tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51071497532582731662024-03-08T10:39:01.809-08:00Ignes FatuiBook 2 of The Pu'Shing Bhu'Tons Series by Monique FinleyUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger35125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-39156660630006382932017-06-12T04:20:00.000-07:002017-08-15T12:42:26.166-07:00Convenire Aliquem Closing his comic book, Gabriel Seagrass sighed, “we have to wait until the next one comes out.” He stood up from the chair, leaned over the bed and gave Clara Darin a peck on the forehead. “Night Tampon Lady.” If he’d paid attention, he would have caught the slight movement of her brow and the wild look that filled her eyes. He might even have recognized that as shear disgust at the nickname. As it stood, the teenager saw none of that. He rushed out of her little piece of the world and disappeared behind the flowery curtain.<br />
“Easy, Gabs,” a young woman ordered. “You almost knocked me down.”<br />
“Sorry,” Gabriel called.<br />
“What’s the rush?” she asked.<br />
<a name='more'></a> “Mom’s coming home today,” he answered, his muffled voice barely audible to Clara.<br />
“Silly boy,” the woman muttered as she slid through the flower curtains into Clara’s vastly reduced world. “And, how are you today?” She took Clara’s wrist between her fingers and stared at the clock on the bedside table. “Oh. I’m glad to hear that.” Leaning closer to Clara, she whispered, “I went on that date.” Pulling the sheet up, she tucked it around Clara’s shoulders. “He was cute,” she rolled her eyes, “and kind of ridiculous.” A soft chuckle later, she whispered, “and funny. So funny. I cried last night.” After changing the saline bag, she said, “don’t be silly. I laughed so hard I cried. My face actually hurt.” She poked a finger into her cheek, “still hurts.” Once she’d updated Clara’s chart, she said, “It’s been a pleasure chatting with you. I’ll be back later, dear.”<br />
Though the nurse took more notice than the teenager, neither looked Clara in the face. And so, both missed seeing the only response she could muster. When she was once again alone, she let out a terrible roar that echoed in her mind and petered out before it ever reached her throat. She was absolutely the worst thing about being locked inside herself. For the umpteenth time, she began counting the tips of the leaves and flowers on the curtain. The counting was the only thing she could do to distract herself and 90% of the time it didn’t work. Her mind constantly wandered back to the day she discovered the stories were true and all she’d done while thinking the griffin stories were a load of shit. She’d betrayed everyone. And for what? For a future of bedpans and regular rotations so she didn’t develop bedsores? She silently screamed again.<br />
<br />
A height-deficient, stocky, leather-clad, tattooed badass kicked open the door to the suite, growling, “this’ll do. You’ll love the view!” She barreled into the Stadium box, skidded to a halt and shouted, “well fuck me running backwards with a chainsaw. Ain’t this some kinky ass shit?”<br />
“What is?” a soft voice asked.<br />
The badass spoke over her shoulder, “Haley, come,” she waved.<br />
“Tristy… I think that’s your brother,” Haley said, pointing.<br />
“No way,” she scoffed, “he’s not that stup—.” Carefully crossing through the room, she sided up to Domino and let out a roar of laughter. “These boys are in a pickle,” she coughed out between snorts, “or, rather, their pickles are in a jam.” When she’d eased up laughing enough to stand upright, she stood on her tiptoes to put her face up in Domino’s and said, “if I pulled.” His eyes bulged out as he vigorously shook them while simultaneously straining against moving his head. “I wouldn’t do that,” she confessed. From her belt, she removed a knife with a six inch blade, “what do you think first?”<br />
“Oh my. Not that one,” Haley said from behind Tristy.<br />
“No? What about this one?” Tristy tapped the knife against one of the ropes and Domino choked.<br />
“Definitely not that one,” Haley giggled.<br />
“Must be this one then,” Tristy decided as she slid the knife across the another. After thirty seconds of sawing, a strand snapped.<br />
After a solid minute, the ropes gave and Domino’s left side collapsed, which was all he needed to begin untangling his tally-whacker from the noose threatening it’s life. With his pecker saved, he ripped the gag out of his mouth and shouted, “I’m gonna kill those bitches!”<br />
“What bitches?” Haley asked.<br />
“Cut him down,” Domino ordered. “The bitches that come up here with us.”<br />
Tristy slammed the flat edge of the knife into her brother’s bare chest, “you cut him down.”<br />
“Aw. C’mon, sis. I gotta get some clothes on and go find those bitches,” Domino whined.<br />
“You ever notice, I’m always saving his dick?” Tristy asked Haley. “What is that? I don’t even like dick.”<br />
“You’ve done a great deal of work in the field,” Haley said. “Hey. Maybe you can open up a penis protection shop.”<br />
“I can’t believe you just said that to me,” Tristy said, shaking her head.<br />
“What?”<br />
“Would that make me a private dick?”<br />
“No. Honey, that would make you a jock strap.”<br />
“What? How?”<br />
“Penis protection,” Haley answered.<br />
<br />
The awkward silence around the mahogany dinner table would have been reason enough to flee, but Commander Randle Dante, Sr. sat confidently at the head. No dinner would be served. Business would be proposed, voted on, and decided. Resisting the urge to pop his knuckles, Dante finally began, “I call to order this meeting of the Shadows of Guru.”<br />
“Point of order,” one of the eight raised a spindly arm, “is this an emergency?”<br />
<i>Halbot</i>, Dante thought. “Yes,” he answered.<br />
“Very well.” The arm lowered and the masked man replied, “proceed.”<br />
“In the darkest hours, you’ve made the toughest decisions. You know this. You know this with every fiber of your being. Tonight,” he paused. <i>I can’t believe...shh. Just say it.</i> He continued, “tonight you have a choice to make.” From a pocket inside his cape he pulled out a map, unfolded it, and laid it on the table. “The Southern Battalion strongholds,” he said as he pointed, “here, here, and here...” he stood up, “...are vulnerable.” He waited for that information to sink in. “General Peters has neglected his duties to the realm, preferring to whore out the military to protect the Slaver’s Consortium. That General Peters has begun moonlighting the Southern Battalion is of no concern. That he’s left the entire southern section of Poterit Dan open to all manner of skulduggery is an opportunity.”<br />
“Hang on!” third from Dante’s left, interjected.<br />
<i>Of course, Sloopy. By all means, hang on.</i> “Yes?”<br />
“Where’s the emergency?”<br />
Dante continued his speech, “when President Thicket learns of the General’s extracurricular activities this opportunity will vanish. As you know, the President has a very distinct view of what consists of loyalty. Not only will General Peters be removed from his position, he’ll likely be incarcerated, his assets seized, and his family and friends ruined.” He pushed back his chair, stepped away from the table, and walked behind Sloopy. “The emergency is one of timing,” he leaned his masked head next to Sloopy’s and said, “what General Peters and the head of the Slaver’s Consortium know about the Danian elite...”<br />
“Ahh,” erupted from Halbot.<br />
Standing back up, he rested a hand on Sloopy’s chair. “We either save General Peters from himself and thus preserve the current state of affairs. Or, we let him burn for his crimes and potentially lose any advantage his illicit knowledge might have given us.”<br />
“You want to bring that jackass into the Shadows?” Halbot asked.<br />
“Never!” Dante exclaimed. In a much calmer tone, he added, “I want him to suffer.”<br />
“Why?” came from the mask next to Halbot.<br />
<i>You know why, Juniper</i>, Dante chastised silently. Aloud, he said, “only three types of people exist in this world: Shadows, Sons, and tools of Guru. The general has proven himself a willing tool for the Sons. He knows the severity of the game he plays, the lives he commands, and the responsibility he owes to the realm. He’s made his bed out of nails and for that he ought to experience the pricks.”<br />
“You don’t want him in. You want to flip him?” Juniper questioned.<br />
“No. Given the green light, I plan on interrogating him, and then dropping him off in the desert next to his son.”<br />
“No!” Sloopy exclaimed, masked face whipping toward Dante.<br />
“Oh, yes. These are dark hours. We’ve got tough decisions to make. When it becomes apparent that Major Peters has disappeared, the President’s watch dogs will turn their attention to General Peters. Much as it took us a mere blink to find out how dirty he is, it’ll take them less. The decision has to be made tonight. Either I interrogate him or the Army Crimes Tribune does it.”<br />
“Don’t pretend ACT won’t investigate if a general goes missing,” Juniper warned. “General is high enough up the food chain that the President would notice.”<br />
“I hope he does,” Dante replied.<br />
“Do you suppose he’ll tell you anything?” Sloopy asked.<br />
“Yes,” Dante stated.<br />
“How can you be so sure?” Halbot asked.<br />
“I know how to ask.”<br />
“What do we lose if ACT gets him,” the otherwise quiet masked man two seats over from Halbot wondered.<br />
“He’s providing security for the upcoming auction,” Dante began. “We have this chance. If we fail, we’ll never stop the Sons.”<br />
<br />
The basement of Major Dickinson’s house was sound proofed and covered in mirrors. He enjoyed practicing his auction calls from the small podium he’d built in the center of the room. From the moment he’d gotten into auctioneering, he’d built and improved his practice hall. With the mirrors, he could examine every angle of his presentation. His mentor had convinced him that it absolutely helped to have a slave stand on the auction block. For this purpose, he’d picked up a little girl at his second auction. She’d been grown for sometime now, but that didn’t stop him from practicing on her: first he auctioned her, then he bid on her, and after he won her, he forced himself on her. As far as he was concerned his mentor was correct. His confidence and overall performance had only improved as he tucked years under his belt.<br />
Initially, he’d tried to keep the girl a secret from his wife, but some secrets are impossible to keep. He shouldn’t have worried though. His wife was equally keen on having a slave. She’d taken to the idea immediately, and laid claim to the girl as their domestic. From that moment, the girl had been trained to keep house, cook dinners, and pleasure both master and mistress. That last was a feat she rarely succeeded in.<br />
