Enkida's Various Short Stories [DnD, FF4-12, Valkyrie Profile 2, InuYasha, Slayers, Original]

[Enkida]

AN: I don't think this is one of my better fictions, it's all over the place and it doesn't have a point. Naraku is not a character I really enjoy writing about, as I find him sort of boring. But, I did give it my best try; I can't really write a Naraku to save my life, though, and I apologize profusely for that. "Juwelenblüte" is a play on German words. "Juwel" means "jewel" and "Blüte" means blossom. So I guess you could say it means "Jewel Blossom" … or something like that. Written for wheezambu.

JUWELENBLÜTE​

If I had to pick just one aspect of her that I loved best, it would be her eyes. They reflect the world like two smooth, polished pebbles, hard and unyielding no matter what might affront them. Those cold eyes are the most beautiful part of her.

But I do not have to limit myself to just one aspect; I am fortunate. Here, I can finally admire her in her entirety; I can see now that my memory of her was false. No, it is not just her eyes that are frozen; her entire being is cold and distant. Beautiful, like newly fallen snow, waiting for the first touch to disturb it; my touch… my privilege. That frozen wasteland, preserved for eternity for myself alone to admire. That is how it should be… and yet once again, she has thwarted my plans. The snow is melting rapidly under the furnace of hate, and it disturbs me to find that it is not my touch that brought it about.

The cause of this disturbance is also in my possession; a man should be so lucky as to find two jewels in one lifetime. Of course, luck has nothing to do with it, for I am no longer a man. I have transcended the limitations of the flesh, as has my beloved Kikyou. This one's eyes burn with the passion achievable only by mortality. She is more astute than she knows; she senses my attention even now. I cannot help but smile at her defiance; she still dreams of escape, imagines that she will be rescued by her knight. I savour her false hope; it is the purest ambrosia to me, though it is a poison to my beloved Kikyou. My two precious jewels.

Ah—

Again, I find I was incorrect in my assessment. My latest prize is no gem, glittering and unchanging in its hard beauty. No, this one is fragile and delicate; her beauty is fleeting, she is but a flower. The cloying scent of mortality passes daily through her full lips, revealing the truth behind the illusion; one day, even this blossom will wilt and be nothing more than a dried, cruel reminder of its former glory. She has not reached the perfection of myself and the priestess. She will ultimately be crushed, utterly destroyed, even if I do not lift a finger. Perhaps it is that knowledge in itself that makes her so delicious.

But she is destroying my Kikyou. She is thawing the ice, melting the snow with her passion. She is defacing a masterwork; it is unforgivable. The damage to my most precious prize could be permanent, even if she is only temporary. I can see the cracks in Kikyou's facade already; the fleshling has aroused her hatred, stoked it from the cold, precise perfection that it was into a furious, uncontrolled flame. That was to be my task, my puzzle to unlock- but the little bitch has already mastered the game, though she doesn't even realize that she plays it. I should kill her. I should destroy her now, before she taints my beautiful Kikyou further.

Even as I move towards her, however, she holds me in rapture, trapping me under those large eyes. She still searches for kindness, hopes for mercy... the little fool. She does not belong in the world of harsh realities; it would be a kindness to end her existence now. I feel Kikyou's gaze burning into me, bright with an anticipation that should not be there. No; I am not kind. I lower my hand. That living whore… she is nothing like my precious Kikyou. She is nothing like other women. I would think her a demon, could I not smell the constant decay of her flesh. She is weak and undisciplined, ill-mannered and overconfident. She is warmth and sunshine and a careless summer breeze; she is mortal and she revels in her ephemerality; she believes she is strong. She is everything I despise. But I cannot bring myself to be rid of her.

I must control myself; this should be mine to enjoy; these toys are mine to break. So my plans must be altered; no matter, they can still be salvaged. I will turn the girl's hope into my weapon, and turn that weapon onto my treasure; I will be the one who controls Kikyou's thaw.

It is so easy; a silent whisper of a memory here, a thought planted there… and the spectre of the half-breed rises between them. It is almost too simple; placing them together is sheer perfection. My Kikyou erodes at the fleshling with her mere existence. She creates doubt and uncertainty; she chills the warmth of the mortal girl, turning her softness brittle and easy to snap. And my beautiful Kikyou… how she tries to hold her frozen body together under the heat of her bitterness. The flower is all those things which she once was, the mortal trappings which she left behind. Perhaps I cannot overcome her, but she cannot overcome herself. I have spun my threads, and now I watch as the insects writhe in my net, bound and yet separate, slowly killing each other. It is a symphony, a feast. There is a vague regret that I do not have a more active hand in this opus—

No. I will not allow for regrets. The melody is perfect. There is no error in this glorious destruction. Ah, my Kikyou… how I wish you could remain. But you reject your superiority; you let your jealousy of the flesh consume you. It is weakness. No, you are not worthy to remain with me. You have earned your fate, my precious jewel.

And you, fleshling. I will see your bravado shattered, I will record each moment of the crumpling of your precious hope in my memory, and nourish myself from its beauty for all of eternity. You will die, indeed, but your pain will live on through me. The thought of your utter defeat brings a fierce joy to my being. For some moments, I am overwhelmed by the rapture.

It has gone on long enough; they are ready. I release the bindings on my toys. It is time for them to play. Will they tear each other apart with their bare hands? No… it would end too quickly. A thing of beauty must never be rushed. I provide them with weapons; a sharpened blade, the tip of a spear, the singing of an arrow's shaft as it flies through the air. These things contain an elegance, a beauty in their use that is unmatched by crude human fingers. I give them weapons, because I know it will prolong the symphony.

It is more beautiful than I expected. They paint with brushes of metal in a rain of ruby and scarlet. The fleshling has more resilience than I thought; still she stands despite the unyielding fervour of my priestess. Perhaps Kikyou is weaker than I thought; another proof that she is not, never was, worthy of my attentions. Gem indeed. She is a mere imitation; I should rip out her glass eyes and shatter them on the ground for telling me their lies. I wish to destroy her completely, to tear the mask from her passive face and see the truth under it, to see her writhe in disgust and longing…

They have stopped. Foolish, weak heart, I have let myself become distracted, I have not conducted them properly, and now the musicians have forgotten the melody. They stare at me both, eyes of glass and eyes of fire. This is not part of the symphony. I collect my threads; we can always begin anew. There is all the time in the world.

I pull, but there is no response. Why do they not respond? I can feel their hatred still, the chill-burn of their malice is sweet and thick in the air. They continue to stare at me. I see the threads now, they are still there… but they are severed, severed from me. They are bound to each other, now, by these threads of repulsion which have a life of their own. It seems I have given birth to another child. How interesting… it is good to know that I will have a legacy.

I open my mouth as the first arrow pierces through me, open my mouth and my eyes and my soul to my beloved Kikyou. I misjudged you, my precious jewel. You are stronger than I had guessed; I had not noticed the diamond that was hidden under your snow. How is it that the fleshling knew? How is it that she could melt that impenetrable ice, which has obstructed me for so long? Even as I feel my body dissolving into pools at her feet, she refuses to answer me. The barrier is still there; I shall never pierce it. It is the fleshling who answers my question.

"We are one," she states, as if that explanation would suffice. Now her arrow pierces me; I lose grasp over the last vestiges of my form and am lost, caught and torn away, a single thread buffeted by the maelstrom. The strings are snapped, all that is left is a broken doll. The world is black, disoriented; I am sucked through the void and reborn in a burst of pain and heat, followed by the numbing cold. I am surrounded by darkness; it is ages before I can open my eyes again and allow myself the luxury of a smile. I will have to be more careful, next time.

 

[Enkida]

AN: written for Nelson Bannaba

BONE​

The tip of Kagome's shiny black shoes wavered through the air and glinted in the sunlight. Not for the first time, Sango wondered how exactly people in the future managed to find an animal with a hide quite as reflective as the surface of the other girl's shoes. There were a few odd water demons she could think of that might achieve the same effect, but none of them were black. Besides which, Kagome had always reassured them that there were no demons in the future - apart from Inuyasha, at least when he would visit her home to drag her back into theirs. At the moment, however, she had all the time in the world to wonder about the origin of Kagome's strange shoes, considering that they were nearly the only part of her visible over the swell of her massive yellow pack. A grunt emerged from the depths of the bag and Kagome's legs kicked, sending her tiny skirt flying up dangerously.

Predictably, there was a more than willing audience to witness the show.

"Ahh, Kagome! I don't suppose you need any assistance-"

A curt "Monk!" snapped out by Inuyasha in warning silenced Miroku, though it failed to wipe the smug grin off of his face as he observed Kagome's struggles.

"Sango dear, you know I was only trying to help-"

"Right," Sango answered with boredom, not feeling energetic enough to actually physically display her annoyance with Miroku's usual antics.

"- but since Inuyasha feels so strongly about my interference, perhaps you'd like to assist her instead." The sly half-grin on the monk's face made it clear that he was only hoping to see more than one pair of legs in the air that day. That look was enough to bring Sango to her feet to join Kagome. She took a grim satisfaction in seeing the smile drop off of Miroku's face as she pulled Kagome out and quickly ushered both of them to be strategically obscured by the massive pack.

"Thanks Sango," Kagome huffed, her face red from her exertions. "I know it's in here somewhere," she muttered, eyeing the bag dolefully. "Well... I guess I can start with the herbs after all."

Sango leaned over and peered into the depths of the yawning yellow bag. She still didn't quite understand how Kagome managed to pack so many things into it, or more importantly why she did in the first place. At times she thought the bag was almost as heavy as her Hiraikotsu. "What were you looking for?" she asked curiously. Kagome, with her usual air of distraction, was already wandering towards the trees with a pouch in hand and a determined expression, and after exchanging a knowing glance with Inuyasha, Sango trailed after her slowly.

"I'm trying to find a present I bought for my mother," Kagome explained as they wandered through the light, sun-dappled forest. "Sango, if you could keep an eye out, I'm looking for dong quai..." she mumbled busily, her eyes already fixed to the ground as she scanned the undergrowth, occasionally stooping down to pluck a flower or dig up a root.

Sango suppressed her own quiet sigh; when Kagome began fixating on one of her ideas, it was nearly impossible to hold a normal conversation with her. "It's too dry to find that root here," she called out with irritation. The younger girl didn't even seem to register her comment, and with a roll of her shoulders, Sango gracefully accepted defeat and moved to assist Kagome in gathering a few of the more useful herbs they could find.

Later, after they had both emerged from the forest with flushed faces and dirty fingers and were relaxing by the stream to wash up, Sango tried to catch Kagome's attention once more. She watched as the other girl carefully bundled the herbs into small fagots and then meticulously tucked them away between small strips of cloth. "Why did you need to collect these anyway?" she ventured as Kagome finished with the last bunch of herbs.

"Oh... well, it's a present," Kagome explained cheerfully. "It's for my mother. I still need to find the card I bought for her though, it's hiding somewhere in my bag," she added with a small frown.

"Ah," Sango said thoughtfully. People from the future seemed to place great importance on celebrating the most innocuous dates, birthdays being one of them. It did seem like a useful tradition, when she thought about it critically. There were so few things to celebrate these days, any excuse for merriment and gift-giving would be a welcome relief from the monotony of searching for the remaining jewel shards. "My congratulations to your mother on another year, then," she said with a smile.

"Another year?" Kagome repeated blankly. Then her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Oh! No, it's not mama's birthday," she said with a laugh. "This is for a different occasion; it's for Mother's Day." Seeing Sango's blank expression, she continued: "It's another one of our holidays. You wouldn't have heard about it, we didn't start celebrating it in Japan until pretty recently."

"I see," Sango said, though she didn't. "So... it's a day when the women in your time celebrate their fertility and try to produce heirs?" she asked, gesturing at the herbs. "You'd better not mention this to Miroku. I'm sure that lecher would love celebrating it here."

Kagome blanched and then turned bright red. "No, Sango," she yelled shrilly, upsetting a few birds in the trees around them. "It's not a holiday about sex! Eww, I'm getting grossed out just thinking about that!" Her cheeks managed to pale slightly, though her face was still brightly flushed as she continued her explanation. Sango was somewhat bemused by Kagome's reaction; despite her scandalously short skirts and Miroku's constant innuendos, she was still easily embarrassed by even the mere mention of sex. At first, she had assumed that the modern world was a strange place of paradoxes, but as time passed Sango was beginning to suspect that much of Kagome's strange neuroses were particular to the girl herself.

"Mother's Day is a holiday we celebrate to honor our mothers," Kagome explained quickly. "Usually children present their mothers with gifts to show how much they appreciate her hard work. Sometimes, if the kids are too young to do it themselves, though, the father can present her with a gift in their place. I just thought this year that I'd get mama something from the Feudal Era, since I spend so much time here anyway."

"Ah," Sango said simply, pushing down the unexpected twinge of pain that accompanied Kagome's explanation. So, it was a holiday modern people used to celebrate their families. It was a concept that she herself couldn't approach without some amount of pain; Sango had never known her own mother, and as for her father and Kohaku - She swallowed dryly and blinked away the unexpected burn that rose in her eyes, turning a falsely bright smile towards Kagome instead. "It sounds like a wonderful holiday."

For all of her flightiness in other areas, Kagome was perceptive enough to notice when something was amiss with one of her own friends, and she quickly picked up on Sango's discomfort. Her eyes softened and her mouth parted with a slight breath of dismay. "Oh, Sango, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to upset-"

"No," Sango said quickly, gathering a few of the bundled herbs and toying with them uneasily. "You don't have to apologize to me, Kagome. I'm... happy, that you can still celebrate things like this with your family. You're very lucky," she added quietly. "I can't even remember what my own mother was like. She died after K-Kohaku was born. My father raised both of us by himself."

Kagome fell silent, watching Sango's painfully obvious attempts to appear cheerfully unaffected by their conversation. Finally, she let out a sigh and grabbed Sango's hand, giving it a tight squeeze. "Sango... I'm sorry. I know talking about your family is hard for you. I wish I could give you some of my own happy memories..." She trailed off, growing distracted, and Sango eyed the other girl suspiciously.

"Kagome?"

"That's it!" Kagome said, jumping up with excitement and sending Sango scrambling after the scattered cloth bundles they had carefully collected. "This year, why don't you celebrate Mother's Day with me? It'll be good for you, Sango! Therapeutic!"

Sango paused, looking up at Kagome with consternation. It looked suspiciously like Kagome was fixating on yet another idea, and this one seemed to involve her. That was always a dangerous thing, and for a moment she wished quite uncharitably that Shippou or Inuyasha was around so that she could deflect Kagome's fire onto someone else. "I already told you, Kagome, my mother has been long dead. I don't really see how I could celebrate this Mother's Day of yours without a mother."

"That's the thing," Kagome said with excitement, her eyes shining. "You can borrow mine! I'm sure Mama would love it, and you're already like a sister to me anyway!"

"Borrow your mother?" Sango repeated faintly, trying to comprehend Kagome's indecipherable thought process. On the plus side, it did have the benefit of distracting her from the dark thoughts that plagued her whenever she thought of her own family. Then again, Sango knew better than to trust Kagome when she had that wild look in her eye.

"Oh, don't give me that twitchy stare, Sango," Kagome said abruptly, pouting and planting her hands firmly on her hips. "Celebrating Mother's Day with me is a great idea! You can make my mother a present and write her a letter to go along with it. Trust me, my mother likes babying everybody. Doing this will make both of you feel good!" By this time Kagome was already pulling Sango eagerly back to the camp.

"I have to get your mother a present?" Sango sputtered as she allowed the other girl to herd her back towards the others. "I don't even know your mother or what she likes!" she protested. Kagome's hand remained firmly attached to her wrist, so she tried again. "I... I don't have any money to buy her something!"

At this, Kagome let out a loud snort. "Neither do I, but that isn't stopping me, is it?" she said, waving around one of her herb-bags carelessly.

Frustrated, Sango finally wrenched her arm away from Kagome and fixed her with a stern glare. "Kagome! The only thing I know how to do well is slay demons. I seriously doubt your mother would appreciate any of the demon poisons or bone weapons that I know how to make as a gift."

"That's perfect!" Kagome cried out.

"You want your mother to become a demon slayer?" Sango said dryly.

Kagome shot Sango a look, and shook her head vigorously. "No, you can make her some kind of bone carving. You already know how to work with knives and with bones! How hard could it be?"

"Well, now that I think about it," Sango mused, "not very." Catching herself considering the idea, she resumed glaring at Kagome. "But you're missing the point, Kagome. I don't know your mother. It wouldn't be right for me to impose on this holiday of yours - it's your family, your world, your traditions. Not mine," she said firmly.

For a moment, Kagome looked like she would argue, but Sango's withering glare stopped her, and she dropped her shoulders with a heavy sigh. "Okay, okay, I won't force you to do it if you feel so strongly about it. I just wish you'd consider it, you know? You don't always have to keep yourself so closed off from other people." The pitying look she gave Sango as she spoke did nothing to relieve the demon huntress' conscience, but they did manage to return to the camp without incident.

Two days later, however, the strange concept of Kagome's "mother day" hadn't left Sango's thoughts, and she found herself fingering a slender piece of demon bone left behind by their most recent encounter with an over-eager-demon and a jewel shard. She never thought the absence of a mother had any particular impact on her life; her father had raised both Kohaku and herself to be fighters before anything else. Sango had always assumed that had her own mother lived, she wouldn't have become the warrior she was today. Still, as she surreptitiously watched Kagome playing with Shippou before her, she wondered briefly what she had missed. There was a certain gentleness present in Kagome's overall bearing that she knew she sorely lacked, and despite Miroku's constant reassurances that he liked a woman who knew how to "take control." And she had to acknowledge the spike of jealous longing that flashed through her as she saw Shippou's carefree smile, his little arms waving wildly as Kagome eagerly scooped him up into a hug.

Her lips thinned, and with an expression of resolve Sango carefully pocketed the bone.

.x.x.x.​

"Mama! I'm home!"

Mrs. Higurashi paused in surprise at the unexpected greeting, and then dried her hands off quickly on the dishtowel and turned to greet her daughter. "Kagome! I wasn't expecting you back so soon!" she said, sweeping her daughter into a warm hug. "I didn't think your friends would let you visit again this quickly, you were already here last weekend." She kept her smile light, though the thought did send a pang of worry in her heart; Kagome's appearances in the household were becoming more and more infrequent as she grew increasingly more distant from her life in the modern world. In her heart, she secretly feared the day that her daughter would simply decide to stop coming home; it seemed almost inevitable, sometimes.

"Oh, Inuyasha didn't want me to come back," Kagome said carelessly, "but he changed his tune after I sat him a few times. Besides, today's a special day." Noting her mother's apron and wrinkled fingers, she shook her head angrily. "When Souta gets back, he's going to get the scolding of his life!"

Mrs. Higurashi blinked in surprise. "Kagome, what on earth has gotten into you? You haven't even seen Souta yet, and you want to scold him already?"

"Yes! Because everyone knows that you're not supposed to do the dishes today," Kagome replied, beaming up at her. Then, smiling, she pulled out a small parcel with a card tied to it. "Happy Mother's Day!"

For a moment, all Mrs. Higurashi could do was stare at the bundle in her hand as her eyes misted over. "You remembered," she said softly in surprise.

"Of course I remembered!" Kagome sniffed comically. Then she grew somber. "I know I haven't been spending a lot of time at home lately," she admitted. "I hope this makes up for it... at least a little bit." Then, eagerly, she eyed the parcel. "Well, aren't you going to open it?"

Quickly, Mrs. Higurashi unbound the string wrapping the parcel closed and let it fall open. "Oh, Kagome, it's..." She paused, looking at the small bundles of dried herbs with confusion. "... wonderful-smelling," she said finally, smiling at her daughter.

"It's a bunch of herbs I picked up in the Feudal Era," Kagome began immediately, launching into a fast-paced explanation of what each bundle did and its medicinal uses. Mrs. Higurashi was filled with pride that her daughter was learning at least something in the feudal era, even if it was bringing her well on her way to becoming a Chinese apothecary's apprentice. She wondered if Kagome realized how much she was actually taking after her grandfather, and decided in the interest of peace that it would be best not to mention it at all. Sorting through the many bundles of herbs, she came across a small cloth-wrapped object that was too hard to be one of the dried plants. Carefully unwrapping it, she gasped in surprise at the tiny, polished bone-handle dagger that fell out. The metal was sharpened to a fine point, but the handle itself was exquisite, carved to look like a twisting dragon had wrapped itself around the blade.

"Kagome, it's beautiful! Did you make this?" she said softly, interrupting her daughter's monologue.

Peering over her shoulder, Kagome's puzzled expression suddenly brightened. "I guess Sango took my advice after all," she mumbled softly. Then, clearing her throat, she shook her head. "No, I didn't make that one, Mama. It's from a friend of mine, Sango. She's almost like a sister to me. Her family is... umm... sort of going through some difficult times, and I think her mother died before she got to know her. So I told her that she could... well, share," Kagome said softly, giving her mother a hopeful smile. "I didn't think she was actually going to do it, but wow," she said softly, eying the dagger. It really was meticulously done, a beautiful piece of work. Obviously Sango had put a lot of time and effort into it.

"So that poor girl grew up never knowing a mother's love?" Mrs. Higurashi said softly, rubbing a finger over the handle.

"She's a strong person," Kagome said quickly, knowing how Sango would scorn her mother's pity.

Eying her daughter thoughtfully, Mrs. Higurashi nodded. "She must be, if she's one of your friends. This is a lovely gift. Do you think you could deliver a thank-you note to her for me?" Kagome's smile faltered slightly, but she gave her mom a quick nod. Mrs. Higurashi, perceptive as ever, noted her daughter's hesitation and gave her a bemused look. "What's the matter, honey?"

"Oh..." Kagome said, fidgeting. "Well, you can write Sango a note if you like, but I'll be the one who has to read it to her. She'll probably have a little trouble trying to decipher modern script..."

Mrs. Higurashi's eyebrows shot up to her hairline in surprise. "She can't read?" she repeated, shocked. "What on earth are you children doing in the past anyway? How could you allow yourself neglect something as important as your education?"

Kagome kept her counsel to herself, thinking that it was probably for the best that her mother didn't know what exactly she and her friends were doing in the Feudal era. "Uh, Mama, we don't really have time to sit down and study all the time. Besides, it's the past. Even if Sango could read your letter, no one else would be writing in that style until 500 years later. Don't worry, it's not a big deal. I'll tell Sango how much you appreciated the knife, okay?"

The sound of the door rattling open and Souta's loud cry caught Kagome's attention, and quickly, she swooped onto her mother and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Happy Mother's Day, Mama!" she said quickly, before running out of the kitchen to greet her surprised brother.

Mrs. Higurashi frowned to herself and stared at the knife in her hand with a thoughtful expression.

.x.x.x.​

"Welcome back," Sango said to Kagome as the other girl entered Kaede's hut. She smiled at her nervously; she was sure the quiet addition of her small present to Kagome's own gift hadn't gone unnoticed, and was slightly apprehensive that Kagome would be upset for having been so presumptuous. To her relief, Kagome gave her a wide smile as she dropped her heavy backpack onto the floor.

"I'm glad you took my advice after all. Mama really loved that knife you gave her!"

Sango let out a sigh of relief, then watched her friend with surprise as Kagome immediately began to dig through her pack, again. "Kagome? Did you lose something?" she asked, watching her friend's head and torso disappearing into the pack.

"Ah-ha!" came a muffled cry, and Kagome quickly wiggled her way out of the backpack. In her hands was a small bundle wrapped with brown paper. "Mama liked her gift so much she wanted me to give you this as a thank-you. She said you should ask me for help if you have trouble understanding it."

"What?" Sango repeated, surprised as the package was dumped into her lap. "Mothers must give a gift in return for this holiday of yours?"

Kagome only shook her head. "No, and I don't even know what she got you. Open it up!" she said eagerly, kneeling on the floor beside Sango.

Quickly Sango undid the tie and let the contents of the package spill out onto the floor. Her mouth quirked as she studied the contents. "It looks... like one of your strange books," she said, watching as Kagome picked up the book with a squeal of surprise. A few thin rods of strange material were tied neatly to a sheaf of unnaturally straight, smooth parchment, and underneath that was a sealed envelope with strange, flowing script written across the top of it. "What is this?" Sango asked, furrowing her brows as she picked up one of the thin rods.

"Stationary!" Kagome informed her. "What you're holding is a modern pen. You use it to write," she explained, grabbing one of the pens and demonstrating its use on a piece of paper. "And this book is a guide to learning how to read and write in modern Kana! Wow, so that's what she meant," Kagome mused to herself.

Sango, in the meanwhile, had grabbed the book and was flipping through it curiously. Some of the symbols were familiar to her, but many were completely foreign, and she squinted at the book, slowly trying to make out the words and instructions. It wasn't that difficult to follow; the strange book was obviously meant as a learning tool for younger children. She looked up after browsing through a few pages, a confused smile on her face. "This... is a very kind gift, but I don't understand. Why does your mother want me to learn to read and write in your language?"

