Just a tidbit. Technically Urban Fantasy, I suppose. Enjoy:
She threw a pillow at him.
He was so infuriated that it caught him off guard. He stared at her.
“No, Alex, I thought that maybe some of them were your wolves and that maybe I could help. I don't know how this works or where my place is in all of this but I thought that I was helping. I had a gun. I'd like to think that I'm competent. And, yes, while I could have very easily died today, I didn't. I didn't leave because I realized that the smaller wolf be attacked by three much bigger wolves was Veronica. I'm not sure how I figured it out. I just knew. I couldn't leave one of my best friends to die.”
“We heal at an accelerated rate,” he said, quietly.
“Great,” she said, flinging the quilt off of her body. She walked past him out the door.
“Where are you going,” he asked, following her, still holding the pillow.
“I'm going to Autumn's room to get my purse,” Irene called over her shoulder. She walked into Autumn's room, glad to find her clutch where it was left on the bookshelf. She turned around and bumped into a bare chest. “Oomph,” she said, falling backwards only to be caught before she hit the floor.
“My name is Irene,” she said, shrugging his hands off of her shoulders. “And I'm leaving.”
“You and the Big Bad Wolf have a falling out,” he asked with a smirk.
“What are you doing in here, anyway,” Irene asked him, hands on her hips. “Doesn't Autumn hate you?”
“She doesn't hate me,” he said, sitting down on the bed, “she just doesn't like to be told what to. I'm waiting for her to get down with the pipsqueak so we can talk.”
“Talk,” she questioned, skeptically. And where did Alex go, she wondered silently.
“Yes, talk. Kind of like what we're doing now. I say something. You say something. I say something else. Words are said. Ideas exchanged. Get it,” he said.
“Take me back this moment!” Tyree shouts. “Right now!”
“Patience, boy,” Chronos warns. “You brought me here for this purpose, now abide by my commands and I will teach you what you must know.”
Tyree crosses his arms. “Why the hell should I even listen to you? And why are we gods in the first place? I don’t understand why we get to be gods of whatever the hell we are, which is probably chaos, now I think about it, because have you seen what Zack and the others have been getting up to?”
“You talk a lot for a mortal,” the primordial god tells him, leaning on his staff. “You must stop.”
Tyree glowers at him. “Start explaining then, Yoda, or I’m out of here. Wherever... here... is.”
Here, Tyree notices, is a room. It looks vaguely like a yoga studio, with colourful mats and an airy feel to it.
“Here,” Chronos tells him, “is my home.” He walks across to a chair and sits down upon it, resting his stave across his knees. “And you ask too many questions. Sit.”
Tyree drifts across, sits down in the chair opposite and leans back, arms still crossed over his chest, still scowling at the deity.
“The reason for your anointment as gods, Tyree Alexander Cohen, is not for me to tell you,” Chronos says, enigmatically. “That is for only others to tell you. I can, on the other hand, tell you the information you require to deal with being a god.”
Tyree sighs, sits forward a bit and says, “Shoot.”
“The powers gifted upon you and your friends are the powers that once belonged to the Olympian gods, many centuries ago.” Tyree resists the urge to point out he got this from Wikipedia and didn’t really require this particular newsflash. “The powers were gifted upon you to help you protect the mortals around you.”
“Protect them from what?” Tyree demands. “The cold?”
“Perhaps,” Chronos says. “Or perhaps you are needed in conjunction with another god? Did you think of that?” Tyree doesn’t reply. “You have a high level of control over your powers. One day you will be able to do anything from lighting a match to setting the world ablaze.”
“Oh, yay, I can start Armageddon.” Tyree leans back in his seat again. “That’s every teenage boy’s dream, that is.”
Chronos scowls at him. “You are a very argumentative person.”
“Excuse me while I sever my tongue from my mouth,” Tyree retorts.
Huffing a little, Chronos continues, “Today, I am going to teach you to use your powers for good.”
“How, exactly,” Tyree says, “am I meant to use fire for good? Burn witches?”
“Witches are the stuff of myth and children’s stories,” Chronos tells him, irritably. “We do not talk of them.”
Tyree rolls his eyes. “Oh, yay.”
“Do not say that again.” Chronos is getting more annoyed, Tyree can tell. He wonders if he can trick him into reversing time or something the more annoyed he gets. “Stand up.”
Tyree blinks at him but complies, rising to his feet and standing before the primordial deity. “Yeah?”
“Close your eyes.”
It’s Tyree’s turn to huff this time, as he closes his eyes and mutters, “I’m not bending over if you ask.”
There’s a rustling sound and he suspects Chronos has stood up, too.