Half way through his practice auction, his wife called down from the kitchen, “do you have to do that now? I need Fleisch to make dinner. Did you forget that you’ve got company coming over?”<br />
When her voice had broken his roll, he’d instantly huffed and ground his teeth, thinking, <i>she always does this.</i> He’d managed to keep his trap shut as he listened. While he’d never admit to forgetting, he frequently, <i>lost time again, damn it!</i> To his wife he hollered up, “he ain't company! He's the boss,” he left out, <i>of the Slaver’s Consortium.</i> Dropping the gavel on the podium, he grunted, “you heard her. Get your ass up there.” As an after thought, he bellowed, “dinner better be good. You hear? It better be good.”<br />
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-52573348646493074542017-06-05T04:20:00.000-07:002017-11-19T17:04:25.983-08:00Videri Debet Certain atmospheric aromas fill the air before and after a rain. While Commander Randle Dante, Sr. stood on the balcony of his 10th floor suite staring out at the lights in the small town below that fresh ozone smell rushed through his senses. He inhaled deeply. Held it. And then, exhaled completely. He straightened up, pulled his shoulders back, thrust his chin forward, and stretched his hands multiple times. The old grandfather clock, in the suite’s Sitting Room, chimed the bottom of the hour. Since he was now appropriately late, he swept into the room, closed up the balcony, and then crossed into the bedroom where his things waited. With a flourish, he spun the cape into position and tied it off. The mask he carefully slid on before donning his top hat. From the edge of the bed, he snatched a small yet heavy metallic box.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
It took him several minutes more to reach the Grand Ballroom on the second floor. When he reached the doors, two penguin suited goons stopped him. In silence, he lifted the silver box. The men looked at it briefly, then nodded to each other. One stepped out of his way, the other opened one side of the enormous, intricately carved oak doors. Even though he feared this moment, he ground his teeth behind the mask, and stepped into the elaborately decorated Grand Ballroom of the Ambossi A Cinq.<br />
Eight masked faces glared at him from the center of the Ball Room. A silver box sat on the ground next to all but one of them. That one was held off the hip, in the same manner a toddler might be held by a tired mother. While the others retrieved their boxes that one masked person maintained the vigil, watching as Dante approached. In the center of the room as the last box was hefted up, Dante immediately looked at the ceiling and walked through the group until he was directly under the main chandelier. A stone sculpture jutted out of the center of each wall, he turned to the one where a griffin was sailing mid-screech. A collective groan moved through the group, which Dante ignored as he focused on the floor. When he found the marking, he knelt down, opened his silver box, and began placing all the contents of his pockets into it. One-by-one, the others situated themselves over similar markings, and repeated the box filling actions. Dante flicked his thumb across the mark. After a moment he could hear the pained whirling of some ancient gears. At last, the mark and the tile it was on, dropped down a couple inches and then retracted. After Dante carefully placed the silver box into the receptacle, the tile returned to its original position. Upon the ninth box settling into place, the part of the wall directly under the griffin began to move forward.<br />
They each rushed to the exposed stairwell as if the wall were on a timer.<br />
<br />
From where he lay tied to only Iphi knew what, Jessup could have watched the party raging below, in the Stadium’s field. That is, if his eyes would open. The ungodly ache in the back of his neck was the first thing that reached through the void where he’d lain in the recesses of consciousness. The second thing that struck him was the novelty of awakening with that tingling sensation that ripples across the body. He had the distinct feeling he’d been in the middle of something important. But, he couldn’t remember what. Or, why. Or, whatever. When his face began to itch, he subconsciously reached for his head. The movement sprung his eyes open like a mouse trap springs closed. He began yelling, “no,” but the gag in his mouth prevented him from actually articulating the single syllable protestation. He relaxed his tensed right hand and the pressure on his penis slackened. With the danger to his genitals passed, the bitter slap of memory hit Jessup with full force. <i>Where are the girls? And Domino?</i> Moving with deliberate slowness, he scanned the entire area within his periphery. The only thing he could see through the wall and window of the Stadium’s box seating was the flickering flames of the burning tree which danced with Hellion specters. He became abruptly aware of his nudity at approximately the same time that he heard muffled noises coming from over his shoulder. The act of turning tightened the pressure on his genitals. His pounding heart thudded in his ears as he bit into the gag, his head cautiously turned left and right as he fought to see and to keep his bindings from tightening.<br />
<br />
Motorcycles were the only thing that gave Captain Randle Dante, Jr. real pleasure. His whole military career had been a sham. He was a pawn in his father’s game. Even so, it didn’t bother him. He’d managed to get into the motor corp. And, then to rise faster than anyone thought possible, until that day in the park when he let that innocent vixen add him to her biker collection. While she was merely seeking to fulfill her fantasies of rebellion against her uncle and self-appointed guardian, President Scrub Thicket, the virile Captain had been seeking to test the beast. <i>The president’s niece</i>, he chuckled as he gunned his bike along the Barren Straights between the Front Depot and the town of Merced. As the signs declared Merced approaching, he slowed down. The highway exit before the town center led around the outside of Merced, circling alongside a set of long defunct railroad tracks that once served as the fastest route to the now abandoned Port Askance.<br />
The two story brick house sat in the middle of a dilapidated neighborhood on the edge of a run down commercial zone that once fed the town center, but now served as a bumper between Merced proper and the Skirts. Dante skidded the bike to a halt. He deftly rocked it back onto its kickstand, swung a leg over, and then pulled his helmet off. Standing next to the bike, he gave the street a quick inspection. From the left window next to the front door, he saw the curtain move, <i>good</i>, he smirked. He secured his helmet, flipped up the flap to his saddle bag, and removed a small brown package. Weighing it in one hand, shrugged, <i>this has to work</i>. Unconsciously, he ran his free hand through his hair. Dropping the hand, he shook off the apprehension that tried to creep into his stomach. As he strolled up the walk, he had the distinct feeling that someone was watching him. The moment his foot hit the first step, the front door opened.<br />
“What are you doing here, sir?” the perplexed woman growled.<br />
She wore a tank top and skirt that stopped about an inch below indecent. The striking difference between her civilian clothes and military uniform were not lost on Dante, who held back a smile as he stated, “Staff Sergeant. You’re out of uniform.”<br />
“No shit, sir,” she shot back. She stepped onto the porch, glanced back into the house, and then quickly shut the door. “What are you doing at my house?”<br />
Squeezing the package, he ran through the myriad inappropriate answers that came to mind, and settled for, “some things can’t be handled in the office.”<br />
“What things?”<br />
“Listen, can we talk off the street,” he nervously peeked over his shoulder. His unease was growing intolerable.<br />
“Sure,” she huffed, shaking her head and taking a step toward him. When he didn’t move, she ordered, “around the back.”<br />
“The back,” he acknowledged as he moved to let her lead the way.<br />
She wasn’t even slightly surprised that he was going to follow. By the time she reached the gate to the backyard, she’d felt his eyes crawl all over her. Once they were both in the yard, with the gate closed behind them, Dante took a few steps in and checked out the garden. Already tired of his visit, she asked, “well?”<br />
“Nice yard,” he commented.<br />
“Yeah. It is,” she agreed. “My brother.”<br />
“You’re brother is a landscaper?”<br />
“No,” she answered.<br />
“Oh,” he exhaled in surprise. “He’s done a great job.”<br />
“You didn’t come here to talk about my garden. What do you want, sir?”<br />
“Coffee,” he said.<br />
Twitching and suddenly visibly nervous, she shushed him. Whispering, she said, “get out of here with that talk. What is wrong with you?”<br />
“Here,” he shoved the package at her.<br />
“No. No. No. Iphi. Tell me you didn’t!”<br />
Perplexed by her response he tried handing her the package again.<br />
“Not here, sir. Sweet mother of Iphigenia. Did you even bother to read my service jacket?” she continued whispering. “My mother is the Chief of Police.”<br />
“I read that,” he shrugged.<br />
“I live with my parents, you asshole,” she snorted. “With all due respect, sir, I’d appreciate it if you left now.”<br />
“Do you want this?” he offered the package a third time.<br />
She bit back the part of her that did indeed want what ever he had in that package. It took effort, but she answered, “only at work, sir.”<br />
“What’s the difference?”<br />
Closing her eyes, she refrained from exploding, and answered with, “no one at work goes through my stuff.”<br />
“Oh,” he leaned closer to her, “why do you stay? You’re a soldier, you can live on base.”<br />
“My home life isn’t actually up for discussion,” she informed him.<br />
“I’m sorry,” he shook his head and offered up his hands, package and palm. “I just had some extra and thought you might enjoy a cup. I’m not trying to...”<br />
Her sudden leap into his arms and lips smashed to his face threw him off-balance and sent his brain for a loop. They remained like that for a couple minutes before she released him with a shove and an exaggerated wiping away of his slobber. “Oh that was close,” she sighed.<br />
Swinging his head around, he saw nothing that might have caused her to jump him. “What was that?”<br />
“Mom’s home,” she answered. <br />
<br />
The uncomfortable truth that Clara Darin was paralyzed had etched itself in the front of her mind where it flashed like a neon sign at a strip club. She’d gone through all the motions repeatedly forcing herself to move and consistently moving nothing. How long could she lay staring at the ceiling before she lost her mind? Every terrible decision she’d ever made had led her to this moment, in this hospital bed, in this foreign land. She longed to scream, but would have taken the capacity to whisper. Not that screaming would help. The flower printed privacy curtain moved and an older teenager slipped in. She recognized him, but couldn’t recall why.<br />