Kagome returned Sango's curious look with a knowing smile. "I think she did it so she could hear your answer for herself," she said.

"Answer?" Sango queried, and Kagome only grinned and grabbed the envelope with the script on it instead.

"Yeah, I get it now! I think she wants you to answer this yourself," Kagome explained. "I bet it's a thank-you note for your gift."

Sango felt a flush of pleasure at the unexpected present and eyed the envelope curiously. "That's... very kind of her," she murmured, wondering why a woman she had never met was willing to extend the gift of knowledge to her. Sango knew that in Kagome's time people lived differently, but she wondered if her mother really understood how rare it was to give the gift of knowledge to a woman in this time. It was as rare as her father's own unintentional gift to her, to be instructed in the way of a demon hunter despite her gender. "Kagome... I know your mother would want me to learn how to answer that note on my own, but... maybe you could read it to me right now anyway?" she asked shyly. "I don't want to wait until I can do it for myself..."

Kagome beamed at Sango. "Of course!" she said, ripping the envelope open and unfolding the paper inside. Her brow furrowed as she scanned the page, and then slowly and clearly, she began to read.

"Dear Sango,

Thank you for the wonderful gift you gave to me. I only wish I could have received it in person in order

to thank you personally. Kagome didn't inform me of the exact circumstances of your own family, only

that you had suffered a great loss. I am sorry that a soul as gentle as your own had to bear such a great

burden. And yes, I can see that you have a gentle soul when I look at the care which you put into this

beautiful carving. But moreover, I know because my Kagome trusts you, and considers you to be the

sister which she never had.

I know that it will be difficult, if not impossible for us to ever meet, so I hope this note is adequate to

express my gratitude. More importantly, I hope that you realize that whatever has happened in your

life, you are not alone. Kagome will always be there for you, if you ever need a friend. And though it

may be a bit presumptuous of me to offer, I would like you to consider me as a mother as well. Even

if it is 500 years in the future, I hope that my offering of a mother's love will be strong enough to cross

that boundary and protect both you and Kagome from any harm.

Please take care of yourself, my dear child. And if you ever find yourself in need of a mother's love,

know that I will always be here for you, and am only a letter away.

With much love,

Mama Higurashi"

Silence settled around the hut as the two girls absorbed the letter, one smiling softly and the other frozen in surprised shock. Sango was shaken out of her stupor as Kagome carefully folded the paper and slipped it back into the envelope, before placing it firmly in Sango's hands.

"I... I've never had a mother before," Sango said softly, feeling a few tears well up in her eyes. She blinked them away, surprised; it was the first time in her memory that she could remember crying tears of something other than pain or loss. It was a strange, unrealistic feeling that coalesced into something more solid when she felt Kagome's arms wrap around her in a warm hug. Before she knew it, she felt her own arms coming around Kagome and returning the hug.

"Well I've never had a sister before, so I guess we're even," Kagome said softly before she released Sango. "I'm glad," she admitted with a reassuring smile.

Sango blushed in embarrassment and carefully wiped away all evidence of her unexpected tears. "Well... maybe you should sit back before Miroku comes in and starts drawing his own conclusions about our new relationship," she said crisply. But the small, happy smile which broke over her face betrayed her business-like tone, and she held the book very close to her heart.

 

[Enkida]

AN: This was a story commissioned by momo toe, author of the now-defunct Ikebana webcomic.

SUBUKI GAIDEN​

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

- Edgar Allen Poe, "A Dream Within A Dream"

Chapter 1: "Birth of a Flower"​

When the gentle sigh sounded, it did not go unnoticed; the tug was ever so faint and yet it reverberated with the power of a claxon to those who noticed. The gods stirred restlessly, feeling the pull in their veins; it was time, once again.

.x.x.x.

Moonlight filtered through the base of the scaffolding of Tokyo Tower. The silver light created shifting patterns of darkness across the ground; if one was looking closely, it might have appeared that the shadows themselves were bending around the moonlight. They swelled and coalesced briefly, and when they finally receded a man stood in their place, alone in the night. He was big and burly, with broad shoulders and a shock of unruly golden hair sprouting haphazardly from his head. He spun on his heel, searching his surroundings with narrowed eyes and then grimaced, revealing the glint of fangs.

"I hate this damn kingdom," he muttered under his breath. His eyes locked on a tiny patch of earth almost directly before his feet; shadows ringed a small lump of earth that shone almost too brightly against the darkness of the night. "So… here we go again," he said with a wry smile, squatting on his heels to inspect the mound of dirt more closely. A gentle wind blew past him, ruffling his hair. He pushed his bangs out of his face and scowled, tearing his gaze away from the ground.

"Lucifer." The softly-spoken greeting came from the short, frail-looking old man who was standing across from him. His face was wrinkled, and his golden eyes shone with kindness. Lucifer made a half-hearted attempt to control his wince of disgust.

"Yahoe," he responded, drawing himself up to his full height before inclining his head in the barest of nods towards the other man. "Can't say I'm happy to see the King of Heaven in person once again."

Yahoe chuckled softly, clasping his hands behind his back. "I must admit, I do not enjoy visiting the Earth Kingdom very much myself." He sighed and looked at the clod of dirt that Lucifer had been inspecting. "But we cannot ignore the call of the Ikebana."

"I'm not lettin' you have it, old man," Lucifer replied quickly, crossing his arms and fixing a menacing stare onto Yahoe.

"You are the regent of Hell, Lucifer," Yahoe sighed, shrugging his shoulders carefully. "It would behoove you to control your temper, don't you think?"

"You stay outta my business, and I'll stay outta yours," Lucifer growled. Then he bobbed his head at the ground. "And I got business with that flower." He paused and drummed his fingers over his forearms. "Don't make me go to war over this, Yahoe," he added tiredly. "I will, you know."

The old man smiled, though it was a bit strained. "I have no wish to instigate unnecessary tensions with an old friend such as yourself."

Lucifer noted the emphasis Yahoe had placed on his age. Yahoe was the eldest of the monarch-gods; he had been ruling the Kingdom of Heaven for as long as anyone could remember. And though he looked like a weak old man, ready to keel over at the slightest gust of wind, he had held firmly onto the reins of power for centuries. If it came to a battle between them, it would be a difficult fight. Age had also granted Yahoe with a strange sort of wisdom, or at least a patience that most of the other deities didn't possess.

"These weary eyes only wish to see Ikebana once again. Perhaps this time will be the last." Yahoe smiled and settled cross-legged before the small patch of earth. Lucifer regarded him suspiciously before sighing and joining him on the ground.

"You say that every time," he noted with a snort. Then he looked around again, drawing his brows together suspiciously. "Where are the others? Is Gaia finally gonna come this year?"

Yahoe shook his head. "She sleeps still. You know as well as I that Gaia cares little for the politics of the Four Kingdoms. She will not involve herself with the birth of Ikebana, neither tonight nor ever."

Lucifer snorted loudly, rolling his eyes. "I don't get that broad," he grumbled. "How can she still call herself a Queen? She doesn't do anything for her Kingdom at all. Just look at these humans! They've practically overrun the entire place, and most of them don't even know she exists!"

"It could be that she doesn't want them to know," the old man replied diplomatically. "As you said… it is not our place to question the ways of the other Kingdoms." He frowned slightly and looked at the moon. "How unusual… the time is almost upon us. Where is King Poseidon?"

Lucifer's scowl deepened and he hunched over, planting his chin in his palm and glaring at the ground angrily. "Don't know," he answered gruffly. "Don't like it, either. I don't trust that guy."

Yahoe smiled placidly. "You do not trust me either, do you Lucifer? And yet here you are, sitting with me peacefully."

"I don't have to trust you. I know you won't stab me in the back," Lucifer replied quickly. "There's a big damn difference between trust and respect. Least I respect you. And don't expect me to believe you'd let yourself get this comfortable with Poseidon, either!" Then he shifted uncomfortably and peered at the ground again. "You sure this is the right place?" he asked impatiently.

"Hmm," Yahoe murmured in agreement. "You know as well as I do that it is. You can feel it." Then his eyes opened fully; at the same time, both men stiffened. "It blooms."

.x.x.x.​

A man leaned back in the shadows, a tiny smile playing over his face as he quietly listened to the conversation of the two gods sitting on the ground. So once again, Gaia won't be coming. Good… that will make my task much easier. He stooped and slumped against the scaffolding as a trembling thread of power washed through him; then he straightened up and smiled.

Ikebana… so you finally wake.

His smile widened, and his fingers tightened around the grip of the heavy trident he carried.

Come, then… and I will show these fools how an empire is truly made.

.x.x.x.​

The spout pushed out of the ground with agonizing slowness; one by one, its petals unfolded, the dark pink bud lightening as the flower spilt open. The light seemed to shimmer around the blossom, gathering along the tips of the petals and dusting them with a golden glow. The true beauty of the flower lay in its center, however; light and color collided there, mixing to form a breathtaking sphere of energy. It held the two gods in an awed rapport, calling to them with its hypnotizing power.

Perhaps that was why they didn't notice the figure that quietly rose behind them; or perhaps it was because, when they were able to finally tear their eyes away from the flower, the barriers of jealousy and mistrust had risen between them once more, clearly defined by their desire to possess the strange flower. Either way, both men were completely unprepared for the mocking laugh that rose from the intruder's mouth.

"F#&!" Lucifer growled, scrambling to his feet and spinning around. "Poseidon!" He took in the poised trident of the other man instantly and stretched his arms upwards, clenching his teeth. Black tendrils of lightning crackled through the air, swirling around his fingertips, and space itself seemed to rip apart over his hands, tearing open into a blood-red gash. Lucifer reached in without hesitation and pulled a large axe from it; dull and black, it pulsed with a faint, unholy red glow. He spun it comfortably in his hands once before crouching with a feral grin, eyeing the other man coldly.

"Did you really come here just to fight, King Poseidon?" Yahoe interrupted. The old man had stepped in front of the blooming flower protectively; his hands were no longer behind his back, but held splayed before him, two fingers raised to his chest. He cut a deceptively simple figure against the crackling, angry auras of the two larger men; both knew better than to ignore him, however. The Regent of Heaven had never needed weapons to fight his battles.

"Is that any way to greet an old colleague?" Poseidon mocked in response, leaning on his trident with a bored grin. "Really, you two are overly suspicious for your own good. Perhaps you've been stuck in your own kingdoms for much too long. You really should get out more."

"We do not interfere in the affairs of the other Kingdoms," Yahoe responded sharply. "That is our codex, that is our law."

"Your law," Poseidon sneered. "Follow it if you wish. I've only come for Ikebana. You could say it's somewhat necessary for my plans. Now, if you'll just hand over the flower, I can leave you both in peace, rather than pieces."

"Like hell!" Lucifer roared, slashing his axe down possessively. "Ikebana will be mine!"

"Ikebana belongs to neither of you," Yahoe told them coolly, his eyes slitting open; gusts of wind began to circle around him, playing at his robes and lifting his beard. "Do not let yourself be swayed by greed, Lucifer," he added. "Can you not sense the greater threat here?"

"Old man," Lucifer grit out, edging closer to Yahoe. "We'll discuss the plant later."

Poseidon laughed loudly, hefting his trident with a gleam in his eye. "So it's to be two against one then? How… quaint." His smirk deepened into an evil grin, and he fell into a low crouch, tiny drops of moisture materializing in a circle around his feet and drifting upwards in a lazy disregard for the rules of logic and gravity. "Well then, gentlemen. Shall we let the games begin?"

.x.x.x.​

"It's so beautiful…" She was entranced by the vision before her; a delicate flower, floating above her hands. Tiny motes of light drifted around it, and the barest shimmer of gold touched the tips of its petals, resting there like molten sunlight. It called to her, somehow; she felt its tug in her soul, pulling her towards it. Her fingers twitched, eager to feel the satin of its petals beneath their touch.

"What are you?" she asked, reaching for the blossom as though it could respond. She gasped as her fingertip grazed the edge of a single petal; it answered, though not with words. The flower burst open suddenly at the touch, spilling a soft, soothing light from its core into her outstretched hands. She tried to look into the center of the blossom, but it was bright, much too bright; as her hands wrapped around the stem, she heard a whisper slip through her mind, and she knew the name of the flower she held.

"Ikebana."

The light wavered, and a smile traced her face. Gently, she loosened her grip and released the stem, dropping the flower from her numb fingers. It slowly drifted towards her feet, but the light grew brighter and shattered before she could see it touch the ground.

"Ohh!"

Subuki shot out of her bed with a gasp, her blankets snarled around the lower half of her body from her restless twisting and turning during sleep. Her heart was pounding, and her eyes darted around the room suspiciously searching for intruders before she let out a long sign.

"Just another dream," she mumbled, dropping her head into her hands with a groan. She winced and rubbed her forehead tenderly; the dream-visions that often plagued her always left a pounding headache in their wake. "Being a miko is definitely more trouble than it's worth," she muttered to herself, angrily pushing the blankets aside and struggling to her feet. "What did I ever do to deserve this kind of karma anyway?" she continued to grouse, shoving her feet into the slippers by her bed and trudging towards the small bathroom. "Here, have a vision or two, Subuki. Oh, why don't you inherit some of those miko powers, Subuki. Why, we haven't seen it this strong in generations, Subuki!" She slammed the switch in the bathroom up angrily, wincing as the harsh white light burned her eyes. Then she made her way to the sink and flipped open the tap, dipping her hands into the cold water and splashing her face mercilessly with it. When she was sure the last vestiges of the dream had been washed away, she shut off the water and looked up, swiping her eyes dry with the back of her hands.

A solemn little girl stared back at her from the mirror, dark rings circling under her coal-black eyes. She looked tired and worn, her hair stringy and her face pinched and pale. The girl reached out towards her and smiled faintly; it was a sad smirk, with no trace of the joy or humor that should have graced such a young child's face.

Subuki rested her fingertips on the cool glass of the mirror, letting the smile drop. "I'm only twelve," she said to herself softly. "Why do I have to lead the clan?" The girl in the mirror stared back with her silent eyes, accusing, the answer as plain as day on her porcelain face. Because you are Subuki Matobo, last heir of the Matobo demon hunting clan, at least ever since she disappeared. Because it's your duty. Because of your honor.

"It's not fair," Subuki replied sullenly, dropping her hand away.

"It rarely is, miss."

Subuki whirled around, glaring daggers at the tiny middle-aged man who was standing at the door of the bathroom. He smiled at her and bowed slightly, a silent apology for his intrusion.

"What are you doing here, Shinshi?" Subuki asked curtly, reaching for a towel and quickly drying off her face.

"I heard a noise, and I thought I would check up on you," he answered, stepping aside as she stormed out of the bathroom and towards her closet. He followed her a few paces into the room, quirking an eyebrow when she flung her miko uniform onto the bed. When she grabbed a hairbrush out of her nightstand and began to run it through her hair in rough, harsh strokes, he quickly moved behind her and extracted it from her grasp. "Please, allow me," he chided her gently.

Subuki scowled at him, but remained still as he began to carefully brush out her long, dark hair. "I'm not a baby anymore, Shinshi. You don't have to come running every time I have a bad dream," she complained.

"Another nightmare?" he sighed, hovering the brush over her head uncertainly. "Did you have another vision, miss?" he asked her cautiously.

Subuki pursed her lips together and frowned. "… I don't know," she answered uncertainly. "It wasn't one of my normal dreams," she mused. "This time, I just saw a flower, nothing else. I don't know what it means, though…"

"Just a flower," Shinshi repeated, carefully binding her hair back with a loose tie. "And that's why you're preparing to rise at…" He spared a quick glance over to the small glowing clock on Subuki's nightstand. "… four in the morning. Goodness, even for a shrine maiden that's rather early, don't you think?"

"I can't sleep anymore, okay?" Subuki answered sourly. "I'll just go to the dojo and meditate for a little while. I'll be careful not to wake anyone up!"

Shinshi dropped his hands onto Subuki's shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "You don't have to explain your actions to us, miss. You are, after all, our leader. We will follow your orders without question." He paused, and a small smile flickered across his face. "Even if they do involve waking up at ungodly hours to meditate in the dojo."

In spite of her sour mood, Subuki felt herself grinning at Shinshi's words. The man was one of her senior advisors and her closest friend; he had always been a mentor and emotional support for her through thick and thin. "I'll be fine by myself, Shinshi. Go back to bed. That's an order," she instructed him.

"As you wish," Shinshi replied, giving her a low bow and backing out of the room.

Subuki waited until she heard the door shut behind him, and then let out a soft sigh. Though she knew Shinshi only meant the best for her, sometimes his gentle concern grated on her nerves. She quickly donned her miko garments and paused to look at herself in the full-length mirror of the room.

The solemn girl that stared back at her coldly was almost intimidating in the formal costume that she wore; she hardly appeared to be the twelve-year-old that she really was. "I look like her," she murmured, tilting her head and squinting in concentration. The image in the mirror shifted and wavered, and she saw an older miko standing in her place; taller, with higher cheekbones and a graceful, feminine air that Subuki never managed to capture no matter how she tried. The dark eyes and the china-white skin were exactly the same, however; but for the woman's cascading blonde hair, the two girls could have been sisters - which, in fact, they were.

"Pip," Subuki murmured to herself.

"I'll always be here for you," the girl in the mirror whispered to her with a smile.

Subuki squeezed her eyes shut and willed the memory away. When she opened them again, it was only her own reflection looking back at her. "Liar," she whispered harshly before turning away. She flipped the latch on the window and pushed it open, letting the cool breeze sweep into the room. It was early fall, and while the weather was still temperate, there was already a chill bite to the early morning wind. Subuki smiled, reveling in the cold; warmth and comfort were, in her mind, meant to be reserved for times of happiness.

She closed her eyes and pressed her hands together, praying silently. Like all of her ancestors in the Matobo clan, Subuki possessed the supernatural miko powers that allowed her to hunt demons so successfully. Among them was the ability to assume a spirit form, a totem of nature that a miko identified most clearly with. Most members of the clan had spent years meditating to create a connection that would allow them to shapeshift; even Pip had waited until she was sixteen to assume a unique form.

Subuki hadn't had that luxury. Just another one of the "wonderful miko gifts" that I'd rather not have had, she thought sourly as she tapped into the magic in her soul, feeling her body bend and shift with her thoughts. It was always just a little bit painful to transform; she wasn't sure if it was because of her age or simply because she lacked mastery of the skill necessary to completely assume a new shape. Either way, she let out a yawn of relief when it was over and stretched, arching her back and extending her claws.

"Just another typical restless night," she murmured to herself, leaping to the windowsill and letting her ears swivel back and forth as she drank in the sounds and smells of the night. In her smaller cat body, everything she experienced was louder and sharper than when she was a human; it usually took her a few moments to orient herself against the rush of sensation. When she felt she was ready, she carefully leapt down onto the ground and padded her way silently across the moonlit courtyard.

Should I meditate in the dojo? she thought to herself restlessly. I know what I told Shinshi… but maybe I'll just cut loose and have some fun instead. Hah! Subuki Matobo, mouse hunter extraordinaire. Nagano would never let me live that one down. Cats couldn't normally smirk, but Subuki did an excellent job of coming close as she switched course and made her way towards the shrine gate. "Mmmmrrrow," she purred to herself. "Freedom, if just for one night."

.x.x.x.​

"W-we really s-s-shouldn't abandon our posts," Yoroshi squeaked nervously as his companion hefted a wicked-looking spear over her shoulder. She ignored him in favor of fastening the gate, murmuring a few words that caused a glyph to form over the closed doors.

"This seal will have to hold until we get back," the woman replied, glaring at the boy beside her. "Bring your sling, Yoroshi," she demanded, tapping her foot impatiently.

"B-but Enma! I don't like fighting!" he pleaded, his eyes growing large and watery.

Enma hissed in annoyance as her eyebrow twitched. "I have no idea what Raphael was thinking when he gave you this assignment," she muttered under her breath. Then she refocused her glare on the cowering boy and pointed the butt of her spear at him with a fierce expression. "Yoroshi, you will get your sling, and you'll get it NOW," she growled. "Our lord is in danger, and we're the only ones who can protect him."

"B-but our duty is to guard the Gate!" Yoroshi replied, twisting his hands together nervously.

"Yoroshi, you are an angel of the Tenth Circle! You serve directly under General Raphael himself! You, boy, are a Soldier of Heaven! Now pull yourself together and start acting like one!" she roared at him.

"But I don't want to be a soldier!" he whined. Enma's glare intensified, and with a small sniffle, he drew his palms together, forming a cross. Light filled the space between his hands, and he clapped them quickly. When he pulled them apart, the light had disappeared, leaving a small, pathetic-looking sling in its place. It looked more like a child's toy than a weapon, though somehow it was perfectly suited to the cowering boy who held it.

His more Amazonian companion simply gave another sigh and rolled her eyes upward, grabbing Yoroshi by the collar. "Come on," she said, clenching her teeth tightly and parting the misty clouds with a wave of her spear. "We're going to Earth." It was the only warning she gave her companion before she leapt forward, sending them both plummeting towards the distant ground below.

.x.x.x.​

Lucifer grunted, staggering. Blood was oozing from the deep wound in his side, and he grit his teeth and tried to stand. His legs, however, wouldn't obey him, and he fell to his knees with a sharp gasp.

"Finished so soon already?" Poseidon's cruel taunt made Lucifer grimace in disgust and clutch his axe even more tightly. "It's as I've always suspected," Poseidon continued lazily, whirling his trident in easy, looping arcs as he approached the flower. "You denizens of the Hell Kingdom burn so brightly… always ready to fight, but with no discipline whatsoever. This was almost too easy." He smirked and directed his attention to the old man, who was sprawled senselessly across the concrete, a small trickle of blood leaking from his mouth.

"Yahoe, on the other hand. Now he was a real challenge. A pity he's so old," he said mockingly. "Who would've guessed that he held such regard for you, Lucifer? Why he bothered to save your life at all is beyond me." He shrugged, kneeling by the blooming flower, an evil smile stretching across his face. "No matter… Ikebana shall be mine, and there's nothing either of you can do to stop me," he laughed. The laugh dropped away and he sprung to his feet, leaping back from the flower moments before a bolt of lightning struck the ground where he had been.

"Heretic!" Enma landed with a thump onto the scorched ground, glaring daggers at Poseidon.

"You fool!" he snarled at her, whipping his trident around. "You nearly damaged the flower!"

"That's not the only thing I'm going to damage around here," she promised, clutching her spear tightly.

"Enma!" Yoroshi's panicked voice interrupted them; the boy was kneeling by Yahoe's side, carefully lifting the old man up, his face pale with fright. "King Yahoe, he's…"

"… still alive. Damn," Poseidon finished, his face drawing into a scowl.

"You're… the one… who'll be damned," Lucifer ground out, stumbling to his feet and using his axe as a prop. "I'll take you… to Hell… myself!"

"King Lucifer!" Enma gasped, her spear wavering between the two gods uneasily.

"Large talk from a would-be soldier," Poseidon sneered at her. "Be a good pet and look after your fallen god," he told her. "Even that dog Lucifer would be more of a challenge than you, you pathetic angel."

"Angel? I'll show you what a mere angel can do," Enma promised dangerously, brandishing her spear.

So caught up in the trade of insults were the three combatants that they didn't notice when Yahoe's eyes fluttered open; they didn't see him lean his head towards Yoroshi and whisper a few words to the frightened boy. Nor did they notice when Yoroshi crept towards the magic flower and carefully plucked it from the ground, forming a bottle out of light and dropping the blossom into it. They did notice, however, when Yoroshi drew back his sling and shot a sizzling ball of energy into the ground between them, one that flared up into a solid wall of light, blinding them momentarily.

Poseidon also noticed when the light faded that he stood alone under the tower. The only remnants of the recent battle were the splashes of blood that were splattered across the ground and over his trident.

"Ikebana," he growled, swearing as he saw the loose patch of earth where once the flower had stood. "Damn you, Yahoe," he snarled to himself. Then he raised his arm, and with a crash of water, he was gone.

.x.x.x.​

Subuki paused mid-stride, her tail extended and her nose lifted to the air, twitching. "Something's coming," she muttered uneasily, bristling as she sunk into the grass. She hadn't managed to get very far from the shrine when the waves of spiritual energy assaulted her senses; even in her cat form, they were strong enough to raise her hackles. Demon hunting was a part of the everyday life of the Matobo Clan; none of them could be easily cowed by the presence of intense spiritual pressure. What she felt, however, eclipsed anything she had ever sensed before; it was as though the gods themselves were passing through the Earth. She might have gotten up and run right then if she had realized how right she was.

"Argh!" Lucifer yelled as he came tumbling out of the sky in a flash of light, rolling to a stop with a groan.

"King Lucifer!" Enma yelled after him as she landed on her feet, her spear at the ready. "What are you doing in the Earth Kingdom anyway? You don't belong here!"

"E-enma! Help!" Yoroshi's panicked cry cut through the air, and after a quick glance upward, Enma cursed and threw her spear to the ground. She leapt up just in time to snatch Yahoe out of the smaller angel's arms, safely guiding the injured old man to the ground. The boy was not so lucky, landing painfully on his chin with a loud thump before falling over.