“See fire in your head. Feel the heat, smell the flames and the smoke,” Chronos says. If Tyree heard that voice on a film he’d expect a smokescreen and a lot of weird lighting. Not a college student with his eyes closed and an annoying old god in a yoga studio.
“I can see the fire and feel it. I can even smell it,” Tyree says, annoyed. “Now what?”
“Now, follow the fire to its source.”
Tyree opens one eye, watching the old god as he circles. “There is no fire, how can I follow it to its source?”
“The fire is real,” Chronos tells him. “Close your eyes again.”
Tyree sighs and lets his lid fall closed. “My eyes are closed, I can smell the fire and the smoke, feel the heat...” he says, in a disinterested tone.
“Follow the fire to its source. Find where you are smelling it from. Know where your fire is and harness it. Feel it in your palm.”
Tyree flexes his fingers, balling and releasing his fist. “I can feel the fire...”
“Where is the fire?”
“It’s a forest...” Tyree can see the fire, feel the flames, smell the smoke. He can see it cutting through trees, following paths and blocking roads. It’s a bushfire. “A bushfire.”
“America?” Chronos enquires, gently.
“No. Australia... It’s Australia and... it’s heading for a town.”
“Now!” Chronos hisses. “Now you can use your power... use it to push the fire away from the civilisation. Towards a place to stop. A river or a cliff.”
Tyree screws his eyes closed, tries to push the fire, direct it, tell it where to go. The fire doesn’t move. It just continues to flow the way it was going before.
A blast of heat hits him and he staggers and falls backwards, hitting a mat as he slams into the floor. His eyes fly open and he coughs up smoke. “I have to move the fire.”
Chronos drops to a crouch beside him, pressing a glass of cool water into his hand. Tyree takes a long drink.
“You will achieve it,” he tells the boy. “Do not worry. Just continue the way you are going. One day you will even be able to sense when the fire needs to be directed. It will be instinct, and you will just do it.”
“What about creating fire? What’s the point of that?”
Chronos smiles, enigmatically. “You’ll work that out, too,” he says. “Now, let us try again.”
*
920 words. Ish. I’m rather proud of this segment, too. Split into two comments because LJ really doesn't like me today.
They are Greek gods, yes. Sort of. The girls are Aphrodite, Athena, Hera and Hermes (she's not pleased about this!) and the boys are Ares, Hephaestus, Hades and Posideon. :D It's a lot of fun to write.
'We need to talk.' she says as soon as they are alone. Ray effects a careless air though his dark eyes are fixed on her face, watchful as ever. 'So talk , my lady.' he says with a smile. 'It seems you boys have gained the attention of the Esquadron Volant. You need to be careful. The Queen Mother is eager to know why Sir Francis is really at court and why he surrounds himself with men like Sir Brad and yourself.' Ray's been keeping his ears to the ground and he's heard vague rumours of this 'Esquadron Volant' a crack team of courtesans employed by Catherine de' Medici herself to spy on men and seduce them to her will. No one was willing to attest so far to their existence. Now Henriette claims she knows all about them. He wonders how much she knows. Is she one of them? 'We need to be careful? Henriette , you talk in riddles-' She kisses him deliberately over and over again, hands wandering down the opening of his shirt. 'What are you doing?' She plants a trail of kisses on his jaw leading up to his ear which she nips playfully. Her voice is a mere breath in his ear. 'If anyone finds us here in this alcove, they'll see two horny buggers who couldn't wait to get to a bedroom to swive each other, instead of me whispering state secrets in your ear. Do you understand?'
Ray unlocks the door, hoping that Brad hasn’t gone out to find Nate or Sir Francis. He’s sat on the bed, poring over one of Nate’s dispatches. ‘There you are.’ Brad looks up, as they enter. If he is surprised to see Henriette in their quarters, he doesn’t outwardly show it. ‘You have company, I see.’ ‘Tell Brad what you told me, Henriette.’ Ray urges. ‘Lock the door please, Ray.’ she says, leaning against it when he has done so. ‘What is this about?’ ‘I told Ray about the Esquadron Volant. Queen Catherine wants to know what Sir Francis is up to at her court and why you are all here. She told us all.’ ‘She told us all? You are a member of this group?’ ‘Yes. It’s true.’ ‘And yet you came here of your own free will-‘ She meets his eyes, absolutely fearless. ‘I did.’ ‘Why?’ He wants to call Sir Francis, but there must be a reason why they both have come to him first. ‘The fact of the matter is I don’t like what’s going on. I don’t want to be in the Esquadron any more. To be utterly honest with you I was never any good at it. I never took it as seriously as the other girls.’ ‘You make it sound like a vocation!’ ‘Shush, Ray. Go on.’ ‘The esquadron is the way for an ambitious girl at court to get ahead. Seduce your mark, find out all you can about him, and try to influence, or blackmail him to do her will.’ “And Catherine wants you to spy on us?” Henriette laughs grimly. “Me? No, I’m not so high up in the hierarchy that she would entrust an assignment like this to me. She’s got Anne-Marie de Guise to try and spy on you, and now Charlotte de Sauve wants some of the action too. I must say, you and the team are quite in demand at the moment.” Brad sincerely hopes Lord Walsingham never hears about the Esquadron and their plans for the team. Judging by his plan to make Walt be Margot’s lover, he’d be stripped, bound for Anne-Marie de Guise’s pleasure in a day.