“Hi,” he whispered from her bedside. He looked at her with the intelligent curiosity of the young. Placing a hot hand on her arm, he said softly, “I hope you’re feeling better today.” Without taking offense from her failure to respond, he continued, “they say mom’s had a...a...a spy-cho...psychotic break. She’s in treatment, so I’ve got time.” He grinned and held up a thin booklet, “I brought my favorite comic. Do you want to me to read it?”<br />
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-14265081803799356452017-05-29T04:20:00.000-07:002017-07-31T20:53:51.000-07:00Humi Procumbere The rapidity of his blinking good eye did not change the specter before him, though he varied the rate. <i>So many</i>...blink...<i>so many bodies</i>...blink, blink...<i>all those little kids</i>...blink-blink-blink...<i>all those wretched birds</i>...long, slow blink...<i>all those...fires</i>...no blink, just a closed eye. He weaved as he toiled with the infinity of experiences that he’d suddenly become privy to when Iphi—that stupid bird, that phoenix—bit him. Nothing. Not one single scrap of her enlightenment existed to help him rationalize the Burning Grounds. “Why?” he croaked.<br />
<a name='more'></a> Celatrix Verna stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder. She stared at the Burning Grounds with sad appreciation. The Bard was not the first person she’d taken for the Long Walk, and if Mercury was kind, he wouldn’t be the last.<i> Likely the most important,</i> she wagered. Such a simple word, <i>why,</i> she held her breath, closed her eyes, and exhaled. When she opened her eyes, she squeezed his shoulder and said, “Ministrae children are taught death, so they’ll better appreciate life.”<br />
“But...” he waved without enthusiasm.<br />
“They meditate.”<br />
“But...” he locked his thumbs together and flapped his hands.<br />
“Oh. The birds? They do Mercury’s work.”<br />
“But...” he flipped his thumb up and down over his closed fist.<br />
Her head tilted left as she attempted to figure out what he was signing.<br />
When she didn’t answer, he forcefully pulled his head away from the Burning Grounds turning until he could see her. With his thumb maniacally pumping, he finally managed, “fire?”<br />
Her head tilted a little further, before she righted it, closed her eyes, <i>fire?</i> and shook her head. “The pyres must never die,” she whispered.<br />
“But...” what ever he intended on saying disappeared. His head snapped forward and his arms slammed out, hands wavering slightly. With his eye closed, he began chanting.<br />
Struggling to understand, the Celatrix stepped forward. The effort was pointless. Kent grew loud enough to draw the curious gaze of the nearest hundred Ministrae children.<br />
“NO FULCO. NO FULCO. NO FULCO.”<br />
<br />
Unable to continue ignoring his aching bladder, Adonis clambered out of the bunk bed. Even though he eased the door open, he was slapped in the face with garlic, onions, mushrooms, and a whole mess of glorious aromas. His stomach growled. A wave of pain shot from his bladder down his penis and back behind his eyes. He threw a hand out to the wall and slowly shuffled across the hallway. <i>Man up</i>, he ordered. <i>How the fuck did you crawl out?</i> Inside the bathroom, he gingerly pulled his pants down. <i>Necessity. Don’t be stupid.</i> The pain increased ten-fold upon seeing the bloodied gauze. <i>Psycho bitch tried to cut my dick off!</i> He refrained from screaming by biting his lip—hard—as he peeled the bandage off.<br />
<br />
“And, that’s why I need your help,” Commander Felis explained.<br />
Astra cocked back her head and purred, “so the royal pussy finally needs his feline family?”<br />
In that moment, he recalled all the reasons he hated her. <i>Still jealous they picked me</i>, he thought, smugly.<br /> “I didn’t have a choice,” he answered.<br />
“There’s always a choice,” she replied. With a flick of her tail, she exited the bay.<br />
“Dames, eh?” Milton chuckled.<br />
“You married her,” Samuel Felis pointed out.<br />
“Only after you shafted her,” said Milton, shaking his head.<br />
“I didn’t have a choice,” Sam repeated.<br />
“We’ve walked that path, nephew,” Milton replied. “You’ve got bigger problems than Astra’s latent dreams of ripping your throat out.”<br />
“Tell me about it,” Sam sighed.<br />
“Well, if you’re ready to go down that road,” Milton began, “then, you should know that we’ve restructured most of the family holdings. I doubt that you’ll recognize the difficulties you’re presenting me with.” Milton stretched out his front legs, curled his back, and yawned. “The legalities are too tedious to repeat.”<br />
“Unc! You know I’ll never betray the fam. I just need a lil’ info.”<br />
“Precisely,” Milton growled.<br />
“So. You won’t help?”<br />
“I would be remiss in my duties, if I failed to assist my family,” Milton stated.<br />
“Then, what’s the problem?”<br />
“You will be remiss in your duties, if I assist you, family.”<br />
“I don’t understand,” Samuel said.<br />
“You will.” Milton rolled his head and flattened his ears, an orange stripe ran from the tip of his right ear to the left side of his chin. He yawned, “come.”<br />
<br />
After arranging the sad, thin pillows and scratchy wool blankets over the two unconscious royals, Nina cleaned up their dinner mess. While cleaning up, she ordered the Merc out of her way. He sat down on the couch where Cassie had originally lain and there he worriedly stared at his charge. Nina watched the Merc’s face go from worried to horrifically suspicious as he upturned his hand and looked at it. The poor man turned pale and then hurried off the couch to the sink where he scrubbed his hand in a panic. Unable to resist, Nina crossed to the sink and stood to the left of the Merc. As he finished and with perverse pleasure, Nina asked, “did I miss a spot?”<br />
He jumped and then spun his head to look down at her with sheer disgust. He grunted, “blood.”<br />
“Oh!” Nina exclaimed as she took a step backward. She stumbled while turning and awkwardly fell. In one hand, she held a dirty rag which flagged her way down. After looking at her feet like the enemy, she stuck her hands under her butt and huffed her way back to standing. A slight smile upturned the corner of her mouth. Sheepishly, her eyes rose until she met the Merc’s softened gaze.<br />
“Are you alright?” he asked.<br />
“Just clumsy,” she shrugged.<br />
“Me too!” he confessed with a broad grin. “I once tripped over the rug at my Popper’s house. Crashed right into all Memmer’s collectibles.” Unconsciously, he rubbed the palms of his hands together. In that second, he looked through time to the glass shards and blood that had once marred them. Today, the scars were minute, practically invisible. Had to be there to see it, as they say. He bowed his head, “rest her soul. I bought her a new piece every Mercuralia. She loved all those silly little glass animals. Even named them.”<br />
<br />
Splashing cold water on his face, Adonis took a moment to observe the droplets fall through his two broken fingers and into the white marble sink. For a second, he imagined they were red droplets. Slowly lifting his head up, he met his own hollowed, vacant eyes. <i>Shock</i>, he reasoned until his gaze wandered to his burnt ear. <i>I’m going to kill them</i>, he promised himself with a skeletal grin. He leaned into the mirror, staring hard into his own eyes, his attention moving from one to the other. “Tomlyn. Prescott. You’re dead,” he snarled to the cosmos as he awkwardly turned the bathroom doorknob with his uninjured hand. The knob slipped twice before he managed to get the door open. When he did, he practically walked into Vorant, who shoved him into the door frame. He glared daggers into the brute’s back, before making his way down the hallway toward the kitchen and the amazingly good smells wafting about.<br />
“Fix your plate,” the Inquisitor ordered. He stood next to the stove, chopping vegetables, occasionally using the knife to push the butchered veg into the skillet.<br />
“What is it?” Adonis asked.<br />
“Dinner,” Jougs said, he shoved Adonis into the frame of the kitchen door, walked up to the stack of plates on the counter, took one and began shoveling noodles out of a large pot.<br />
When Jougs reached a spoon toward the skillet that the Inquisitor was still dropping vegetables into, the knife stopped at the man’s neck. “Not for you,” the Inquisitor ordered. He slowly turned his head toward Jougs. “Go on,” he nodded.<br />
<i>He’s going to run into me</i>, occurred to Adonis as Jougs was backing away. Though he had time to get out of the way, his feet refused to move. What ever instinct caused him to throw up his left hand to stave off the impact proved to be the single worst thing he’d done since hiring the Inquisitor. Upon impact the two men stumbled back, Jougs caught himself in the door. Holding his injured hand to his chest, Adonis flailed his good hand as he stumbled past the hallway where Vorant stood laughing. In pain, Adonis yelled, “Mooncalf! Cum guzzling cock wobble!”.<br />
<br />
The two cats stood on the roof of the abandoned auto shop. The air hung, thick, as if placed by a billion syringes and held in place by the perfect frequency. “Tell Briar, he’s back,” Astra hissed.<br />
An exceedingly fluffy tan cat looked at one paw, flexed, and then put it down, “ballsy S.O.B., ain’t he?”<br />
“Mmhm,” Astra murmured, her tail whipped back and forth.<br />
“Does he know?”<br />
She ignored the question.<br />
“You’re gonna surprise him?” He shook his head, tufts waved. “Poor bastard.”<br />
Her head snapped at him. With urgency and hatred, she said, “don’t you feel sorry for him! Not for one minute! He had a choice. Listen Cheddar, you’ve got to promise me. Briar. You’ll tell Briar and no one else.”<br />
“I gotchya, kinfolk,” Cheddar chuckled.<br />
“Briar,” she repeated.<br />
“I know. I know,” he grumbled, disappearing into the fog.<br />
“Briar,” she called out one more time. After her brother-in-law’s heavy footfalls faded, she carefully made her way to the rooftop access door, where she’d first sighted Samuel. Pulling the door, she crept down stairs that opened into the back corner of the auto bay near the hallway. She paused, out-of-sight, but able to hear. Straining, she nearly tumbled down the remaining stairs. The only noise she heard was the slow scraping of the bottle top that the twins lazily batted around. She sped down the stairs and slid into the room fast enough to catch Nacho off-guard.<br />
The old cat leapt, hissed, and then glared at her.<br />