"My lord! Are you alright?" Enma asked hurriedly, carefully checking over the old man for wounds.

Yahoe ignored her, stirring faintly and cracking his eyes open. His gaze landed directly on Subuki, who remained deathly still, trying to hide herself in the tall grass. "Human child," he rasped, pointing a finger at her. "Show us your true form."

Me? Subuki thought, panicking. She didn't even have time to consider his words; as the strange old man pointed at her, she felt herself transforming, as though he was pulling her out of her totem shape against her will. She looked up in shock, still on her hands and knees in a very undignified position when she regained her human form, and quickly sat up with a dark blush. "Who are you people?" she asked, studying them warily.

"How dare you address Lord Yahoe with such disrespect!" Enma growled, glaring angrily at Subuki.

"Please, Enma. It's quite alright," Yahoe managed to cough out, giving her a placating smile. He turned his attention back to Subuki and grinned weakly. "I must… apologize for dropping in on you like this, Subuki Matobo."

Subuki flinched, willing herself not to step backwards. It wasn't that difficult, because shock had frozen her in place from the moment Enma opened her mouth. Yahoe… Lord Yahoe. That's Lord Yahoe, the King of Heaven himself! And if she's Enma… Her gaze roamed over to Yoroshi, who was sitting up slowly and rubbing his head with a wince. … then that is Yoroshi… two angels, the legendary guardians of Hell's Gate. But what are they doing here, on Earth? She swallowed loudly and dropped to her knees, bowing low. "F-forgive me, my lord," she mumbled hastily. "I hadn't recognized you!"

"Humans," Enma said scornfully, carefully helping a weakened Yahoe to his feet.

"Almost as bad as you stuck-up angels," Lucifer spat, having managed to drag himself towards the others.

Subuki's head shot up at the sound of his voice, followed quickly by the rest of her body. "You!" she hissed, anger beginning to boil through her chest. "How dare you return to this kingdom!" she grated out, her voice rising in fury.

Lucifer stopped walking and turned to stare at her, blinking in confusion. The curiosity slowly faded into recognition, and a wane smile crossed his face. "Ahh, little Subuki," he said crossly. "Still busy being a thorn in my side, are you?" His gaze traveled up and down her trembling form, and his smirk widened. "Nice robes," he added with a sneer. "Though they looked better on your sister."

"You would know, you lecherous old bastard!" she screeched, her hands balling into fists. "Answer my question, what are you doing back here on Earth?"

"He is here for the same reason I am," Yahoe interrupted her gently. He gestured for Yoroshi, who stepped forward hesitantly. "Little miko… I'm afraid I must place another burden on your shoulders."

"Umm…" Yoroshi said uncertainly, and smiled when Yahoe gave him a firm nod. He drew the small flask from his pocket, and everyone's breath caught as the flower within it lit up the night with its brilliant golden shine. "I think this is meant for you," Yoroshi told Subuki nervously as he pressed the bottle into her numb hands.

"This flower…" Subuki murmured, entranced by its unearthly beauty. This is the flower from my dream. "… why me?" she choked out in surprise, seeking out Yahoe's knowing face.

"Yeah, why her?" Lucifer cut in crossly, holding his side. "I nearly got shish kebabed for that thing, and now you're just handing it over to a damn human?"

"Demon! You should show more respect to your savior!" Enma hissed, bristling at Lucifer with barely contained hostility. "Don't think we don't know that Lord Yahoe was injured saving you from Poseidon's wrath!"

Lucifer snarled at her, his face growing dark, and Enma paled in response and quickly dropped her head in submission. Even injured, he was far more than a mere demon; he was the King of Hell for a reason. Still, his gaze fell off of her and landed on the old man, and a guilty expression crossed his features. "So why her?" he asked again, this time with a note of reservation.

"Because she is a powerful miko," Yahoe replied, looking directly into Subuki's eyes. "You know we cannot remove Ikebana from this kingdom. We cannot risk a war, not when Poseidon has already made his move. And we cannot remain here. It goes against the divine codex."

"Like Poseidon is even botherin' with that!" Lucifer protested, wincing. "What makes you think that a mortal can protect Ikebana all by herself?"

"Excuse me," Subuki interrupted softly, still awed by the flower in her hands. "This… Ikebana… what exactly is it?"

The others fell silent and exchanged uneasy glances with each other. Yahoe spoke first, his voice gentle. "I'm afraid that is not for mortals to know, little miko."

The wonderment dropped away from Subuki's face, slowly being edged out by a dull anger. The presence of a god and a demon notwithstanding, she wasn't thrilled at being nominated for a new and potentially dangerous duty against her will. "You mean you want me to protect this thing from whatever it is that can beat up two gods and two angels, but you won't even tell me why it's so special?"

"Why? Can't handle it?" Lucifer asked her with a smirk. "Pip wouldn't have complained about something like this," he added nastily.

"I'm not Pip," Subuki shot back with a dark scowl.

"But you are a Matobo," Lucifer replied quickly. Then he frowned. "I hate to admit it, but the old bastard is right. Neither of us is capable of protecting Ikebana right now, not in the shape we're in."

"You are a powerful miko," Yahoe interspersed, giving Subuki an encouraging smile. "Much more powerful than many who have come before you, despite your youth." He winced and reached out, resting a hand on Subuki's shoulder, and she flushed in dismay.

I've been complimented by Lucifer and touched by God in the space of a minute, she thought with a nervous shiver. Just another normal day in the life of Subuki Matobo.

"It is a great responsibility, but I know you are capable of handling it," Yahoe was saying to her. "You must simply keep it safe and hidden from prying eyes until the time that we can return to protect the flower ourselves." He caught her eye and gave her an encouraging smile. "Have faith. I know you will succeed in this." Then he seemed to crumple on himself, his face growing ashen as he leaned heavily into Enma's arms.

"My lord!" she said quickly, her lips tightening with concern. "Yoroshi," she commanded. "Get over here. We're bringing the king back to Heaven right now."

"But Enma -" Yoroshi began, giving Subuki a sympathetic look.

"NOW, YOROSHI!" she yelled, gathering the old man into her arms and standing up. She turned to Lucifer and shot him an evil glare. "If you respect the divine codex at all, you'll also leave this kingdom, demon." With that, she leapt into the air, golden light swirling about her as her wings unfurled. With her humanoid form shedding as she rose, the holy aura that filled the air became unbearable, and Subuki had to squeeze her eyes shut and look away. She peered cautiously between her fingers when the light faded, and saw only Lucifer standing before her, doubled over almost completely and still clutching his side.

"F&$, I hate it when they do that," he was mumbling to himself, rubbing at his eyes. "Those damned angels know it burns!"

Carefully, Subuki reached into her sleeve and pulled out a small slip of paper. She whispered a charm and the paper crackled to life, standing up straight. With the divine presence gone, she trusted Lucifer as far as she could throw him. Which was to say, not at all. She wasn't sure how effective her demon-hunting charms would be against the King of Hell himself, but she knew that she wasn't going to go down without a fight. To her surprise, however, Lucifer didn't attack her. He simply straightened up and gave her a wry smile.

"Relax, kid," he sneered at her. "Pip would never forgive me if I killed her baby sister." He winced, glancing at the blood oozing from his side in a slow river of red.

Subuki didn't move, clutching her o-fuda tightly, ready to let it fly at the slightest movement.

He rolled his eyes and fixed her with a hard stare. "Keep Ikebana safe," he instructed her curtly. "It's worth more than all of you useless humans combined." Then with a scowl, the shadows rose around him; when they collapsed, he was gone, and Subuki was alone in the field, clutching the bottled flower against her chest.

"Ikebana," she repeated to herself, looking down at the flower once more. "What are you?"

 

[Enkida]

AN: This short piece was the result of an unexpected request by a friend for a story, presumably to 'cheer him up' ... add to that a mixture of Neil Gaiman and NASA crashing two satellites into each other, and you end up with something like this. Don't ask... even I don't know what's up with my brain sometimes.

MOONSTRUCK​

Once upon a time, there lived a woman who wanted to touch the moon. She wanted to do this because on one particularly clear summer night when she was a little girl, her father took her outside and pointed at the evening sky above them.

"Did you know that you can touch the moon?" he had asked her as she eagerly gazed upwards.

"That's silly," she told him with a smirk, for she had seen a program on the television that had clearly explained why she would never be able to reach the moon, let alone touch it with her own two hands. "The moon isn't made out of green cheese, there's no man in it and we can't touch it," she explained to her father with some authority.

He only laughed and shook his head at her. "Don't believe everything you see on TV," he scolded. "The moon is made out of silver," he explained, "And it grants wishes to people who believe in its magic."

The girl only rolled her eyes, for she was almost ten years old, and everyone knew that was much too old to listen to silly fairy tales. But she said nothing, because she loved her father very much, and she knew he enjoyed telling her his tall stories.

"If the moon is full and the evening is clear, just like this one, believe with all your heart and the moon will hear your wish," he told her.

"That's stupid," the girl burst out, unable to control herself. "You have it all wrong, you're supposed to wish on falling stars," she corrected him.

"Ah, but that's not true," her father said. "Stars don't grant wishes, especially ones that are dying," he answered. "The moon does, but only to people who believe they can touch it," he said. "But since no one believes in the magic of the moon anymore, people have stopped reaching for it, and their wishes go unanswered."

The girl huffed, annoyed that her father was treating her like a little child. "Prove it," she said to him, confident that his lies would be exposed.

He only laughed and reached into the sky above, as though he was trying to grasp the moon in his palm. "There," he said after a moment, placing his hand back on her shoulder.

"Huh?" the girl said, confused by her father's happy smile. "What did you wish for?" she asked him. "I didn't see anything happen at all!"

He gathered the girl into his arms, hugging her tightly. "I wished to spend an evening with my daughter, one that we would both remember for a very long time."

"That's cheating," the girl told her father haughtily, though in her heart she was very happy for she knew his wish had come true.

Many years later, the young girl had grown into a mature woman. It was not a magical transformation, however; it was a journey that was marked by hardship, strife, and betrayal. The years had not been kind, and there were no remnants of the child left in the bitter adult, who had been abused by life and was weary of its toll. On one particularly clear summer evening, she stood over a little mound of dirt, staring at a little stone that lay on top of it, lit only by the moonlight.

"You're a big liar," she told the stone, for her father lay under the stone, and it was her father who had filled her youthful head with fanciful hopes and dreams, all of which had been dashed to pieces by the reality of life.

Her father, however, could no longer answer her accusations with his gentle smiles and warm laughter; the only thing left for her to speak to was the cold light of the moon overhead. She remembered his words, and looked up at the sky, searching for the last of her childhood fables, determined to extinguish it so that she could move on with her life. She reached out her hand to the moon, squinting, trying to touch it. She wanted to grasp it with all her heart, she desperately wanted to believe, and so she reached and she hoped and she prayed and she wished: "I want to see my father again."

The moon shone down on her, and she waited, but nothing happened. So, disappointed but not surprised, she let her hand fall to her side and turned away from the small mound of dirt. A pressure on her shoulder, however, stopped her from walking away, and she heard her father's voice once more that evening, warm and unchanged, as it had been when she was a little girl, before he had been gutted by disease and age and robbed of his strength.

"I am here because you believed," he told her.

The woman felt like a little girl again, and was afraid to turn around. "Are you really here," she asked, "Or am I losing my mind? I've lost everything else," she told him bitterly.

She heard her father sigh, "You believed enough to bring me here, and yet you can't find the strength to believe in yourself? That's not the daughter I remember," he scolded her.

At once, the little girl became an mature woman once again and felt the pressure of her father's hand leave her shoulder. "That girl is dead," she answered, "And so are you."

"That girl is still here, only her dreams that have died," she heard her father answer, as if from far away. "But not all of them. For she still has the power to wish upon the moon, and if she can wish upon the moon, then she can also bring her dreams back to life." And then the woman felt the gentlest of breezes blow across her back, and it seemed to her as if a kiss had been planted on her cheek. Something hard and painful and long-forgotten welled up in the woman's chest, demanding to be spilled out. When she turned around to open her mouth her father was gone, and she was left alone in the moonlight with a small stone and a lump of dirt.

But something shone in the dirt, and as the woman bent down, she saw a flash of silver; a coin reflecting the light of the moon. Perhaps it had lain there all along and her eyes had not seen it, or perhaps not. She took the coin into her hand and held it to her lips, closing her eyes and wishing with all her might. And when the woman finally stood, she was still a woman, but her eyes were those of a little girl. "Thank you," she told the moon and the lump of dirt.

 

[Enkida]

AN: Part of a writing project where everyone was to write a short story representing one seat on a "bus" of people traveling together.

PASSENGER​

She looks down at her feet and tries to ignore the people around her. The floor looks back at her. It's scuffed, dingy and covered with a thin layer of something sticky and quite possibly organic. She averts her eyes quickly and looks up. No good, there's someone there staring back at her; twisting slightly, she turns in her seat and searches for a new target. Something to focus on, to take away the unbearable sensation of being noticed.

The back of the bus driver's head bobs as the vehicle rounds another corner. This is okay. This is safe, he has to keep his eyes on the road. She won't be noticed here.

There's a loud sound, and the driver barks out a sharp command, his eyes shifting to the huge mirror plastered to the front of the windshield. There's a brief moment of contact, and the girl jolts back. Noticed. Her cheeks flush red and she turns a little more, this time looking out the window.

She threads her fingers through one another, sucking in her breath. There's nothing particularly unusual about herself, she knows; it would be flattery to think she was eye-catching for her beauty, and self-depreciating to think the same for opposite reasons. No, she knows she is perfectly, astoundingly, mind-numbingly normal; she has the same glazed look as the other passengers on the bus, the same weary, careworn expressions, shares the same uncomfortable unity with the other passengers; no matter who they are, or where they come from, they are all here, and for the moment heading for the same destination.

But she can't meet their eyes. She's not shy; it's not timidity that disquiets her. She knows why she can't look at the other passengers. It's that feeling in the air, the unity, the single-mindedness of travelling together with a group of strangers. If she looks at them, she knows what will happen. The strangers will become familiar, known. The carefully erected barriers of separation, individuality; they will fall if she looks. The drunk hobo who shambled onto the bus through the back door, smelly and unshaved, he will no longer be a stranger, someone to laugh at or ignore; he will be a passenger, just like her. He will grow a story, and his eyes will tell it. The paper-wrapped bottle in his shaking hand will cease to be a drink and become an answer, and her mind will spin its weave, looking for the question.

She purses her lips and tears her eyes away; she's done it again, let her mind wander, and now it's started; the distance has been pierced, and now she is no longer surrounded by strangers. Now she is travelling with people… and now she can't stop herself from caring. What are their stories? How much will she learn on this short trip before she reaches her destination? She scolds herself for her curiosity and trains her eyes back onto the dull plastic of the windowpane. But no matter how she tries, she can't avoid the reflections.

 

[Enkida]

AN: the first fanfiction piece I ever wrote, ever. DISCLAIMER – The Slayers still belong to Hajime Kanzaka; I'm only personally profiting from reader reviews.

SWITCH​

"IDIOT! That was my last piece of chicken!"

Zelgadis winced as Lina's indignant cry rose above the hubbub of the tavern noise. "Do you really need to be quite so aggressive all the time, Lina?" he asked as he watched the tiny sorceress pummeling her unfortunate blond mercenary companion.

Lina looked up sharply. She paused only long enough to say "Don't you start on me, Zel!" before continuing to boot Gourry back into the ground."Ow! Liiina, I was hungry!" came the muffled cry, which quickly escalated into a full-blown argument over the ownership rights of food. Zelgadis rolled his eyes and sipped his coffee, praising his good fortune that he didn't have to be involved in it - and then cursed it as he felt a familiar weight latch onto his arm.

Huge, watery blue eyes stared up at him worshipfully. "Oh Mr. Zelgadis! Lina is so mean to Gourry! I wish she could be nice and quiet like you are sometimes!" Despite his obvious annoyance, the girl continued to snuggle up to him and chatter brainlessly about their companions and the need for justice in the world. With the ease of years of practice, he managed to tune her out.

A loud, piercing laugh suddenly broke above the noise the Slayers were causing. "AH-HA-HA-HA HA!" Zelgadis saw Lina wince painfully at the sound. "AH-HA-HA-HA-HA! Naga, the White Serpent and All-Around Superior Sorceress has finally found you, Lina Inverse!" Much to the dismay of the surrounding crowd, she opened her mouth to let out another hearty laugh, when her jaw dropped open. "Amelia? What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to bring order and justice to the world!" Amelia chirped back, "You never told me you knew Miss Lina, sis!"

This time it was Lina's turn to drop her jaw open. "You mean you two are sisters?" she sputtered. Then she paused. Well, they both had blue eyes, purple hair, ample bosoms, and tiny brains. Suddenly Lina was struck with a horrible thought. She had barely managed to get rid of Naga before picking up Amelia as a traveling companion. One at a time was bad enough. Well, she would be damned if she had to travel with them BOTH. Lina stood up with a self-confident smile and said "Yes, so nice to see you too again, Naga. What do you want?"

Naga's smirk increased to a broad smile. "Why, to prove to you that I am the greatest and sexiest sorceress in the world! I can't have you going around doing things like defeating Shabranigdu without me, Lina!"

Lina felt her stomach knot painfully as Amelia squealed with joy at the prospect of adventuring for justice with her big sister. The knot tightened as Gourry, who had somehow managed to recover from the beating, decided to add his opinion as well.

"Wow! See Lina, now that's what I call a real chest! Maybe when you grow up you can fit into an outfit like that too!"

The smoke in the tavern, Amelia's squealing, Gourry's observations, and Naga's ear-splitting laughs pressed in around the tiny sorceress. Squeezing her eyes shut, she let out a scream of frustration and bolted for the door.

"Ah-HAHAHAHA! Warm up the sake, let's celebrate my return!" Naga roared, as Amelia and Gourry surrounded her, the former to catch up with the family and the latter to stare at her bosom. Zelgadis took the opportunity to slip out of the tavern quietly, unnoticed by the others, and left after Lina.


Zelgadis sniffed at the air. Lina really must have been annoyed this time, she had traveled farther away from the town than usual for her occasional fits of rage with their other traveling companions. He finally found her sulking on a rock in a small clearing of the forest nearby.

Lina, hearing the rustling wind as Zelgadis settled on the ground, whipped around, a fireball already forming in her hands and a look of murder in her eyes. "Oh, it's you," she said relievedly, killing the spell. She slumped back down onto the rock wearily.

Zelgadis was surprised; this wasn't the same fiery little sorceress he was so used to seeing. "I know how you feel," he offered. "I need to get away from them too, sometimes." Zelgadis let out a sigh. Especially Amelia, he added silently. He walked around to another rock nearby and settled down. Lina didn't seem to mind; he didn't know when exactly it had happened, but somewhere along their travels they had come to silently acknowledge each other's competence, and had grown used to spending their mutual need for escape together. Sometimes he even enjoyed Lina's frustrated escapes from the group; it was refreshing to be able to talk with her alone, or even just pass the time in a comfortable, easy silence. And somehow, each time it happened, his consuming desire to find a cure for his chimeric form was somehow quenched, or even forgotten. But the scowl on Lina's face brought him back to the present; something more had upset her than the usual stress of her friends' antics. "So," he said simply. Her scowl deepened. "If you're going to sit there making that sour face, you might as well tell me about it." She glared at him moodily. Zelgadis shrugged slightly. "Of course, if you don't want to talk about it, then I'll just go back..."

"No, no, wait." She spoke as he went through the motions of pretending to rise. "It's not that I don't like Naga and Amelia and Gourry..." The expression on her face softened as she looked at the ground. "It's just - well," she hesitated.

Zelgadis nodded at her encouragingly.

Lina's face scrunched up angrily and her fists clenched into tight balls. "I can't stand it! I can't stand being continually teased about it!" Zelgadis lifted an eyebrow. "Look at me, Zel! I haven't changed since the first day you saw me! I haven't changed from the first day Naga saw me!" She stood up and paced around the rocks restlessly. "When I was a kid, I thought it would be great, that I'd never have to worry getting old or ugly or wrinkled, but look at me now! It's been six years and I'm still stuck in this body!"

Turn, stomp, turn, stomp. "I used to be able to brush it off. 'Flat-chested' ... 'dramatta' ... 'snot-nosed punk' ... but oooh!" Her faced turned a bright shade of red, and for a moment Zelgadis worried that she would choke on her own fury. Instead, she let out a loud scream. "I'M TIRED OF BEING A KID! I WANT TO GROW UP!" Exhausted from the declaration, she plopped back down onto the rock. But Zelgadis' reaction surprised her.

He tried to stifle a laugh. And then another, and another. Soon his laughter, rich and deep, came spilling out.

Surprised, and then indignant, Lina strode up to him and kicked him soundly in the ribs, hurting only her foot. "What the HELL do you think you're laughing about?"

Zelgadis wiped a tear of mirth from his eye and looked up at the tiny sorceress, now towering above him. "You! What did you expect, telling me that story?" He let out a few last chuckles, and then sat up again, motioning for her to sit down as expressions of confusion and rage crossed her face. "Lina, I'm a chimera! You may think you have problems, but look at me!"

As if she had suddenly realized just who she was talking to, a flush of embarrassment spread across Lina's face. It was surprising to Zelgadis; she truly had forgotten about his disfigurement. But Lina recovered quickly, and pointed at him.

"It's not the same! You just believe that your stone skin makes you ugly! If you'd just get over that, you fool, you'd get along fine!" She sighed slightly. "At least you don't have to look like a stupid child for the rest of your life."

Zelgadis shook his head at her. "You think YOU have problems? I'd give anything to have your problem, Lina, if it would mean I could be human again," he told her.

"Yeah, well I don't think your position is nearly so bad as mine! In fact, I think I'd prefer to be in your place instead of mine!" she shot back. And suddenly, the stone Zelgadis was leaning against began to glow in an eerie light.

Both Lina and Zelgadis scrambled to their feet as they noticed the rocks around them beginning to glow. Even patches of moss sparkled, revealing that the stones were actually laid a circular formation. The sorcerers glanced nervously at each other. This was no ordinary forest glen, they realized belatedly. As the remaining rocks hidden by the overgrowth of moss and flowers began to emerge, they realized their mistake - Lina and Zelgadis had stumbled into a faerie circle!

"Oh shi-" were the last words Zelgadis heard Lina saying, as consciousness faded from them both.

Sunlight filtered through the trees. Zelgadis opened his eyes slowly. What happened? What time is it? He blinked a few times and brushed the flowing red bangs away from his eyes - and froze. Flowing red bangs? Brushed away by a slender, pale, HUMAN hand? He shot up suddenly, head reeling, and looked around.

He saw himself, lying unconscious next to him - Zelgadis blinked. HIMSELF LYING NEXT TO HIM? Almost afraid, he slowly looked down. And saw the rise and fall of some (not-so-ample) breasts in time to his breathing. Dumbstruck, he carefully touched his chest. Yep, maybe small, but they were breasts all right. And moving further down to his pants - he gulped nervously as he confirmed the worst - there was no doubt about it, Zelgadis Greywares was now Lina Inverse! A low, throaty moan came from the chimera's body, and (s)he slowly opened her eyes.

"Ohhh - I feel like Amelia has been practicing her hammers of justice on my head," mumbled the sleepy form beside him. 'Lina' woke up and stared at Zelgadis for a moment, confusion flickering across her sapphire blue eyes as she registered what she was seeing. And in the next instant, she was wide awake.

"WHAT THE HELL-" she screeched - well, tried to; Zelgadis' body wasn't suited for making such a high-pitched noise; it came out more like a hoarse shout.

"Lina, Lina calm down! It's me, Zelgadis!" he said. The fear in her eyes died out as she realized what had happened. And was replaced suddenly by a look of rage. "Lina, what's wro-" Zelgadis suddenly remembered where his hands still were and yanked them away while blushing furiously.

"Just because we've switched bodies doesn't mean you can put your hands there, you pervert!" Lina yelled at him. She reached out to strike him across the head and suddenly froze. Her chimeric arm had moved almost at the same speed as her mind, and now the Lina-body of Zelgadis was sprawled across the ground, a remarkable bruise spreading across his forehead. Instantly contrite, she began to cast healing spells on her friend, realizing how much more potent her punch was now that she had a stone fist. "I'll have to be more careful or I might end up killing Gourry!" she thought as she wove another complex spell over the wound.

Zelgadis' eyes fluttered open slowly, and he rose to see Lina staring at her chimeric fingers in wonder. "Zel, I just healed you! I HEALED you!" her voice rose excitedly. "I bet that I can do all of your spells too!" She began to launch into a chant when Zelgadis caught her arm and stopped her.

"Lina, I don't think this is the best place for a Ra-Tilt." She stopped and blushed, realizing that she had been about to destroy the very faerie circle that had caused their bodies to switch.

"We've got to think this thing through... find a way to reverse what happened," Zelgadis said as he absentmindedly ran his fingers over the smooth skin on his arm. Smooth skin... so soft and pliant. Experimentally, he pinched himself and jumped where he had squeezed the flesh together. Hesitantly, he brought his fingers to his head and smiled. His hair felt incredibly soft and silky under his fingertips; it was entrancing.