"Why is it you're always around to save me when I'm in trouble?" She asked, as he cupped his hands together to boost her up onto the horse. She was grateful for it-- and didn't know exactly why. It felt nice to be cared for by someone who always seemed to be there when she needed him.
He pulled himself up onto the old saddle next, finally replying, "Well, Jadyn, it's a tactical impossibility not to be. I like being around you-- and you are always in trouble."
“One two three, one two three — man, can you believe Simeon didn’t think this would work?”
John turned and fired, MG3 spraying bullets at the Camorra following them. “Simeon? I can’t believe this is working!”
“Well, every great idea sounds crazy at first. One two three-”
The half-jotunn stepped, turned, and fired again. “Careful, Karen — you’re speeding up the tempo again.”
The communications officer made a rude sound, almost lost under the ch-chhk of her shotgun. “What are you talking about? My tempo’s fine — that’s why I’m the one leading. One two three-”
John followed the order, twisting and firing while moving backwards. The way they moved boggled the Camorra trying to shoot them down, and then there was that counting.
“-two three — hey, you think we’re far enough in yet?”
“I can't tell. Just a bit-”
Suddenly, with a rousing battlecry, Templar started pouring in from the surrounding ruins, laying to waste anyone that wasn’t wearing the Templar cross.
“Never mind. Thank you for attending this evening's waltz!” John shouted over the roar of gunfire.
He’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow but it’s as far from restful as one can get, full of nightmares and distorted flashes of memories. He thinks he’s even cried out a time or two but he can’t escape the terrors enough to wake up and make sure he’s still alone in his room-- knowing if his mother heard him, she’d be in within moments.
It’s not a major surprise to him when he does wake up to find himself in the middle of a lush group of trees, looking up into the leaves and bright, brilliant sky overhead. Green and blue seems to be swallowing him whole and he stares dazedly for a long moment before realizing he must have a job to do, so he rolls over and props himself up on his elbows, looking in front of him.
What he sees takes his breath away-- even for just a minute. There’s obviously been a flood here, the water nearly licking at his shoes even though he thinks, based on the trees poking out from the water, that he’s far in on the mainland of… wherever he’s at.
Here's the climax of my story. [Emily and Evelyn are twins. Emily's alive. Evelyn's a ghost. No one but Evelyn can hear Emily when she talks.]
“Evie, stop,” Em moaned, crumpling to the floor.
“I can’t,” Evie said.
“Don’t blame her,” said Anton, tapping the amulet around his neck. “She has to mind me.”
He stooped and grabbed Em’s arms. The man in the doorway stepped forward and grabbed her legs while the woman went around the room, lighting the candles in the alcoves. They laid Em flat on the altar. Anton held her down while the other man drew the leather straps across her, buckling them together first at her ankles, then her midsection, and finally her shoulders. Em whimpered as the man drew the straps tight, the leather pressing down hard enough to bruise.
“Deep breaths now,” said Anton, smoothing her hair back from her face. “I know you’re scared. I want you to know, I take no pleasure in this. I truly don’t.”
“Yeah, right,” said Em, trying to tug her hands free of the straps.
Evelyn relayed the message. She still stood by the open doorway, but she was glaring at Anton.
“Now, now,” he said. “I know your new friends would have you believe we’re pure evil, but you must understand. This is about survival. My family’s survival. All we want is a way to protect ourselves.”
Em rolled her eyes. “Save it for the NRA rally.”
Evelyn didn’t relay that message. Instead, she said, “What about my family? You’re trying to murder my sister! An innocent girl.”
“Yes,” said Anton. “One innocent. One sacrifice to protect us all. Wouldn’t you kill to protect your family?”
Evie glowered at him. “Take off that amulet and find out.”
Anton chuckled. “Enough.”