“Where’d they go?” she demanded.<br />
“Fuck off, Astra,” he growled as he climbed back onto the chaise.<br />
<br />
Fulco fluttered down, skipping and hopping along Kent’s prone body. The bird climbed up the Bard’s pant leg, using his beak to pull and pinch the denim. When he was on Kent’s chest, he dug his front nails into the young man’s clavicles, and screeched. Kent’s upper body spring-boarded up, and Fulco flew-fell, wings flapping uselessly.<br />
“Get the fuck off me!” Kent yelled, his hands wildly slapping at Fulco’s panicked scrambling feet.<br />
“Easy,” Celatrix Verna warned. “Language.”<br />
“Nope. No way!” Kent declared. He pushed himself off the temple’s marbled floor and turned his torso toward her. “I’ve got to draw the line somewhere. And. This is it.” He jammed his eye closed and shook his head. When he looked at her again, she seemed older.<br />
“You’re in a sacred place. Don’t profane it,” she ordered softly. “Places have memories.”<br />
“Yeah? Yeah? Well so do people,” he waved over his shoulder, “like those countless poor souls out there. Fodder for childhood contemplation. Like there’s nothing horrific in being devoured by birds or burned to ash.”<br />
“These ‘poor’ souls are honored dead. They give comfort to the children of the Ministrae, nourishment to Mercury’s sacred birds, and protection to the realm. Take care, with your temper, Bard Kent, this land is holy.”<br />
The incredulity dripped off his face, he sputtered and stopped a couple times before he forced himself to calmly say, “my apologies, Celatrix.”<br />
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-31120389296906066252017-05-22T04:20:00.000-07:002017-07-12T13:52:08.559-07:00Minus Valere Inside of the Regular Militia’s Subterranean Security Complex, 324 soldiers went about their business as if nothing were happening above ground. In fact, until the generals had arrived, not one of the troops permenantly station in the SSC had given a second thought to the City of Ambrosia. Most of the Regulars stationed at SSC weren’t even from the City, they were from all over Poterit Don, and they rarely gave the City more than passing consideration. Whenever their minds did finally drift to upper level freedoms their thoughts centered on which of the milbars they’d hit up and where they’d find some decent chow. They were brought together for one purpose only: maintain the SSC. At first, the only ones to notice as the generals trickled down were the gate security personnel. But as with wild fires, word spreads quickly. Some of the younger soldiers, who’d never seen a general before, made the rounds trying to spot one like birders try to spot a scaled ground-cuckoo. For their part, the generals had each mustered to their respective offices where they were preparing themselves for whatever bombshell the CQD revealed. Not that they’d be able to convene until the Praeceptor arrived.<br />
<a name='more'></a> “What do you mean?” General Nelson Whistler asked his assistant for the fourth time.<br />
“As I said, sir,” the exasperated captain tried reiterating, “the Elite will not bring the Kaiser until they’ve ascertained the risk level. We’ve all mustered to our emergency stations and must await further instruction.”<br />
“Yes. Yes. We’ve mustered. Now, how can you receive further instructions, if the Advisers and Generals haven’t convened?”<br />
“General Whistler, sir,” the captain pleaded, “you have to wait until the Elite have cleared the Kaiser for entry.”<br />
“I don’t have to wait for the Elite,” Whistler insisted. “The Kaiser has to, but I don’t.” He stepped toward the door of his office, toward the wary captain, and ordered, “get out of my way.”<br />
“Yes, sir,” the captain said, stepping out of the way and rolling his eyes once his back was to the general. <i>I tried</i>, he thought. He shook his head, chewed on the inside of his right cheek, and then sped after the general who’d made it three-fourths of the way down the beige hall by the time he’d caught up.<br />
<br />
Pacing through the fog was too dangerous a game, even for the surly Mister Jougs, who had sat down on the curb in front of the safe house. He occasionally glanced over his shoulder like he could see the porch from his position, though he could barely see the mailbox standing right next to him. “Maybe it’s time,” he grumbled. Looking up into the white expanse that had been a stereotypical Donian neighborhood mere hours earlier, he spit, “alright then. Plan C it is.” Just as he stood up intent on disappearing into the fog, the front door squeaked open.<br />
“Fuck. I can’t see shit,” Mister Vorant stated, before calling, “hey dude, dinner.”<br />
Grinding his teeth, Jougs’ head drifted back and forth between the house and his freedom, not that he could see either. Without responding, he stepped further into the street, and then stopped. <i>They can’t follow, so what are you waiting for?</i> He urged himself into the fog, but didn’t actually move.<br />
“Man, I know you can hear me,” Vorant said, barely keeping his irritation in check, “I ain’t standing here all night. Get your ass inside or go fucking hungry.”<br />
Though Jougs stood on the deciding line, his stomach had already chosen. “Can’t see nothing. Keep talking asshole.”<br />
“Call me asshole again and this fog’ll be the least of your problems,” Vorant laughed.<br />
<br />
Sweat poured off the Messenger, who lay in the fetal position on the ugly red and gold paisley couch. The more she moaned, the paler Archel became. The Merc continued eating but watched the royals with the disinterest of one too involved in his meal to care about externalities. Meanwhile, Nina braced herself against the couch as a barrier to keep the Messenger from falling, absently held the Messenger’s plate, and helplessly watched as the boy king went ghostly in his chair. Precisely as Nina found her voice, Archel dropped his plate which landed with a thud that drew the Merc’s dawning comprehension.<br />
“He’s falling,” Nina exclaimed.<br />
The Merc dropped his own plate as he leapt from his seat in a bid to reach Archel before the boy landed. His effort wasn’t a complete failure, since he managed to grab hold of Archel’s shoulders and eased the boy’s landing. “Sire?” the Merc asked.<br />
“I don’t feel so good,” Archel mumbled.<br />
“What’d you do to them?” the Merc demanded.<br />
For her part, Nina registered the accusation with a meek, “nothing.”<br />
“They were fine until dinner!” his voice raised.<br />
Sudden deep anger hit Nina, who shot back, “he might have been, but she wasn’t!” She remembered Preston’s orders, took a minute to rearrange Cassie in a position where she wouldn’t fall off the couch, and then dug through the cabinets trying to find the sugar.<br />
“What are you doing?” the Merc demanded.<br />
“Sugar water,” she answered.<br />
“How’s that supposed to help?”<br />
“I don’t know. It just does,” she said shoving a glass into his hand. “Use the straw to stir it up.” He still looked incredulous, so she added, “it’s what Preston told me to do for the Messenger. That’s why she was on the couch upstairs.” At that Nina turned her full attention to Cassie, whose eyeballs were now properly seated though her head remained rolling at an awkward angle.<br />
“This is the craziest,” the Merc muttered to himself as he stirred. Cradling Archel, he put the straw to the boy’s lips and ordered, “drink.”<br />
<br />
The tension inside Raven’s Drop had only escalated as the sirens wailed and the guards locked down the prison complex. The immediate body count was two prisoners and six guards; while two more prisoners were missing and not a scrap of evidence was left that might detail where they went. Typically, Colonel Gawain Dagon left Raven’s Drop in the hands of Warden Dwight Winter. But, these weren’t typical times and when a high profile prisoner complicit in regicide manages to escape, the warden is reduced to one more guard who let it happen. Dagon wasn’t sure what he hated most, that the Oathbreaker had some how disappeared or that two of the men involved were killed before they’d been interrogated. The whole clusterfuck reeked of a next-level conspiracy and the only person Dagon could immediately hold accountable was the warden who had failed to up his game in response to the new inmates. Even though Dagon was tempted to lay into Winter, he held himself in check. If they were to recover the escapees, then the warden’s knowledge of the premises would be invaluable.<br />
Pacing from his desk to the window, Winter said, “Colonel, I’m at a loss. Since the delivery of the escapees,” he grimaced, then continued, “I increased personnel in all areas surrounding the medical facilities. I stationed additional guards on the walls and even reopened the outer check points. I just don’t understand how this happened. 27 years. Never. Not once,” the sleep deprived, wild eyed, and crazy haired warden plopped into his executive’s chair, which squeaked as he rocked backward.<br />
“Inside job.”<br />
“I’ve got six dead guards. If one of them helped, then the punishment’s been delivered,” he sighed, dropped his head into his hands, and pulled at his hair with two white-knuckled fists. “Six families have to be notified.” He looked up at Colonel Dagon, released his hair, and leaned back into his chair. They stared near each other, but not at each other. As calculating men, both had plenty to occupy their time. Suddenly the warden leapt out of his chair, his already wild eyes practically bulging. “I’ve got it!” He crossed the room, ripped open the door, and called over his shoulder, “come on, Colonel.”<br />
Prying himself up from the chair, Dagon followed the eccentric warden down a couple hallways, until the man opened up a nondescript door that said, ‘Authorized Personnel Only.” A floor to ceiling prison map mural was painted on the far wall. The warden stationed himself before the map section that contained the medical facilities. As Dagon watched, the warden marked out where the dead bodies were found and where all the nearby guards were stationed. The man worked from memory as he muttered to himself. In silent fascination, Dagon observed the distraught warden.<br />
Just as suddenly as he’d vacated his chair, Warden Dwight Winter barked laughter. “Thought you’d get away with it! Thought I couldn’t figure it out! Here. Here, Colonel,” Winter tapped the map in two places, “has to be one of these.”<br />
“Why?”<br />
Winter cocked his head to the left, tilted his chin forward, and said, “no one else was attacked. They didn’t just appear out of thin air. They had to come in from somewhere and these two points are between the murdered guards and the next check points.”<br />
Having witnessed the Messenger appear out of thin air, the hair raised on Dagon’s body before he rejected the budding thought. “Get two investigation teams in those sections immediately,” Dagon ordered.<br />