Lina smiled at him, enjoying the look of wonder and pleasure that crossed his face as he discovered his humanity. He seemed so happy to be human again. And I want to try that Ra-Tilt! a little voice inside of her head cried out greedily, which she quickly squished.

"Zel, maybe we shouldn't think about that just yet. After all, we got exactly what we wished for - the least we could do is try it out, huh?" Zelgadis looked up at her with surprise, both his hands still resting on his head.

"But the others-"

Lina shrugged carelessly. "I've always wondered what it would be like to be a grown man anyways. Come on, it'll be fun trying to see how long we can fool them! Besides, this circle isn't going anywhere .." Lina eyed the mossy earth, which had somehow swallowed up the stones that appeared last night, leaving only faint impressions in the ground.

With a hesitant sigh, Zelgadis finally agreed, and after carefully studying and marking the glen with the fae circle, they set out for the inn.

It was nearing twilight by the time the two sorcerers made it back to the inn.

"Where were you guys?" Gourry's worried puppy whine greeted them as the two sorcerers returned to the inn. Lina opened her mouth to answer and was left confused as Gourry shambled past her and ushered Zelgadis to the table. "I even got you some more chicken..." he was telling 'her'. She didn't have time to hear any more of the conversation, because she was suddenly knocked off balance by a heavy weight at her side.

"Oh Mr. Zelgadis! We were so worried about you! We thought that maybe bandits had ambushed you and Lina and we'd have to go out and rescue you and -" Lina looked down at Amelia irritatedly and shook her arm, trying unsuccessfully to loosen the girl's iron grip.

The rest of the day proved amusing for both Lina and Zelgadis. She, on the one hand, was amazed at his stamina to be able to continuously fight off his over-adoring fan Amelia. He, on the other hand, was amazed at Lina's ability to put up with Gourry's stupidity at such a close range, and found himself having to resist the urge to smack Gourry's head every few minutes.

As the evening passed on, Zelgadis noticed that Lina was enjoying her new body. He watched curiously at first as she pulled back her hood and took off her mask and gloves. He wasn't surprised as her unusual appearance began to draw whispers and stares from the other people in the inn. He was surprised, however, as she turned on them and said loudly "Do you have a problem?" The buzz died down, and he watched as she used her new-found strength and looks to challenge other people to matches of arm-wrestling, drinking, and eating... and slowly gathered a crowd of laughing, merry tavern visitors around her table.

For his part, Zelgadis was trying to stay quiet and inconspicuous at his table. Even Gourry finally left him alone, finding the new and talkative 'Zelgadis' to be less boring company. Zelgadis smiled, enjoying his ability to relax in the inn for once, without tension or masks. He ran his hands over the rough wooden texture of the table, enjoying the feel of it, and savored the bitter-sweet taste and warmth of his ale. His contemplative reverie was broken by the sound of a loud and particularly unpleasant laugh descending from the stairs.

"AH-HA! Ah-HAHAHAHA!" Naga made her entrance like usual, with a flourish, and headed straight for Zelgadis' table. "Ah, Lina! You can't hide from me forever, you know!" Zelgadis sighed with annoyance, his mood not improved by the fact that Lina was flashing him a huge smile from her table, clearly enjoying her freedom from Naga's attentions. "Since you don't want to admit that I am THE most powerful, beautiful, and sexy sorceress in this land, I challenge you to a duel, here and now!" Her loud declaration caught the attention of everyone in the room.

Zelgadis lifted his eyebrow at the scantily clad woman curiously. "Just what sort of a duel did you have in mind?" he asked quietly. Naga slammed her hand down in the table and leaned forward, nearly blinding him with the proximity of her massive, wobbling chest.

"We'll have a judge decide who truly is the most beautiful sorceress here!" She scanned the room, and caught sight of the real Lina. "In fact, why don't we have blue-boy over there decide for us! He looks like the man of the night!" Zelgadis felt himself blush as Naga shot a glance in Lina's direction and gave her a blatantly inviting wink. "A real cutey, too!" she yelled.

Lina's eyes met Zelgadis', and an evil grin flashed across her face. Zelgadis understood, but Naga laughed heartily, thinking it was directed at her. "Poor Lina! I think he might be a little biased already!" This caused a squeal of protest from Amelia. "You can chose another judge if you want, not that it'd make a difference!" Naga boomed. An idea suddenly sprung up in Zelgadis' head.

"No," he answered, flashing a confident smile at Naga. "In fact, why don't we ask all the men here to judge who really is the most beautiful and powerful sorceress in this room?" Naga's obnoxious laugh made him wince and cover his ears, but he smiled as she accepted the challenge. A small path was cleared between the walls of the tavern, and a ringed wooden dart board was hung to one side. Naga stepped into the aisle and pointed at the board.

The men in the room lined up eagerly, each craning to get a glimpse of Naga's body as she dramatically raised her arms above her head. "FREEZE ARROW!" With a yell, she let the glowing blue arrow that had formed in her hands loose. And with a yelp, everyone in the room ducked as it flew awry and slammed into the bar, covering it and the unfortunate bartender beneath a layer of ice.

"AH-HA-HA-HA!" came Naga's inescapable laugh. "You see, I've managed to cool down the drinks for my victory celebration!" With an extremely revealing flourish of her cape she bowed deeply amidst the uncertain claps of the nervous bystanders. "Beat that, Dra-Matta!" Naga's hearty laugh rolled off the walls.

Zelgadis waited motionlessly at the table for Naga's laugh to die down. All eyes in the room turned towards him. Even after there was complete silence, still he waited. He waited until he was sure he felt Lina's penetrating, questioning gaze. Then he stood up slowly and drew his petite body to its full height.

Carefully placing one foot in front of the other, he walked to the center of the room. His ruby eyes shone in the firelight with an intensity that made Lina's breath catch; he stopped and stared directly at her. Your body is so fragile, he thought. So small and delicate... so human! You are more than a child, Lina Inverse. You are beautiful, and anyone in this room who doesn't realize that is a fool. Zelgadis ran a hand slowly through his long, golden-red hair, making it catch the glints of the firelight he had studied earlier that evening. He shrugged off his cloak and shoulder pads and carelessly let them fall to the floor. He slowly peeled off his gloves, revealing the delicate, marble-white skin of his hands. The confidence in each of Zelgadis' fluid motions held the room in an electric trance; even Gourry was staring at his 'little sister,' surprised that he had never seen her this way before. Lifting his hands in a graceful arch above his head, Zelgadis' voice rang out clear and true.

"Flare..." he drew out the spell, letting the yet-uncontrolled flames dance across his fingers. Then with exacting precision he released his breath, focusing the flames between his hands. "Arrow!" The flame shot across the room, hitting the center ring. There was a sudden burst of heat and light, and when Lina opened her eyes again, she saw that the dart board had been reduced to ashes, leaving only a black, perfectly charred circle smoking in the barren wall. Zelgadis lowered his hands, a small smile playing across his face.

A clap sounded through the room. "Wow, Miss Lina! That was incredible!" Amelia was staring proudly at her mentor, clapping in appreciation. And suddenly, everyone began to join in, clapping, cheering, and sending wolf-whistles in his direction. Blushing, Zelgadis picked up his cloak and gloves and made his way back to the table.

The noise in the tavern grew as people chattered merrily, and the air was thick with laughter and ale. Naga, after sulking at the table and refusing to admit defeat, had finally drunken herself into a stupor and was passed out at the bar. Amelia and the barmaid were fighting about who would get to sit next to "Zelly", and Zelgadis was busy trying to keep away from the crowd of drunken men all trying to buy him a drink. At least Gourry had already forgotten about the contest in favor of eating his fourteenth meal of the day.

Lina watched all of the attention buzzing around her human form, wondering at how easy Zelgadis had made it seem to transform from a child into a grown, beautiful woman. She waited until Amelia finally tackled the over-eager barmaid, and used the opportunity to quietly slip out of the tavern.

Zelgadis smiled uncomfortably as he tried to refuse yet another drink being pushed in his direction. Glancing around for Lina, he noticed she was missing. Using the excuse that he had to 'powder his nose' (and turning down several drunken offers of accompaniment), he finally managed to work his way out of the pub and set off after Lina.


Zelgadis found her, as expected, waiting for him in the moonlit faerie grove. Lina was lying in the middle of the glen, staring up at the sky with an unreadable expression on her face. He knew she had heard him coming with her sensitive ears, but she didn't move. After studying her for a few minutes, he lay down on the mossy earth next to her and gazed out into the vast expanse of blackness peppered with thousands of twinkling stars above them.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he said. "Yeah," she answered quietly. "It makes you think..." her voice trailed off. Zelgadis turned his head slightly and looked at her. Sapphire blue eyes stared up, unblinking. "The universe is so large, Zel. And for everything that we do, our souls are still just one little spark in that great expanse," She turned her head and met his gaze. "All our struggles, all our problems and our personal sufferings are so insignificant in the vast stream of life..."

Zelgadis could only stare, recognizing the real Lina reflected within his own jeweled eyes.

"If we'd realize just who we were in that universe, we might see how small our problems really are." He nodded silently. "We could just as easily make our own happiness rather than suffering if we wanted to." She gave him a tiny smile. "You showed me that tonight, Zel. The only thing preventing me from growing up was myself."

Zelgadis shook his head at her. "No, Lina. You showed me that I don't have to live my life thinking I'm a freak." She smiled at him then, and his breath caught in his throat.

"You were beautiful tonight, Zel," she whispered. "And it came from inside... that won't ever change." She leaned in a little closer, and their lips touched. It felt as though the world was spinning around them as they held onto the gentle kiss. When he finally pulled back, he blinked, disoriented... and found himself staring into a pair of dark ruby eyes, Lina's own, so deep he felt he would drown.

"I guess the curse has worn off," he noted.

"Does it really matter?" Lina whispered, and leaned forward again. But he already knew it didn't as he answered her with a kiss.

 

[Enkida]

AN: drabble written for a slayer mailing list's easter celebration

"LINA, GOURRY AND ZELGADIS FIND A REESES PEANUT BUTTER CUP"

a.k.a. Enkida's Pre-Easter Mini-Fic ​

Lina grabbed the small candy and poked at the shiny wrapping. "Is this edible?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at her two companions.

Gourry snatched the candy out of her hand and bit into it. "Mrrph… bleh!" After making a few faces, he spat it out and handed the crumpled pack back to Lina. "I don't think so. It tastes really bad!" he said disappointedly.

Lina held up the soggy package by the edge of her fingertips with a look of distaste. "Gourry, that's disgusting. Fine, just leave it, it's obviously worthless." Lina flipped the package over her shoulder, sending it flying to the dusty ground behind her. "Let's go!" she yelled, starting to march forward.

"Wait," said a quiet voice. Zelgadis approached the forlorn package and examined it critically. "Actually, I think you're both wrong. I can make out a few of the strange markings. It seems like the contents are edible. You just have to open the package first." He stepped back and smirked.

Lina spun around, her mouth dropping open. "W-what?" she sputtered.

Gourry shook his head sadly. "Oh. That's too bad, it's all kind of mashed up and dirty now, so I guess we can't eat it." He gave a tiny shrug and continued to shamble his way down the road.

Lina, however, remained frozen to the spot, still trying to recover from her shock. "Y-you mean I threw away food? Perfectly good food? Tell me you're lying, Zelgadis!"

Unfortunately for her, the chimera was long gone. Zelgadis was, unlike Gourry, quick enough to figure out what would happen once Lina realized she had wasted food. He certainly didn't want to be there to experience it first-hand.

"Aww, come on, Lina!" Gourry complained, backtracking and placing a hand on Lina's shoulder. "It's tiny! Let's go to the next town and pick up another one!"

Lina was silent for a moment, her bangs covering her eyes. "Gourry," she began, her voice deceptively low and calm. "You're the one who didn't think to open it up, aren't you." Logic never did play a strong part in Lina's mind when she was angry. Particularly when she was angry about food.

Gourry's hair stood on end as he realized the significance of her words. "Hey Lina, you're not going to-"

"D-DILL BRAND!"

And that is why Lina, Gourry and Zelgadis never even got to see a Reeses, let alone eat it.

 

[Enkida]

Author's Foreword & Disclaimer
This is a fanfiction based on the light novel "The Demonic King Chases His Wife," aka 一世倾城 by Su Xiao Nuan. This story takes place between chapters 675-676 and veers off into an AU from there. I can't read Chinese and sadly haven't mastered the nuances of the language and culture. Therefore, this story may sound jarringly western. I'll do my best to not obliterate the cultural differences. This work is un-betaed; the short chapters are on purpose to keep the feel of the light novel. Leave a review if you enjoy reading this, please!
一世倾城 is the intellectual property of Su Xiao Nuan; I claim no rights nor ownership to any part of it. This is a work of fanfiction intended for entertainment purposes only and to show appreciation for the original work. No financial gain or profit is being made from this work, nor will any be sought in the future.

Click to shrink...

ABANDONMENT EDIT:
I'm officially abandoning this fiction. Not just because of the stylistic difficulty and whether or not it's even appropriate for me to attempt to write it, but more because I have deep, irreconcilable differences with the way the author of this story deals with womens' issues, particularly those of rape and sexual abuse. After having done a lot of work with a scanlating group converting Chinese manga to English as well as reading more light novels than I care to admit, I have deep, passionate feelings about the way women and their sexual rights are portrayed in 90% of these works. I can't bring myself to further that even in the fandom, and I do apologize for that but I can't continue this.

GROWING A FOREST, STEP BY STEP
Chapter 1

"A flower you plant may not necessarily bloom; but the seed of a tree you happen to drop may grow into a forest." - Chinese Proverb​

"Brother! Sister-in-law!"

Su Luo looked up at the rowdy shout; the small smile lifting her lips didn't reach her eyes. "It looks like we'll have to continue this later," she said coolly to Nangong Liuyun, whose face was thunderous. A small part of her exhaled heavily, glad that she managed to keep the relief from her voice. While Nangong's affection was genuine, his reactions were often childish and overbearing. How could it be otherwise, when almost no one could oppose his fearsome strength? It was the way of things; the strong took what they wanted, and the weak ate the bitter tears of defeat.

Her lip curled even higher. I won't be weak forever, Nangong. And I certainly will never be defeated. Then she checked her expression and turned her attention to their unexpected guests. The sudden distraction from Nangong's amorous overtures was secretly welcomed in her heart. Nangong seemed to think forcibly pulling on the sprout of her blossoming love for him would encourage it to grow. It was, she thought as she tugged at her sore wrists still trapped in his grip, often smothering.

Reluctantly, Nangong Liuyun released her and directed his black stare onto the three interlopers invading the courtyard. "Beichen Ying. Is there a good reason my brothers chose to interrupt Luo Luo's cultivation?"

Lan Xuan and An Ye Ming stepped back automatically, already sweating under the force of Nangong's fierce glare. Beichen Ying was similarly affected, but he pasted a wide smile onto his face and held out his hands in an offering of peace, pushing towards them.

"Now now! Don't be like that, brother. It hardly looked like the two of you were cultivating anyway. Or is this a dual cultivation method you were practicing, hmm? Were you about to share a new secret technique? Are you sure little Lan-ér is ready for a demonstration of such activities?" His eyes cracked open with a gleam of mischief as he regarded the two lovebirds; Su Luo huffed at him noisily.

Beichen Ying! Don't encourage him, ah! Beichen Ying's smile only broadened in response; it was as though he could smell trouble, and was unable to resist poking at it. He missed his targets, however, instead downing an innocent bystander with the collateral damage of his joke.

Lan Xuan's face flushed even redder than it was before. "Brother! Don't be so crude!" Even as he spoke, his wide eyes fixed on Su Luo and his hand shot up towards his nose which released a small trickle of blood.

Laughing, An Ye Ming recovered and shoved Lan Xuan in the shoulder. "Why don't you just clap your hands over your ears if you don't want to hear it? Brother Nangong can cultivate whenever and however he wishes to anyway. Although I do wonder what Sister-in-law has to say about the matter…?"

"Hmm. Not a bad idea," Nangong Liuyun said offhandedly to Beichen Ying, whose smile faltered.

"Hey, Nangong, you aren't really -- " Now Beichen Ying was beginning to sweat once more; this time the Su Luo's gaze had landed on him, and the level of chill she pinned him under made Nangong Liuyun's regard seem like a bracing layer of morning dew.

Ignoring the Beichen Ying's protests and Lan Xuan's now-vigorously guttering nose, Nangong Liuyun turned to Su Luo with a gleam in his eye. "Well, little Luo Luo? You never know until you try." He was already leaning in with his lips puckered!

Su Luo blew out a breath and barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. When did this guy ever give up? Did he really think she was going to drape herself all over him like a fawning puppy in the presence of his friends? Did he think she'd do that for him even if they were alone?

… well, it was Nangong. Who still had a look of hopeful expectation on his face as he waited for her answer.

"Try to rein in those lecherous fantasies," she told him crossly, pressing the palm of her hand directly into his face and pushing him away. "You may be cruel to your friends, but I'm not interested in making Lan Xuan lose any more blood."

Lan Xuan gave her a small wave of thanks as he tilted his head back and wiped his nose off on the small scrap of silk An Ye Ming had silently handed him.

Seeing a chance to explain their visit while Nangong Liuyun was distracted, Beichen Ying threw himself towards Nangong Liuyun and Su Luo...


FOOTNOTES
"Dual cultivation technique" means "have sex to raise your levels together" here. From what I've seen, it often, but doesn't always, mean raising your level via sex. It does always require two people, though.

Chinese names list family name first, then first name last. Generally unless very close it seems people refer to one another by their full name, or their last name, rather than their first name. So Jane Doe would be, in Chinese, "Doe Jane" and you'd refer to her in casual conversation as "Doe" rather than "Jane."

Also, and this may be specific to women, for those really close (like a boyfriend, or a father) sometimes the first name repeated twice is used as a pet name. So Jane Doe's boyfriend might call her "Jane Jane" as a term of endearment.

-ér is the suffix attached to names of younger friends; literally it means "son." It can also be used as a term of endearment for either gender, such as a friend or family member referring to Jane Doe as "Jane-ér."

 

[Enkida]

GROWING A FOREST, STEP BY STEP
Chapter 2​

"Brother Nangong! Forget about Sister-in-law for now!" Beichen cut in smoothly, his smile returning forcefully as he squeezed himself between Su Luo and Nangong Liuyun. At his words, Nangong Liuyun's frosted gaze fell squarely on the top of his head. Shuddering, he squeezed their shoulders even more tightly. "Or keep her well in the front of your mind! But listen to me while you're making dove-eyes at each other!" He paused, his dimples disappearing briefly; the eyes Su Luo and Nangong Liuyun were making at him now could hardly be called affectionate. "Once my head is out of the way."

Nangong Liuyun's stare intensified; it was a good thing Beichen Ying's level was close enough to avoid the spontaneous combustion that might have followed from that glare otherwise.

"We came to invite Brother Nangong out drinking!" he blurted out. "You know there's no way we'd let you leave without saying goodbye to us first!"

"Who's brothers?" Nangong interjected, his face sullen.

"That's right," An Ye Ming added. "Falling in love is no reason to forget the bonds of brotherhood, my friend."

"Not interested," Nangong Liuyun said bluntly.

Beichen Ying gave Su Luo's shoulder a light squeeze. "Sister-in-law is invited too, of course!"

"Not - " Su Luo clipped off her answer as Beichen Ying turned his head to give her a panicked, pleading look. One which was fairly easy to interpret.

Say yes, Sister-in-law. Can't you see I'm in a fragile position, oh? It's true, I interrupted Nangong Liuyun's cuddle time. I'm about to die here, you know? Won't you extend your hand to this brother-in-law?

"... ready to go out yet," she said with another internal sigh. Well, Beichen Ying had saved her from Nangong's wandering hands. Before putting the idea of dual cultivation into his head directly afterwards. It was a lucky thing Nangong was leaving soon, before that idea could come to fruition.

Reaching out, she pinched the skin of Beichen Ying's cheek between her thumb and forefinger and pulled it out. Ignoring his wince of pain, she pulled a little harder. "But how can your Sister-in-law refuse the cute face of this smiling kid? Let me go and I'll freshen up."

Beichen Ying released her immediately, though he was still held back by a now grim-looking Nangong. The look of desperation on his face had been replaced by one of consternation. Ignoring the looming presence holding him by the neck, he pointed at himself. "Smiling kid? But I'm as old as everyone else here! Don't you mean Lan Xuan by that?"

"Hey!" Lan Xuan huffed, pulling the blood-stained handkerchief from his nose. "I don't smile that much!"

"Come now, admit you're both kids," An Ye Ming interjected.

"Definitely not cute," Nangong Liuyun growled as he tightened his grip and shook Beichen Ying about.

"Beichen's the delinquent and Lan's the village idiot," An Ye Ming continued blithely.

"Oh? And what does that make you?" Lan Xuan said hotly.

"The smart one," An Ye Ming replied with a smug expression. "Brother Nangong, Beichen's face is turning purple. Maybe you should ease up a bit? He still needs that throat to drink."

Nangong Liuyun shook Beichen Ying by the ruff once more, as though scolding a mischievous puppy, and tossed him to the ground.

Scrambling to his feet, Beichen Ying coughed twice before zeroing in on Su Luo. "Why are you calling me a kid anyway? You're the youngest of us all! Shouldn't we be calling you the kid?"

Su Luo scowled at him; it was easy to forget sometimes how young this body of hers was when she was reborn, when she had the mind of a grown woman. Still, wasn't Beichen Ying being a bit immature? Su Luo took a breath to answer him, but Nangong Liuyun acted more quickly.

"Watch what you say to my woman!" Beichen Ying's face kissed the ground once more as Nangong Liuyun's fist landed on top of his head. "Besides, you're not a kid." Nangong Liuyun's scowl eased into a smirk. "Little Ying-ér is this king's favorite pet. Now be a good boy and stop yapping at Luo Luo."

Beichen Ying's eyes flashed briefly, before he began to cry exaggerated tears of distress as he rubbed at the goose egg now rising from the top of his head.

Su Luo's brows knit together. Granted, Beichen Ying always liked to needle those around him; on the other hand, Nangong Liuyun valued that rebellious streak. Beichen Ying was his closest friend. Still, wasn't this too much? She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by a loud laugh.

"Who's the village idiot, huh?" Lan Xuan laughed and knocked Beichen Ying on the shoulder companionably. "That's what you get for annoying Brother Nangong! We might be the same age, but the difference between him and us is the space between heaven and earth!"

"But this is why Brother Nangong favors you the most of us all. You're the only one who likes to court death around him," An Ye Ming added with a smile. "And you get away with it too, with that silver tongue of yours!"

Beichen Ying flashed them a smile, still rubbing his head as he rose to his feet. "Yes yes, you're right of course. This brother knows better than to argue with Sister-in-law!"

 

[Enkida]

GROWING A FOREST, STEP BY STEP
Chapter 3​

Su Luo frowned at Beichen Ying's carefree smile. Was this the way it was between Nangong Liuyun and his brothers? Could he really stand the humiliation of being called a pet? It was not her original impression of the cheerful boy. Crossing her arms, she lifted a brow at Beichen Ying. "Humph. Don't you think you're acting too pathetic just now? Are you really a dog? If I say roll over, will you show me your belly? If I say bark, will you speak?" Is one goose-egg on your head the price of your self-respect?

Beichen Ying smiled even wider, showing his sharp teeth. "Younger Sister-in-law, if Nangong says roll, I roll. If he says bark, I bark. This little dog thanks you for your concern, but I am Nangong's special pet, not Sister-in-law's. Master Nangong feeds me and scratches behind my ears, so I serve him well. But if he plays too rough, he knows I might bite."

Nangong Liuyun smirked at Beichen Ying. "So bold. Try to bite this king and prepare to lose some teeth." But there was no killing aura about him as he said this; indeed, it seemed like this was normal banter between the two friends.

"True, true, but little Sister-in-law is only a fifth-ranked junior. I'm merely saying she is not strong enough to hold my leash." Beichen Ying snapped his mouth at Su Luo for effect.

"Childish." The corner of Su Luo's lip lifted in a half-smile as Beichen Ying resumed his pout at her response. So Beichen Ying still had some bite; he just lost his teeth when Nangong scolded him. Who knew he was still smarting so much from being called a little kid? Even if this body technically was younger, he was only barely her senior. His cultivation rank was much higher than hers, but Su Luo would not allow that to last for long.

Nangong grunted in amusement, seeing the sparks crackle between them. "Who's strong. Don't underestimate my Luo Luo, no matter how strong you think you are, her luck will always be stronger than yours." His eyes gleamed with interest. "In fact, let's make a wager. Not only is my Luo Luo strong enough to master a seventh-ranked general, she will have you grovelling at her feet and begging to be called a smiling kid by the time I return."

Beichen Ying scratched his head and smiled in confusion. "But don't I do enough grovelling already?"

Su Luo snorted. "So eager to throw your pride to the ground, kid, then I'll happily trample on it."