The woman who had been lighting candles cleared her throat. “Sir. It’s time.”
He patted Emily on the shoulder. “I’m sorry if this next part seems a little drawn out. There’s a ritual needed, you see, if we want to transfer your abilities to another object.”
Em craned her head up to see what he was doing. The other man had retrieved something from outside. It was a sort of podium. He set it at the foot of the stone altar and Anton placed an old leather bound book and a knife on it.
“I thought all you had to do was get Evelyn to kill me.” Her voice was high and shrill; there was no disguising her desperate attempt to stall. Luckily they couldn’t hear her.
Evie again relayed the message.
“When you kill her, the veil between worlds will be pierced,” said Anton, opening the book onto the podium carefully. “But only once. If we want a tool that can do it repeatedly,” he tapped the book, “that takes a bit more work.”
He nodded at his two helpers and they arranged themselves on either side of Emily. The man drew a black pouch from his pocket and the woman pulled out a pair of scissors.
“Evie!” Emily shrieked, struggling against the thick leather straps.
“Don’t touch her!” Evelyn exclaimed. Em could tell she was straining against Anton’s control, but it didn’t seem to do much good.
Anton aimed a finger at her. “Enough! The more you struggle, the more you hurt your sister.” He tapped his amulet and Evelyn faded back to ghost form. Then he shifted his gaze to Emily. “I promise, no harm will come to you. Until midnight.”
Em struggled again as the woman began unbuttoning her shirt. Then she took the scissors and cut away the sleeves so that they could pull the shirt away without letting Emily up. They did the same with her skirt until Em was in only her bra and underwear on the cold stone altar.
“Evie, I’m scared.”
“I’m here,” Evelyn said. Anton seemed content to let her wander now that she was back in ghost form. She went to Em’s side, kneeling by her head and putting a hand on her living twin’s shoulder. “Just keep looking at me.”
Em jumped as something wet touched her stomach. The man and woman each had bowls and they were drawing symbols on her in some sort of black paste. “We have to stop them, Evie,” Em said. “No matter what happens to me, we can’t let him have the ability to make portals--or whatever--at will.”
“I know,” said Evelyn. She nodded at the symbols being painted on Em’s body. “Maybe I could smear the designs when they’re not looking.”
“Ah, ah,” said Anton, wagging a finger at Evie. He tapped the amulet again. “I can still see and hear you, you know. If you can’t behave, stand in the corner.”
He waved a hand and Evelyn zipped into the corner. She glared darkly at him. “And that’s quite enough chatter,” he said, pointing a warning finger at her as she opened her mouth. He came to stand in front of Emily, surveying the work. He nodded at his two helpers. “Very good.” He raised his gaze to something out in the other room. He nodded to the woman and pointed. “Bring that here.”
Em craned her neck to see what the woman was getting, but she couldn’t lift her head more than an inch or two. The woman returned and held out a black cloth bundle to Anton. He spread it wide, showing Emily that it was just a sort of sheet. Then he draped it over her. “There now,” he said, arranging it so that it covered her from her feet to her shoulders. “You see, I’m not needlessly cruel.”
Emily felt a shock of irrational gratitude at that small show of kindness. She reminded herself quickly that in a few minutes he was going to kill her--worse, he was going to make Evie do it.
[975 words because I just like this whole section too much]
What is up with me? I am falling into places at the wrong time, wrong location and with the people who I think are right. It sucks to witness, to grieve and to lie in front of my friend's faces. Why is it, that I had to fall in love with my antagonist? Was there any rest for the wicked, so that I could squeeze in without anyone knowing and embrace this "Spawn of Satan" into my grasp and never let go? Do I deserve the same punishment my antagonist deserves for loving such evil? The husband thought bothered me. No, it irritated the shit out of me. She was taken. She was a homicidal nurse. Yet, out of all the faces Dr. Anderson walked past in her thirty two years of life, loved me like I was her last hope. Even though, I felt the therapy she gave me was worth every second of my life, I was helping her out by just being there and caring. But, what about her husband? Was my internal thinking almost accurate with what I said before? Dr. Lowrie seemed like the perfect candidate for Dr. Anderson. I almost tasted how it could be possible. I can almost see why he would assign me as his next horrible experiment. My only question that popped in my head before PECOS woke me with her voice was: Would she be able to do the job herself and kill me to satisfy that other pleasure or will the doctor safe her patient?
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November 17 2009, 17:16:05 UTC 2 years ago
She threw a pillow at him.
He was so infuriated that it caught him off guard. He stared at her.