Any normal night the warden might have taken offense, but tonight he nodded as he picked up a phone and relayed the order. When he dropped the receiver back in the cradle, he peeked at Dagon, and then returned to the wall. After a few minutes, he nodded to himself.<br />
<br />
“What happened?” Archel asked from his position in the Merc’s lap.<br />
“You fell out, sire,” the young man answered.<br />
“Why?”<br />
The Merc shrugged, “beats me.”<br />
“I don’t feel good,” Archel stated. He closed his eyes and ground his teeth. “It hurts,” he moaned.<br />
“What hurts?” the Merc asked.<br />
“Everything.”<br />
Throwing the cook a slightly terrified look, the Merc whispered, “just take it easy, my liege.”<br />
Cassie, with Nina’s help, had returned to the seated position, though she remained with her head back and her eyes closed. Every time Cassie groaned, Archel mumbled about the pain; the cook and the Merc let their attentions dart back and forth.<br />
“There’s a hideaway over there,” Nina pointed to the wall to the left of the kitchenette.<br />
“Can you get it open?”<br />
Nina stared at Cassie for a second, then answered, “sure.” She hoped that the Messenger wouldn’t fall while she was pulling out the bed for the Praeceptor. As she took hold of the leather loop, she wondered what else would happen before she was finally able to get home. After the first couple of tugs, she got her answer. “Whoa! Easy you worthless bastard!” She threw up an arm to protect herself from the unexpectedly relenting hideaway bed and managed to slow the bed’s descent. Flipping her forearm up, she examined the area near her elbow, and cursed, “that’s going to leave a fucking bruise." She shook her head, “serves me right for asking.”<br />
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-91945336578275805882017-05-15T04:20:00.000-07:002017-07-03T16:47:05.638-07:00Ultro Citroque<div class="western">
<div class="western">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> At the
bottom of the stairwell, the Mercury’s Elite Guardsman sternly
said, “wait here while I check it out.”<br /> Weaving and
holding her knapsack tightly, Cassie growled, “you think someone’s
hiding in there? What? Waiting to kill the Kaiser? Like they planned
for you to bring him down here? No one even knows this place
exists.”<br /> “The kitchen staff know,” Archel pointed out
as the weight of her words hit him. Before he could say anything
else, the Merc returned.<br /> “It’s safe,” he said. When
the trio had entered the first compartment of the Bomb Shelter, the
Merc pulled the heavy steel blast door closed, and spun the four cam
latches into place with a grunt. “We’ll stay here until the
danger passes,” he informed them.<br /> “And, how will we
know?” Cassie asked. She stood in the middle of the empty room
looking at the gun metal gray walls. </span></div>
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> “This way,” the
Merc deflected. He waited in front of a second heavy duty security
door and when everyone was in the main compartment, he pulled that
door closed as well.<br /> Nina, the novice cook, stared at the
lavish furnishings with a mixture of awe and disgust. The main
compartment of the Bomb Shelter was made into a normal living room,
and yet, the furniture was quite obviously high-end pieces like what
she’d once seen in the Museum of Antiquities. She wondered, </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>has
anyone ever actually sat on that couch?</i></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">
Just as she asked the question, Cassie—clutching her bulky
knapsack—collapsed onto the red and gold paisley covered
monstrosity. From the abnormal angle that Cassie was reclined in,
Nina knew the couch couldn’t be comfortable. Across from the couch,
in a slight alcove, was a kitchenette, which appeared fully stocked.
Nina wandered over and began opening cabinets. Behind her she heard
Cassie groan.<br />
<br /> Carefully tugging open the bunk room
door, Gorrie stuck his head into the hallway. Adonis stood directly
behind him. The two men froze, listening with combined amusement and
dread. <br /> From the living room, the Inquisitor bellowed,
“what in Iphi’s name do you think you’re doing with my toy?
She’s not cargo and I told you to keep your dick skinner’s off.
That doesn’t mean wait until my back is turned. This one is NOT
cargo. This one is MINE. Perhaps if you hadn’t been dicking around
in that warehouse, you could have handled that little urge six times.
And maybe, if you’d been doing that instead of...What were you
doing in that warehouse, eh? I asked you a question, Mister Jougs.”<br /> “Uh. I. Well,” Jougs struggled for an answer. <br /> “I
am not amused,” the Inquisitor stated. “This entire operation has
been one cluster fuck after the next. Need I remind you what we’re
down to here? Brass-mother-fucking-tacks. Do you not comprehend the
delicacy of this situation? I suggest you get your rapist ass up and
out of this building. If you value your life: take a walk and stay
within hearing distance. Mister Vorant will call you when it’s
time.”<br /> “Yes, Boss,” Jougs muttered.<br /> At the
sound of the front door opening, Gorrie stepped back into the room,
and bumped into Adonis. “Out of the way,” Gorrie hissed as he
pulled the door shut. Turning to look at Adonis, he asked, “just a
little crazy, no?”<br /> “You have no idea,” Adonis
agreed.<br /> “You’ve only ever sent people up creek, yes?”<br /> “As a matter of fact. Why?”<br /> Gorrie laughed in
Adonis’ face, “there’s two types of crazy in this world, and
that son of a bitch is the type you don’t fuck with. How’d you
get caught up with him?” Before Adonis could tell him to mind his
business, Gorrie said, “don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.
Not knowing shit is always better. Listen, if I can help you get a
hold of my cousin, I’ll do it. But, uh. I don’t got a death wish,
so...” he shrugged, “if it’s all the same to you, I’ll be up
there on that top bunk. Checking if my eyelids have holes.” He
grabbed the highest rung he could reach, stuck a foot onto the ladder
and began to climb.</span></span></span><br />
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<br />
<div class="western">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /> Commander Felis cautiously stretched his lanky cat body around
the corner of the drafty hallway inside the abandoned auto shop. A
lazy pair of short-haired orange tabby kittens apathetically knocked
a bottle lid back and forth. Neither looked up when Felis entered the
open bay. Across the room waited an old, faded blue paisley chaise
lounge, upon which sat an equally old disinterested orange tabby.
Stifling his excitement, Felis strode across the room, and then
purposely walked past the orange tabby over to the row of
self-feeding bowls where Astra slowly lapped up some of the water.
“Astra,” he couldn’t help but purr her name as she lazily
glanced at him before turning back to the water dish.<br /> “Sam,” the orange tabby commanded.<br /> His gaze lingered a
moment, </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>too
cat. </i></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">He
sauntered around the chaise lounge and presented himself to Nacho,
the former head of the S’More Cats. <br /> “Too all fire
important to show respect to your elders?” Nacho asked, his voice
curling around the words. Part of Nacho’s right ear was missing,
lost in a fight when he was still a kitten, it made his face look
uneven and some cats unconsciously tilted their heads to compensate,
of course, the action pissed him all the way off. Everyone who’d
survived one of Nacho’s outbursts well-remembered to pay close
attention to their heads. Even though he’d long since passed
control of the S’More Cats onto Milton, he was still not a cat with
whom to fuck. <br /> The tuxedo cat, Commander Samuel Felis, sat
down in front of the chaise, his attention turned back to the two
kittens as he said, “I’m not ignoring you, Gramps. You know that.
Just surprised to see everyone still here. And, the twins. Look at
how big they’ve gotten.”<br /> “Is that my nephew?”
Milton roared.<br /> “Uncle Milton!” Felis called as he
jerked himself around and up.<br /> The two cats circled each
other for a moment, scenting and gaging, before Milton asked, “what
troubles you?”<br />
<br /> The newly appointed Chief
Justice of the Antigone Courts, Moira Thibodeaux, and her unlikely
dinner companions had vacated the table upon hearing the dull sirens.
Dagon had listened and counted the blasts as they had stood in her
door way with the full blasts making their ears ache. Suddenly,
Colonel Gawain Dagon collected his belongings and left. After which
Ensign Osborne collected their half-eaten dinner and followed Moira
into her Panic Room. <br /> Now, the young soldier and the old
justice sat across from each other finishing dinner. Under the spell
of complete candor, Moira Thibodeaux attempted to convince the ensign
that the Antigone Judges were the finest baseball team ever to take
the field. The proof came from the most unholy of games that ever
took place. It was held before the Poterits split up, back when
intranational games were held in the Iphigenia Mountains, in one of
the Montissi strongholds. She held herself to her seat, though her
voice raised, “the Antigone Judges went up against the Polkner
Chargers—a wild bunch of cut-throats and league cheats—for every
spitball thrown at them, the Judges stole another base. They went all
nine innings, tit-for-tat, in the end it came to the order at bat,”
Moira sang. Her body lifted slightly as she pushed herself from the
chair, “The Chargers management hadn’t learned from their first
run in with Smokey ‘Choke On It’ Wilson, that the old bear could
hit a ball out of the park. Chargers’ pitcher, Crierson, well, he
cocked back a slippery one, wagering he’d get Smokey to swing
early. Only, Smokey made them all choke on it. He didn’t just jog
those bases, the old goat sauntered them. Cheats can’t defeat real
talent.” She fell back into her chair, her excitement abetting as
the light in her eyes receded. <br /> “How do you know all
that?” Osborne whispered. <br /> “I read a lot,” Moira
answered.<br /> “We’re obviously not reading the same
materials,” Osborne stated with a hollow chuckle as an image of the
</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Mercury’s
Elite Procedures on Urban Survival</i></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
flashed across his mind.<br /> “I should have asked, ‘do you
like baseball?’ Didn’t think about it,” Moira shrugged. “Never
too late. Do you?”<br /> “Played a little as a kid,”
Osborne answered.<br /> “So. No passion?” Moira despaired,
“bad enough to be locked up. But, this is a travesty. I’m locked
away with a boy apathetic to baseball.”<br /> “Apathetic!
