a great house.”

“House Mormont of Bear Island, correct?” She smirked at his astonishment at her knowledge. “Is it true that the women of this house are fierce as bears?”

“Fiercer,” he replied, his smile easier.

“Duke of Black, you must indulge us. What is the reason for a prince of Winter to hail Bravosi shores?” The curiosity of the Sealord’s son was not one to sit idle.

Neither was this duke’s wariness, it seemed. “The country of Winter has need of ships. As my king’s newest Sea Master, it falls on me to acquire them.”

This sparked both their intrigue, though the Sealord’s son was the first to voice it. “Sea Master? The wolves of Westeros will now hunt prey on the seas?”

“‘Tis better to hunt than be hunted,” was the cryptic answer. The duke’s grey eyes were implacable slates of stone.

“Then Braavos is the wise choice. Only the Summer Islands can do better at the trade. And as son of the Sealord, I have much wisdom to share.”

The duke nodded. “I would be honored to lend an ear. When would be most appropriate?”

“An eager student.” She could tell the pride of the Sealord’s son was well and truly stoked. “Tomorrow, at my residence. Around noon.” He looked to her. “I have no doubt that you would also wish to attend, Beautiful Moon.”

“I would be delighted, my lord.” Her smile was calm and true. The story she encountered tonight had just taken an intriguing turn, and she would hate to miss the next chapter.

“It is settled then.”

The duke bowed towards them both. “You have my gratitude. If you would excuse me.” He then moved away, his steps brisk. Her eyes tracked him as he made polite conversation with one or two more people, then continued towards the exit of the room.

“That one is solemn for his young age. You would think he was unused to such parties.”

“Who could say, my lord?” she offered. “There is little to be told of the halls of Westeros nobility. Fewer have been heard of the cold halls of Winter.”

“His trip is a boon, then. Now he can finally walk among true nobility.”

A boon, she knew, that this serious duke would give little thought to. “As you say, my lord.”

[bluecoloreddreams]

do you think lucretia had worries about being with Maureen, because she knew her for such a little time in comparison to Magnus' 100 years?

​(This ended up long as fuck, sorry not sorry. This contains a fair bit of info from Down in the Valley and Quantum Entanglement, so be warned.)  

This is pretty interesting because I’m far from being ableto address this as a current concern, only as a past one, fic-wise, and from aperspective of it being sort of a bittersweet relationship issue, since Maureenis dead in canon/post-canon, and Lucretia thinks of their relationship assomething failed.

The answer isn’t simple at all—but if I had to simplify it,the one who worries about the time comparison is Maureen, not Lucretia.

Lucretia definitely considers it because it has an impact onhow they interact, but it’s not her key worry when she’s approaching a relationshipwith Maureen:

Lucretia is much more concerned with guilt. One of her keyissues going into a relationship with Maureen, even though the attraction ismutually there, is if she means itand if she deserves it.

I have to pick through what’s been revealed about QE throughDown in the Valley; they run as parallels, but there’s a lot that hasn’t beentouched on, or only shown as a thing that’s past and only from Lucretia’sperspective.

To sort of give some background as to how they end up in arelationship (as in QE current, it’s like “hold up Micah, we know they end uptogether, but Lucretia’s basically like… a prisoner”; I know. It’s tagged slowburn for a reason):

Lucretia leaves Maureen’s care once she’s healed, but shecomes back because she’s lonely. She spends a rough six monthsrecovering/convalescing at the Miller safe-house; she could have left earlier,but she doesn’t because she finds herself feeling more and more at home, whichultimately causes her to leave. But she’s already realized that she missesclose companionship with an intellectual equal, and eventually it gets too muchand she goes back to ‘visit’.

Of course, this is an issue: Both Lucretia and Maureen arewomen who are in caretaker roles that insulate them from the rest of the world.(Lucretia has Davenport and the Relics; Maureen has Lucas and the feud withKalen and the government council that supports him.) Lucretia is aware of this,and is aware of how lonely she is,and she’s afraid that Maureen’s attraction to her is simply because Maureen isincredibly lonely, even more so than Lucretia herself is, as Lucretia can goout into Faerun proper (as she does for her quest for the Relics).

Additionally, as Lucretia becomes more involved with theMillers, it becomes apparent that the Relic Wars instigated a little of theirpolitical situation; Lucretia doesn’t know the whole story, but then, neither does Maureen. Lucretia isunaware of how tightly tied what she’s done in redacting the Relics and theRelic Wars is to the person Maureen is when Lucretia meets her.

The whole plot point with Maureen, Lucretia, and the Ravens’Roost rebellion is a whole mess of plot threads knotted up in a ball that doesn’tget untangled until it’s far too late.

Lucretia realizes she has Maureen’s implicit trust,something she uses to her advantage to coax her into aiding Ravens’ Roost—Lucretia honestly does believe that aiding the shadow movement in support ofthe rebellion will help Maureen deal with the loss of her husband and home, andallow her to be able to live outside of the safe house in the woods. She alsowants to help Magnus in her new life, but her main priority is doing somethingshe thinks will free Maureen from her own issues.

She wants to impress Maureen, she wants to court her, andshe thinks that this is an opportunity that they should take because theirgoals are in alignment in that they both want to help the people of Faerun.Lucretia knows, peripherally, that Kalen’s rise to power is due to the RelicWars’ political instability, and the power vacuum her redactions caused; sheknows Magnus is there because of her; she knows that if Maureen doesn’t act,she might never be able to function fully in society.

It’s something Lucretia recognizes as wholly selfish, but atthis point, she and Maureen are barreling full force towards a relationship.

An excerpt:

She locks eyes withMaureen. “Mar, there really is a revolution,” she says. “I went up to Raven’sRoost, and it’s happening, it’s real.”

Maureen purses herlips; “What were you doing in Raven’s Roost?”

“I went to go get abench for the garden,” Lucretia says. “…Surprise?”

Bane looks between thetwo of them, from Lucretia’s sheepish look to the flush crawling acrossMaureen’s cheeks, then nods to himself. “Friend, huh?”

Lucretia shoots himthe most venomous look she can muster. He raises his hands and shrugs.

Lucretia walks over toMaureen and kneels next to her chair. “Maureen, I saw it happen in real time,there really will be a revolution,” she says. Maureen turns her head and sighs.

“Lucretia, I… I can’t…it was the same way before, with Kalen. No one realized that he wasn’t… heframed himself as someone good—taking small townships under his wing during theWar to help them, but he was really just… He swore he was using our inventionsfor good, to help, but he was twisting them. Making them into weapons, usingthem against the people he was promising us he was protecting. Lucian diedtrying to make it right…”

“Magnus Burnsides seems to be a good man,”Bane cuts in. “And it gets you closure—revenge, whatever you want—”

“I don’t want to hingemy life,” Maureen snaps, “On some man no one knows!”

“He’s a good man,”Lucretia says. “He’s what he promises.”

Maureen looks down atLucretia, and Lucretia holds her gaze, smiling up at her. She reaches up andtouches Maureen’s cheek. “Maureen, trust me, he’s a good man,” she whispers.“He doesn’t want it for power or glory—he wants it because he loves his town,his friends. Because Kalen’s a tyrant.”

Maureen rests herknuckle underneath Lucretia’s chin, looking down into her amber-colored eyes.  “How do you know?”

“I was there,”Lucretia says.

At this point, Maureen is not inoculated. She’s not inoculateduntil after Kalen bombs the craftsman's’ corridor. When Maureen is inoculated, theyboth discover that a lot about Maureen’s husband, their feud with Kalen and themilitia, and what ultimately caused the incursion on the Miller laboratory was,of course, due to a Relic.

Ideally, I’ve scattered enough clues in QE to really sort ofclue the reader in that something isn’t right with Maureen’s memory of herhusband, but.  

So that’s ALSO a thing that Lucretia is worried about, andit’s a big deal because everything she’s told Maureen about what she’s doing,these things she’s looking for—she immediately recants it because she feedsMaureen the same stuff she feeds the THB. There was a group of magic users who madethese things, these things are bad, I have to find them to destroy them—and inoculatesher, only to find out that Maureen’s been directlyimpacted by what they did, and it basically destroys her and she knows shecan’t lie.

Maureen, of course, remembers this. She forgives Lucretia,but she remembers it, and she remembers how she pushed to fight the rebellion,and it’s not that great for them later on, when she’s pushed to her limits withthe thrall of the Philosopher’s Stone, because that’s what it latches onto.