Lan Xuan's eyes were wide as he watched the exchange. "Does Beichen Ying want a matching bump on the other side of his head?" he whispered to An Ye Ming. "Why is he still arguing with Sister-in-law after what Nangong said?"

"Beichen is only having his fun teasing Su Luo. She gets cuter when she's annoyed!" An Ye Ming hid his troubled smile. I see you noticed too, Beichen. But be careful not to have too much fun. Su Luo's destiny has already been claimed by Nangong Liuyun.

"Maybe," Lan Xuan said with some doubt, ignorant of An Ye Ming's troubled thoughts. "But Nangong sure doesn't. I always think we're going to die when he gets upset!"

"I worry about that too," An Ye Ming replied as he eyed Beichen Ying.

Nangong smiled indulgently at Su Luo. "Luo Luo, I am serious. While I am away cultivating, I will not be able to leave and protect you. Therefore I am asking Brother Beichen to look after your safety personally in my place."

Su Luo let out another small sigh. She knew what Nangong was saying was right; at the fifth level, she was still an easy target for the Jade Lake family, not to mention Emperor Jing or even her own treacherous Su family. No matter what she thought of Nangong's assignment of a babysitter, she couldn't turn this advantage away.

Beichen Ying's pout fell, and he straightened at the announcement. Dropping into a formal bow, he clasped his hands together towards Nangong Liuyun. "This one will protect Sister-in-law! If someone is foolish enough to plot, they will have to go through me first, I swear it!"

"Don't be so melodramatic," Nangong Liuyun said to Beichen Ying with an air of boredom. "Who under this sky can outfox the Beichen family? My loyal pet dog is in reality a cunning fox, isn't he?"

Beichen Ying smirked. "It's only the truth, brother!" He turned to Su Luo. "Don't worry, Sister-in-law! I will still protect you with my life, even if you can't show this elder brother the proper respect!"

"You're the one who should worry," Nangong Liuyun replied with a grin of his own as a palm descended onto Beichen Ying's shoulder, forcefully holding him in place. Nangong Liuyun faced Su Luo. "As for you, I also have a task. I expect you to teach Brother Beichen proper manners towards my future wife. You now hold my pet fox's leash."

Beichen Ying's eyes widened slightly. "That was just a joke, though. Right? You don't actually expect me to act like her pet... ?"

Nangong continued speaking as he smiled at Su Luo. "Where you go, Beichen Ying goes. Where you sleep, Beichen Ying sleeps. Where your shadow falls, Beichen Ying's shadow falls. Treat him as one of your house's manservants if you like. I've heard this fox also knows how to pour tea."

Beichen Ying sputtered in protest.

Nangong Liuyun's grip on Beichen Ying's shoulder tightened. "Ah, and you have my permission to break him if you like."

"Hmm," Su Luo said with a faint smile. "I always did want a little brother."

Beichen Ying hung his head with a low whine.

 

[Enkida]

GROWING A FOREST, STEP BY STEP
Chapter 4​

Su Luo woke to a persistent tapping on her door. Groaning, she passed a hand over her eyes. Who was disturbing her so early this morning, after a night of hard drinking with Nangong Liuyun and his friends? The sun had not even risen yet! "Yes?" she said calmly, tamping down her irritation.

Cautiously, Lu Luo stuck her head inside. "Mistress? Are you awake?"

"Guess," Su Luo replied with some censure. "Did I not command you to turn away visitors until sunrise at least? I wish to begin my cultivation today." Or to sleep until my tongue returns to its original size. Both were reasons for Su Luo to return to the Southern Mountains, rather than the Wisteria Courtyard of the Su family. After last night, Su Luo was certain she would be unable to stomach even the mere the appearance of her pathetic family, and she wished to cultivate seriously in peace.

Nangong Liuyun had left early that morning; Su Luo had only the faint, dizzy memory of a hand against her forehead. She knew he was determined to stabilize and break through to the next level as quickly as possible; she, too, must share in his determination. In a world full of tigers the weak could only be eaten!

Su Luo pursed her lips; this lesson she was taught most by Nangong Liuyun himself. Since she had agreed to return his affection, he no longer pressed for her attention as forcibly. But this was not because of Su Luo's own will. This was Nangong Liuyun's "gift" to her - his gift of patience. There was no one in the entire kingdom who would be so foolish as to hope that Nangong Liuyun had great reserves of this seldom-seen treasure. And now he was to become stronger! To have the strength to say no even to Nangong Liuyun, that was something Su Luo must definitely obtain soon.

"Mistress…" Lu Luo bowed again, her face uncertain. "Are you feeling unwell? Is it because Prince Jin has left?"

Su Luo curved her lips into a wry smile. "You might say that. Tell me, why did you wake me so early? Did you think it would help me forget his journey?"

Lu Luo flushed bright red and bowed deeply. "This humble servant offers one thousand apologies! I didn't want to wake you, but the young master insisted." Lu Luo huffed in indignation as she related the order, her face flushing red. "He said he would wake you himself if I did not do it. He may be a friend of Prince Jin, but it's not proper for a man to enter a lady's chambers!"

Su Luo rubbed her head and sipped at her cup of Celestial Spirit water to clear her dry throat. Instantly, her aching head cleared, and she looked at the cup with a pleased expression. So it's like this for healing the pain of drinking too? Standing from her bed, Su Luo allowed Lu Luo to assist her in dressing and tidying her appearance. "A friend of Prince Jin? Only one fox would dare to move so soon after last night's trial."

"Should I try to send him away?" Lu Luo asked nervously, noticing Su Luo's smirk.

Beichen Ying. You hope to catch me unguarded? Your head must hurt as much as mine, but you have no Celestial Spirit water to wash it away. Let's see how well you can wear your fox mask today.

"No need." Su Luo strode to the courtyard, opening the doors with the loudest bang she could manage.

Sure enough, Beichen Ying was waiting. His eyes tightened at the noise, but he fell to one knee instantly and his smile did not waver one bit!

"Little brother! Up so early to visit your big Sister?" Su Luo made sure to pitch her voice as loud and high as a screeching monkey.

Beichen Ying gave his widest dimpled smile, but in his heart he was extremely disappointed. Not only was Su Luo not upset, she was perfectly composed from head to toe. It was as if she had drunk nothing at all the previous night! Was this really the magic of women's makeup? So unfair! "Yes! Isn't it a beautiful morning? I almost could not bring myself to stand from the sheer joy I felt at waking. It must be extremely beautiful for you too!"

You drank so much last night that I am surprised you woke at all, Su Luo thought. What devotion, to drag himself out this early in the morning to compete! Well, Beichen Ying should be rewarded for such dedication, should he not? "So honored you came quickly to share your joy with me. We should celebrate this wonderful life with a meal, yes?" She turned to Lu Luo. "Bring us fragrant rice, pickled cucumbers and fried tofu. The fermented sort. And some fatty duck with plum sauce!" Clapping her hands together loudly, Su Luo turned and smiled at the rich shade of green on Beichen Ying's face.

"No need to celebrate with such a bounty, Sister-in-law!" Beichen Ying said very quickly, feeling his stomach rumble in protest. "I ate before coming over!"

"Ah, but you are being such a good little brother! I want to spoil you with sweets! Lu Luo, wait, bring us the green tea and sticky rice as well!"

Lu Luo bowed again and again, looking somewhat smug as Beichen Ying changed from a frog to a ghost. "Right away, miss. It will be a feast like none before! I can smell it already," she said with a gloat.

Su Luo nodded in approval as the girl left. She was learning well; a bit more training like this, and Lu Luo might even be able to survive in Nangong Liuyun's court. Turning her attention back to Beichen Ying, she smiled and patted his shoulder. "No need to kneel! Let us sit at the table to eat."

 

[Enkida]

GROWING A FOREST, STEP BY STEP
Chapter 5​

Su Luo tugged on Beichen Ying's arm, but he pulled away from her with a pout.

"You're doing this on purpose, Sister-in-law," Beichen Ying said. "How are you able to look so refreshed after last night's drinking? Even if I took a spirit restoration pill I am not ready for fermented tofu! Call back your maid!"

Su Luo smiled even more. "No. Now come, little brother, the food is waiting. It will make you feel very special. Perhaps even as special as I felt when Lu Luo announced your visit so early this morning."

"Not standing." Beichen Ying crossed his arms and fell into a sulk.

"Not wasting food. Lu Luo will surround you with dishes on this very floor."

Beichen Ying rubbed the back of his head with a wince and continued to pout like a child.

Crouching beside him, Su Luo dropped her chin into her palm. "Stubborn? Just like a little brother, really. Ok, I will call my maid back, I prefer when you are smiling, not bratty like this."

Beichen Ying looked away with a huff and said nothing.

"Not cute anymore," Su Luo said, her expression souring. "I only want a little brother if he's cute."

This made Beichen Ying glance from the corner of his eye. "Woof."

Su Luo blinked. "Use words. I want a little brother, not a big baby. Not going to change your diapers also, you know?"

"Woof!" Beichen Ying repeated, looking offended. Seeing Su Luo's blank expression, he dropped his head with a sigh. "If don't want to be Sister-in-law's little brother, then I have to be Sister-in-law's pet like Nangong said. Dogs can't speak." He turned his head away again. "Woof."

Hmm. Maybe still just a little bit cute, Su Luo thought. "I thought you were a fox, not a dog." Seeing Beichen Ying not answer, she poked him with a finger again. "So? What does the fox say?"

"The secret of the fox, ancient mystery," Beichen Ying hummed sullenly.

Su Luo's brow wrinkled. A fox might have many talents but singing wasn't one, all right? "Stop singing please. It's too early!"

Beichen Ying stopped humming with a look of exaggerated surprise. "Since when do you ask nicely, Sister-in-law? Didn't Nangong tell you to be very strict with your pet?" He rolled on the floor on his hands and knees.

So now he's annoyed about that too? And what was this dance he was doing now on the ground? If Lu Luo came back she might think Beichen Ying was poisoned! Just how did this guy get stuck to the bottom of her shoe the first day after Nangong Liuyun was gone? "Fine," Su Luo sighed, feeling a new headache come back. "I order you to stop crawling and yipping like a dog. Are you happy now?"

Beichen Ying sat up and scratched his head. For once he looked thoughtful. "Don't know?"

Su Luo slapped her forehead. "Don't know? You really are a kid! Does someone else dress and feed you too?"

Beichen Ying's face darkened. "Enough with that joke already! I don't mind being your pet, but why are you always calling me a kid? I'm two years older than you, you know? And two levels stronger!"

Su Luo watched him straighten like a stubborn dog sitting on its heels. "You're sitting on my floor pouting. How are you not a kid?"

Huffing, Beichen Ying stood up and dusted his robes clean. "If I'm the kid then how come you're the one who needs babysitting then?"

Su Luo also stood up, growing annoyed; even with her back straight, Beichen Ying really was taller than her. This body was just too short! And now that he was looking at her sternly, it's not like she could deny it. Just looking at him reminded Su Luo of how far she had to travel still. With my cultivation level like this, even Nangong Liuyun's friends are stronger than me!

Beichen Ying's stern expression dropped Su Luo stopped sharpening her tongue on him. Instead, he patted her consolingly on the shoulder and smiled brightly. "It's all right. I know how you are feeling, I shouldn't have pushed Sister-in-law this much."

This made Su Luo's brow wrinkle even more. "What do you know, oh? Seventh level! Nangong Liuyun's best friend! Not even a woman! Fortune doesn't smile on the weak. If this world wants to trample me so badly, then I will make sure I am the one who is doing the stepping in the end!"

Beichen Ying's smile fell away and his hand on her shoulder grew heavy. "I am not joking! Sister-in-law wants to gain power to crush the bugs that bite her? You are the bug right now, you know. Are you saying I should crush you if I don't like it when you call me little brother? And then Nangong Liuyun should crush me as punishment? Who will crush Nangong Liuyun next then? Beyond this mountain there are greater mountains, beyond this man there are greater men."

Su Luo pursed her lips, her face still and cold. "Want to spin a nicer tale then? You have some guts to speak like that to me. You also bow to Nangong Liuyun, just like everyone!"


FOOTNOTES
At this point in the story, in terms of power Su Luo is a level four and Beichen Ying is at the start of level seven. I think Nangong Liuyun is off training to achieve level ten? Or nine? Something better than everyone else his age.

I hope all of you are familiar with Ylvis to get Beichen Ying's "The Fox" joke. If not, Luo White did record a Chinese version of the song which may or may not be as "good" as the original. ;-)

"Beyond this mountain there are mountains, beyond this man there are men." This is taking serious English liberties with the translation of 山外有山 人外有人. Which basically means "there's always somebody better than you."

 

[Enkida]

AN: No profit being made, all standard disclaimers apply, etc etc. This one-shot is based on one of the assigned themes from the GlanceReviver VP community; this particular one was "Lost Memories of a Former Life." The title is yet another one of my Latin bastardizations which should theoretically translate to "The Memory and the Forgetting." I love Latin so much. I really should learn it properly one of these days. Also, the change in tense at the end of this story is fully intentional.

MEMORIA ET OBLIVIO​

He felt it when her soul returned to Midgard; felt it like a beacon in the dark. Perhaps it was from his newfound godhood, or his connection to the Valkyries. Either way, he knew in his heart that she had returned, just a much as he knew that the sky was blue, or his hair was green. He kept his growing excitement to himself; mostly, to throw Freya off the scent. She had felt the rebirth of her Valkyries as well; who only knew what she was thinking of his "disgustingly mortal" reaction to the return of their souls.

By the time he allowed himself to seek her, to set foot in Midgard once again by way of weak excuse - the Dragon Orb, he had told Freya, to ensure its safety - years had passed. He hadn't even realized how quickly the seasons turned, for Asgard - and he - were both timeless, ageless, just as he had always been. Coriander, too, was much unchanged - still a beautiful, quiet farming village, blanketed by a lazy sense of lethargy and the summer's wildflowers.

She didn't recognize him when she barreled into his long legs. She was so small! He had a difficult time keeping the shock from his face; those blue eyes, the soft brush of her flaxen hair. Too long, but not long enough, was what he thought, staring into the childish innocence of her young face. She couldn't have been more than seven years old, perhaps eight; he'd never been good with children. Perhaps because he never could remember his own childhood. He wasn't even entirely sure if elves had a childhood; often it seemed to him that they were born into the world fully grown.

When he recovered himself, she'd already scampered off after her friends - he was left staring wistfully at a dream that he had no part in. Her name was not Alicia, of course; she was not Alicia. She was a quiet, happy little girl leading a quiet, happy little life - the sort of life which his Alicia never had the opportunity to experience. But her face stirred the waters of memory, and he found himself too weak to leave well enough alone. He watched her, constantly; the Water Mirror was fast becoming known as the new lord of Asgard's favorite haunt. Freya, of course, disapproved.

"You still cannot divest yourself of your mortal trappings," she observed. Hers was a cool hostility; she'd never truly forgiven him for rebelling against Odin. He often thought that she might have loved the other half-elf; or come as close to the concept of love as a goddess such as herself could. It dulled the sharpness of her retorts in his ears; after all, he knew exactly how she felt, albeit ten-fold. It was just as she said, only that his own feelings of loss were painfully amplified by his mortal trappings.

She approached him silently one day, while he was engaging in his favorite pastime: watching, of course. Watching the girl grow, discover friendship and love - without him. "Stop this foolishness," she commanded. He wondered why she'd come; they'd developed comfortable boundaries, perhaps even a grudging respect for one another, but nothing like friendship. This interruption, the temporary disruption of their carefully choreographed relationship, puzzled him. He might have thought it concern, if not for the coldness of her eyes and the severity of her face. Freya no longer remembered how to smile, had forgotten ever since Odin had passed. He stood unmoving before the Mirror, watching as intently as before, as though she hadn't spoken. He didn't even blink. "You will never have her," she told him before she left, and her tone was bitter.

He didn't care much for Freya, at that.

When the girl reached a more familiar age, the first flush of womanhood beginning to appear on her face, his visits to the Mirror became more and more frequent. He found himself wishing for an excuse to travel to Midgard, but he'd already exhausted his trump card. Visiting Arngrim to check on the Dragon Orb again would be a thin excuse at best; in the roll of time in Asgard, a scant decade was hardly enough to warrant yet another trip to the realm of mortals. He knew better than to make good on his desire in any regard - the years that had passed since Odin's fall were long only in a mortal's reckoning. He hadn't taken up Gungnir, saved Asgard from destruction, only to have it fall - or stolen from him - simply because of a personal moment of weakness. No, Alicia had wished for the world - all of it - to be healed. Here he would stay, watcher, guardian. Oh, but when she smiled -!

It happened one day that she lost her smile. He didn't know exactly when, but he saw how. The slow-building power of Crell Monferaigne had finally caught stride of the vacuum left in the wake of Dipan's fall. The aftershocks from the ensuing skirmishes for domination were felt everywhere - even in the quiet outskirts of sleepy little villages like Coriander. Villages which no longer had the luxury of truly sleeping. The girl was woken from her own pleasant dream in a rain of fire and iron. She, like so many others, lost everything. Parents, brothers, even her innocence. She lost her voice, and the light in her eyes that had defined her as happiness embodied. When he saw her, lying amidst the ruins of her former life, beaten and broken, he nearly shattered the Water Mirror. What good was it? What was it all for, if he couldn't even prevent this from happening to her? He watched closely in the days that followed; watched as she picked herself up from the ruins of her former life and painstakingly rebuilt herself, step by step, piece by piece. She took up the sword, clumsy and unused to warfare as she was; her will was strong, even if her skill left much to be desired. She was motivated; how could she not be? For she had nothing else.

He watched her grow, and a small, terrible part of himself wept with relief. She looks more like Alicia now, he thought, glad for the change while at the same time cursing himself for finding the guilty comfort of a completely selfish happiness in her own mortal misery. She didn't cry, despite the heaviness that sorrow had etched onto her youthful face much too early; she joined the resistance and held back her tears until her first skirmish. It was only when she ran the soldier through - more an accident of luck than ability with the blade, really - that she allowed her tears to fall. Only after her hands and her face and her beautiful golden hair had become matted with the blood of another, a human - then she learned that all the tears in the world would never wash away the stain.

He turned away from the Mirror, unable to bear her misery and pain; they struck at his own heart, bringing back memories that had almost threatened to be forgotten. She reminded him, then - reminded him of what it meant to be mortal, to live among humans - of why he was different from the other gods of Asgard. Why he dared not forget, why it was necessary for her tears to burn with a humiliation worse than fire through his very blood. He was not Odin. He would never be.

Still, so great was his shame of what he'd nearly lost that he found himself unable to visit the Water Mirror, to see her, for a span of years. When he finally did gather the courage to look for her once again, she was already in her twenties. Older than his Alicia had ever been allowed to develop; and yet, age suited her. Battle had hardened her; the light sword she wielded now felled her opponents in a measure of skill, rather than luck. Though tears no longer fell from her eyes, they retained a measure of the softness that defined her as human; he was relieved, that she had somehow managed to survive without his aid. The thought made him smile; never, not even once, had he aided this girl; why it had occurred to him that she might suddenly need him now was a mystery born of his own desires. For in the end, not even Alicia had needed him.

She was a revolutionary now; no longer fighting among the scattered remains of rebellious villagers and transients, but a soldier. She was no leader, at least not by choice, but her manner set her aside from others in her company. There was a memory, perhaps; an imprint of her former life; the hint of a regal bearing, the quiet strength hiding behind her silence. Others around her looked to her for hope, no matter who led them to battle. She was a fine warrior, a force to be reckoned with. And she stood against the pious nation of Crell Monferaigne; she stood against the gods of Asgard and all that they represented.

The irony would have made him smile, had it not birthed the unexpected ache in his chest; no, not for her, not for this proud woman she had become, no matter how much she resembled his Alicia. No; his ache now was for the misery she endured; a work of purely human engineering. Crell Monferaigne had cast its eyes across the continent, and misery followed in its wake. The girl, this warrior-woman, was just one of its many victims, forged in the fires of a needless war. She would never bow to Odin, never welcome the coming of the Valkyries, not after what had been forced upon her, upon Coriander, upon all the countless villages too small to claim power for themselves but too large to be ignored by greedy eyes. She was beautiful, in her own harsh, broken way - a brave, but damaged spirit. Was his Alicia forever destined to be damaged? And yet he could he still do nothing. Gods do not interfere in the affairs of mortals, Freya would remind him sharply. Odin had tried, and it had brought him to ruin. The warning was clear. It hurt him to watch. This was the price he paid for memory, for retaining his "weak mortal compassion" - he suffered with them; he suffered with her.

He took some small comfort in the thought that perhaps it brought them closer.

Villnore's rebellion was put down years later, and with such brutality that Asgard witnessed the return of a Valkyrie. It was Silmeria who came to them; who else could it be? She was less contrary than anyone admitted to remembering, though perhaps it was due to his presence on the throne. She trusted him implicitly, and he her; that much was understood. But she was cold, colder than he ever remembered; colder even than when they had first met in Solde. He didn't understand why; he'd thought that with Silmeria's return, his pain would ease. That they could share the burden of loss, and perhaps one day the joy of remembering. But never did a smile pass the valkyrie's lips, nor warm her eyes when he saw her. She was as focused and precise in her manners as she was with her bow.

He didn't understand her distance or her behavior until he caught her standing before the Water Mirror one day, staring into its depths. She was watching the girl - this would-be Alicia - hungrily, desperately, with emotions that should have been foreign to any denizen of Asgard. She hadn't acknowledged him when she felt his presence; she ignored him just as thoroughly as he had once ignored Freya. But that wasn't important; he could never forget how it had felt to lose Alicia, even had he wanted to. Silmeria now knew the sting of this burning mortal pain too; he could see it in the haunted way her eyes tracked the girl's movements.

Once, he'd thought he'd lost to the valkyrie; when Alicia had told him that it was Silmeria she needed to feel completion, not himself. Now, as he watched her, he knew the truth: that they had both lost something which had never been rightfully theirs to own. He joined her side at the Water Mirror and observed the mortal girl silently.

The girl was fighting; fighting alongside the rest of Villnore's scattered resistance; a hopeless, futile cause, and yet still she fought with all her heart and the full fire of her passion, the spark of which her human mind could not fully understand. She fought for her decimated home, her shattered pride, her lost innocence. Her memory was constrained to her mortal life, but her soul burned brightly with the fire of conviction; her soul, it remembered.

"She would make a worthy einherjar," Silmeria finally said, breaking the long silence between them with a note of longing.

"But she can never be Alicia," he answered her. Alicia was gone forever. Just like Brahms, and Dylan, and yes, even Lezard. Alicia was a soul who would never know true reincarnation because her very substance was changed, affected by her transformation into the Fate Goddess Valkyrie. He looked at his ring, shining in the pale white light of the Water Mirror, and thought how it mocked him with the memory of what could never be. His anger grew; Silmeria, she too, was mocking him, even if she did not understand.

"Should we just let her go, then?" Silmeria asked. His heart was frozen, her question buzzed in his ears as he watched the mortal girl fight her last, desperate battle. He watched as the pike was plunged through this not-Alicia's heart, watched as she gasped, her face white and contorted with pain. He watched the slow trail of crimson as it painted a colorful path against her too-pale skin. He watched her body crumple, her breath escaping her in one last rattling gasp as her mortal body died.

She isn't Alicia, she's not, he repeated again, this time trying to convince himself.

But he could never let her go; that is what he wanted to tell Silmeria as she watched him, tense. He reached out to touch the Mirror; whether through its power, or perhaps his own godhood, he felt that he could almost feel her. That he could grasp her outstretched fingertips splayed across the bloody earth and grant her at least that much comfort, the knowledge that she would not die alone, that she would be missed. His own fingers trembled - oh, but that a mortal had the power to make a god show such weakness! But he could not hold himself strong as Silmeria, could not even pretend. His mortal heart wouldn't allow him that distance.

He sensed Silmeria's displeasure, but ignored her and continued to reach for the girl. Silmeria was Alicia's final wish. This time, she was his to hoard, to watch over, even if only for the fleeting final moments of her life. Silmeria could bear this unspoken reprimand; she must. This time Alicia would be his alone.

... but it was not Alicia.

He withdrew his hand, and was surprised when Silmeria strode past him. He had forgotten; she was always the rebellious one. Freya had warned him that she could be filled with spite. He watched with dull fascination as she passed through the Mirror; watched the soldiers fall and cower before her divine presence. Silmeria ignored them all. She stopped before the fallen girl and summoned her soul, performing the materialization; horrified, he couldn't look away. The girl knelt before her; words were spoken, a pledge was exchanged. And then it was over; Silmeria was returning, and the girl who was not Alicia came with her, not even having the decency to look the least bit phased by her death or her transformation.

That was the way of things with newly bound einherjar. He remembered Arngrim's loyalty to Hrist; the warmth and devotion felt when he himself was bonded to Alicia. Free will was often naught but a memory; the twin calls of duty and gratitude were much stronger in the newly dead than anything else. Time would change her, as it did all einherjar, but for now she was loyal, a mindless servant - a worthy einherjar.