“No, Alex, I thought that maybe some of them were your wolves and that maybe I could help. I don't know how this works or where my place is in all of this but I thought that I was helping. I had a gun. I'd like to think that I'm competent. And, yes, while I could have very easily died today, I didn't. I didn't leave because I realized that the smaller wolf be attacked by three much bigger wolves was Veronica. I'm not sure how I figured it out. I just knew. I couldn't leave one of my best friends to die.”
“We heal at an accelerated rate,” he said, quietly.
“Great,” she said, flinging the quilt off of her body. She walked past him out the door.
“Where are you going,” he asked, following her, still holding the pillow.
“I'm going to Autumn's room to get my purse,” Irene called over her shoulder. She walked into Autumn's room, glad to find her clutch where it was left on the bookshelf. She turned around and bumped into a bare chest. “Oomph,” she said, falling backwards only to be caught before she hit the floor.
“You're Alex's girlfriend, right,” Finnegan Kavanagh said, steading her.
“My name is Irene,” she said, shrugging his hands off of her shoulders. “And I'm leaving.”
“You and the Big Bad Wolf have a falling out,” he asked with a smirk.
“What are you doing in here, anyway,” Irene asked him, hands on her hips. “Doesn't Autumn hate you?”
“She doesn't hate me,” he said, sitting down on the bed, “she just doesn't like to be told what to. I'm waiting for her to get down with the pipsqueak so we can talk.”
“Talk,” she questioned, skeptically. And where did Alex go, she wondered silently.
“Yes, talk. Kind of like what we're doing now. I say something. You say something. I say something else. Words are said. Ideas exchanged. Get it,” he said.
November 17 2009, 19:14:44 UTC 2 years ago
November 17 2009, 19:21:43 UTC 2 years ago
November 17 2009, 19:10:32 UTC 2 years ago
“Patience, boy,” Chronos warns. “You brought me here for this purpose, now abide by my commands and I will teach you what you must know.”
Tyree crosses his arms. “Why the hell should I even listen to you? And why are we gods in the first place? I don’t understand why we get to be gods of whatever the hell we are, which is probably chaos, now I think about it, because have you seen what Zack and the others have been getting up to?”
“You talk a lot for a mortal,” the primordial god tells him, leaning on his staff. “You must stop.”
Tyree glowers at him. “Start explaining then, Yoda, or I’m out of here. Wherever... here... is.”
Here, Tyree notices, is a room. It looks vaguely like a yoga studio, with colourful mats and an airy feel to it.
“Here,” Chronos tells him, “is my home.” He walks across to a chair and sits down upon it, resting his stave across his knees. “And you ask too many questions. Sit.”
Tyree drifts across, sits down in the chair opposite and leans back, arms still crossed over his chest, still scowling at the deity.
“The reason for your anointment as gods, Tyree Alexander Cohen, is not for me to tell you,” Chronos says, enigmatically. “That is for only others to tell you. I can, on the other hand, tell you the information you require to deal with being a god.”
Tyree sighs, sits forward a bit and says, “Shoot.”
“The powers gifted upon you and your friends are the powers that once belonged to the Olympian gods, many centuries ago.” Tyree resists the urge to point out he got this from Wikipedia and didn’t really require this particular newsflash. “The powers were gifted upon you to help you protect the mortals around you.”
“Protect them from what?” Tyree demands. “The cold?”
“Perhaps,” Chronos says. “Or perhaps you are needed in conjunction with another god? Did you think of that?” Tyree doesn’t reply. “You have a high level of control over your powers. One day you will be able to do anything from lighting a match to setting the world ablaze.”
“Oh, yay, I can start Armageddon.” Tyree leans back in his seat again. “That’s every teenage boy’s dream, that is.”
Chronos scowls at him. “You are a very argumentative person.”
“Excuse me while I sever my tongue from my mouth,” Tyree retorts.
Huffing a little, Chronos continues, “Today, I am going to teach you to use your powers for good.”
“How, exactly,” Tyree says, “am I meant to use fire for good? Burn witches?”
“Witches are the stuff of myth and children’s stories,” Chronos tells him, irritably. “We do not talk of them.”
Tyree rolls his eyes. “Oh, yay.”
“Do not say that again.” Chronos is getting more annoyed, Tyree can tell. He wonders if he can trick him into reversing time or something the more annoyed he gets. “Stand up.”
Tyree blinks at him but complies, rising to his feet and standing before the primordial deity. “Yeah?”
“Close your eyes.”
It’s Tyree’s turn to huff this time, as he closes his eyes and mutters, “I’m not bending over if you ask.”
There’s a rustling sound and he suspects Chronos has stood up, too.