Maureen finds out that Magnus Burnsides was Lucretia’sformer lover, and she of course, has doubts about Lucretia’s motives. She alsois incredibly aware that Lucretia’s been in these century-long relationshipsthat she would give her life for, and she just can’t fathom it.

Whereas Lucretia looks at it through a lens of like,normally people wouldn’t get that, that’s not the norm, they’re both grievingover relationships that were their firsts in like, serious deep commitments andthat they’re both capable of handling learning each other. She doesn’t compareMaureen to Magnus like that. But as they stop talking and Lucretia leans moreheavily into her role as Director, and getting THB onto the base, getting theGauntlet, Maureen starts wondering if Lucretia just used her in order to get toa goal: to get her original family back.

Maureen loves Lucretia a lot, but she’s stubborn and she’s proud and when it all boils over, she’s under the thrall so of course it doesn’t go well. Ultimately, what Killian says in Down in the Valley, that Lucretia and Maureen would have worked it out if it weren’t for the Stone and they were given time, is completely true. 

There’s a lot going on, and this is probably way more than you wanted, anon, but it’ssuch a good question, and it’s a dynamic I thought a lot about when draftingthe fic.

I also want to take a moment to say that Maureen and Lucretia have a solid chunk of time, about five years, where they’re good and solid and happy. This isn’t something that’s been explored yet, since Valley is a story about grieving and moving on, and QE is only just beginning in terms of Maureen and Lucretia’s initial friendships. It’s only something that’s been touched on in sort of spin-off fics, such as the AU where Maureen becomes a reaper, and in the little pwp oneshot of them, but overall, their relationship is something they work hard at and focus on because they do care about each other and value being on equal footing; it’s only when the work part of it falls by the wayside that it sort of crumbles for them. 

Overall, they don’t worry about it much after an initial period of guilt; it’s an important factor, but then it isn’t, only for it to be a big deal again years later. 

[writersj]

This is actually a finished story, well as finished as a first draft can get, but I was having trouble deciding if I should add this part in that I wrote. So I’ll put it up here for good measure!

Enjoy reading~

…

“Well forgive me, you were distant, and I figured it’d be better not to mess with you.” Cassie gave him a smile.

“Why not mess with me? That sounds like such a fun thing to do! Besides it seems we will be here for quite some time, so why not spend some time actually doing something.” Curil got closer to her.

“Well, have it your way, but I did hear some of what you were saying. Do you think not of your escape with the curse of this blade, but instead the honing of it?” She nods.

“Of course I feel this way, are not all challenges in some way a curse? A curse of pride, honor, revenge, it goes on!”

“You mean to say the blade controls you until you control it?” She nods.

“Precisely!” She brought the blade back up. “Do you not see? This blade means no harm but in fact power!” Curil started walking again.

“Cassie… Put the blade down.” She looked at him.

“And why exactly would I listen to you?”

“I think you would be better leaving it by anothers side for a while.” Cassie stepped back holding the blade at her front pointed for him.

“When we first met, I hit to kill you, yet you did not. Is it even possible for me to actually kill you?” Curil stared at her, “Maybe we should find out.” She paused, “Draw your weapon!” Curil sighed.

“Why?” He asked.

“So we may see if your life can end!” He looked at her wondering where did this come from.

“Cassie, are you feeling alright?” She shook her head.

“Yes I am feeling very well, even better since we picked up that prince’s lover!”

“Kyo?” She nods.

“Yes, Kyo and Yuji, a pain in my side at the moment, though I hold nothing against them, just the fact that he refused to listen to me.” Her voice came out dry.

“Is there anything else?” She nodded.

“Yes, you. You seem to ignore everything I say and when I mention you to stop something you don’t. I hate it really, but there is no reason for me to say it aloud.” Curil looked at her.

“Will you put the blade down?” She looked to him.

“I’ll have you know I do not do well with orders, let alone order from someone who believes themselves to tell me something I’d rather not listen to.” Curil formed his sythe.

“I am asking once more: release the blade.” Cassie smiled.

“That is more like it, get angry! So that this may come faster.” Cassie watched as Curil made no move to stop, she started running for him. Curil grunted letting her blade slide off of his scythe, he would not fight her but he knew if he did nothing she would try and harm herself trying to get what she wanted, he would only humor her. She grunted and turned quick around thrusting her blade in his direction. Cassie stood with her blade in hand, Curil stood opposite her and held his hand up.

“You do not have to agree with this Cassie, it would be better for you to remain unharmed.” Cassie stood with her blade stuck into the ground near her foot.

“Are you going to strike me or stand there and try to avoid death?” Curil chuckled.

“Good one, but you will not be able to say things like that to me after we are finished.”

“I cannot wait.” Curil smiled and lifted his scythe before he started up a run at her. Cassie lifted her blade and clashed with him.

“Tell me Cassie, do you do this often?” She slide off of his blade and spun around going into a run for him.

“Why? Stop talking and keep your focus!” He laughed avoiding her blade with somewhat ease.

“I am, this is how I keep focus.” She blinked a few times. What is he talking about? Cassie kept calm, not letting his words get to her. She kept her focus and looked around for a place to run, suddenly he was in front of her. She gasped and pulled her blade up blocking him from hitting her, “Heh, I told you to drop this pointlessness! There is nothing you will gain from this!” She pulled his scythe down along with her sword and stuck them both downward. He pulled up from her strength ignoring that she was digging his blade into her palm.

    He flicked the blade up knocking it from her hands and his from his hands. Their blades flew up in the air before landing a bit away from them, Cassie smirked.

“That blade of yours, it is somewhat like my sword is it not?” He smiled to her,

“Yes it is, not cursed, just not from this world.” Cassie brought her bleeding palm to her mouth and stained her lips with her own blood.

“Then maybe you should know something too; the smell of blood is something like that blade of yours, it makes me go “animal”.” She wiped her hand down letting the blood drip and fall onto the grass. “Smelling it, tasting it, it all is pretty much the same thing! It makes me think better. Clears my head, as it is all I want!” Cassie made a mad dash for her discarded blade, Curil had not the slightest indication of her movement as she went for her blade. Reaching it she grabbed both his scythe and her sword. Curil stopped mid dash, she giggled.

“This does not seem very powerful at all. What is with the three blades?” He did not dare move but decided to keep her at bay.

“Which do you want to know about?” She looked to the one touched with her blood.

“This one, why is the sharp side facing up?” He smiled.

“Oh, you noticed? Most just think the blade is sharp either way, but it is sharp on its upside, rather than the traditional way, the reason for that is because I come in strong with the top most blade, and if that does not work I trap my enemies and give them a choice.”

“With the two bottom ones?” He nods.

“Smart, but you have no clue on how you are suppose to use that weapon, put it down and give it back to me!” He took a small step forward.

“I think I would do well to keep this for myself,” She grunted knowing she had to wield the weapon with both of her hands, she grunted tossing the blade back behind her hearing it stick into a tree. She started a run forward, Curil saw her and before he knew it he was stabbed by his own blade, Cassie looked up with a smirk, it soon faded when she saw Curil also standing there, a smile apparent on his face. Cassie felt her wrist grabbed, she could not move! Curil moved his other free hand and pulled the blade out from his abdomen and tossed it aside, Cassie was trying to escape but he held her tight before grabbing her other arm and pulling her close to his body.

“Release me!” She kicked around before she felt her feet fall from under her, next thing she sees is the ground below her.

“Not until you calm down. I figured you think my own blade could harm me, you fall to your own folly.” She grunted blowing dirt and grass from her mouth.

“And you fall fool to your own love! Kill me! Do not spare me!” Curil sighed.

“You are not yourself… Cassie, come to your senses and understand that you are under the spell of the curse!” She yells out.

“Oh that is what you believe, but it is not! I am victim to my life at hand, having everyone bless me with their problems and expect me calm and collect under their presses! You all would wish to be in my mind, you would perish at the very thought of your issues and have no problem with the end of your life. You would wish for it!” Cassie kicked around once more, panting now.

“You hold much in you… you tell of your hardship but never tell where it’s source is. What exactly is it that holds you so tightly?” Cassie grunted, her breath came out harsh and rough, she kicked around.

“Release me!” She heard tearing then felt something around her wrist, “Ow!” She yelped feeling the tightness of his clothing around her wrist.