"My lord," she who was not Alicia said as she knelt before him.

It almost broke him to hear that. He wondered briefly if a god of Asgard had ever been physically sick before his subjects. Why, why did Silmeria do this, of all things? Hadn't it been enough to lose her once? He couldn't look away. He couldn't. "Alicia," he almost whispered, and his hand trembled as it reached for her bowed head. The einherjar did not even look up, unaware of the chaos her very presence had set loose within his soul. He could not look away. But he must.

Before he touched her, before he was lost, desperation forced him to look up. His eyes found Silmeria's - he expected her to be gloating, savoring the fruits of her vindictiveness or chastising him for being so pathetic. But instead he saw only shame, and it was enough to halt the movement of his hand. Silmeria's plan, her hasty revenge, had backfired - for now she, too, knew more intimately than he ever could, that this was Not Alicia. Already, this girl was tainted, tainted from their own expectations and their memories of Alicia; she had barely had the time to lead her own life, and now, as an einherjar surrounded by familiar gods, she would never have that chance. Even reborn, it seemed that Alicia's soul couldn't escape the curse of the gods; their jealous rivalry had destroyed the new beginning she worked so hard to bring about. He knew that Silmeria would free this einherjar quickly; she must not remain in Valhalla. It would destroy them both.

"I live to serve," the einherjar said. How right she was.

"Rufus," Silmeria spoke hesitantly, and it was the first time - the first time since they had met again - that she used his name.

"Just go," he said, and stared into his ring. He felt no victory here; the punishment Silmeria had wrought upon herself in her attempt to recapture what could not be was far worse than the lance which she drove through his heart in bringing the mortal girl here. He didn't envy her the duty which was hers to perform. But at the very least, she had managed to smash through the ice which had frosted over their friendship in her clumsy attempt to defy fate.

He paid them no heed as Silmeria commanded the einherjar to her feet; he briefly wondered if the girl would ever even know how lucky she was. Very few gods had been granted access to the Water Mirror since he learned of her presence on Midgard; even fewer einherjar had been allowed such privileges. He watched them retreat down the long, open corridor towards the palace. He wanted to scream in fury, to shout in despair, to behave shamefully - just as a mortal would, as Freya might have said. He thought that perhaps, just perhaps, he understood how Lezard felt in his final moments, rejected by the woman he loved enough to create a new world for. Lezard, who in his greed and desire to have what could not be, forced Alicia to chose. His empathy abruptly evaporated like so much water spilled in the desert; Lezard, whom he would kill a thousand times over for leaving him - leaving all of them - in this broken, wounded state.

He turned his eyes to the doorway, wishing for one last glance at her, his Not-Alicia. He realized suddenly that he didn't even know her name. Shamed, he looked to his feet. She should have had the chance to be more than just a vessel. Alicia once gave him that very chance. It was the least he could do for her. And for Alicia.

She stopped as Silmeria pulled the massive doors open and looked over her shoulder.

He felt her eyes on him; felt the weight of memories which she no longer owned, and the pull of things which she did not understand. He grieved, but still he smiled as he lifted his hand to his lips and kissed the ring - then waved at her in dismissal.

Perhaps not in this life. Perhaps not in the next. Perhaps not ever. But in her look, this einherjar, this Not-Alicia, was such a simple and yet surprising truth. He understood now - he always did - what it was that Alicia wanted. He spared a moment to wish, just for once, that she could have been as selfish as himself and Silmeria. And then his back straightened, and he allowed the doors between them to fall closed.

He is the All-Father now, the Creator. Midgard will survive, just as Asgard did. He will see that it does; he will protect it, with his very life if he must. If just so that she will one day have the opportunity to have her own.

And he? He will no longer weep for lost memories of a former life.

 

[Enkida]

AN: as this was written in-character for an in-world newspaper, there are gonna be weird terms in here. areede is basically desert dwelling human. satai is a guild of cop-like justice warriors. all the usual trope fantasy races apply.

HEARTS OF SAND AND BLOOD
An areede story of love and betrayal.

Written by Blue, edited by Pan



Prologue: Rahim


" Violently happy, 'Cause I love you.
Violently happy, I'm aiming too high... "​

Even now, when all seems lost, he cannot bring himself to stop thinking about her.

Kalila. Sweet Kalila.

He doesn't even know how he began to love her, not properly. It was not as if she had been hidden from his sight before. But it so happened one day, as he was passing through the market on his way to the smithy - a day like any other, or so he thought - that he saw her, tending to her stall in the bright morning sun of the desert. She stood out like a lone ray of the sun: rare blossoms in hand, still fresh and vibrant despite the impendent threat of the day's heat.

He knew nothing more in that moment: the world was a fraudulent fantasy, a labyrinth of distraction, clouded by the beauty of her face. Her strange, light-filled eyes, the delicate stretch of her wrist, the rounded tips of her fingers. He thirsted for her touch then, even more than precious water; he longed for that delicate caress upon his cheek, rather than her wares. He drew closer, unable to stop himself, and as she looked up at him, he could no longer distinguish the scent of the flowers from the musk of her skin.

His world was, in that instant, shattered, and remade, from the abrupt and unexpected knowledge of both beauty and desire. He was lost, and he was found, and as he opened his mouth to sing to her of the poetry of his heart, a jumbling confusion of his feelings poured out, causing her to blush and draw away from him in shock. And for a brief moment, he knew despair.

But he pushed on, relentless, promising to visit her during the midday break, to see her to the cavern in the evenings, to at least be allowed to bask - or perhaps wallow - in her mere presence.

Frightened and shy at first, she turned his advances away. But he could do no other than to pursue her, pulled to her as he was - a mere planet, caught in the orbit of her sun. And slowly, she began to thaw. To offer him at first small, uncertain smiles. Then larger, more confident ones. A greeting here. A word of thanks there. He drank deeply of every encounter they had, holding them to his heart as precious memories. Somehow, impossibly, a fragile, uncertain friendship blossomed from the seeds of her mistrust. And then one day, as she laughed at one of his poor excuses for a joke, the hint of a blush crossed her cheeks. What seemed like a moment, and a lifetime later, she took his hand as they walked. He stayed by her side, every morning, every midday break, every evening return to the caverns - faithful, persistent, never abandoning his hope, trusting in the fragile strength of the one-sided bond his heart had formed.

She kissed him one night, during the rise of the new moon, the darkness hiding her features. As if she was afraid to see his face, to see the overwhelming joy that overtook him in that moment. But even if she was the one who feared him, he was the one who trembled with unspoken emotion, glad for the cover of darkness.

At last, he thought to himself then. At last, nothing can stop our love from becoming a story for the stars, a new path carving itself into the ancient stones of the water cavern.

But then the black sands came, and with them the terror and destruction. The storms stripped more than just city bare, leaving him with nothing but the memory of their newfound love and the bitter fruits of his despair.

 

[Enkida]

HEARTS OF SAND AND BLOOD
1: Kalila​

Squinting against the dim light of the cavern, Kalila sighed. "Just another ordinary day," she groused to herself as she stumbled towards the communal water cavern, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She wasn't entirely sure why the thought bothered her. Ordinary days were the ones she usually enjoyed the most, after all - every day free of hurtful teasing, name calling, the bitter isolation that had dogged her all through her childhood, thanks to her freakishly colored eyes - those were the days Kalila relished.

Still, something had changed. She knew it it her heart, irrevocably, that the time of her boring, comforting, purely *ordinary* days were coming to a close. That fate had been sealed the moment she decided to kiss Rahim. 'In a fit of madness,' she now thought. Her hands strayed to her lips yet again, and she stopped them before they could meet their goal and huffed in annoyance.

As she knelt down by the water's edge to draw her ration, she felt a pair of eyes boring into the back of her neck. Glancing up, she bit back a wince and forced herself to smile warmly at the shrewd gaze of the elderly woman beside her. "Matron Yeleen," she bit out through her teeth.

"Something good happen last night, my dear?" the old woman crooned knowingly, a twinkle in her eye. "Perhaps that fine young man Rahim visited you again?" She cackled softly and gave Kalila an obvious wink. "Oh, to be young again," she added wistfully as she drew her water.

Mortified, Kalila finished sealing her water jars and rose as quickly as she could without seeming rude. Hiding the hot blush across her cheeks, she gave Yeleen a quick nod before beating a hasty retreat towards the entrance of the cavern, where her private garden was planted.

"Old bat," she muttered under her breath, willing her blush to die away. She closed her eyes, trying to dissolve her annoyance before tending to her garden. So what if the most notorious matchmaker of the Caverns had set her gimlet eyes upon Kalila and Rahim? It was small wonder, with Rahim being who he was: the most clueless eligible bachelor in all of Lonar. Why he had granted his affection to the strangest areede in the Caverns was beyond anyone's guess. Kalila dug at the soil around her precious flowers, violently weeding as her thoughts scattered.

And how they scattered when she thought of him. Rahim, the bumbling, innocent golden boy of every young areede woman's heart. His good natured smile, his coal-dark eyes, the full head of hair bleached nearly blond by the desert, framing skin that was bronzed to an attractive gold by that same sun. And his body, ripened by his apprenticeship in the smithy. The mere consideration of it brought the blush back to her cheeks in full force. The girls liked to whisper that his chest had been chiseled from the stone of the caverns themselves. It didn't help that he often shed his shirt upon leaving Rebeth's shop, covered in a fine layer of swear that made his golden skin gleam in the light. And then stopped directly at the marketplace just to visit her stall, completely unaware of the lascivious stares he was attracting from the women. And a few of the men, to be honest.

Fanning herself, Kalila stopped and tore her mind away from her thoughts just as she was about to uproot one of her precious starflowers. "By the gods, get ahold of yourself!" she swore fiercely, trying to numb the sudden tingling against her lips as she remembered That Night. It was growing to an event of Capitalized Importance with each passing thought. He had been so surprised when she leaned over, hesitantly pressing her mouth against his in a shy, chaste kiss. It was all she had intended, a way to let him know that she recognized and was flattered, if a little confused, by his intense fascination with her. Just another small sign of her appreciation for his kindness, as the hand-holding and the smiling were. It had seemed like a natural progression at the time.

But then his stillness had passed, and suddenly, too suddenly, his arms surrounded her, and his mouth was pressing eagerly back, warm and intense and overwhelming. His tongue had gently laved at her lips, as if asking for permission, and she had frozen, her mouth parting in surprise. He hadn't realized the reason for her hesitation and had eagerly pressed on. And suddenly, her innocent gesture had darkened into a heavy, promise-laden kiss that left both of them trembling and panting with unspoken desires.

She hadn't realized she had the capacity to feel that way for anyone else. For another areede, of all people. And for the unknowing poster boy of everything she had hated as a child, the image of areede perfection. It scared her, more than Rahim or anyone else could possibly guess. Her hands stilled among her flowers.

'I don't want to be hurt anymore,' she thought quietly to herself.

"Abomination! Demon freak!" her memory supplied traitorously. "Water eyes, I bet they leak!" That one, the children had made into a song. They had thrown the sand at her face, chanting "Leak! Leak!" like a challenge amongst themselves, vying to see who could cause her to cry and uselessly spill the precious water of her own body. Kalila closed her eyes, trying to forget the teasing she had endured, but the voices persisted. "Heart-eater, you're a heart-eater and you're too stupid to know it!" That one had hurt the most - a betrayal from a friend that had cut her to the quick. And all because of her stupid, freakishly clear eyes.

Kalila shook her head. Those days were in the past; she was a young woman now, and the spice had changed her, as it did all areede people. The strange lightness of her eyes were hidden behind the uniform blue induced by daily spice ingestion; now the tourists were the ones who looked and pointed at her, but only as part of a larger group. "I'm just another areede now," she said firmly. A strange, withdrawn areede who chose use her water rations to grow exotic flowers in the desert, of all things, but still a part of her people, of the Caverns, not quite as much of a freak as she had been branded before. And if the success of her small flower business was any measure, she had proven that even moderate amounts of wealth could buy acceptance.

"Enough of this morose sentiment," Kalila said firmly, gathering up the flowers she had harvested for the stall. Dawn was fast approaching, and soon the market would be opening. There'd be time enough for musing about the past, or her present with Rahim, after business was taken care of.

Setting a brisk pace, she made her way out of the cavernous complex housing the bulk of the areede clan and into the open air of the city of Lonar. The packed dirt of the street was already beginning to warm with the day's heat, even though the sun was barely peeking over the horizon. Shifting her basket to one hip, Kalila spared a brief fond thought for Rahim, already hard at work in the smithy since the pre-dawn hours. She was sure he would be over to visit her on his first breakfast break, well after her stall was rebuilt and stocked. 'How will I see him in the truth of the daylight?' she mused. 'Will I desire him still despite his looks? Or even more, because of them?' Nervousness and anticipation warred in her belly at the thought.

"Kalila!" a warm voice called, shaking her from her reverie. She looked across the street and smiled broadly, giving a warm wave to the meat vendor already busily reconstructing the collapsed stall beside her own.

"Good morning!" she replied, setting her basket down and busying herself with the poles of her stall. "Did you sleep well last night?"

Vreno chuckled and rubbed at his thick beard, eying her speculatively. "Shouldn't I be asking you that, ey?" His grin broadened as Kalila felt herself flushing once more.

"By the gods! Does everyone know about that already? For Rokoon's sake, he merely kissed me last night! It was our *first* kiss! Why is everyone making such a big deal out of this?" she exploded. Then she covered her mouth and spared a wide-eyed glance at Vreno, who was only laughing harder at her now. "Err, I meant... no, we didn't... I mean YES, I did sleep well... oh, for heaven's sake!" Her blush faded somewhat as Vreno's amusement caught up to her. "I didn't sleep well at all, if you really must know," she confided with a shy smile.

"I'd be amazed if you had," Vreno answered easily, turning his attention back to his own work. "Rahim is on the tip of every available girl's tongue here. I bet you had to sleep with one eye open after he finally declared his intentions like that."

Kalila grunted in reply, concentrating on securing the tarp of her stall down instead. "It's not the other girls that kept me awake," she answered absently. "I am used to that, after all. I just don't know if I'm ready for such a big step..." She trailed off, finishing the last knot of rope and picking up her basket once more. "Vreno?" she asked, confused by his sudden silence. She considered the older merchant a good friend, mostly because he had a penchant to talk the ears off of anyone who would bother to listen to him. And despite that, he had never once ridiculed her for her choice of wares, not even when she had been struggling at the start of her business. Curious, she stopped sorting her flowers and looked over at him. He was still working, but only absently, his eyes trained on the sky overhead.

"Strange," mused Vreno, dropping the pretense of work as he stepped away from the stall to get a clearer look overhead. "It isn't the rainy season."

Surprised, Kalila followed his gaze and blinked. Then blinked again and rubbed her eyes. Clouds were gathering overhead, that alone a rare enough occurrence in the desert climate. But these were no ordinary clouds - they were heavy and dark, as if carrying a storm within them. Not even during the strongest rains of the wet season had she ever seen such heavy clouds. Lightning crackled ominously along the pitch-black, churning storm front and a sense of unease overtook her as she inhaled deeply.

"I smell no water in the air," she began hesitantly, and then hissed and shut her mouth as sharp grains of sand began to whip through the air, stinging painfully at her eyes and mouth.

"Mages," declared Vreno, though a quaver had entered his voice. "The Atredies have called upon mages once more. Why do would they try to change the natural order of things? The rains will come when they should..." He trailed off into silence as the others in the market began to stir, the growing feeling of unease becoming palpable amongst the small crowd.

As they stood together in the street, Kalila felt dread rising in her throat. Swallowing, she allowed herself to give voice to the thoughts she knew everyone else had already had. "This is not rain," she whispered, breaking the silence that had formed.

The legends were as old as time, passed down by the soothsayers. It was perhaps the one story told that could silence the children and divert attention from her own teasing - the boogeyman that was greater than any other threat that children could invent amongst themselves. The Sword, their people called it. The ancient evil housed in the Castle, and the oath of protection that had been sworn to their people by the Atredies, the Satai and their patron god Rokoon. "Something happened to the Sword," she repeated aloud, softly.

Vreno was at her side now, watching the black sands that were creeping into the marketplace with a desperate look in his eye. A few of the others were already running, but Kalila found herself rooted to the ground, unable to move, unwilling to believe what her eyes were plainly seeing.

"It must be rain. It MUST be," Vreno trembled. His words rose into a formless wail as the first horror rounded the corner and sighted them. The sound echoed Kalila's own silent scream as she took in the sight of tattered, rotting flesh hanging loosely off of exposed bone. The creature bore down on them surprisingly quickly for its state; only empty, dark hollows remained where once living eyes had been. It raised its axe - and Kalila had surreal a moment to wonder how a creature so rotted could still manage to move with such fluidity - and then staggered back as Vreeno leapt forward, pelting the skeleton with a sharp blow from his tarp-pole, which he had ripped free. "We were promised!" he snarled, half in rage and half in fear.

'When did he do that?' Kalila thought to herself absently, the shock of terror creating a heavy, dull fog around her thoughts and movements. She noted that Vreno continued to press the skeleton with heavy, yet ineffectual blows. 'That is no desert rat to hunt for the grill,' she thought muzzily. 'It is as human as you and I! Or it once was. And it remembers still...' She winced as the skeleton finally grabbed the pole out of Vreno's hands and tossed it aside, advancing on them once again.

'Rahim,' Kalila thought suddenly, her thoughts flying to him as she watched Vreno desperately trying to retreat. Another skeleton joined the first, and the black sands behind them began to rise into the air.

'Rahim, where are you now?' she thought again, helplessly. He would have been working in the smithy, painfully early as was the norm. Rebeth's shop was so much closer to the Castle than the marketplace. She wondered if he, too, had tried to fight, even as a third, and then a fourth skeleton appeared. Rahim was no meat hunter, as Vreno was. He would not have even known how to swing anything more than the hammer he used at the forge. The fear within her was as formless as the swirling sands, and just as violent.

"Kalila! Kalila, you must run!" She was being shaken, she realized absently, tossed around like a child's toy. At first she thought it was the sand creature wrapped around her, come to scour the flesh from her bones. But her thoughts cleared slightly as she realized it was only Vreno, his brow wet with sweat and his hands heavy upon her arms. A wild look was in his eye as he pushed strange objects into her hands; looking down, she realized they were his thumper and wormhook. Her throat dried as she looked up again into his face, feeling helplessly lost.

Desert hunters such as Vreno would never allow the most precious tools of their livelihood to fall into the hands of untested strangers. But impossibly, he was already turning her, shoving and forcing her down the alleyway that she knew would lead towards the open desert.

"Run, you stupid girl! The city is falling, make for the sands! Only the Shai Hulud might save you now!" His desperate plea broke through the fog and unstuck her tongue, finally, and she turned against him in desperation.

"Stop! Vreno, stop! I have never ridden! This is madness!" It was a small reprieve, being able to grasp onto a fear that was quantifiable and real, the task of capturing and riding one of the desert gods. It was a fear she knew intimately, as opposed to the strange black mass behind her. The black whirlwinds stunk of death and fear; they were a terror she did not want to understand.

The screaming slowly pierced her awareness, over the rasp of their mingled breaths as they fled from the destruction. Sickening sounds of metal clashing and the wet crunch of lifewater being spilled filled the air, and Kalila swallowed the bile rising in her throat as she thought of the familiar faces she had passed earlier, the other denizens of the market. Who had made it to safety? Did that faceless scream belong to one of the people who had smiled at her just this morning?

Vreno was relentless, and the weight of the hook and thumper in her hands was strange and unfamiliar as she was jostled roughly towards the deep desert. And then, suddenly, she was no longer being forced. Kalila turned, a question forming on her lips, but fell silent as she saw the furious glare Vreno shot her.

"Rahim would slay me if you didn't live," he smiled mirthlessly. It was then, and only then, that Kalila finally saw the reason for his haste. Blood ran freely from his mouth; more was dripping down his arm and pooling on the ground at his feet. Much too much blood, and it showed no signs of stopping. Kalila looked up in shock as the realization washed over her: she was alone. A weak laugh escaped her lips; she'd thought she had already experienced the depths of fear, but somehow, Vreno had managed to prove her wrong.

He shook his head, even as he sagged against the wall, the blue spice-light fading from his dark eyes. "You... were never the abomination," he grit out as he fell. "Just... go."

Black sand was already twisting into a solid form behind him, and Kalila allowed herself no time to think more on his words as she fled into the jaws of the open, waiting desert.

to be continued…

 

[Enkida]

HEARTS OF BLOOD AND SAND
2: Dimah​

The small areede woman strode into the XTC as if she owned it and took a moment to survey the usual dwarven crowd gathered there. Then a slow smile crossed her face and she moved towards the bar.

"Delivery's up!" she yelled, sliding onto a stool while tossing a smooth wooden box at the bartender, who gave her a nod. He briefly opened the box, inspected the contents, and then grinned at her viciously.

"Dimah! Finest quality ears once again, I see. Sometimes I wonder if you harvest these yourself," he told her with a smirk.

The woman in question only grinned even more. "As if I'd bother with something as boring as that, Klunk. I'll take my usual as thanks," she added.

"One order of room and board at the XTC coming right up," he replied, slamming a bowl of stew on the countertop in front of her. "Bragor's been looking for you," he added under his breath as he leaned in. "Shut that old fool up for me, will you?"

Dimah rolled her eyes and dug into her stew, famished. "Lay off the teasing, will you? I know you think he talks too much, but damn. He was a warrior you know. The guy lost a limb in battle. I bet he could still kick your ass if he wanted to."

Klunk gave her a sullen glare and leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. "I see someone's in a stellar mood today. Lemmie give you some advice: Don't bite the hand that feeds you."

Rolling her eyes in response, Dimah turned away from the bartender and scanned the room. It wasn't hard to find Bragor; the veteran's loud voice could carry well even over the din of the crowded pub. He spotted her and she waved at him, gesturing at her bowl of stew. Then she smiled as the old dwarf pushed his way across the crowd and settled at the bar on a stool next to hers.

"Dimah! Back already! Work's been good then?" Bragor grumbled.

Dimah smiled wryly in response, pushing a few of her dust-streaked bangs away from her face. "You could say that. It wasn't good for the suicidal bandit group that tried to jump the coach this time." She smiled and patted the carefully wrapped sword at her back. "Gravity took care of 'em nice and neat, though. My ears are still ringing from all the screaming. Most of it was from the passengers, actually. Sheesh, you think they'd be a little grateful to their savior," she complained with a grimace.

Bragor only raised a knowing eyebrow at her. "Maybe if you were a little less messy, they wouldn't scream so much," he said idly. Then, to soften the blow, "We can't all be dwarves, now can we?" he added with a chuckle.

Dimah gave him a long stare. "You callin' me a beard, shorty?" she asked dangerously, but Bragor only laughed at her and shook his head. Dimah felt herself smiling in response; she had been coming to the XTC for nearly a year and knew the old veteran well. If pushed, she might have even called him a friend, though she was loathe to admit it out loud. At any rate, Bragor knew her well enough to be certain that she wouldn't carry out any of her usual threats against him.

'Maybe I'm getting too comfortable here,' Dimah thought to herself uneasily. It wasn't like her usual modus operandi to be so, well, *soft.* Coming to the pub in Dalzungund after a successful mercenary run always felt a bit like a homecoming, no matter how much she tried to convince herself that she had a nomadic lifestyle. There was just something comforting about the enclosed, friendly atmosphere within the mountain caves that reminded her of the areede caverns of Lonar, where she had spent her youth. Even as she considered it, a larger part of her wanted to violently disagree. Dimah had always thought things as trite as homesickness were for the weak, and if there was something she never wanted to be, it was *weak.* She violently punched down the traitorous part of her thoughts that remained stubbornly areede and tried to embrace the more mundane aspects of her humanity. 'I left before the spice changed me. I'm no more areede than the next shopkeeper in Padorn,' she told herself stubbornly. 'Primordian, through and through. Gods, the way I spend my time here, I really might as well have been born a dwarf!'

Bragor let out a huge belch beside her, absently scratched his armpit and then raised his fingers to his nose, sniffing and wincing.

'Well, maybe not a dwarf,' she amended privately.

"Naw, lass," Bragor continued finally. "Meaning no disrespect, but you don't have the air of a dwarf about you. You're as areede as we can get 'em this far out." He took a long drought from his mug of ale, waiting expectantly, and Dimah bristled beside him. She knew Bragor always dropped leading, provocative statements when he was itching to gossip with her about the latest news. Why he couldn't just simply come out and say what he wanted escaped her; given her patience and attention span, maybe he liked living dangerously. After all, Bragor knew nothing could irritate her sore spots more than bringing up her areede heritage.