November 17 2009, 19:10:51 UTC 2 years ago
“See fire in your head. Feel the heat, smell the flames and the smoke,” Chronos says. If Tyree heard that voice on a film he’d expect a smokescreen and a lot of weird lighting. Not a college student with his eyes closed and an annoying old god in a yoga studio.
“I can see the fire and feel it. I can even smell it,” Tyree says, annoyed. “Now what?”
“Now, follow the fire to its source.”
Tyree opens one eye, watching the old god as he circles. “There is no fire, how can I follow it to its source?”
“The fire is real,” Chronos tells him. “Close your eyes again.”
Tyree sighs and lets his lid fall closed. “My eyes are closed, I can smell the fire and the smoke, feel the heat...” he says, in a disinterested tone.
“Follow the fire to its source. Find where you are smelling it from. Know where your fire is and harness it. Feel it in your palm.”
Tyree flexes his fingers, balling and releasing his fist. “I can feel the fire...”
“Where is the fire?”
“It’s a forest...” Tyree can see the fire, feel the flames, smell the smoke. He can see it cutting through trees, following paths and blocking roads. It’s a bushfire. “A bushfire.”
“America?” Chronos enquires, gently.
“No. Australia... It’s Australia and... it’s heading for a town.”
“Now!” Chronos hisses. “Now you can use your power... use it to push the fire away from the civilisation. Towards a place to stop. A river or a cliff.”
Tyree screws his eyes closed, tries to push the fire, direct it, tell it where to go. The fire doesn’t move. It just continues to flow the way it was going before.
A blast of heat hits him and he staggers and falls backwards, hitting a mat as he slams into the floor. His eyes fly open and he coughs up smoke. “I have to move the fire.”
Chronos drops to a crouch beside him, pressing a glass of cool water into his hand. Tyree takes a long drink.
“You will achieve it,” he tells the boy. “Do not worry. Just continue the way you are going. One day you will even be able to sense when the fire needs to be directed. It will be instinct, and you will just do it.”
“What about creating fire? What’s the point of that?”
Chronos smiles, enigmatically. “You’ll work that out, too,” he says. “Now, let us try again.”
*
920 words. Ish. I’m rather proud of this segment, too.
Split into two comments because LJ really doesn't like me today.
November 17 2009, 19:23:28 UTC 2 years ago
November 17 2009, 19:24:56 UTC 2 years ago
November 17 2009, 19:31:03 UTC 2 years ago
November 17 2009, 19:33:33 UTC 2 years ago
The girls are Aphrodite, Athena, Hera and Hermes (she's not pleased about this!) and the boys are Ares, Hephaestus, Hades and Posideon. :D
It's a lot of fun to write.
November 17 2009, 19:18:23 UTC 2 years ago
The Poignard
'We need to talk.' she says as soon as they are alone.Ray effects a careless air though his dark eyes are fixed on her face, watchful as ever.
'So talk , my lady.' he says with a smile.
'It seems you boys have gained the attention of the Esquadron Volant. You need to be careful. The Queen Mother is eager to know why Sir Francis is really at court and why he surrounds himself with men like Sir Brad and yourself.'
Ray's been keeping his ears to the ground and he's heard vague rumours of this 'Esquadron Volant' a crack team of courtesans employed by Catherine de' Medici herself to spy on men and seduce them to her will. No one was willing to attest so far to their existence. Now Henriette claims she knows all about them. He wonders how much she knows. Is she one of them?
'We need to be careful? Henriette , you talk in riddles-'
She kisses him deliberately over and over again, hands wandering down the opening of his shirt.
'What are you doing?'
She plants a trail of kisses on his jaw leading up to his ear which she nips playfully. Her voice is a mere breath in his ear.
'If anyone finds us here in this alcove, they'll see two horny buggers who couldn't wait to get to a bedroom to swive each other, instead of me whispering state secrets in your ear. Do you understand?'
Ray unlocks the door, hoping that Brad hasn’t gone out to find Nate or Sir Francis. He’s sat on the bed, poring over one of Nate’s dispatches.
‘There you are.’ Brad looks up, as they enter. If he is surprised to see Henriette in their quarters, he doesn’t outwardly show it. ‘You have company, I see.’
‘Tell Brad what you told me, Henriette.’ Ray urges.
‘Lock the door please, Ray.’ she says, leaning against it when he has done so.
‘What is this about?’
‘I told Ray about the Esquadron Volant. Queen Catherine wants to know what Sir Francis is up to at her court and why you are all here. She told us all.’
‘She told us all? You are a member of this group?’
‘Yes. It’s true.’