“We will have to work out what exactly is the problem, this might be a while so we have to keep you restrained to prevent any harm done to yourself.” He grabbed his scythe from the ground. “If you try and run I will have to harm you.” She grunted.

“Even if I could what would I do with my hands tied?” He chuckled before walking over and grabbing her and putting it away in the discarded sheath.

“Come now, everyone is probably worried.” Holding her like a sack, he began to walk back to Taichi’s Land…

[ioncewasgoodatwriting]

After the After

*This is a rough draft! Spelling and grammar issues will be fixed with time. Also updates will happen... eventually

The sloping hills of the Dead Zone laid out before Milo. His horse breathed deeply, trying to suck whatever clean air was left in this disaster zone. Coming upon the edge of the Seira’s land, a high wall, lined with an ever-burning fire came into view. A moat, made of lava greeted Milo with a powerful blast of heat. Reaching the gate, Milo waited for the fiery gate opened,  laying across the lava moat. It’s rocky surface immune to the heat below made for a safe passage into the kingdom. The guards greeted him as soon as he crossed, circling him with high held heads and powerful muscles.

“What news have we got from those weak kindlings?” one guard sneered.

“Yeah, have they asked us to surrender again? They think we are cowards?” the other added.

“Sorry lassies, but this news in confidential, only for the Queen to know,” Milo said, undaunted by their exposed and burnt skin.

“Well be a party pooper why don’t ya? All men are party poopers,” the guard remarked, smacking the hind quarters of Milo’s horse. In surprise, the horse leapt forward, racing across the packed ash road. Milo kept the horse going, headed towards the main tower at the center of the mountain, the guards laughing behind him.

The horse, used to this daily trek, climbed up the rocky mountain, to the entrance at the top. The lava fall blocked the entrance along with the largest and meanest of the guards. They silently glared at him, asking with their eye, Why are you here?

“Hello, ladies. I have arrived with news for the Queen from Suruat,” Milo explained.

The guards huffed, using their metal spears to created an opening in the violent molten rock. Milo dismounted and walked inside. Another guard inside greeted him with a cold stare, following behind him as he walked the polished rocky floors. The castle inside opened up to him, revealing beautiful decor made entirely of polished lava rock. Fire was the lighting, making the room hot and Milo sweat. Great, iron doors filled with lava were the last set of defense for The Queen. They opened at the guard’s command and the great keeping room of The Queen unveiled itself to Milo. Even after all these visits, Milo was awestruck by the beauty and danger of the room. He walked across the bridge surrounded by magma in front of the thrown. He bowed before the Queen, kissing the birth rock on stool before her.

“Oh Queen of Fire, I have news from Suruat,” Milo said, still on his knees.

The Queen, decorated in red, orange and yellow with a crown of fire looked upon him. Her orange hair, a symbol of her power over the kingdom flowed down, rooted in the magma that surrounded her throne.

Her fiery gaze looked upon him, “What might this news be?”

Milo opened the scroll he had brought with him, and read it allowed, “Dear Queen of Seira, I have a mild annoyance with your subjects. There have been a significant amount of thievery from your subjects, from food to clothes. My economy is suffering due to your lack of supervision. I kindly request that this behavior be punished immediately. Yours truly, Damek,”

The Queen’s hair caught ablaze in fury. Her throne caught fire as she stood up, glaring at Milo with a heat intense as the sun.

“How dare he say such things of my subjects! We are the explorers of the world and are the reason the sun stays in the sky above his head! My subjects would never steal such trash from him or his despicable kingdom,” She said, voice echoing throughout the halls. She rushed down the stairs, past Milo, and across the magma to a shelf cut into the rock. She pulled out a slab of rock. Writing each letter with a forever molten lava, the fiery red stood out against the dark rock. An impulsive letter, with visually angry symbols was presented to Milo, after she had finished.

“Give this to him and shove it up his ass,” She said, fire lapping at the edges of her dress.

Despite her older age, she still had the spirit of the volcano in her, keeping her impulsive and fiery nature alive and well.

“I apologize on behalf of Suruat. I know it is difficult for King Damek to write a letter that isn’t offensive to you,” Milo apologized.

“Well he should! He is a dimwitted lollygagger of kindling. I hope his whole kingdom drowns in a flood!” She yelled. Milo looked at her terrified. She saw his fear, and calmed her fire.

“I’m sorry, Milo. I understand it is Damek I need to yell at, not you. Please forgive me,” the Queen apologized.

“Oh, your Majesty, it is quite alright. I didn’t mean to bare a letter to you of such offense,” Milo replied.

“No, no, it’s Damek’s fault. Oh he is such a bucket of water! But enough about him, I have news that I want you to spread across the land; the heir to the throne is soon to be born!” The Queen exclaimed in delight.

“Oh! That is absolutely wonderful! I’m so happy for you,” Milo congratulated.

“Haha yes. I’m so excited! The kingdom is preparing as we speak!” The Queen continued.

“Yes yes! I am so happy to hear the news. However, I must part. My wife is waiting for me at home,” Milo said.

“While I will never understand why she chose a man to marry, I am glad she chose you,” The Queen replied.

“Haha I am too. Thank you, Your Majesty for your good news and time, I will see you as soon as I get a letter back from Damek,” Milo called, leaving the room with the guard.

“Well then I’ll see you next year!” She called after him, laughing at her own joke.

Milo left the fiery kingdom and trotted his horse through the Aquene Forest. He came upon his house as the sun began to set. His quaint house, made of molten rock and tree held his beautiful wife, running around with whichever new hobby she had now.

“Honey, I’m home!” Milo called.

His wife tumbled out of tree in excitement to greet him. She jumped into his arms, her warm skin touching his.

“Hello dear! I’m so glad you’re home! I have good news!” She said, holding his face.

“What is it? You finally decided to put on some shoes?” He said, pulling up her foot to inspect if there was a shoe.

She laughed and kicked her foot away from him, “Heavens no! You’d see me dead before I wore shoes! No honey even better!”

“Well tell me!” Milo urged.

“Guess!”

“Hmmm, you finally built a molten rock house in the tree?”

“No...but I wish! Keep guessing!”

“You found a new hobby of skiing?”

“No! You’re so silly, there is no snow around here for anyone to go skiing on!”

“Fine, you didn’t burn the bread today?”

“Why would I not burn the bread? Who’s house do you think this is, Milo?”

“I’m out of guesses,”

“I’m pregnant!” Milo looked into his wife’s eyes and kissed her.

“Oh honey! That is such good news! The best news I ever heard!” Milo said, spinning his wife around.

“I already have morning sickness, you don’t need to make me throw up anymore!” She said laughing.

He set her down and loving gazed at her, “When did you find out?”

“Today! I was walking by the old oak and it spoke!” She said, using her hands to motion and act out the scene, “He said, YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TWINS!”

“Wait, twins!” Milo exclaimed.

“I know I was just as surprised!”

“Well double the trouble and double the fun! Let's get ready for these new additions!” Milo said happily.

The night went on and both were too excited to sleep and began building a nursery in their half treehouse, half rock house. They fell asleep in eachother’s arms, on top of the crib they had began to make for their babies. Milo awoke at the sun beating down on him, his wife lay next to him, deep in sleep. He looked up to see the sun had cross almost half of the sky.

“Oh, shoot!” Milo cursed, getting up.

He kissed his wife, lifted her into his arms and took her to their room. He left her a note saying, Dear my sweet darling, Sorry to leave you so suddenly, I was late to delivering Edna’s note to Damek, I should be home as soon as I deliver it! Love you so much! PS. Don’t tumble too much, the babies will be born with as many broken bones as you!

He left the note on top of the candy stash she got into each morning. He mounted his horse and rode off towards Suruat. The Dead zone, a vacant and scorched land, void of life separating the two opposing kingdoms. As he rode along, Milo felt the sense of worry for the kingdoms; another war could easily break out again, and he was the only one able to prevent it. He sighed and kept along, his trusted steed setting the course for Suruat.

He arrived to a great wall of thorns, held together with mud and straw, a great tree full of homes within its branches. He approached the wall and soon the thorns parted into a hole for passage. His old home greeted him with fresh smells of plants and wood. The people worked around the tree, gardening and clothed fully. A guard the same height as him lead to the tree.

“O’ tis a wonderful day my laddy, I’m a utterly pleased to see you again. How tis your wife and home?” the guard asked in a proper manner.