Never. I just don’t really care about sports in general.”<br /> “Crime! A crime happens before my eyes! Blasphemer! Get thee out
of my Panic Room!” Moira shouted, stomped her feet, and pointed
toward the sealed door.<br /> A split second later, Osborne
exploded with laughter. <br /> “If you wont leave of your own
accord, I’ll convert you into a Judges fan,” she waggled a
crooked forefinger at him. “What’ll it be?”<br /> “</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Try
your best,” Osborne challenged. </span></div>
<div class="western">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
<br /> The smells coming
from the kitchenette overwhelmed the four hungry bodies locked
together in the Templus de Ambros’ Bomb Shelter. Nina loudly
scraped the skillets as if to assure her roaring stomach that an
offering was in the works. The very sound of the steel spatula across
the cast iron skillet, returned in triplicate the roaring agreement
of their stomachs. “Let them like it,” she chanted as she loaded
their plates and filled their cups. Once they’d been served, Nina
stepped back into the kitchenette, and snuck tiny bites which she
chewed as inconspicuously as she could. Silently, she contained her
joy at a series of minor victories exposed by the mmms, omms, and
ahms of her first private cooking gig. She glanced around the Bomb
Shelter, taking in the gunmetal grey walls, the elaborate arras meant
to hide the stark reality of lurking dangers. Her royal diners were
completely involved in their plates. “What do you think?” she
conscientiously asked.<br /> “It’s good,” Archel said
through a mouthful.<br /> Nina blushed.<br /> “Not bad. Too
much flour,” Cassie said after she puffed on a dry patch in the
gravy.<br /> “Mmm,” the Merc said through a full mouth as he
nodded and held up his spoon. <br /> She spun around, quickly
scooped a spoonful into her mouth and then returned to her original
position where she watched the others eat. As one glass would near
emptiness, she’d swoop in with the water pitcher, before flitting
back to her self-appointed station. <br /> On her third trip,
Archel stopped her when he asked, “are you going to sit down and
eat with us?”<br /> “That wouldn’t be appropriate,” she
whispered. She looked to Cassie and the Merc, both of whom were too
busy inhaling their food. “I’m just a cook,” Nina said.<br /> “Yeah, well, everyone has to rest,” whispering Archel pointed
at his body guard, “even that guy.” The guard sat upright, looked
at his charge, and then nodded to his plate. “See?”<br /> “Thank you, my liege,” Nina mumbled. She shot a couple concerned
glances at Cassie, who was leaning back against the couch, barely
holding onto the plate as her head lolled and her eyes rolled back. “Messenger?” Nina shot across the room and knelt down before the
slumped young woman.</span><br />
</div>
</div>
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-87565113526930609552017-05-08T04:20:00.000-07:002017-06-13T04:59:38.945-07:00Difficultatibus Affici Holding his suspenders in a light grip, Captain Decker stood on the stairwell outside the pilot house. From his vantage point, he could see down the river and up the embankment which led to the little shotgun cabin that was their port of call. Not that there was anything to see, dusk having faded to twilight. He stared up the shadowy embankment to the invisible treeline. Any time now, one of his crew would pop out, a lone torch. <i>Who?</i> he wondered. <i>Doesn’t matter,</i> he mused, <i>soon as they’re onboard, we set sail.</i> Waiting wasn’t the problem. Sailors know Waiting intimately. No. The riptide in his gut longed desperately to be rolling out into the Sovereign Sea where overgrown river banks would be distant memories. <i>Storm coming,</i> he shuddered. Taking the giant cigar out of his mouth, the captain stared at the embers a moment, and then tossed back his hand to knock the ash into the wind.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
“Here, milord,” the Merc said as he held open the door to the Templus Dining Hall.<br />
“Here?” Archel asked.<br />
“Yes, milord.”<br />
Shrugging, Archel walked inside and was hit with the succulent aromas coming from the buffet line. His stomach growled and he wondered, <i>will there be food?</i> A couple diners looked up, then bowed their heads. One of the waiters came running up. The Merc deftly intercepted, whispered something that made her backpedal, and then nod uncertainly. The color drained from her face, she abruptly spun around, her hair flying up as she ran off. Suddenly, Archel felt the Merc’s hand on his back as the man led him through the Dining Hall. They cleared the dining area, passed by the buffet tables, and entered the domain of the kitchen staff, whereupon the hustle and bustle clattered to a stop.<br />
The deafening silence brought Preston’s roar, “fuck you doing? Back to it, you shit-stains.”<br />
“Chef!” the nerve-wracked Sous Chef pointed at their royal visitor.<br />
“What? Ain’t you seen this boyo before? Last three years leave your mind? Who had to bring that Oathbreaker,” Preston sneered and spit, “breakfast every morning? He did. Who cooked it? You did. So don’t act like you don’t know each other. Mind your manners. Show your respect. And get the fuck back to work.” He bared his teeth in a forced grin, nodded his head, and said to himself, “must be a thing today.” Motioning for Archel and the Merc to follow, Preston headed for his office. “She’s in here.”<br />
“Who?” Archel asked.<br />
“The Messenger,” Preston responded. “Ain’t you…?”<br />
“Protocols. Didn’t you hear the alarms?” the Merc asked. “I must get Praeceptor Archeleus to the Bomb Shelter.”<br />
Before Preston could reply, Archel called out, “Cassie?” and pushed his way between the two men. He stopped at the edge of the couch and stood, mouth agape, staring at the two young women. Cassie’s every fiber was poised to strike, her expression blind rage, and yet, she lay propped up on the opposite arm of the couch with a book clutched to her chest. The cook had shrunk into the chair, plastering her body against it as if the physical contact might stop whatever punishment was surely coming. An instant later, Cassie flashed Archel a wild-eyed smile that forced him to step back into Preston. That was the first time that the boy king realized his half-sister had scary down pat and that while most people coped, she seethed. <i>Better not piss her off,</i> he grimaced.<br />
“My liege,” Cassie practically growled.<br />
“We’re going to a shelter,” Archel whispered, “wanna come?”<br />
“And, leave this luxury?”<br />
“Hey,” Preston warned.<br />
“Does the shelter have something for her to lay on?” Archel asked the Merc, who clinched his jaw twice, exhaled through his nose, and then shrugged.<br />
“The Bomb Shelter is well maintained,” Preston assured them.<br />
“See. So, do you wanna come?” Archel asked again.<br />
“Can she...um...hey,” Cassie leaned toward the still cowering cook, “Hey! What’s your name?”<br />
“Me?”<br />
“Yes. Your name?”<br />
“Nina.”<br />
“Nina,” Cassie repeated before turning back to Archel, asking, “can Nina come too? She’s been helping me.”<br />
“Can they?” Archel hopefully asked his guard.<br />
As the poor Merc struggled with giving the king permission, Preston said, “of course. It’s better if you all go.” By this point in the evening, having Nina stay off the range and out of his way was a blessing. It took him three strides to cross to the back of his office and push on the false wall, which slid open, revealing a narrow passageway. He always had a difficult time navigating it; fortunately, he had a kitchen to run and novice cooks who could handle things like that for him. Eagerly motioning them into his little hidey-hole, Preston tapped his foot as he waited.<br />
“Wow,” Archel exclaimed. “I never knew this was here,” he giggled.<br />
“Few people do, my liege,” Preston replied.<br />
<br />
When the first torch popped out of the dark, Captain Decker’s anxiety eased. The walk from the trees to the barge would take a few minutes. He flicked the nub of his cigar into the river, smacked the rail twice with his balled up fists, and deeply inhaled the stench of decayed river plants. <i>It’ll be good to smell the salt air again,</i> he sighed.<br />
<br />
Midway through Mercury’s Marshes, Celatrix Verna and Bard Kent stood side-by-side, arm-in-arm, and silent as a cat stalking prey. Behind them lay the forest edge, the careful path they had tread, the eerie, orange-glowing boundary stones circling the marsh, and two confused bodyguards. Centered on a small hill ahead of them, and surrounded by wetland grasses and reeds, waited an elaborately carved, roofless building with two entrances; a set of marble stairs led up to the main entrance. Kent longed to ask the myriad questions that popped into his mind, only holding back by biting his tongue. The celatrix weaved as she glanced all around the marsh. After sighing, she motioned Kent forward with her free hand. The distressed young man looked at her with the concern he could not hide. The hair on his arms stood upright and the voice in his head warned him against getting any closer to the edifice. The duo slowly tread up the cobble path headed directly toward the stairs. As they approached subtle vibrations resonated deep in their bones. Kent faltered a step. The celatrix gave him a reassuring smile which helped push him forward. When they were at the foot of the stairs, the subtle vibrations changed into a deep buzzing that raised all the hair on his body and seemed to enter his brain through his missing eye’s socket. If she hadn’t had her arm interlocked with his, he very well might have run back through the reed grass, into the forest, and past the waiting bodyguards. That the buzzing seemed to go unnoticed by Celatrix Verna, did not go unnoticed by Kent, who could only liken the sound and feeling to the enormous beehive hidden in an abandoned shack on the outskirts of Sanctuary City. He’d stumbled upon the shack while on the run with a couple street kids. His dad—foster dad—had only been dead a few months then. They had hoped to turn the shack into a shelter, but the thrumming had been so overwhelming, and the vibrations so extraordinary, that the kids vacated the area and posted warning signs for others. His stomach flipped, sweat beaded his upper lip, and his good eye darted all over the blue marble friezes covering the walls.<br />