Sighing heavily, Dimah settled in for the inevitable winding conversation and tried to prevent herself from stiffening. That Bragor was braving such an obvious segue could only mean one thing: he wanted to talk to her about Lonar, and in Dimah's experience, gossip about the desert was never a good thing. 'Probably something about those Satai bastards,' she thought to herself with a disgusted snort. She wasn't a fan of their guild; law enforcement tended to frown upon her bloodier mercenary antics. Absently, she wrapped the tattered rags around the hilt of her sword a little more firmly; they also weren't fans of her ensorcelled blade. She snorted to herself; Gravity was just one of many such blackened runeblades, but their wielders were known to be a thorn in the side of most law-abiding citizens. She loved hers all the same; the almost-sentient weapon thirsted for spilled blood much in the same way she herself thirsted for battle. Just another reason for her to hate thinking of Lonar, the shining white Rokoonian temple of the privileged Atredies family and also the Satai castle stronghold; everything about the place rubbed her the wrong way.

"Cut the crap," Dimah said bluntly. "What's going on?" Her hopes for a short answer were dashed as she saw Bragor settling down into his usual long, drawn-out storytelling stance. 'I guess some things about dwarves never change,' she thought to herself in dismay. Behind the bar, Klunk raised a significant eyebrow at her and smirked.

"Well, it all started a long, long time ago, with the Satai. Way yon back before you were born, lass." Dimah felt her eyebrow twitch, but Bragor continued talking with blithe indifference. "They were entrusted with the care of a very evil blade, see? It was called Stormbringer..."

Dimah's fist hit the top of the bar a bit harder than she intended it to, and a small crack appeared on the surface of the rough wood. She took a momentary perverse measure of enjoyment in seeing Bragor jump at the motion, then twisted her face into a displeased snarl. "Old man, much as I would just love to hear your absolutely enthralling history lesson, tell me something I *don't* know. And believe me, I know all about evil blades. You're practically asking for a recital."

Bragor only frowned at her rudeness. "You young people, you think you got the world under your thumb. I know you think you're invincible with that black sword of yours by your side, Dimah. But some things, they're bigger than us. You aren't anything if you haven't learned that!" He stared her down, unruffled by the look on her face, and Dimah was reminded of her words to Klunk. Bragor was an old windbag sometimes, but he wasn't an *empty* one.

"Gods save me from the wisdom of dwarves," she replied with biting sarcasm. "Let me remind you that every single areede grows up hearing that story from their mother's teat to the grave." She made a disgusted face. "And so, in gratitude for being treated like cattle by those wealthy Atredies, we the oh-so-proud areede people agreed to let those Satai keep the second worst curse in the history of mankind right there in our homeland. And now, we get to live out our days in the desert bowing and scraping to rich foreigners, mining spice for their profit, and living like animals in caves, fighting over every scrap of water any visitor cares to throw at us." She smirked. "The three great myths of the areede people: the Atredies and the Satai actually give two shits about us, that spice is a good thing, and that an abundance of water will finally destroy greed and poverty." Dimah's disillusioned gaze drifted lazily over the dirty bar, watching as a fist fight broke out between two particularly drunken patrons. Their friends laughed raucously and cheered the scuffle on. "Oh, if they could see this land of bounty now," she finished dryly.

Bragor only sighed at her in disappointment. "You're too young to be thinking that jaded, girl. What in the Lady's name happened to you to make you so cold?"

Dimah shrugged, her face a mask of practiced boredom. "I met a God. He was a disappointment." She shrugged. "So get on with it already. A great evil, doom and gloom and the end of the world, yada yada."

Bragor paused for a moment, looking at her strangely, and Dimah felt a tremor of uneasiness snake down her back.

"They were keeping the sword under guard in their basement, lass, but you know that much I expect."

Dimah caught herself at Bragor's tone of voice. No longer lecturing, his voice was quiet and serious, and she shifted uncomfortably. He'd given her a clue, a warning somehow, and she raced over his words, trying to puzzle out his meaning and his uncharacteristic silence.

'They were keeping the sword under guard. Were keeping the sword under guard. Were keeping, were keeping...'

Her fists clenched even as her body stilled and a cold prickle of fear, a feeling she was unaccustomed to, niggled its way into her consciousness. The rage of battle, the excitement of spilled blood, of knowing death could be handed to her anytime at the tip of the very next sword, those were all calculated risks. Her heart dropped into her stomach as she stared at Bragor, both aching and dreading his confirmation of her worst fears. Forcefully, she spat back the only part of his words that really mattered.

"WERE keeping it?" The look of pity he finally gave her at her words was the worst of all possible responses. The noise of the pub dimmed as Dimah's head swam. "Tell me," she demanded, her fingers clenching and releasing. "Tell me what happened to that sword," even as she willed it not to be true.

Bragor spoke slowly, watching her reactions carefully. "Was a demon, lass. Mightier than anything ever seen before." He shook his head with a sad sigh. "I hear they didn't even have a chance. It came and slaughtered them like sheep, and took the sword for itself. Or so the survivors say."

Dimah swallowed. She couldn't even spare a moment to revel in the humiliation of the Satai. A memory more important than her bitterness was surfacing, unwillingly, demanding that she pay attention, that she *care.*

'Dimah! Dimah!' Childish laughter, and the bright light of the desert sun. A sky so pale and blue it hurt the eyes to look into it. A rush of heat, and the cool touch of shade to relieve it. The memory of it hurt, like an untreated wound, left to fester.

"And the city?" she managed to croak out somewhat normally, even with a name burning on her tongue, the memory a hot poker shoved down her throat.

Bragor's pitying look returned tenfold. "Fallen, kid. If even the Satai didn't have a chance..." he faltered briefly at the look on Dimah's face, but soldiered on despite it. "It hit the city proper first. The civvies - your people - well. A lot of good people died that day. Terrible thing, that." He eyed her carefully. "Got family there still?" he asked gruffly.

Dimah turned away violently, unable to stand facing the dwarf or his cloying pity. 'I am not WEAK!' she screamed at herself, battling the anguish building low in the pit of her stomach. She fisted her knuckle and pushed it against her abdomen, willing her nausea away. The stew she had inhaled earlier sat like a lead ball in her gut, making her want to vomit.

"Not family," she managed to grit out, swallowing. Unwillingly, she felt the name being pulled put of her, being *unforgotten* by neccesity. It was a painful brand, just another grievance in a very long list of them to forget all about Lonar, and yet as she already knew, the one and only reason she could ever return to that hated continent and her willfully forgotten past.

"Kalila..."


to be continued ...

 

[Enkida]

HEARTS OF BLOOD AND SAND
3: Rahim​

The world slowly swam into focus, and Rahim blinked once, then twice.

'What happened?' he thought muzzily to himself. 'An accident at the smithy?' Carefully, he checked over himself, cataloging his body for injuries. Two feet, check; knees, torso, both arms fine, chest, neck... he rolled his head back with a groan. The only thing that seemed to be wrong with himself was his aching head and lack of memory. He blinked blearily again and tried to sit up and identify his surroundings.

"Slow down there. You took a bad hit to the head," a gruff voice said.

Rahim stopped struggling against the undulating room and allowed himself to relax minutely. "Rebeth?" He blinked and focused on the owner of the voice, giving the other man a miniscule nod. "What's going on? Why aren't we in the shop? Where are we?"

The older areede looked at him grimly, and it was only then that Rahim noticed his state. Rebeth was covered in dust and grit, as though he had walked through a mighty sandstorm. Of much greater concern was the arm he held at his side in a makeshift sling.

"Your arm! What happened to you?" He tried to leap out of bed and ended up tangled in a mass of blankets, swaying dangerously. Rebeth only shook his head and helped Rahim settle more comfortably on the cot.

"The same thing that happened to you out there," Rebeth replied, then rolled his shoulder with a wince. "Don't worry about me, it's not broken. My smithing days aren't over yet. I hope..." he trailed off, sparing a worried glance at the flap of the tent. "They let me put you here instead of the medical tent with the others because you're my apprentice," he added. "We'll have need of your strength soon enough, Rahim. The Atredies want us to build them a working forge here as soon as possible."

Rahim leaned back, dazed. "What happened to the shop? Who attacked us?" He knit his brow. "And where are the Satai? Why don't they have it under control yet?" he added worriedly, thinking of Kalila's market stall. "Why would they target the smithy anyway? We only make wormhooks!"

Rebeth shook his head once more. "It wasn't a who, boy. And it wasn't just us."

Rahim processed the words for a moment, and then immediately began struggling to stand. He continued fighting even as Rebeth let a long-suffering sigh escape and pushed him back down.

"Master! Let me go! I need to see the marketplace!" Rahim redoubled his efforts.

With a grunt, Rebeth used his greater body mass to slam Rahim back into the cot, none to gently. "Will you be silent and stop struggling! Do you really want to break what's left of my arm!" he roared.

Instantly Rahim stilled, though his eyes were still wide with panic. Thoughts raced through his head faster than he could voice them, and he let out a strangled cry. "But Kalila -"

"Is missing! She's neither with the wounded nor the dead, boy, and hopping around aimlessly like a desert mouse isn't going to change that!" He sat back heavily and leveled a disgusted look at the younger man. "You can barely sit up straight as it is, and you can't even recall what happened to your own head!"

Chastened, Rahim dropped his head. "But I have to do something..." Biting back his impatience, he looked at Rebeth. "Tell me then. Let me know who this enemy is!"

Rebeth only shook his head, leaning back with a grimace and nursing his tender arm. Rahim studiously ignored the growing feeling of guilt as he observed the lines of exhaustion that had been grooved into the older man's face. "The sands themselves rose against us," he said eventually. "The sky darkened, it was as if a storm had come to Lonar. But there was no rain," he added darkly. "Just the sand. Sentient, alive, angry, crackling with thunder and hatred. It reached for anyone it could and took them to make an army."

Rahim swallowed. "Took them to make an army? What do you mean?" He blinked as Rebeth looked away from him, an angry, haunted look passing over his face. "Master?"

"The sands... it must have come from the desert deep. The recently slain were commanded to rise and attack us." He paused. "I know the evil struck in the desert first, because I knew some of them." He shook his head slightly. "The nomadic traders. From the Oasis. It spared no one. Men, women..." His voice quavered slightly. "Even the children." Straightening, Rebeth continued his story. "They must not have had time to warn us. The Satai, they tried their best to stop the tide, but it attacked their stronghold as well."

Rahim could only stare, unbelieving. "Even the Satai? But they... they're undefeatable!" he finally yelled. "They've always won against evil! Always! Surely they will rally! And we areede will help them, and put everything right-"

"Rahim!" Rebeth's sharp tone silenced him once more, and the lines on his face seemed to deepen. "Their castle fell. The entire city fell. The Atredies have closed off all but the road to the harbour, and even that is barely safe. We gathered all the survivors we could find and created this makeshift camp to care for the wounded ... and bury our dead."

"What are you saying?" Rahim pressed. "That it's hopeless? That's impossible. The Atredies would never abandon Lonar! Neither would the Satai!"

"It wasn't their choice!" Rebeth replied with some heat. "The storms, the undead... they were all controlled by a greater demon. An ancient evil released from deep within the desert," he continued. "That abomination got its hands on the Black Sword." He paused. "I am not sure the Atredies, the Satai, or even the Shai-Hulud can save Lonar now."

Rahim sat back on his heels as Rebeth finally fell silent. He couldn't grasp it; the idea that even the mighty Satai castle could be felled by anything, even a demon. But more pressingly, his thoughts returned again and again to Kalila. "What of the caverns?" he asked hopefully. "Are they safe?"

"I don't know," Rebeth answered honestly. "So far, we have been struggling just to make camp right here with what we have. No one wants to brave the fight to return to them, and the few strong enough to consider doing so are fighting for the safety of the Castle." He gave Rahim a sour smile. "The caverns are, after all, simply for the areede."

Rahim ignored the bitterness in the smith's voice. It was always known that their home caverns were not considered as important of a stronghold as any of the official markers of Lonar - the Satai Castle, or the Atredies residence. There was no use bemoaning it now, he thought to himself. Still...

"So there's a chance then, that maybe some of the people retreated to the caverns!" His thoughts began to brighten with hope. "Kalila, she could still be alive with the others! We simply need to regroup!"

Rebeth only shook his head and stood slowly, as though the movement pained him. "It's hardly simple, Rahim. You didn't see what I saved you from back there. Though perhaps you should see some of it now. Come with me." He moved towards the flap of the tent and pushed it back brusquely. Instinctively Rahim squinted, expecting the harsh desert sun to come streaming in. Only a murky grey light greeted him, however, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. Struggling off the cot, he made his way to Rebeth's side.

"Look for yourself," Rebeth told him bitterly. "See what this demon has wrought on our beloved Lonar." He ushered Rahim out into the daylight, and fell silent as they surveyed the devastation.

Black clouds boiled over the skyline, still visible even from the distance the camp had been erected from the city proper. A strong wind whipped through their hastily constructed shanties, bringing with it stinging grains of sand and a strong stench of blood and something rotten. Rahim gagged and quickly wrapped a cloth over his lips. Eyes wide, he surveyed the makeshift camp with dismay.

There was almost no noise, apart from the muted sounds of the wind and the sand. A few stern guards, many of them Satai, stood watch near the entrance to the camp, their eyes wary but their postures exhausted and defeated. Most of them were injured in some way or another. It was no better among the tents; many of the established shopkeepers seemed to have escaped the destruction bruised, but not killed. He recognized very few of the street vendors, though; judging from the looks of things, those who had not had the safety of walls around them had been hit the hardest by the assault. Even though he knew it was in vain, his eyes continually darted among the survivors, searching for a familiar head of raven-black hair. He held back a shudder as his gaze passed over the other areede - their physical injuries were not what created the oppressive silence over the camp. It was the sense of hopeless despair that permeated the entire population there; almost tangible, and more oppressive than even the dark storm clouds gathering overhead.

Rebeth seemed to read his pupil's mood and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "All is not lost yet, Rahim," he said quietly. "As long as we live, we will be able to continue. We areede are strong and proud, and used to hardships. We will survive this."

Rahim shook under his teacher's reassuring touch, feeling a burning in his chest. 'Kalila,' he thought to himself. 'Not now, not when we have finally discovered one another. I won't allow it!'

"I can't stay here with you," he said instead. Rebeth's grip tightened on his shoulder.

"Don't be a fool. We need you here, Rahim. The Atredies need you. The areede need you. Even the Satai may need you now. You can't abandon our work here."

Rahim only tightened his jaw and shook Rebeth's hand off. "I'll do what I must, Master. But I can't stay here, not without Kalila."

"That blind love will be the death of you," Rebeth said in disgust. "Can you for once stop thinking like a poet and look at reality?" He gestured at the camp. "We need strong, healthy men who can work steel here. Not lovesick fools who don't even know the business end of a sword from its hilt!"

"Maybe you're right," Rahim answered hotly, glaring at the smith. "I am just a lovesick fool. For I won't let you change my mind. I am going to leave here and find her, mark my words."

Rebeth shrugged helplessly. "Rokoon preserve us," he said wryly. "Good luck getting past the guards," he added, turning back towards the tent. "Perhaps they'll be demoralized enough to go easy on the challenge of an untrained smith." He smirked. "I'll be resting in the tent when you return even more bruised than you are now, boy. And then, I will say I told you so. Mark MY words."

Rahim bristled. Rebeth couldn't understand. Had the old man ever even really been in love? He couldn't have, or else he would have sympathized with Rahim's pain and his need to know of Kalila's fate. So what if Rokoon had abandoned Lonar in its time of need? There were things still stronger than even ancient demon curses, and he would prove it. He sent a silent prayer to Selyra under his breath, and then strode purposefully towards the entrance of the camp, feeling the weight of the guards' eyes fall upon him.

"You're the smith's apprentice, aren't you?" one of the men called out to him. A Satai, judging from his headband, and also an elf, judging from his ears. "Good to see you on your feet again."

Rahim nodded his thanks. "Rebeth told me a little of what happened. I'm very sorry for your loss," he started tentatively.

The elf gave him a halfhearted smile. "All of our loss," he replied with a nod. "Fear not, we will do our utmost to protect your people from the evil out there."

Rahim smiled at the man. Though he wore the arraignment of a Satai - squinting at the headband, a one-star pupil by the mark of it - the slight elf didn't seem like a very great warrior from his appearance alone. "And you have my thanks for it, soldier! But I was wondering if I could leave and take a short look at the city right now?"

The elf eyed him uncertainly. "You *are* Rahim, from the smithy? I'm sorry, but we're under very strict orders from the Atredies family to keep all remaining skilled citizens safe to facilitate the recovery effort." He straightened and took a more alert position, giving Rahim a critical look. "That includes you, sir. I don't think you'd last very long on your own out there in any regard," he added as courteously as possible.

Rahim frowned. "I'm not weak," he protested. "Actually, my work with Rebeth has made me quite strong. I've also tamed the Shai-Hulud," he added with a note of pride. Seeing the elf's confused look, he frowned. "Ridden a sandworm, you people call it," he clarified. "It's a mark of passage among the areede. I'm recognized as a capable adult." 'So let me pass, you grinning elven bastard,' he added with a tight smile of his own.

The elf brightened. "Ah, I see! Yes, I'm sure you're very skilled in the ways of your people. But what's out there is nothing your people have ever seen the like of before. I'm afraid I can't let you pass." Subtly, the Satai widened his stance, still smiling politely.

Rahim felt his smile turning brittle. "Listen, I'm not sure how important you are in your guild," he began, and the polite smile dropped off of the elf's face. "But among my people, I am a man, free to come and go as I please. I'm asking you to respect that, so let me through," he added bluntly, moving to shoulder the elf out of his path.

"Your people are a strange folk," the elf sang at him, shifting slightly to allow him passage. Rahim began walking, smiling to himself.

'Rebeth didn't know what he was talking about. These guards can be reasonab-' His thoughts cut off abruptly as suddenly he was facing the spinning sky above. With a thump, Rahim landed on his back, wheezing as the wind was knocked out of him. Overhead, the mildly amused face of the elf appeared in his line of sight.

"...allowing a child like yourself to roam the desert unfettered. Truly a strange folk," the Satai finished with a smirk. Rahim heard the quiet snickers of the other guards as they looked on, and his temper began to flare.

He snarled and pushed himself off the ground, rolling to his feet. "Don't try to stop me," he warned, charging towards the slighter figure. 'I'll just shove that tiny fool out of my way!' he thought angrily.

"Stubborn, too," the Satai observed, calmly sidestepping the charge. With a swift motion, he grabbed onto Rahim's arm and used his own momentum to spin him around, hurling him a good ways back into the camp. Rahim felt himself rolling, before coming to a stop on his stomach, his mouth full of grit. He lifted his head up and spat disgustedly, standing once more.

'This may be more difficult than I thought... but my love will be stronger than any warrior in my path!' Rahim thought fiercely, steeling himself. He prepared himself for another charge, and the Satai let out a heavy sigh.

"Are you really going to continue with this foolishness?"

Rahim clenched his fists together. "You'll have to draw that sword of yours if you want to stop me!" he yelled back, and then drew up short at the strange expression that crossed the elf's face. Belatedly, he realized it was anger.

"I only draw my tschekal in the presence of real danger," the elf replied coolly. "Something you would understand had you even been conscious for most of the destruction of your beloved home city," he added imperiously. "I seem to remember the smith hauling you in like a sack of dried beans over his shoulder, however."

Rahim ground his teeth together. "You don't understand! None of you understand! I NEED to get back there! My friends... the people I care about..." A note of desperation crept into his voice. "I can't leave things like this!" With a strangled cry, he threw himself forward, determined to overpower the Satai at all costs.

The elf's face remained passive, seemingly emotionless as was typical for his foreign features. But he did eye Rahim with pity as he stood firm before the larger man's head-on charge. "Your dedication is admirable. But misguided, I fear. I hope one day you'll understand, this is for your own good."

They were the last words Rahim heard as he charged. The elf dipped gracefully, and then the palm of his hand was approaching Rahim's face at an alarming speed. There was a burst of light and the shock of pain, and then, unwillingly, the slow slide into encroaching darkness. "No..." he mumbled insensibly, before the blackness swallowed him whole.

to be continued...

 

[Enkida]

10 MINUTE PROMPTS​

PROMPT: "bushes"
TIME LIMIT: 10 minutes
CHARACTERS: Selphie, Irvine, Zell

The bushes were rustling.

"What do you think it is?" Irvine pushed his hat back and shouldered his shotgun. "We're on the Island Closest to Hell. It's probably something big."

Selphie clapped her hands and jumped up and down, then unfolded her nunchaku. "I hope it's something big! I've got a Limit Break ready and I've always wanted to see flowers growing here!"

Zell was cracking his neck. "I'm not sure we should've done this without Squall or Rinoa here. I mean, it's bad enough we stole the Ragnarok without askin' them."

"Borrowed," Selphie corrected him, bouncing in place. "Wait, I think it's coming out -"

A low growl sounded, and Zell dipped into a crouch. Irvine pointed his gun and narrowed his eyes. Selphie... kept bouncing, as usual. They waited, as the leaves parted, and ... The creature that emerged from the bushes was blasted into a corona of light. The three SeeDs heard a mournful howl as it flew high in the air, then landed in a blackened, steaming clump before them.

"Irvine!" Selphie yelled. "I told you I had a Limit Break ready! Why'd you spoil my fun by using your Pulse Ammo?" The twinkle in her eye was suggesting that Selphie's Limit Break still had a very real danger of being used, even if not on an enemy creature.

"I have an itchy trigger finger when I get nervous," Irvine hedged, rubbing the back of his head. He looked over as Zell made a low noise of dismay. "What? Isn't it dead?"

"Oh, it's dead all right," Zell managed to answer, looking sick. "I think you better start running, though."

"Yeah," Selphie agreed, still whirling her nunchaku around.

"No, I mean remember how Rinoa lost her dog the last time she used Angelo Cannon?" Zell said hesitantly, poking the smoking mass of flesh and burned fur again. "I think we found him."

Irvine swallowed. It wasn't always the best idea to go around trying to kill the lapdog of the world's Most Powerful Living Sorceress. He knew; he'd asked Seifer about it before. "Uh... let's get going before she finds out, guys," he tried.

Selphie was having none of it. "Don't worry, Rinoa's never going to find you." She smiled and raised her weapon over her head. "THE END!"




Prompt: Ambush
Characters: Zell, Selphie, Seifer
SONGFIC ALERT CAN YOU SPOT IT

"All right, now hang on for one more minute." Zell held his hand up in warning.

Selphie frowned, crossing her arms. "Why did you drag me into this again? Don't you remember what I did to Irvine the last time?"

Zell took a moment to shudder. "Riiight. But c'mon, this is Seifer. He destroyed Trabia! Where's your Garden Spirit?"

"Right here in Balamb," Selphie answered tartly. She crouched down and peered around the building, looking at the docks. "Are you sure about this though? He kinda looks down on his luck, if you ask me. I mean, I would be, flunking out of SeeD, getting possessed by a crazy maniac Sorceress, killing a whole bunch of innocent people, having my girlfriend dump me for Squall... who wouldn't be depressed?"

"That's not the point!" Zell cracked his knuckles. "He's called me Chickenwuss one too many times, and you know what? Last week he pelted me with hotdogs. Hotdogs, Selphie! I could've eaten those."

Selphie put her head in her hands. "Can't you just... I don't know, sleep with him instead or something? The man is pelting you with hotdogs, for Hyne's sake. That's as unsubtle as it gets."

Zell sputtered furiously. "First of all, he's a Trepie."

"That doesn't mean he doesn't want to get in your pants," Selphie noted.

"SECOND OF ALL," Zell blustered, "He's the one who switched your hairgel with the superglue."

"He's going down," Selphie said viciously, rising to her feet and drawing her weapon.

Zell yanked the small girl back down. "No! We gotta do this my way! You said you wanna make him feel better? I'll make him feel better AND we'll get even at the same time. Now, you ready with that Limit Break?"

"You're starting to make The End feel cheap," Selphie grumbled, but gave him a nod.

"Then get ready. On my mark..." Zell formed his hands into the proper symbols, and Selphie waited.

.x.x.x.​

Seifer looked up from the sunlight reflecting along the water. "&$*#! What's it gonna take to get that Chickenwuss to notice me?" he grumbled to himself. "If he can't understand the hot dog thing, maybe he's really not The One." He took a moment from wallowing in his self-pity to wonder why he heard the faint sound of a whistle behind him. The ground began to rumble, and Seifer's brow furrowed. He turned around, and let out a silent scream of horror as the Guardian Force approached him at breakneck speeds.

"People all over the world! Join hands! Start a love train! A looooove traaaaiiiin!"

The modified Doomtrain hit Seifer with the full fury of the sparkling hearts, flowers and stars that trailed after it, leaving rainbow tracks in its wake.



Prompt: Isolated System
Time Limit: 10 minutes (this took 12 with edits)
Characters: Quistis, Seifer

Quistis sighed and dropped her head into her hands. The school reports were piling up on her desk, the Lunch Lady had requested a one-on-one meeting to discuss something - Hyne knew what - that Zell had done with their frozen supply of hot dogs, and Squall was on a date with Rinoa.

The last one, she reminded herself firmly, shouldn't be an issue that bothered her anymore. Straightening her papers for the twenty-second time that day - she was keeping count - Quistis tried to focus on her work.

The beep of the door sounded, and Quistis dropped her pencil with a groan. "Come in," she called out, careful to keep the irritation from bleeding into her voice.