‘And yet you came here of your own free will-‘
She meets his eyes, absolutely fearless. ‘I did.’
‘Why?’ He wants to call Sir Francis, but there must be a reason why they both have come to him first.
‘The fact of the matter is I don’t like what’s going on. I don’t want to be in the Esquadron any more. To be utterly honest with you I was never any good at it. I never took it as seriously as the other girls.’
‘You make it sound like a vocation!’
‘Shush, Ray. Go on.’
‘The esquadron is the way for an ambitious girl at court to get ahead. Seduce your mark, find out all you can about him, and try to influence, or blackmail him to do her will.’
“And Catherine wants you to spy on us?”
Henriette laughs grimly. “Me? No, I’m not so high up in the hierarchy that she would entrust an assignment like this to me. She’s got Anne-Marie de Guise to try and spy on you, and now Charlotte de Sauve wants some of the action too. I must say, you and the team are quite in demand at the moment.”
Brad sincerely hopes Lord Walsingham never hears about the Esquadron and their plans for the team. Judging by his plan to make Walt be Margot’s lover, he’d be stripped, bound for Anne-Marie de Guise’s pleasure in a day.
November 17 2009, 19:40:18 UTC 2 years ago
He pulled himself up onto the old saddle next, finally replying, "Well, Jadyn, it's a tactical impossibility not to be. I like being around you-- and you are always in trouble."
November 17 2009, 19:43:57 UTC 2 years ago
“One two three, one two three — man, can you believe Simeon didn’t think this would work?”
John turned and fired, MG3 spraying bullets at the Camorra following them. “Simeon? I can’t believe this is working!”
“Well, every great idea sounds crazy at first. One two three-”
The half-jotunn stepped, turned, and fired again. “Careful, Karen — you’re speeding up the tempo again.”
The communications officer made a rude sound, almost lost under the ch-chhk of her shotgun. “What are you talking about? My tempo’s fine — that’s why I’m the one leading. One two three-”
John followed the order, twisting and firing while moving backwards. The way they moved boggled the Camorra trying to shoot them down, and then there was that counting.
“-two three — hey, you think we’re far enough in yet?”
“I can't tell. Just a bit-”
Suddenly, with a rousing battlecry, Templar started pouring in from the surrounding ruins, laying to waste anyone that wasn’t wearing the Templar cross.
“Never mind. Thank you for attending this evening's waltz!” John shouted over the roar of gunfire.
November 17 2009, 20:38:42 UTC 2 years ago
It’s not a major surprise to him when he does wake up to find himself in the middle of a lush group of trees, looking up into the leaves and bright, brilliant sky overhead. Green and blue seems to be swallowing him whole and he stares dazedly for a long moment before realizing he must have a job to do, so he rolls over and props himself up on his elbows, looking in front of him.
What he sees takes his breath away-- even for just a minute. There’s obviously been a flood here, the water nearly licking at his shoes even though he thinks, based on the trees poking out from the water, that he’s far in on the mainland of… wherever he’s at.
November 17 2009, 21:58:46 UTC 2 years ago
Exciting Climax!
Here's the climax of my story. [Emily and Evelyn are twins. Emily's alive. Evelyn's a ghost. No one but Evelyn can hear Emily when she talks.]“Evie, stop,” Em moaned, crumpling to the floor.
“I can’t,” Evie said.
“Don’t blame her,” said Anton, tapping the amulet around his neck. “She has to mind me.”
He stooped and grabbed Em’s arms. The man in the doorway stepped forward and grabbed her legs while the woman went around the room, lighting the candles in the alcoves. They laid Em flat on the altar. Anton held her down while the other man drew the leather straps across her, buckling them together first at her ankles, then her midsection, and finally her shoulders. Em whimpered as the man drew the straps tight, the leather pressing down hard enough to bruise.
“Deep breaths now,” said Anton, smoothing her hair back from her face. “I know you’re scared. I want you to know, I take no pleasure in this. I truly don’t.”
“Yeah, right,” said Em, trying to tug her hands free of the straps.
Evelyn relayed the message. She still stood by the open doorway, but she was glaring at Anton.
“Now, now,” he said. “I know your new friends would have you believe we’re pure evil, but you must understand. This is about survival. My family’s survival. All we want is a way to protect ourselves.”
Em rolled her eyes. “Save it for the NRA rally.”
Evelyn didn’t relay that message. Instead, she said, “What about my family? You’re trying to murder my sister! An innocent girl.”
“Yes,” said Anton. “One innocent. One sacrifice to protect us all. Wouldn’t you kill to protect your family?”
Evie glowered at him. “Take off that amulet and find out.”