“Salve, Pace!” Celatrix Verna called out. She gave Kent’s forearm a little squeeze and nodded.<br />
“Salve, Pace!” Bard Kent repeated.<br />
<br />
“How is she?” Bonnie ‘Shadow Blade’ Taylor asked.<br />
“Finally asleep,” Siriah Darin replied. She sat down on the top stair of the rickety wooden porch, dropped her head into her hands, and held back her tears.<br />
The elderly mountain man sat down next to her, waiting for her to break the silence, waiting with her as she gathered herself. He held tightly to the crystal on the necklace that his son had given to him. Not a day went by where Bonnie didn’t wonder if he could have saved his murdered boy. The anger—the hatred—ate at him. Whenever he thought about the difference five minutes can make, he fought the urge to let loose a gutteral roar. He still couldn’t bring himself to look at the his son’s picture even though he’d carried it since the boy’s murder. The blood-debt remained. The promise of retribution and the vow of vengeance hung over his head like that famed sword of Damocles. A sour taste rose to the back of his throat. He vurped and swallowed back the bile. <i>Soon my boy,</i> he glanced at the traumatized woman next to him, soon. Without realizing it, he’d squeezed the crystal so tightly that his dry knuckles cracked and dripped blood onto the steps between his legs.<br />
Siriah lifted her head, stared out into the darkness, and sighed. <i>So tired,</i> she thought before her mouth involuntarily opened and her eyes slammed shut. The yawn took her by surprise and the pressure change in her ears made her stomach drop. Exhausted and famished, she contemplated food, ultimately deciding against tempting fate. She contemplated sleep, but couldn’t risk the night terrors which would put her back into the clutches of that sadistic fuck. His eyes. His glee. His hard on resting on her elbow as he sliced her chest with his favorite knife. Clinching her jaw, she stared beyond the darkness to the day when she’d exact revenge one excruciatingly slow cut at a time. Without turning to look at Bonnie, she asked, “do you think she’ll be okay?”<br />
“I don’t know,” Bonnie answered regretfully.<br />
“How do I tell her about...Daddy?” she nearly choked on the word.<br />
“I don’t know.”<br />
<br />
The Oathbreaker sat on the edge of a plastic covered mattress on the bottom bunk of a triple bunk bed. No decorations adorned the walls. The room was strictly for sleeping and as soon as the idiot prisoner, Gorrie, finished slathering aloe vera on his burnt ear, Adonis planned on using the bed for its intended purpose.<br />
For the 300th time, Gorrie said, “I know who you are.”<br />
“Who gives a damn?” Adonis growled.<br />
“You ought to,” Gorrie smiled. He’d seen his way through confrontations with bigger, scarier dudes than the former Chief Justice.<br />
“Why? Why should I?”<br />
“Because my cousin is one of yours,” Gorrie answered.<br />
For the first time, Adonis really looked at Gorrie. If there was any family resemblance between Gorrie and one of Adonis’ monks, he couldn’t tell. Prior to that moment, he’d never given a second thought to his monks’ family. The day the men dedicated their lives to him, they gave up family and friends for a higher purpose. But, if this man, this stupid little shit of a man, was kith and kin to one of his monks, then maybe, just maybe…<br />
“Do you want to die?” the Inquistor’s shout resonated in Adonis’ bones. <br />
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-89965662152007150172017-05-01T04:20:00.000-07:002017-05-29T10:55:47.305-07:00Incunabula Doctrinae After minutes of pacing between Preston’s desk and the door, the novice cook thought she’d lose her mind. Sitting down in the chair next to the couch where the Messenger lay sprawled, the young woman took time to really observe her unconscious charge. The Messenger’s wavy blond hair covered half of her sickly face which currently matched her pale tunic and contrasted sharply with her partially unbuttoned black jerkin. On the ground next to the couch lay a dingy old knapsack, its seams stretched, a couple unraveled. <i>What is in that thing?</i> the girl wondered. She reached toward the bag, then stopped herself, <i>you can’t. That’s the Messenger’s.</i> Sitting back in the rickety chair, she could barely hear it creak with the noise from the kitchen. <i>How can she sleep through all that?</i> At that last thought the cook leaned over again, flipped up the top of the bag, and stared at the contents. <i>Of course she has a shit ton of notebooks,</i> the cook chuckled. First, she glanced from the door to the Messenger. Then, after holding her breath for a count of three, she repeated the action. When she couldn’t stand it any more, she knelt down before the bag and gave the middle notebook a solid tug which caused her to rock back. Inhaling, she pushed herself off the ground, weaved, and then eased into the chair. Flipping open to a random page, the nosy little cook read:<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 120%; margin-left: 1in; margin-right: 1.19in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "jim nightshade" , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">[38</span></span><sup><span style="font-family: "jim nightshade" , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">th</span></span></sup><span style="font-family: "jim nightshade" , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">
year of the false griffin, Edward Imler, 8 ex Kalends O’Ianuarius,
23:17]<br />
The old bastard won’t die. The monks tell me that it is
only a matter of time. Their rancid recipe has never failed. It needs
to happen soon or Rudolpho will come of age and it’ll be too late.
They already think the little shit can do no wrong. I told father
that we should have done this years ago. I still don’t understand
why he made us wait. We could have controlled the throne from
Rudolpho’s infancy. It puts a nasty taste in my mouth, knowing all
that time was wasted because Typhon wasn’t ready. Always waiting
for Typhon. He’s not even here. He’s on the other side of Iphi!
Breathe Fraunx. It’s fine. <br />
I spent a good deal of time in the
Library today. Still couldn’t find it. I swear I’m getting
closer. I can feel it. If only that pompous historian would quit
following me around. He talks to me like I care about dates. I don’t.
Can’t scream at him, though. Don’t want to draw attention. Have
to remember what I’m there for: killing the Phoenix Rose to Unify
the Poterits.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="western" style="line-height: 120%; margin-left: 1in; margin-right: 1.19in;">
<span style="font-family: "jim nightshade" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large; font-style: normal;">Chief
Justice Fraunx Adonis</span></span></div>
<br />
<div align="left" class="western">
She couldn’t take her eyes off the scratch. One part of her longed to slam the book shut, another to fling it away, and yet another longed to shove it back into the Messenger’s bag and pretend she’d never caved to curiosity. Those are not the parts of her that won out as she turned the page. However, before she could focus in on the writing, she got the unmistakable feeling that she was being watched. Hesitantly, she raised her eyes to find the Messenger staring in silent horror. “I-I-I didn’t mean anything. I ju-just was bored. An-and you had those books...”</div>
“Give it to me,” Cassie ordered, her voice devoid of feeling, her body and mind numb from passing out. Her weak, wavering arm extended out from the couch. She willed it to stop moving, which may have caused it to sway harder. When the log book was in her hand, she yanked the book to her chest, and thankfully exhaled as the weight was no longer straining her arm. “What,” Cassie growled, “were you doing?”<br />
“Uh. Well. Reading,” the cook answered, her eyes cast down, toward the door.<br />
“And?”<br />
“I don’t—I don’t understand.”<br />
“And, what did you read?” Cassie whispered.<br />
<br />
In the middle of the misty street a large tuxedo cat sat panting. Red taillights disappeared and he yowled in frustration. How far had he been able to follow them, <i>roofs you ass</i>, before the distance was too great to catch up? With everything covered in fog, he couldn’t recognize the roads, much less the one he was on. He sat there looking up and down the haze-covered street. He got up, walked to the corner, and then silently lambasted the city for not putting up a street sign. He mentally repeated his disdainful mantra, <i>shitty city, walk on kitty</i> over four more blocks. When he finally saw a street name, he smiled his toothy cat-grin with flat eyes.<i> Good old Industrial Drive</i>, he thought cheerfully of <i>Risal</i>, his first of many firsts. He closed his eyes, rubbed his head against the sign pole, and purred. <i>No time for this, gotta find them before that psycho...what?</i> he chastised himself, <i>WHAT! Quit playing cat and mouse. That was Adonis negotiating with them.</i> Turning west he entered the warehouse district, ran up the crumbled wall of an old office, under the teetering roof of the abandoned clothing store, across a rusty pipe into a relatively stable edifice branded: ValuMax Sales. <i>Mercury, father of all things, please let them still be here. It hasn’t been that long. Okay. It might have been that long. But, do me this one. Milton. I just need Milton. Come on, Merc. You know, what this means. I need an all-points. Please. Please. Please.</i> Deep into his prayer, he felt eyes upon him. The feeling was powerful enough that he stopped walking to look left and right, which is when he saw the petite calico’s face sticking around the building’s Roof Access hut. <i>Astra</i>, Second of the S’More Cats, mother of the Kits, and one of his favorite female felines. On any given day, she could bat her lashes lovingly while still being unforgiving and absolutely ferocious. While he watched, she abruptly turned away from him, and then disappeared behind the brick access hut.<br />