“It is a lovely day, and I’m flattered by such a comment, John. The wife is good, we are expecting twins! The Great Old oak told her just the other day!” Milo replied.

“O’tis that a bucket full of good news! The King himself is expecting as well, The Great Tree is preparing a bud as we speak! We are preparing in advance and have arranged and projected into our schedules the birth of our new Prince!” John blabbed.

They reached the trunk of the massive tree and with a series of pullies they arrived at the top of the tree, and just as John said, there was a bud forming at the top of the tree. Milo stared in amazement as he continued towards the King’s palace. A great house built of all kinds of woods loomed about him, smelling strongly of herbs and earth. The grand doors parted to a living ecosystem within, manipulated to achieve the desired decorations of the King. Upon a living throne, the King himself sat, eating glorious fruits and foods. He saw Milo and stood up, welcoming him in an embracive hug.

“O’loyal Milo! How it is so good to see you! Did you send my letter? I made sure to think it over and make it as understandable as possible for the... Queen,” The King boomed.

“Yes I did, and sadly she did not take too kindly to it I’m afraid. I have not read your return letter, but it is still on fire with her anger,” Milo explained, handing over the molten rock letter.

The King gazed over it, huffing and sighing at it’s contents, “It’s sad she didn’t even proofread this.”

“She is rather impulsive, that is how things are done in their kingdom, your Majesty,” Milo replied.

“Well, caution and accuracy is much better than rash impulsive decisions. She should really have more control over her subjects! I can’t have them ruining the birth of the new Prince!” The King said, “I shall write her another letter. It will be done by next week. I want to make it thorough and completely understandable to her. Milo, do me a great favor and deliver this as soon as it’s done, but only if she is in an understanding mood.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Milo said, bowing to the King, “I must be going, Sir. I also have twins I must prepare for.”

“Oh! What a lovely omen! I’m so glad to hear you and a woman were able to get along so good. Although I don’t understand how you do it, I applaud you on your patience for her,” The King congratulated.

“Yes, thank you, Sir. You know how love works, it can overcome any obstacle,” Milo said, leaving.

The months passed and all three parties prepared for their offspring. Each kingdom was happy and elated for the new coming of the Royal family. Milo and his wife were elated as well for their two new additions to arrive. Milo’s wife grew very larger, proving that the Old Oak was right; there were to be twins.

However, the night before all the young were due, the Earth shivered, shaking the kingdoms and Milo’s home. The shiver turned into a full shake as the both the tree and the volcano of each respected kingdom developed a deep crack. The King of Suruat and the Queen of Seria were enraged by the devastation to each of their life-giving palaces. Their subjects congregated and murmured, worried if the births of the new Royal family would be affected by this deviation.

Milo and his wife, while having experienced the earthquake, didn’t experience too much trouble; their house built strong and sturdy with rock and wood held tight. The birth of their babies was soon, but the earthquake worried Milo.

“Honey, I need to go check in on the kingdoms, they might be having issues with this earthquake,” Milo explained.

“Well your kingdom probably is devastated, since you know how Seria is with earthquakes; excited and joyful as lava shoots up and covers everyone.  I understand with their new Royalty on the way this might be different, be careful please” His wife responded.

Milo rode back towards Suruat. A massive crack upon the side of the tree made him stop in his tracks. He stared at it for a long time before reacting and galloping towards the entrance to the Thorn Wall. He was let in, but was welcomed to a melancholy atmosphere and destroyed homes and crops. The people of his kingdom cried and cried, holding each other. This was not the looks of a town who was to have a new King. Milo rushed towards the palace, reaching the King’s quarters to find him holding the bud, opened, but empty.

“Your Majesty? What...happened?” Milo asked cautiously.

The King turned around, “It’s that evil witch’s fault! She had to have a part in it, she's having a baby at the same time and then mine is missing! She wants hers to be the center of attention and not mine! I plan to declare war on her immediately!” The king boomed.

“Sir, let me deliver a message first, there must be some misunderstanding. Please, wait before we call for war, she and you both know that the Royalty is born at the same time. While she is impulsive, she would’ve left a trace of fire if she or one of her subjects had come,” Milo reasoned.

The King sat there a moment, holding onto his anger still, but after thinking, he sighed, “ Okay, go tell that Queen my baby is missing! And if she has it, I will, by force take him back!” The King screamed and Milo rushed out the door and galloped to Seria Kingdom.

He arrived to fiery chaos, The Queen herself rushing around, helping to restore the kingdom. Milo dismounted and tiptoed around the fire towards the Queen.

“Your Majesty Edna! I came to see if all was okay in the kingdom and with a message!” Milo called, running towards her. She turned around and picked him up by the neck, engulfing in a fiery rage, “WHERE IN THE HELL IS MY BABY??” She screamed.

“I don’t know, please....hack....both babies are missing...” Milo stuttered as his neck burned.

The queen set him down and looked him deep in the eyes, “What did you say?”

Milo gasped, “Both Royal babies are missing, Damek thinks you stole his baby.”

“Why on earth would I want his baby? It would burn up to a crisp,” She replied, “So both babies are missing? Great. How is the Royal family to continue, who will rule the palace?”

“Maybe the babies, wandered off, or were disrupted by the earthquake and ended up somewhere else,” Milo tried guessing.

“Milo, you realise if both Royalty are missing or were affected by the earthquake, and aren’t in their respective kingdoms soon, the land will fall apart,” Edna said quietly.

“Your Majesty, I will take it upon myself to find your baby, and Damek’s. You and your subjects can repair your kingdoms while I do so,” Milo offered.

“Milo, from being of the land of Suruat, you are a good person. I commend you on your loyalty to both kingdoms. But, if you don't find the babies, all hell will break loose,” The queen said.

Milo left, and rushed home to his wife. He worried over the fate of the kingdom; with both Royalty missing, it was hard to say what future lie ahead. The kingdom’s fate began weighing heavily on Milo. He came close to his house to the sound of moans in agony. His wife lay on the ground, panting and in mid-labor.

“Honey!” Milo exclaimed, jumping off his horse to hold her in his arms.

“Just...urgh...Help me,” She panted.

Milo sat beside her, holding her and trying to help her, but things weren’t going well. Milo picked her up and rushed her to the Great Old Oak.

“Please, Oh Wise One! We need help!” Milo pleaded.

The tree moved with the wind and branched covered the both of them. A soft whisper crossed Milo and his wife’s ears, These babies cannot be yours, they much save the kingdoms, they are destined to. With a violent gust the leaves lifted and Milo and his wife held to two small babies; a girl with dark brown hair, and a boy with bright orange hair.

“Dear? What did the old oak mean? Saving the kingdoms, what is going on?” Milo’s wife said, scared and holding tightly to the little girl. Milo looked at his wife’s terrified eyes, and looked at his newborn children, crying and taking their first breathes. His heart ached as he knew what had to be done.

“The kingdoms don't have their Royal Heirs, the earthquake may have killed them. Both the Volcano and Tree of Life have a deep cracks in them,” Milo explained.

“What does he mean by they aren’t ours? Of course they are ours! I just had them and it's the only way a boy could have red hair like mine and a girl to have brown hair like yours!” Milo’s wife began to cry.

“Honey, I know we’ve sacrificed a lot for our kingdoms, but these babies must take the place of the Royal ones,” Milo said solemnly.

“But it will never work! They are the wrong gender! There can't be a Fire Man and there can't be an Earth Woman! How could they accept them?” Milo’s wife cried.

“Honey, we have to. They have to believe us, I’m so sorry,” Milo said, lifting both children into his arms. Milo’s wife stared at him, tears running down her face. Milo got the family on his horse as they rode home. Milo’s wife held onto her daughter, tracing fingers along her face. Milo looked back at her, seeing the motherly love conflict with her loyalty to the kingdoms. Milo looked back at his son, seeing his small face, and thinking about how delicate he was, almost considering keeping his children to himself. They arrived home and Milo reached for their daughter.

“Wait, please. Let me see my son,” Milo’s wife whimpered.

Milo hesitated, but traded children with his wife. She helf him close to her heart, and touched his face. Her tears, made of flicks of fire, streamed down onto their son. His orange hair caught ablaze. Milo and his wife, too desolate to notice, cried and held their family together for the first, and last time. Milo took the son into his arms, and with both babies secur, he rode off away from their empty home.