Anton chuckled. “Enough.”
The woman who had been lighting candles cleared her throat. “Sir. It’s time.”
He patted Emily on the shoulder. “I’m sorry if this next part seems a little drawn out. There’s a ritual needed, you see, if we want to transfer your abilities to another object.”
Em craned her head up to see what he was doing. The other man had retrieved something from outside. It was a sort of podium. He set it at the foot of the stone altar and Anton placed an old leather bound book and a knife on it.
“I thought all you had to do was get Evelyn to kill me.” Her voice was high and shrill; there was no disguising her desperate attempt to stall. Luckily they couldn’t hear her.
Evie again relayed the message.
“When you kill her, the veil between worlds will be pierced,” said Anton, opening the book onto the podium carefully. “But only once. If we want a tool that can do it repeatedly,” he tapped the book, “that takes a bit more work.”
He nodded at his two helpers and they arranged themselves on either side of Emily. The man drew a black pouch from his pocket and the woman pulled out a pair of scissors.
“Evie!” Emily shrieked, struggling against the thick leather straps.
“Don’t touch her!” Evelyn exclaimed. Em could tell she was straining against Anton’s control, but it didn’t seem to do much good.
Anton aimed a finger at her. “Enough! The more you struggle, the more you hurt your sister.” He tapped his amulet and Evelyn faded back to ghost form. Then he shifted his gaze to Emily. “I promise, no harm will come to you. Until midnight.”
Em struggled again as the woman began unbuttoning her shirt. Then she took the scissors and cut away the sleeves so that they could pull the shirt away without letting Emily up. They did the same with her skirt until Em was in only her bra and underwear on the cold stone altar.
“Evie, I’m scared.”
“I’m here,” Evelyn said. Anton seemed content to let her wander now that she was back in ghost form. She went to Em’s side, kneeling by her head and putting a hand on her living twin’s shoulder. “Just keep looking at me.”
Em jumped as something wet touched her stomach. The man and woman each had bowls and they were drawing symbols on her in some sort of black paste. “We have to stop them, Evie,” Em said. “No matter what happens to me, we can’t let him have the ability to make portals--or whatever--at will.”
“I know,” said Evelyn. She nodded at the symbols being painted on Em’s body. “Maybe I could smear the designs when they’re not looking.”
November 17 2009, 21:59:56 UTC 2 years ago
Re: Exciting Climax!
“Ah, ah,” said Anton, wagging a finger at Evie. He tapped the amulet again. “I can still see and hear you, you know. If you can’t behave, stand in the corner.”He waved a hand and Evelyn zipped into the corner. She glared darkly at him. “And that’s quite enough chatter,” he said, pointing a warning finger at her as she opened her mouth. He came to stand in front of Emily, surveying the work. He nodded at his two helpers. “Very good.” He raised his gaze to something out in the other room. He nodded to the woman and pointed. “Bring that here.”
Em craned her neck to see what the woman was getting, but she couldn’t lift her head more than an inch or two. The woman returned and held out a black cloth bundle to Anton. He spread it wide, showing Emily that it was just a sort of sheet. Then he draped it over her. “There now,” he said, arranging it so that it covered her from her feet to her shoulders. “You see, I’m not needlessly cruel.”
Emily felt a shock of irrational gratitude at that small show of kindness. She reminded herself quickly that in a few minutes he was going to kill her--worse, he was going to make Evie do it.
[975 words because I just like this whole section too much]
November 18 2009, 04:24:21 UTC 2 years ago
"End Patient Clinic"
What is up with me? I am falling into places at the wrong time, wrong location and with the people who I think are right. It sucks to witness, to grieve and to lie in front of my friend's faces. Why is it, that I had to fall in love with my antagonist? Was there any rest for the wicked, so that I could squeeze in without anyone knowing and embrace this "Spawn of Satan" into my grasp and never let go? Do I deserve the same punishment my antagonist deserves for loving such evil?The husband thought bothered me. No, it irritated the shit out of me. She was taken. She was a homicidal nurse. Yet, out of all the faces Dr. Anderson walked past in her thirty two years of life, loved me like I was her last hope. Even though, I felt the therapy she gave me was worth every second of my life, I was helping her out by just being there and caring. But, what about her husband? Was my internal thinking almost accurate with what I said before? Dr. Lowrie seemed like the perfect candidate for Dr. Anderson. I almost tasted how it could be possible. I can almost see why he would assign me as his next horrible experiment. My only question that popped in my head before PECOS woke me with her voice was: Would she be able to do the job herself and kill me to satisfy that other pleasure or will the doctor safe her patient?