"Hey." Seifer smirked at her. "Just where I thought you'd be, Quisty. Trapped behind your desk, grading papers."

"Don't call me that," Quistis said immediately. "And unlike some parties in this room, I actually care about getting things done around here in a timely manner."

Seifer crossed his arms and leaned against her desk, disrupting one of the neat piles she had straightened just moments before. Quistis' fingers twitched.

"It's a holiday, Trepe. If you'd unclench your asscheeks for just two seconds, you might know that." He frowned. "Seriously. You didn't even remember it's the Spring Festival today? Seffie wanted you in the band this time. Keyboards, she said."

Quistis winced. "Isn't that usually Irvine's job?"

"They're on the outs ever since that thing with Angelo," Seifer told her. "Also, Squall told Irvine not to show up for a while, at least until he can get Rinoa to stop Angel Winging and flinging the Zombie spells around every time she sees him."

Quistis hid her smirk and plastered her usual stern expression across her face. "I just have too much work to do to participate in the Festival this year," she told him firmly. "So go on and enjoy yourself. If I manage to finish this up in time, I'll join you all later."

Seifer drummed his fingers on his arm, looking her out of the corner of his eye. "You know," he started.

"No, I don't. Get out," Quistis said curtly.

"Now come on! See, that's why you have Trepies instead of friends!" Seifer glared at her. "Look, if I could weasel my way back into Balamb Garden's good graces, it's only gonna be that much easier for you. Why're you holding yourself back like this?"
Quistis bit her lip, finally abandoning her pencil. "Because they're going to be there," she admitted slowly. "Doesn't it bother you? To see your former girlfriend out there, dancing with the Commander?"

Seifer smirked. "First off, his name is Squall, and now that I've got my memories back, I'm never gonna think of him as anything else than the kid who once wore his underwear outside of his pants. Backwards."

Quistis muffled another smile; she remembered that.

"Secondly, you just have to move on, you know? Rinoa's not my girlfriend anymore. She's Squall's. Fine, it sucks, but that doesn't mean I can't stop looking for a new one, right?"

Quistis blinked slowly and looked up at Seifer. Her brow furrowed. "Aren't you a Trepie?"

"Only because you won't let me be anything else," he answered her. Then he held out his hand. "Come on. Loosen up. You're not a machine, Instructor."

Sighing, Quistis stood up reluctantly. "I suppose you're right. I could use a break, and it might not be completely terrible if you'll trade more stories with me."

Seifer gave her a sharkish grin and pulled her towards the door. "Now you're talking, Quisty."

Quistis narrowed her eyes at him. "It's Quistis. Don't push your luck, Seifie."

 

[HymnOfRagnarok]

I just read Élan Vital, I think for the first time. I'm surprised by how much I liked it, cause I never liked Seifer in the slightest back when I first played. Not even in a hate sorta way, just... bored with him and his bravado. I've seen a few good stories use him, one really good story with him and Quistis as the MCs.

Reading Élan Vital now makes me go, "Okay, I can see why people like Seifer, that is a delightful ball of issues to work with." Why his character is workable and fun, rather than a few exceptions here and there.

I think I was first won over by the mention of Seifer not using Hyperion anymore, simply because of the memories. Never seen that before, but it was a very good moment and symbol of his development. Especially swapping it out for a baton. Seifer giving up his skills and talent with a gunblade to for something more non-lethal implies a great many things without needing to spell it out. I dig it.

I also enjoyed Quistis being kind of messed up, and using Seifer's situation as a reason to keep interacting with Squall because she can't quite let it go. She knows better, but can't stop. It was believably human of her, trying to get more contact via her job. If anything I'm surprised it took Squall multiple visits to finally shut her down.

Seifer hitting his moment of despair in not even being allowed to take the test, and that moment of honesty and defeating convincing Quistis to pass him anyway was satisfying on multiple levels. Since Quistis was essentially using Seifer's case for her benefit and then throwing him out when he stopped being useful to her. Sure that's not how she saw it, and that she had perfectly legitimate, even correct reasons to not want Seifer with the cadets. The turnaround was still very nice.

It ended with Seifer and Quistis both shedding their baggage and making a fresh start. Potential start of a romance with Quistis breaking through all Seifer's barriers, although I wonder if that wasn't as one-sided as Seifer thinks. In any case, it was a very peaceful, hopeful moment. Good note to end the story on.

Thanks for sharing.

 

[Enkida]

AN: This is my novelization of downtime between session events in the Waterdeep: Dragon Heist campaign. I wrote a short introduction for my character to the group since I jumped in mid-game, and the other players requested I keep on going, so... I did. Obviously those of you who watched a lot of TV will know where my bardic character was cloned from. WIP

THE ADVENTURES OF PATRICK JAYNE
1: Settling In​

Patrick inhaled deeply as he stepped off the ship. It was hard to decide what was worse: the stench of rotting fish and seaweed inundating the docks, or the stink of the city that lay beyond it.

"Welcome to the new frontier," he muttered to himself with a wry grin.

It only took a few moments to orient himself: Fish Street's wide avenue was unavoidable, with the sellers hawking their wares. He eyed the gleaming rows of scales, pungent and unappetizing, as he wandered deeper into the city.

Well, it certainly wasn't the good section of town, Patrick noted, ducking his head down and adapting the listless shuffle of the hopelessly destitute. He pulled his cloak tightly around his hunched shoulders, careful to mask any signs of his outward appearance that might hint at actual worth as a tourist. The magic cloak currently looked as shoddy as it ever had, caked with dust, dirt, and tears that completely masked its chameleon-like nature. Still, he made sure to stay alert and aware of his surroundings - it wouldn't do to be mugged fresh off the ship.

After all, Patrick had a job to do.

Things became progressively easier the closer he got to the tavern; while hardly the most affluent side of the city, The Yawning Portal's entrances to the Undermountain kept it from becoming as completely destitute as the slums were. Adventurers littered the place; men and women greedy to earn the spoils of the dungeon or the renown for attempting it.

He let the door swing shut behind him, muttering under his breath. "Fools." And wasn't he the greater fool for joining them? He scanned the tavern, looking for Durnan. Why, he wasn't sure of himself. Perhaps the Hands wanted him to establish himself as an adventurer before he could be considered trustworthy? He spotted the burly man who was most likely the innkeeper and moved over to introduce himself.

"So you're Jayne, are ye?" Durnan grumbled, eyeing him critically. Patrick winced at the innkeeper's loud introduction and the looks it garnered from some of the other patrons, who were now glancing his way and snickering.

"Patrick is fine. No need for formalities," he replied with a grin.

"Got told you'd be comin'. You'll be needin' a room first, then?" Durban's eye tightened slightly. "You good for it?"

"Am I ever," Patrick replied confidently, pulling out his pan flute out from his backpack and grabbing a nearly-empty bowl off the counter. "May I?"

"Suit yourself," Durnan grunted, nodding at the fireplace.

After popping the last few bar nuts into his mouth with a grin, Patrick set himself up on a stool by the fire and carefully laid the now-empty bowl at his feet. He then surveyed the crowd. There's a sucker born every minute, he might have said once. Now the thought just sent a lance of pain for him. "Well, let's greet Waterdeep," he muttered, inhaling deeply.

It was a simple melody he played; one that threaded delicately through the noisy taproom. But Patrick was patient; if there was one thing in this life that he knew he was good at, it was captivating a crowd. As expected, the noise began to die out as the others around took notice of the melody. When the noisy din had reached a low murmur, Patrick finally lowered the flute, and tipped his head mildly at the scattered round of applause he received.

"Evening, ladies and gentlemen. I can see the toll trawling through these dungeons can take on a weary adventurer. All that dark, dank despair. The promise of coin, but at what cost? It can be really be just so exhausting, huh?" He threw his voice theatrically, earning a few grunts and calls of agreement from the audience. "Well, the good news is, I can help you forget that for just a little while. Let me share with you a tale of beauty and wonder. A tale of light and hope. A song descended from the heavens itself…" As he was talking, he drew out his lute, strumming it softly.

It was a Celestial tune -- strange and foreign to a crowd more used to earthly entertainment, jarring against the atmosphere of the Undermountain. Once the melody had their attention, he opened his mouth and began to sing. Not in common, of course -- only the mother tongue of this particular song would do it true justice. He could see his audience growing captivated, distant and far-off looks in their eyes, as his melody made them dream of the heavens above, rather than the horrors below.

When he finished, it was to the approving nod of Durnan and the more rigorous applause of his new patrons; and, of course, the satisfying clinks of money as they were thrown into his bowl.

"Thank you, thank you," Patrick muttered, grinning as he reached for the bowl. A booted foot covered the bowl and stopped him, however.

"You're a fraud," a sharp voice trilled at him in disgust. He looked up to see a red-haired Aasimar girl frowning at him deeply. "That was no tale of light and hope!"

"Well, what can I say?" Patrick smiled mildly. "There aren't many who'd understand what I was actually singing about. Now, if you please?"

The girl snorted at him in disgust, but moved her foot away.

"But then what was he singing about, Yurissa?" A Warforged's tinny voice reached his ears. It was speaking to the Aasimar girl. "It sounded nice enough to me." Patrick's brow quirked slightly; for a race of constructs made for warfare, this one seemed unusually… cultured, rather than intimidating.

"Don't ask, Ugo," the girl replied, throwing Patrick another dirty look. "Just know that that's not the way our language was meant to be used."

"Now even I'm curious to know what that song was really about," a third voice chimed in. This one was musical -- the fluted, dulcet tones of an elf. She was dressed like an ordinary adventurer; not quite as striking as her Aasimar companion, naturally, but she had that ethereal air of a high-elf about her, just as much at odds in the pub as her celestial companion. It made their metal companion stand out all the more in their company.

"Well, I could tell you, but then it'd ruin the spell for all the other patrons in our company, don't you think?" Patrick smiled at the elf winningly, but her expression didn't waver, as stoically stone-faced as she'd been before.

"I just wanted to know the reason that Durnan told my friend not to perform tonight." She sniffed and looked away, crossing her arms.

Patrick might have almost bought it, had he not caught Ugo, the Warforged, with the tiny, knowing grin. It was ever so slight, but Patrick's eyes darted to the bowl. Then narrowed.

"Hmm. Seems like someone here thinks this is still the communal nut bowl," he said, eyeing the two women suspiciously. Then he smiled broadly. "Come on now, ladies. Don't hold out on me. It's an honor to be pickpocketed by someone as lovely as either of you."

The two women froze, glancing at each other, neither moving a muscle. Obviously they were familiar with one another; Patrick recognized the makings of an adventurer's party when he saw one. There was likely no way a new-to-town stranger was going to come between them, no matter how loose or tight their bonds might have been.

He shrugged, pocketing the rest of the coins in the bowl.

"Giving up that easily?" Yurissa, the Aasimar, smirked at him. "I didn't take you for a pushover, not after having the chops to sell that awful song the way you did to these poor people."

Patrick grinned. <<Ah, but how could a gentleman like myself protest, my fair lady? My only regret is that those coins weren't in my pocket before the attempt was made,>> he said in celestial.

Yurissa stared for a moment, then threw her head back and burst into loud laughter.

"Wait! What'd he just say?" The elven girl glanced between the two of them, glaring.

"Oh, forget about it, Cuilhwen. It's not like you didn't get what you wanted anyway."

"Besides, it's not as if you haven't been in this situation before," Ugo said smugly. "Or have you forgotten already how we first met?"

Cuilhwen's face darkened slightly. "That's not fair, Ugo. You know it's different between us, right?"

"I don't see why it has to be," Patrick cut in, showing Cuilhwen his most charming smile. She didn't seem to be buying it, but he didn't let that deter him. "On the contrary, just like your friend Ugo here, this could be the start of a beautiful friendship, couldn't it?"

"Hmph," Cuilhwen said, but she did seem to relax a little once she realized he wasn't going to challenge her over the few coins she'd pocketed.

"Great going, guys. Nice way to make Patrick's introduction to Waterdeep," Yurissa said, still smirking at him.

Patrick shrugged. "It's easy enough to earn a little more coin with another song. Besides… it was a pleasure, speaking with the three of you. You're the first friendly faces I've met since I've arrived in Waterdeep." He strummed his lute once more and smiled at the three adventurers before him.

"My name's Jayne, by the way. Patrick Jayne."

 

[Enkida]

THE ADVENTURES OF PATRICK JAYNE
2: A Motley Crew​

It wasn't hard to get into a routine in his new home at Trollskull Manor at all; if anything, in fact, it was disturbingly easy. Patrick twisted on the tavern couch, which he was sprawled across, until he could see the cause of it all, and clicked his tongue in annoyance.

The picture hung above the mantle and was clearly magical in nature, if just simply for the fact that the heat of the fire did little to dull or damage the vibrant colors in it. And there, staring right back at him, was an uncannily accurate image of himself, right down to his curly blond hair.

He hadn't realized he'd appeared in the portrait until Cuilhwen pointed it out; it had surprised the others in the group almost as much as it did him. Although, technically speaking, the sea hag in the basement and her undead minions had surprised him a lot more. Still, his arrival in the portrait had signaled the beginning of his relationship with the residents of Trollskull Manor; it was as if the magical portrait had proven to them that he was worth having around; something he was thankful for - even if it was hardly normal.

"Well, nothing's normal here, after all," he muttered, fishing around in his pocket for his pan flute and pulling it out. He played a few meditative notes, mulling over his new companions.

There was hulking Ares, the reticent minotaur paladin from Ravnica. He moved slowly and purposefully, was tight-lipped, and seemed prone to glaring at everything that moved. Patrick was always a little nervous around him, perhaps because Patrick himself had a twitchy nature and Ares had a very, very big longsword. That aside, paladins always made Patrick a little nervous, with their insistence on being righteous and upstanding. Still, if there was one thing that a paladin could be relied on for, it was to uphold goodness and justice - or whatever they felt that might mean. He'd just have to make sure that Ares considered the new resident bard to be an asset to the group, rather than a liability.

Then there was the lovely, graceful Cuilhwen. She wasn't as talkative as he'd hoped, and certainly not prone to accommodating his flirtatious advances. Not surprising, considering her elvish heritage; Patrick was as basely human as a human could be, and he probably offended her high fey sensibilities simply by breathing the same air she did. Still, there was a side of her that he found charming, in her own standoffish way. She'd bloom like a flower facing the sun every time her mouse, Nibbles, would make an appearance. It was unspeakably cute, the way her standoffish exterior would melt when the tiny creature begged for her attention. For some reason, the mouse had taken a liking to Patrick, and he secretly encouraged it, slipping bar peanuts and bits of cheese to Nibbles whenever he thought Cuilhwen wasn't looking.

'Women are always telling us to watch our diets,' he'd said one time as he'd handed the eager mouse a sizable chunk of his carrot. 'But food is one of life's great pleasures, isn't it? Treat yo'self, I say.'

Nibbles had squeaked and accepted the morsel with a gleam in his tiny little eyes that spoke of a spark of intelligence somewhat greater than he'd expected from a simple mouse. It had only furthered his resolve to keep on spoiling Nibbles whenever he could; even if Cuilhwen wouldn't warm up to him, it was never wrong to buddy up to her familiar - or whatever the mouse really was.

There was practical experience to be had there as well - for Mordus, the strange tiefling artificer, had no such inhibitions about bothering Cuilhwen, or almost any of their other companions, for that matter. Nibbles had certainly taken a disliking to the man, going so far as to even bite him once.

It wasn't that the tiefling didn't mean well. In fact, Mordus, much like himself, was rather well spoken - when he wanted to be. The problem, as far as Patrick could see, was that no-one had ever taught him any measure of subtlety or tact. More often than not, his expressive tongue would land him into trouble with his own colleagues, or worse yet, the city guards, the temple priests, the tavern patrons, or heck, anyone who bothered to engage with him. Patrick could only wince, imagining what it must have been like to rely on Mordus for the team's public relations until he'd arrived. Mordus seemed to be motivated by strong self-interest, and was protected from the fallout of most of his decisions by his hulking bodyguard buddy and sponsor, Gunter. Still, it was an undeniable fact that Mordus was both quick on his feet, good with his blades, and smart as a whip - almost as smart as their other resident artificer.

The warforged battle smith, Ugo. It was very strange to Patrick to have a mechanical companion in their group; stranger still, to watch the metal man's mind - or gears, or whatever was in that head of his - churn and come up to the conclusions it did. There was no doubt that Ugo was brilliant - probably the smartest among them all. And it was a bonus that he was also a recruit to the Grey Hands - Patrick would never be one to turn down an ally clearly smarter than himself; he wasn't that dumb.

Nothing seemed to shock, disturb, or perturb Ugo at all, ever - not the terribly dangerous experiments Patrick guessed he was running in his forge outside the manor, judging from the screaming metal and explosions that regularly sounded from there. None of the terrifying creatures they faced off against evoked anything more than (a sometimes murderous) curiosity. Not even the raging Zhentarim mercenary who'd smashed Ugo so violently with his sword that Patrick would have guessed the warforged to be dying, if creatures such as themselves could ever really die, had upset him. He'd simply stood up after Patrick healed him, dusted his metal self off, and continued on as if nothing had happened. Ugo was level-headed, cool, methodical - and yet still somehow completely unpredictable.

More predictable - and infinitely more dangerous - was Gunter, their violent lizardman warrior. He was a collection of pure strength, muscle, and strangely enough, child-like innocence. Probably because the hulking barbarian was only as intelligent as a small child. And he thought he was a human with a skin condition, to boot. The others seemed to have accepted it and deigned to humor Gunter's delusions - most likely because the lizardman could rip the arms out of their sockets if they offended him. Still, despite the vicious streak and complete lack of patience, Patrick had an affectionate spot for the barbarian - the massive, simplistic lizard reminded him in many ways of his own lost child. Well, except for the mayhem, murder, and bloodshed parts. Still, sometimes their interactions brought back fond memories, which were hard for Patrick to come by when he thought of his family. Not that he'd ever tell Gunter or the others that; they'd probably think he was crazier than the would-be human lizard.

And then there was Lug, the silent monk. Patrick really didn't know much about him, other than that he truly enjoyed his meditations, and was a fairly reliable warrior in battle - when he wasn't running off to do whatever monks did in their spare time, and leaving the other team members on their own to deal with raging Gralhund guards and Zhentarim mercenaries…

Cricking his neck and taking a final glance at the picture, Patrick sighed and made himself comfortable once again. "Well… it's a strange group to be sure, but it hasn't been bad at all so far." He leaned back and closed his eyes. "Let's just stay here for now, and see what the future brings."

 

[Enkida]

THE ADVENTURES OF PATRICK JAYNE
3: The Stranger​

There's a quiet, almost clumsy rattling, breaking the silence of the room, abruptly followed by a melodic chime which rings through the air, clear and pure. Then a spoon runs rapidly down the row of glasses - each filled with varying levels of water - set on the bar. The resulting sound is pretty good, though it would probably be better to eventually convince Gunter to invest in some proper instruments for Lif to play.

Patrick, hearing his cue, smiles and straightens before drawing in a deep breath. "Who is it? That never lets you down..." He begins to tap rhythmically on the bar as he sings, adding a lively beat as Lif really gets into it. Now multiple glasses are being struck at a time, filling the crowded room with bell-like ringing. It's lucky that Lif was such an avid learner; this song would have been a disaster had the ghost not been so eager to perform. Still, just to be on the safe side, Patrick wiggles his fingers slightly, enhancing the echoes made by Lif's playing into something more ethereal and magical-sounding than any simple set of glasses could ever hope to produce. This seems to please Lif, who's now sending the spoon flying between the glasses with gusto and making Patrick work to keep his voice heard above the ghostly melody.

"Who is it? That gave you back your crown…" He first feels, before seeing a familiar pair of green eyes tracking him. Hmm. Careful not to let the distraction show in his performance, Patrick observes the young woman who has been frequenting Trollskull Tavern of late from the corner of his eye.

Like the others in the crowded tavern, she's smiling and nodding along to the melody. Unlike the rest of the spectators, however, Patrick knows she isn't there just to see the unusual performance. Word of Lif's musical talent has been spreading through North Ward like wildfire, and the tavern's patronage has reflected that accordingly -- and while she might have wandered into Trollskull Manor because of the rumors, it certainly doesn't explain why she stayed.

"Carry my joy on the left," he sings, pondering her intentions. When he'd first noticed her, he'd been struck by her strange beauty - almost elvish in nature, and yet somehow different. Everything about her - from her striking green hair to the twinkle in her eye - broadcasted the overwhelming abundance of her magical fey nature in a way that not even high elves could compare to. It was eye-catching… and made Patrick a little wary.

The woman notices Patrick staring at her and sends him a shy, private smile - one he doesn't miss.

"Carry my pain on the right," he continues, wondering what he did to net her attention. Well… it might have been the first song he sung to her back then. Like most humans, Patrick loved looking at fey folk. They were, to put it simply, extraordinarily beautiful compared to the average human. And so, when she'd slunk in and seated herself at a table to the back, he hadn't thought twice about approaching and performing right before her. It was a pity his confidence had taken a blow earlier that day, though; his attempt to charm her with a rousing love song had turned into a feeble, self-depreciating tune of despair.

She seemed to like it, though, from the way she was eyeing him now. All the more reason to be cautious, he thinks as he cocks an eyebrow at her. Beautiful she might be, but it stings his pride a bit to have caught her attention for being pathetic rather than dashing.

The song is drawing to a close, and Patrick winks at her. "Now I'm handing it over, handing it over…"

The tavern erupts into thunderous applause, and he loses sight of her as he scrambles from behind the bar to take a bow. He makes sure to draw attention to Lif, who's waving a brightly colored scarf above a bowl collecting his or her hard-earned accolades for the bar. Patrick takes the moment to slip away from the front of the tavern and approach the young woman's table.

"So," he says, sliding smoothly into the chair next to hers. "I've noticed you frequenting our humble establishment lately. I have to say we're most flattered that a place like this would draw the attention of a woman of such obvious taste and discernment as yourself."

To his surprise, he actually notices a blush dusting the cheeks of the woman, who is tugging on a tendril of her bright green hair almost nervously. I misread her? She's shy? It certainly didn't seem so before. Clearing his throat, Patrick decides to change his tact.

She liked it when I felt terrible about myself… let's see where that takes us.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! That was rude of me, to impose on a lady without proper introductions. I'm Patrick, the resident bard and irritant of Trollskull Manor, at your service. I was wondering who you might be, because it seems a little wordy to keep calling you The Lady of Patience in my own mind. Of course, if I was just imagining your attention back there…" He coughs and gives her a rueful grin. "Well, let's just say it wouldn't be the first time I've overestimated myself."

The blush fades slightly into a sympathetic smile. "Oh, it's no trouble. You weren't wrong, Patrick - I was watching you. You're quite a performer." Her grin widens. "I'm not sure that patience is the virtue I'd attribute to myself, but you can call me Thia."

"Thia," he replies, rolling the name off of his tongue. "Pleased to finally meet you. So… what brings you to our corner of the world, besides our absolutely fabulous ghostly bartender?"

"Well, you do." She seems to read the surprise on Patrick's face easily, because the blush returns and she quickly amends her statement. "Uh, not you in particular, though I do have to admit I think you are a little cute…" Her face turns even brighter red, but she pushes on, determined, and meets his eye. "I mean all of you, the adventurers of Trollskull Manor. You're making quite the waves in the city, you know."

Patrick grins, then winces slightly as he thinks about the fireball that ravaged the alley last week. "Well, we're not completely to blame for all of that…"

Thia's light, tinkling laughter washes over him like a musical instrument of its own. "Of course not," she agrees. "But you have to admit, you and your group aren't very skilled at laying low, now are you?"

Patrick reflexively glances over his shoulder to make sure Ares, Gunter, Lug, and even Mordus aren't within earshot when Thia says 'your group.' Holding back a tiny sigh of relief, he smiles at her once again and decides to roll with her assumptions; after all, pathetic leader sounds a lot better to his already battered pride than merely pathetic. "True, true. The others can be a bit difficult to rein in at times. But on the whole, we're mostly harmless." He gives her his most charming smile. "Really."

Thia sits back and takes a small sip of her ale, hiding her own grin. "Maybe," she agrees. "But I've got my eye on you lot. Things around Trollskull Manor always seem to get interesting. And," she adds lowly, staring at Patrick through half-lidded eyes, "I like interesting."

Patrick curbs his urge to reflexively swallow and willfully ignores the alarm bells jangling at the back of his head. She's a beautiful lady giving you her undivided attention. What harm could it possibly do to humor her? "Oh, I think I like you too," he replies, reaching forward to take Thia's hand in his own.

Before he can make a move, however, a spoon lands squarely on top of Patrick's head, and he yelps in surprise. Thia erupts into delighted giggles, watching as the colorful towel whisks around Patrick's head in agitation.

"I think your bartender wants an encore," she murmurs in amusement.

Sighing, Patrick stands - but not before bringing Thia's palm to his lips and bestowing a gentlemanly kiss on the back of her hand. "Duty calls," he says, releasing her hand and bowing with a flourish.