Riding first to the land of Seria, he came to a rebuilding castle. The deep crack in the volcano lacked lava or heat, sending steam up into the air. The queen herself helped her subjects still, lifting and building new homes of molten rock. Milo approached the Queen.

“Your Majesty, I have found the Royal Infant. The great Old Oak had taken them in, protecting them from the earthquake,” Milo explained, handing the orange haired boy to the Queen.

“This can’t be the royal baby, it’s a boy. Milo, I’d expect you to be smarter than this,” The Queen said, handing the child back.

The Queen reached for the baby girl, but her heat hurt the brown haired baby, it's skin began to scorch as it screamed. Milo instinctively lunged the baby away, hold it protectively to his chest.

“No! No, you have to have the boy, this girl is unable to stand fire,” Milo said.

The Queen taken back glared at him, “This is a mistake!” She boomed.

“No! It's not! I promise! Look, this child’s hair is ablaze! He is meant to be with your kingdom” Milo reasoned.

The Queen stared at him hard, but lifted the orange baby into her arms. His hair instantly grew and was as fiery as hers and he giggled loudly. His eye’s opened, filled with the lava. Her eyes fell onto his and love worked it’s magic.

“While I do not understand how this could be, I accept that this is the Royal Lava Princess, erm... I mean Prince?” The Queen said, looking the baby over.

“Please, take good care of him,” Milo said, turning away and riding off, trying not to show his tears as he had to leave his baby behind. The Queen looked on at him in confusion, but was distracted by the infant boy’s laughter.

Milo rode, his daughter in his arms. Her brown hair and skin had already begun to heal from her burns. Milo rode across the Dead Zone, unaware that his daughter caused grass and saplings to grow in their path. Milo reached the thorn wall and sighed. He looked at his daughter and her eyes opened, revealing deep green eyes. His heart shook in his chest with a powerful urge to keep her, but his kingdom’s wails of sadness reminded him of his duty. He rode into the kingdom, and as he step foot, the detroyed grassed and crops sprung up in green, fresh life. Flowers grew around his horse’s feet and his people’s eyes filled with wonder. The King, seeing this miracle rushed down to Milo.

“You have found my baby boy!” The King boomed as he rushed over to Milo. Milo dismounted and held the baby out to the King. The King saw her green eyes and brown hair, falling instantly in love. He picked her up and held her close.

“What a beautiful baby, he is just what this Kingdom needed in their new leader,” The King boomed. As he looked deeply into her eyes, her hair, similar to her brothers grew long and full of flowers. She giggled and sent a surge of Spring through the kingdom. The King looked at her in confusion.

“Wait...Milo... this here child is a girl. You should know this is a kingdom of men, and no woman could ever be of the Earth. They are of fire,” The King said, looking at Milo confused.

“Your Majesty, I was just as confused, and so was Queen Edna, but this girl can’t live in fire, and as you’ve seen, this girl has the power to bring Spring, a power only Royalty possesses,” Milo reasoned.

The King looked at him hard for a long while, and looked at the girl.

“We need our Royalty, and if this baby is the one destined for it, I guess we will be having a Princess,” The King huffed as the kingdom eavesdropping around him gasped. Milo sighed in relief, but felt a pang of pain as he realised he was giving up his daughter, forever.

Milo left the kingdom and headed back towards his home, sad and empty. His wife lay on their bed, looking up at the ceiling with a blank and depressed stare. Milo wrapped his arms around her and they held each other as they cried.

Five Years Later

The Seria kingdom, long since rebuilt and fiery since the earthquake, only bared the deep crack in their volcano as a reminder of the event. The New Prince, a boisterous five year old, ran around the kingdom, setting everything ablaze. The women of the palace, still getting used to a boy being in the kingdom learned to warm up to him as he had as much spit fire as any of them. With the young girls of his age following him around in amazement, he created small volcanoes all around his kingdom. The Queen looked on in wonder, still in awe over how their heir could be a boy.  She eventually learned to accept this, especially after the kingdom grew with fun and laughter from the Prince’s mischief.

Milo, with a letter from Damek arrived, opening the gate. For the first time the young Prince got to see the outside world, and Milo. Still being young, he was unaware that he was different from the women, so seeing a man was very confusing.

“Prince Conley,  it's the messenger!” The girls squealed around him. The ran behind the older women, watching in wonder the mysterious messenger. Conley looked at him in wonder.

“Why don’t you go talk to him, Prince Conley? You’re the Prince after all,” A young girl whispered in his ear.

Conley summoned up his bravery and went up to the horsed messenger. Milo looked down, seeing his son for the first time since he gave him away. His lava filled eyes gazed at him in wonder. Milo tipped his hat to the young Prince and rode up to the Queen. Conley followed behind

[raitchparker]

Sunday, March 5, 2017

Nothing quite builds the desire to write creatively than being paid to write about power tools. So, here I am.

I spent the better part of yesterday in a room full of people as gripped by fear, anxiety, and a deep desire for change as I am. Two organizers, named Scott and Michelle signed onto the Indivisible project within seconds of the inauguration and have been pulling a bunch of us en masse to demonstrations and meetings. There is so much happening every day, to list it out is a litany of science fiction. I can’t list any of it right now. Maybe some day, I will. It’s hard to fathom what history will say about this era. 

What I have to say is that I do not share much passion for my activism. I never really have. To me, it is on par with exercise or eating a mostly low fat diet. I don’t really want to do it, but I know the painful results that await me if I don’t. Also: just like I prefer to hang out with stable and healthy people, so do I prefer the company of people who are awake. I always, always have. I’ve always run to places where awake people gather, like the coasts, the mountains, and parts of the dessert. Now, I’m tucked away in a corner of a small city, reaching out and finding my people. 

One of them, Anne, I had lunch with this week. Another colleague of ours, Debbie, sat with us through a sobering lunch where we stammered our concern, fear, privilege, and resolve. We are thankfully motivated. I am thankfully not alone. 

I felt like complete emotional shit all week. Honestly, I don’t think it’s fair to have to menstruate during the era of T****. Especially with the sick husband and a body of lawmakers who are using the health insurance on which he is so dependent as the most irresponsible political wedge in the history of my lifetime (just this side of abortion, voting rights, and all the other horrible racist shit Congress has done in our name since the founding of the Republic). There were too many days of tears last week. I was wiping them away like an angry child attacks her sadness from the unwanted pain of a scabbed knee. They shouldn’t be there, not this much. 

But they are there, quite a lot. It is not easy, starting over. I heard a voice, the voice of the yogi, to be sure, who in the midst of that turmoil, that grief, that blistering anger that spoke to me in the form of torrents of sobs. It said: “You just started over. Your friends are far away. Your husband is sick. It’s okay to feel alone. It’s okay to be scared.”

Sometimes, you turn into the skid. It’s the only way to stop. It’s also the only way to forgive yourself for moments when it feels like everything is about to fall apart. And so, even in all the spinning, I stopped. I saw the world and remembered that it’s always, always been a place of unfettered cruelty and hatred. To believe I could escape the brunt of it is to see myself as something spectacularly lucky. We have been lazying ourselves through a modestly participatory democracy for a century now. 

So, I listened to the yogi voice, because she’s the smart one. She always knows what’s up. “Please,” she said, “the world is in turmoil. Please, be soft with yourself. Be quiet. Be mindful. Be kind.”

To me, a horrid epoch started with the death of Bowie and was capped with an orange-faced monster’s inauguration. I’d never equivocate the former with the latter, but they both broke my heart, so it matters to me. I’m listening to “Space Oddity” right now, because I need that David, the David who had only recently turned away from being David Jones. I haven’t listed to that album for years, and rediscovering it is lovely.

My friend N--- was the roommate who had this album. We stopped speaking over a decade ago, and she is as self-destructive and messy as they come, but this album ties me to her and a house we shared together. I’ve had a couple of dreams lately where she floats in and is nicer, younger, and friendlier than she would be if I saw her now. It was the version of her I met in the 90s and it was like spending time with her. 

She was one of the first warriors who taught me how to be a real fighter. She led me to yoga and other esoteric practices, she gave me the instinct to chant, which I still contend saved me. So, “Oddity” is a bridge to her, and that time, the girl I think of when Ani DrFranco sings about her “starstruck girl.” I love the way the soul pulls you to the albums you need, because it knows, somewhere buried in its lyrics, in its swells and lush orchestration you’ll find the moment, a bullet, that sends you armed, ready, steaming, and flaming for the fight the next day. 

Because, FUCK. That’s the only word for it, this period. Every headline is worthy of its own new curse word. We are all armpit deep in potential losses. Everyone is scrambling looking for anything to grab so we can all have a hand free to hold onto our very humanity. These are rough waters. We are all exhausted and gasping. 

Bowie buried the shimmery, glossy, very 60s and folky (”Oddity” is his folkiest album by a mile) “Cygnet Committee,” and on it, he sings like a man whose just lost his religion. I’d always assumed it was about war, but I read in the Mojo Bowie edition that it was about the dissolution of an art collective Bowie had helped create. Or something like that. The thing is in storage and I haven’t putted together the damned book cases yet. 

The song structure belies the epic rock drama of other long Bowie movements, like the “Sweet Thing” trio on Diamond Dogs and, of course, “Station to Station.” It is a character song, and, so, no one probably really knows exactly what the song is about unless Bowie specifically said. The orchestration is demanding and remarkable. There is Dylan-influenced guitar laced within it, as well as a direct shout out to Detroit (”kick out the jams”). You can hear him pulling at the boundaries of analogue instruments, with what sounds like a spinet (but could be a Hammond) tinkling in the background. 

I need my fight songs right now, and I forgot this one existed until it spoke to me today. It raised its hands and said “I’m the song. I’m what you needed. I was right here.” I did need it. It reached out from over 40 years ago and clobbered me on the head with its history. 

Who am I to think this is the worst of times anyway? How could this be worse than an era when black and white people couldn’t legally marry? How can I know what it was like to have friends drafted into a war? I would have, had I been a young woman, a woman Bowie’s age, then. Friends of mine would have been dragged, helpless and alone, to Vietnam. 

Who am I, a Jew, to think that my life is harder than my great grandfather, a man so scarred by his own heritage that he wouldn’t tell my grandfather, his own son, his true last name. Who am I to feel suffocated when my own husband can’t take an uncompromised breath?  

I dove into the song and let it take over my sadness. I’d been writing about power tools off and on all day. I’d already taken my husband to lunch at Unioin Loafers, a remarkable bakery and lunch spot that Cassidy has been preaching about since we moved to the neighborhood. We had great food and I drank strong coffee because I knew I’d need it. (I’ve been drinking coffee again regularly for the first time in nearly 15 years. I felt about that for about 8 seconds; there are far worse fucking things I could be drinking too much of at a time like this). 

Herbert at a messy chicken salad sandwich and I had maybe some of the best pastrami I’ve ever had. it was feathery, light, very lean and perfectly seasoned, piled onto their fresh baked caraway, piled to the ceiling. It’s an elegant little spot and I could see sharing a bottle of wine with a sister or four there soon (their wine list is great and super reasonably priced). I sipped on the hot coffee and watched Herbert pick his way through his messy sandwich. (Herbert has a pet peeve about oozy sandwiches; there was a restaurant in our old neighborhood that became his sandwich nemesis for this reason.) 

To know your husband’s sandwich preferences is the normalcy of marriage. Happily married people love that kind of intimacy. I suppose unhappily married people are tortured by them. To one, it’s a reminder of love and companionship, to the other, a sort of torture.  

“When I go to a place like this,” Herbert at one point said, referencing the hip urban crowd (a very diverse one to be clear), the relatively loud music, the crowded dining room, “it occurs to me how wiped out I am.”

I shared with him that the night before, when I was networking with local activists, that I knew it would have been more than he could handle. Walking from parked cars to crowded rooms, backed to more cars, onto another restaurant, where there was more walking. I recognize so many times where he should be with me, and probably wants to, and last night was surely one of those. He’d have been with me at the Women’s March. But I’m doing all of this alone. He’s spending his time alone, in our (albeit fully beautiful and comfortable) house. 

And that’s how you normalize illness. That’s how you come back together when an ideological war is raging around you. You eat sandwiches and you talk about the disease that destroyed your husband’s lungs. You embrace all of it. When you can, you remember how lucky you are to be able to eat a nice $40 lunch with your husband, as heartbreaking as it is that he’s taking medicine that requires he wear 50 SPF sunscreen, even on an overcast day (it was drizzling when we left).

As soon as we got home from the restaurant, I clicked on the space heater and sat down to write about tools. It’s work that’s easy to get distracted from. And so I tend to Facebook and then get back to writing. Writers are experts in killing time. 

Somewhere in there I felt a yearning for the right piece of music that would remind me how to live through all this. I started with Prince’s (lest I remember how crushed I am that he’s fucking dead, too) “Around the World in a Day” which is ridiculous and got me through a blog about dust collection equipment. I went right to Kate Bush’s “The Kick Inside” with her wee, 19-year old voice and her quaint arrangements, belting out tunes on what I’d still argue is one of the most staggering debut albums ever. 

I kept going back to Spotify, until I went back to an old Bowie. I felt the young person who first heard those songs, the 20-something who lived in Tucson, kick at me. It was my kick inside. And I started crying. 

Not right away. I let the opening tracks wash over me. I drifted over to Facebook and posted a link to the song “Unwashed and Slightly Dazed” and I reminded everyone who reads my posts that I still miss Bowie. I got through about 1k words about demolition hammers and portable flashlights with “Letter to Hermione.” 

Then the lyrics of “Cygnet Committee” clobbered me in the face with their relevance, their nowness. I listed to the song two times in a row. I sat in my desk chair and let myself get rocked with deep, deep sadness. I turned into the skid. I let Bowie be my lullaby, as he has been so, so, so many times in my life. I felt possessed by hope, by the sweet knowledge that men like Bowie always matter, too. He mattered.

This is a fighting song. Whatever it’s really about it is, in every way, a 60s song. It’s got a battle march beat at the end, and it’s in the final moments of Bowie crying “I Want to Live” that kept sending me back to the beginning. Mostly, though, it was because I needed to hear this sequence more than anything. Over and over again, as this operative folk rock song churns over on itself, an ambitious 9 minutes of as well-crafted pop as has ever existed on earth, this moment felt like its heart. It pounded its way into me, and out of me, as I just let it bring me into a little pool of sobs, sobs I knew would wring their way out of me until the ship stopped spinning. This is what you listen to when you slide into a skid during the era of T****:

“And We Know the Flag of Love is from Above And We Can Force You to Be Free And We Can Force You to Believe"And I close my eyes and tighten up my brain For I once read a book in which the lovers were slain For they knew not the words of the Free States' refrain It said: I believe in the Power of Good I Believe in the State of Love I Will Fight For the Right to be Right I Will Kill for the Good of the Fight for the Right to be Right.”

Thank you, David. Thank you so much for teaching me that language. I need it right now. I need to remember that I will kill for the good of the fight for the right to be right. I don’t think it will come to that, but that’s what I need tattooed on the inside of my fucking eyes right now. I believe in the power of good. I believe in the state of love. I will fight for the right to be right. I will kill for the good of the fight for the right to be right.

You get through a traumatic childhood like mine by finding the right guideposts from the outside world. Bowie was more than a guidepost. He was a searchlight mixed with a billboard. This way, he said. He helped me name my tribe. I have to be grateful for being someone who loves music right now. Because I can’t give up. None of us can give up. This is a lousy time for giving up. 

About a week ago, I went over to Cass’s sister-in-law’s house for an event she (her name is Rachel) hosted for a friend who has just written a book. Her name is Steph Jagger and her memoir, “Unbound” is about quitting her job and taking a long ski trip. She’s lovely and some of the women there had read her book. I’d meant to, but of president T****, so I only read terrifying headlines right now. My brother-in-law’s brother’s wife, Kris, was there with her two sisters, one of whom is a theater artist and both are lovely. 

It turns out that Dot’s other aunt Rachel happens to live about a block from where this Aunt Rachel grew up. Rachel lives on a street that was literally on my way home from school. About two blocks from her sits the community theater where I did children’s theater when I was a kid. The most tender and loving moments I have of my childhood happened there. 

We got a bit giggly about that when I walked in the door and I drank too much rose. I knew I was a little depressed (heavy and soggy with a horrifically painful and heavy menstrual cycle that would dragged me down even during the relatively restful Obama era). If I could have gotten my hands on fresh doughnuts, I would have walked into her house with three dozen and a bag of sherry to wash them down. That’s how I felt before I got there. 

I spoke to the theater sister about local theater and drank a little too much rose and luxuriated in the simple joy that, yes, this is a part of my new life, too. As hard as things go, I came home at the right time. These were all perfectly charming, smart and accepting people. Kris’s sister Ellie knows a lot about the local scene, has a theater company, and is curious to read some of my writing. It felt like a gift, that night, a reminder of the smart choice I made to come back here, of the world I’m defending, of these nice people who work hard and have the right to raise their lovely children. They loved me and talked me into some well-needed joy. 

I’ll keep stumbling along like this until I can’t. I’ll keep showing up at meetings until I die. I know that now. I’ll never not be involved for the rest of my days. I get it. I did a lot, but it was never enough. I have the gift of extra time now and I will use to show my ass up as long as I can. 

Here we are, facing the dragon of our age. To this, to this epoch, to Herbert’s disease, to the threat of losing our healthcare, to the pain of growing up the child of an alcoholic, to my loneliness, to racism, misogyny, bigotry and ignorance, to the trolls I shall not name who spew venom on behalf of 45, I have this to say:

I will die for the good of the fight for the right to be right...especially if I die right after eating that pastrami at Urban Loafers. 

[shardvixen]

Chapter 3 of Cage!From the Den

Here is Chapter 3. Once again this is the rough, rough draft. Thee is spelling error. I will clean it up later. Please give it and the other chapters a read.: Falen was tired when he hit the North Opening to Inland Gate. He didn't really like the figures over the Gate. Even though he had been here once or twice with Paja in last two yesters, he didn't know the city well. He didn't know the lay out or that if he walked the outer rim he had to have some way of identified himself to various Emperials. So he moved into the middle of the city but found the beings there were less than friendly. Luckily a very pretty and nice she apporached him and they exchanged tales. She really wanted to get to know Falen better and he promised if he didn't find who he was looking for he would be back to visit with her. He left her with a cute look of disappointment and moved south down the Seller Path. The she had tod him about a huge Slag who had been moving down the Seller Path South.Falen hoped that not all Slag looked like Oarin and he was chasing after the wrong Slag. Oarin was dark like the shadows but with hair so pale it almost seemed like living metal. His eyes matched the hair with only a slight tint of blue or maybe it was green but a being had to be real close to see. Falen had a chance when Oarin had gotten close up to look in to falen's eyes as well . What he had been looking for, Falen was unsure but it gave him an up and close look at Oarin. He was very hairy but the hair was so pale it couldn't been seen until a being was up close. Most of Oarin head was shaved with one strip of really long pieces all tied up to create a long hair rope down his back. A long bread down his chin with a long mustashe blending down pat his chin also bounded up like a hair rope. Paja had grey hair and light blue eyes almost slilver but with more color than Oarin's. Paja couldn't be a Slag because Slags were allowed to own property but the contrst between the two men was interesting to Falen who had not ever been off of Lueve and had only seen Emperials who were more like Falen's own coloring.Falen knew Paja was considered very wealthy because Emperial Highness Nachoon's household traded with Paja, or at least he sent his own personal traders for the very best Noirflora petals and various items made from the plant as well as an Empire's worth of seeds. Falen loved to watch the sellers and traders come down the path from Inland Gate. In all of their finery to impress on Paja their importance to the Emperial Highness. Falen had always wanted to visit the Emperial homeland, the island of Magin where the Empire survive the Morrow Then days. It was thrilling to him that he had traveled down the same path, they had used to get to the farm, he had use to get here...Here...He looked up and was taken back by Oarin filling his vision up. He was standing in front of a large garden with Spyrul flowers and Grason trees all around him as well as a few Noriaflora bushes beginning to bloom. They only bloomed in the dark or near dark. Fear surged up into his throat and all he had been thinking about disappeared as Oarin filled his mind. He wasn't sure if it was still a good idea to follow Oarin or to even speak to him. Maybe staying with Paja and waiting for a Lexe was the better idea and whether or not it was too late to go back. It is possible Paja was right and Falen was bit too eager to get in trouble. Maybe.... maybe this Slag would kill him and strip him of all he had and then eat him. Did Slags eat beings? Looking at Oarin and seeing him with those dead eyes and arrogant stance, Falen could almost believe it. He tried to bring up all he knew of Slag but suddenly his head seemed very empty expect for something Paja was always saying to him,”Falen ya listen and keep in ya head. The HeiRo needs all things to wind.” This was usually followed by tap on Falen's head. A seep of longing for that taap almost drowned out the fear....almost.How does a being get as big as the one standing in front of him. And it wasn't just his size or the he stood but how he was dressed and wearing his weapons in the open. On his walk here, he saw no dressed like Oarin. Even the Empire guards kept their weapons covered. Here in Inland Gate he had seen others with covered weapons and poles (he wasn't sure how poles could be a weapon so he might be mistaken on thinking they were weapons.) Falen waited for the moment when Oarin would hail him, but the dark man just kept standing there like some of the beings who worked on the farm who have used to much of the Noirflora. Maybe there was nothing to fear or maybe the empti was waiting for the HeiRo to come and guide him.Falen's spirit took on a thought which helped him get his voice. Hew was the HeiRo, he was the one who would save the world and make it save from those who would destroy it. He pushed himself and stood tall with false bravo. “Oi, Oarin, Falen.” he held a hand up palm facing Oarin. Oarin did a slight bow of his head but didn't make a sound or move, so Falen moved slowly towards him. When Falen was close enough to touch him, Oarin looked into his eyes and said,“Falen, seed not of Paja.” Falen wasn't sure how to answer, so he bowed as he had been taught. It was how greetings were exchanged in the Seats of Power in all of the Empire. Oarin didn't return the bow but said. “HeiRo, I am at your demand.” So Falen had been right, Oarin did know about Falen's Morow Now and Further.Wanting all he could learn, Falen took on a commanding voice, “Tell me all about my Morrow Further, my destiny.”Oarin paused a moment and Falen felt a surge of excitement which was lost when Oarin responded in a low voice “ It is Morrow Now you need to know. Come.” And he turned to head toward the rest-in behind them. Falen didn't know what else to do but to folow even though he was sure now that he truly was HeiRo and he should be doing the leading, he didn't know where to lead.************************************Oarin in his stance while waiting for the Whispers, saw beings, many going into the Caged Spyrul-it seemed to be the spot for Inland Gate. He knew from being through Inland Gate twice, that some thing new had been brought here because this was the first time the Whispers which have travel with him since he was young ever pulled him around while being in Inland Gate. Oarin understood that lust was a powerful thing but it seem it had to be more being offered in there than just flesh, there was just too much activity going on. Most of the flesh would either be making some kind of payment or the flesh would all be Slags. No other being could be owned except Slags. Besides the Marxs, the silver coloring in skin, hair or eyes were also another way to know if a being was a Slag. For the Slags without silver, Marxs were the only way to tell and those had to be gotten by a bond. None silver Slags were very popular as flesh because they were rare. It may be the new attraction in the Caged Spyrul was a non silver Slag.With Falen following Oarn stepped over the threshold of the side door. The door which the two she beings had come through to find him in the garden. Near the door was the Lesnes who had brought him tea, he didn't acknowledge it, it wasn't there. His eyes caught the icons of the new faith, one which had many different beings and dead Emperials of the Empire represented as gods. Lead by the HeiRo fo the Morrow Now Further. If Falen wanted to know about his Morrow Further, all he had to do was study the new faith. In his travels, Oarin had seen many types of art depicting such tales of the HeiRo. The Roeganers had spoke tales of the first picture created on a rock cliff overlooking one of the 1st settlements on Krilen. Many Roeganers believed it was to scare the Slag and to give others false Hope that the Punishment was false. But without the Punishment, the Roegas would never have gotten strong enough to help the Mother and themselves. It is promise after the Punishment, Slags would be free and the dead would be rewarded with life or Paradise in the Sideways Path if they so wished it. Lones would be able to petition a forgiveness and the Lesnes would find their souls if they were strong enough. Oarin was brought out of his head by the song of joy the Whispers were pulsing with. There was something here that was part of them. Oarin felt a shiver of excitement. Even the Lesnes seemed to feel the pulse in the air. Only the short , squat being hurrying over to Oarin seem oblivious to the charge in the air.Oarin didn't stop moving into the room till he was in the center of a circular waiting room. At one time it was much more elegant but only some of the materials in the room had been taken care of. Falen steped in behind Oarin and moved past him looking in all directions like a bobbing looking for prey. Oarin was beginning to think the little HeiRo had a lot to learn about the world. It would be up to Oarin to teach him. Oarin counted four doors on the same floor as them and a stariway which spiraled around the room just like the flower the rest-in was named after. There was most likely another door up there to the outer rim for the wealthy to visit the rest-in. Inland gate had lots of balconies which were connected so the wealthy and powerful never had to touch the street. The floor at his feet show the signs of age from long ago, way back in Morrow Then before the Empire was born. The stairway was a bit younger but still older than some of the wall materials. The design suggested before Inland Gate became the port city but after the figures were placed on the gates. This building was part of the Quazian culture from the Morrow Then.“Oii, ya not allowed in here.....” The being stopped when it saw Falen. Giving him a look from top to bottom, it said, “Ah, Sah does this Slag belong to ya?” Falen looked at her, than at Oarina nd a sly smile came to his mouth. He knew he had to wait for here to bow first to establish rank. His rank had to be higher than hers, so he would wait until she bowed. She reminded him of some of the nannies back on the farm. He didn't have to wait long for her to bow and then he bowed back. She seemed very exicted for Falen to be here, maybe the size of Oarin spoke of wealth of any who owned a Slag like him.“Follow, Sah I have all kinds here for Emperials. “ She rang a charm on her neck and the doors open, letting in another small being. Oarin notice this one looked a lot like the small being who had served him. Maybe bondlings. This one was guiding another being, tall being which smelled like a she to Oarin and was most likely flesh sold here. The Whispers shot off him in a burst of light, color and sound to caused wind to rush up and settle around this new being. The Whisper sang of joy and small voices spoke”her, her, ya must free her. Her, her her, you must bring her. “ Over and over as the Whispers flew all around the being carassing her haiir and face. 'her, her her, she must be with us, we must be with her, you must be with her.” Oarin watched as the new being reacted to the Whispers and looked straight into his eyes, a feat few ever did or completed depending on what was going on at the time. Oarin stood frozen as eyes rimmed with power looked straight into his. In a flash shorter than a heart beat but longer than his own life, he stood still looking into eyes convented familitaty and awness. As soon as they were connected the flow was gone. Where once there were silver upon silver eyes now there were only brilliant green like the leaves of the Tree. A rare color here in the Empire where browns and blues were the norm and even a few black on black but not green. He noted that the green eyes and pale hair was most likely one of the reasons she was a flesher but it was also the fact she was the Cage. Beings would feel the love of the Mother through her for a payment and for a moment their lives would be perfect.Oarin felt the lust radiating off of Falen, the rest-in owner and even the little being holding the Cage's leash. He felt the anger that they would look upon a piece of the Mother, a piece which was in all likely hood the kind, loving Mother as something of a play thing. He fought the urge to kill them all until the Whispers told him what to do. But the Whispers were strangely quiet at this time, like they had drunk too much and now had to sleep off the effects. Oarin would have to access the situation and deiced what was needed. He couldn't kill the HeiRo, the one who would make the world safe and whole. The one who would save the mother, the one Oarin had to protect as well as the Cage. So for now Falen was safe but Oarin didn't have to like him to protect him. It had been foretold since Morrow Then that Oarin would do everything in his powers to make sure the HeiRo made the Mother whole and Oarin would break the Cage.*******************************************************Falen turned away from the little she in front of him when he heard a door open to the side of him. He watched as another small but younger she came through the door leading another being with a rope of quaz. The rope itself was worth more than Falen could ever image owning but it was the she attached to it that made him stop, he stop breathing, thinking and moving. This she made him aware of every part of his body and how it ached to be close to her. Tall, almost as tall as Oarin, she was taller than Falen but only by a bit, well at least a bit that would matter if they were sitting down. Her hair was the color of the pollen in the Noirflora, a gold so light it look almost clear with out color. Eyes green like the Bliss only darker and lighter at the same time. Falen let his eyes follow her hair down past her hips, hair which looked soft and light as it moved with the slight wind which was blowing through the rest-in from the Bliss. Her face was like many of the shes from the Magin Court. Falen kept up with the fashion with the court as much as he could, paying traders for information and talking to Emperials when they visited the farm. Round face with large eyes, and lips. The lips spoke to him with out moving, promising joy with just a slight brush of them on his skin. Falen might be innocent about the world but in the ways of flesh he had a bit more experience. He had been the sought after being on the farm and by any visitor who stayed. Many shes had stated they wanted a spawn with his coloring. It was considered lucky by all in the Empire, the color of the young bud of the Noirflora, red so red it didn't seem natural on a being.Watching the she in front of them, Falen realized there was something aluring about her to him. Some kind of almost unatural feeling, a pull making him feel like he had been eating Noirflora petals, dreamy almost. Even so he wanted her in ways he had never ever wanted anything else in his life. He doubted he had enough payment to have her and he had to have her, to feel her against him, to hold her gently and not gently, to taste her, to make her lust after him. She had to be his now and forever. He, no one else, was to possess her. He felt powerful and would fight any who stood in his way. Even Oarin......Oarin.....Oaring, the thought of Oarin was like a wave of water from the well, deep and dark and cold, so cold it hurt. Oarin who caused a deep fear within him. Falen turn away from the object of his lust to look at Oarin.Falen saw that Oarin was starting at the tall she but there was no lust in his eyes, only determination. Oarin began to move forward toward her as the the smaller she in front pulled the taller one forward with a bit of a hard pull causing the tall she to almost fall. Falen was shocked to see a flicker of anger in Oarin's eyes and felt that chill once more. The older, smaller she stepped in front of Oarin but addressed Falen putting the shes behind her.“Oh Sah, She is the best in the Caged Spyrul. You have a good eye for flesh. Shis Lovely Dahl and her cost is based on your want.” The being in front of Oarin, smiled a somewhat toothless grin and had a look calulating greed. Her flesh bunched up with the smile reminding Falen of the dough from which drouls were made of, the sweet dough like bread for fun times on the farm. “She is like a dream, a dream which leaves you wanting more while being satsified, a dream which tastes so sweet you can not wait until sleep. She has been trained at the College of Sound to bring out the best pleasures one can think of.”Falen began to feel a fear, a fear from somewhere else, a fear which was a warning of something bad was going to begin. It was a sense he had all his life, one which Paja said came from the Sideways Path. Falen wasn't sure he believe in the Sideways Path but he knew when to be wary of the time in the Morrow Now when the feeling came. He watched Oarin out of the corner of his eye. Did the Slag have the needed amount since it seemed he too was interested in the tall she. Could Falen somehow bargain with Oarin to pool their wealth and share this rare fruit of lust.Just as falen was deciding to speak with Oarin, Oarin who had stopped in front of the small she, looked down with a white fire in his eyes. The small she opened her mouth to speak and then without ever seeing him move, Falen was feeling something hitting his foot and a wetness on his flesh. He looked down and nearly fell backwards because the small beings head with its eyes wide and mouth still open was bumping his foot. As soon as he could understand what he was looking at he realized he smelled her blood, the purple blood splashed on him, on the shes behind her. He knew Oarin was now moving forward to grab the tall she's hands and was bowing down in front of her but all Falen could do was stare at the head which had lost all it's life by now. He looked up and saw the other small being with her mouth open in a silent scream, her throat working to produce sound but for all the work nothing came out. Part of him notice she had no tongue which might explain why there was not sound. He looked up to see Oarn pulling the tall she behind him as he moved past Falen. Falen felt the chill of fear pool in his stomach but knew it was because of what Oarin had done not because something bad was going to happen because that had already been done. Even though it was just a flash in the Morrow Now it seem like it was all going on in the Morrow Ever till Oarin walked past and said.“Come little HeiRoe, we have a place to go. There is a slise we need to be on soon.” and he continued out the door behind them. Falen took one last look at the other she still standing there with her mouth open and watched as she pulled a small black sharp from her bag on her hip and pulled it across her throat. Falen was appalled as her face changed to joy. 'Why would she show joy at her death? What was happening in his world? But he turned to follow Oarin out the door not knowing what else to do. He had to run to catch up with Oarin, 'why did it feel like he was always running after the Slag...should the HeiRoe be leading. It was a thought which keep circling as he raced toward the South Opening to the Bliss from Blogger http://ift.tt/2opKGja via IFTTT