<br />
“Did she tell you what was in the muffins?” Machine whispered to Locos, while Ola Mae was out of the kitchen.<br />
The soldiers stared at each other. With a shit-eating grin, Locos said, “what goes on DET, stays on DET.”<br />
“Don’t be talking about Ola Mae, now!” the old lady ordered as she sidled into the kitchen carrying a box of fruits.<br />
Though in shock at being drugged, Machine shot across the room to take the fruit box. He stepped back out of her way, and then stood there lumpesque, waiting for instruction. She snapped twice and pointed at the counter nearest her old gas burner stove. He hopped to, slid the box on the counter, and then jumped back out of her way. Swaying there, he watched her dump the box into a giant pot. After her little porch disclosure, Machine decided not to take his eyes off her while she cooked.<br />
“How ya getting there?” she asked.<br />
“Pardon?” Locos asked while wondering, <i>she talking to me?</i><br />
“North,” she reminded.<br />
“Oh. Uh. Working on that,” Locos answered.<br />
“Oh?” she murmured sweetly, banging a spoonful of lime-green colored butter into the pot.<br />
“Well,” Locos fought back the grin, managing to refrain his amusement a hair, “have you heard the good word? You see, Iphigenia provides for our every desire. Why, we wouldn’t be standing here today, if not for her blessings. She led us to this very moment. Just the three of us. Well, five counting your cats.” He chuckled. Though her back was turned, he leaned toward her, “we never know where she’ll lead us. Nor why.”<br />
“Oh, don’t play, boyo,” Ola Mae chided. “She’s a teaser, just as like to help as to slap ya face with the cold reality of faded dreams. I am too old for games.”<br />
“Madam, games keep one’s mind nimble,” Locos replied.<br />
“Nimble. Nimble. Jack. Listen, I’ve heard enough of Life’s jokes to know her humor escapes me,” Ola Mae sighed, “best intentions...” She vigorously stirred the pot, and then said, “was a day, I’d tell ya the walk to Avalona ain’t bad. Cain’t now. Might be able to catch a ride in Markt or Morley. Two days by foot. Ecirava’s four or five days.” She didn’t mention the dilapidated hulk sitting in the neighbor’s garage, though she fondly recalled taking it on trips ‘up north’ with her neighbors, Saul and Kurt. For a split second, she could hear the guys laughing as they took the curves a little too fast. She always knew it’d be the curves…<br />
After punching Machine in the arm, Locos slurred, “did you feel that?”<br />
“Nope. I’m telling you, Maser, I can’t feel my arms.”<br />
Metal struck metal as Ola Mae slammed the lid on her pot, she spun from the stove in a flash, yelling, “what did you call him?”<br />
“Uh? Huh?” Machine’s face dropped as he silently repeated his last words over and over.<br />
“I won’t have any of that language in my house!”<br />
“What? What?” Machine squawked.<br />
“I thought you trained him,” Ola Mae Thompson’s crackling granny’s voice disappeared, replaced with a lecturer’s stern chastisement.<br />
“I never said that,” Locos replied.<br />
They stared at each other as if Machine was merely a clock-face counting seconds. Machine stood there watching, caught in the bewilderment, one foot ready to vacate the establishment, the other tapping with growing intensity. Half of Private Richard Machine wanted desperately to be back on the right side of the mountains, back on base, back in Geedunk flirting with Samantha, back before he knew you could find your friend’s head in a bush in the fucking desert. More than anything he wanted to parade the head of that piece of shit pothole all the way back to Camp Polkner. His blisters had blisters. A few more days wouldn’t do much, save give his feet a chance to even out the blisters. But, here, all of a sudden, everything had changed. <i>Maser</i>, flashed in his mind like a neon ‘nudes’ sign. “Excuse me?” he asked meekly.<br />
“I’ll let you know, Oma,” Locos shrugged, shaking his head with a small, sad smile.<br />
“Oma?” Machine asked Locos, his head bent, chin to his chest, his arms extended, palms up. “What the fuck is going on?”<br />
“Langauge!” Ola Mae warned.<br />
“Welcome to Ola Mae’s Last Stop Cafe,” Locos said with a flourish.<br />
“What?” Machine asked again.<br />
“You’re not at home. Every word out of your mouth. Every thought. Every syllable you utter can be damning!” Ola Mae stated. “You don’t leave here, until you sound right.”<br />
“What?” Machine repeated.<br />
“I’ll scout ahead,” Locos said, “see if I can pick up a trail. Soon as I know something, I’ll be back. That’ll give you time to work it out with Ola Mae.”<br />
“What is this?” Machine’s eyes were bulging out. “What is this?”<br />
“This is assimilation training,” Ola Mae answered.<br />
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-30055344655488423002017-04-24T04:20:00.000-07:002017-05-22T16:47:24.289-07:00Urbem Conclamare “Look!” Brimley pointed in the general direction of Raven’s Drop.<br />
Forcing himself to remove his lingering gaze from Brimley’s extraordinarily long legs to the search lights, Santos yelled, “holy fuck!” as he leapt up and nearly fell off the roof. If Brimley hadn’t grabbed the back of his pants, he would have fallen to his death on the cobblestone below. The near-death experience didn’t slow him at all; he jumped over the still sitting Brimley, hollering, “come on!” while dashing through the door leading into the heart of the Templus de Ambros.<br />
“What’s the rush?” Brimley called after him.<br />
“Those aren’t searchlights,” he practically screamed from the stairwell. “Something’s wrong!”<br />
That last bit was all she needed to light a fire under her ass. Within a few strides, Brimley had caught up to Santos. Had she wanted, she easily could have passed him up; instead, she followed him down the tower stairs and by the time they reached the bottom they both were sweating.<br />
“This way,” Santos ordered as he ran past the main entrance to the Templus Ministrae where Officer Brimley was inclined to slow down. She glanced at the entryway, sighed, and then sped off after Santos. Five minutes later they were midway through the underground passage that led from the Templus de Ambros to Mercury’s Headquarters. When they reached the beat-up beige security door, Santos swiped his thumb into the reader, cursed, and then swiped again. It took a few tries before he finally got the damned door open. They ran through the emergency tunnel, passed by the Trauma Unit, and up another set of stairs before they were inside Merc HQ. Santos slid to a stop in the middle of the hallway. His sudden stop caused Brimley to slam into him. The two tumbled to the floor in a tangled heap of arms and legs, from which they were laboriously attempting to untangle themselves from when one of the on-duty Mercs stumbled upon them.<br />
“Uh, what are you doing, sir?” the young Merc practically shouted, her voice echoing through the empty hall.<br />
“Well, don’t just stand their gawking, Ensign! Go get the Duty Officer!” Santos ordered from under Brimley. “Like she’s never seen people on the ground before,” he scoffed as he got to his feet.<br />
“I’m sure she was just surprised,” Brimley defended her fellow woman.<br />
“Doesn’t matter,” Santos grumbled as he headed after the ensign.<br />
“You don’t have to be a dick about it,” Brimley said.<br />
As they sped down the hall Santos shot her a dirty look, before saying, “if you think that’s being a dick, you’ve got another thing coming. I haven’t even shown you the tip of my vast dickiness.”<br />
“I really hope that wasn’t your idea of a come on,” Brimley said, rolling her eyes while trying not to trip.<br />
“I’ll cum on you later,” Santos promised.<br />
“Sick fuck!” Brimley punched him.<br />
Before he could respond the Duty Officer and the ensign turned the corner. “1st Lieutenant!” the Duty Officer exclaimed.<br />
“Ensign Ford, get on the squawk box. Something’s going down at the Drop.”<br />
“Sir?” Ensign Ford asked.<br />
“You got a hearing problem, mister?” Santos snapped.<br />
“No, sir. But, what should I tell them?”<br />
“All hands on deck. Sound the alarms. Make haste, boyo!”<br />
With that Ensign Ford slammed his fists against his thighs twice and grunted, “aye, aye!”<br />
<br />
General Sherry Cranston was in her office at the Regular Militia’s Command Center, down the road from Merc HQ, when she heard air raid sirens screeching. She lowered the intelligence report that she’d been reading for the umpteenth time, exhaled in frustration, and wondered aloud, “what in the blue blazes?” Dropping the report on her desk, she got up, and then walked to her 4th story window. From where she stood she could see all the way to the Forum Publicos; well, she might have been able to, if the forsaken fog hadn’t covered everything. Unbeknownst to her, a plethora of curious government officials also stood at their office windows staring into the grey-white expanse. She hovered by the window and listened to the sirens, counting the seconds between blasts, <i>dah-dit-dah-dit, pause, dah-dah-dit-dah, pause, dah-dit-dit</i>. When the siren cycle began to repeat the CQD signal, she vacated her position at the window. Habitually, before leaving her office, she would have donned her uniform, straightened her gig-line, and situated her cover so that the rear band rested on her hair bun. Her theory being that women in power have a hard enough time without the lower ranks judging their appearance. Tonight, she grabbed her uniform jacket and cover from the rack by her office door, and then stormed through her secretary’s office. She was midway through the office when the phone rang. Spinning around to grab the call, she nearly lost her balance. In a huff she said into the receiver, “Cranston!” While listening to the caller she shook her head and muttered, “un-fucking-believable.”<br />
<br />
Though they were in the middle of their 2nd game of Go, both Celatrix Verna and Bard Kent stood up from the table with their heads tilted as they listened. Around the time that the Celatrix realized what she was hearing, the Merc stationed outside of the Bard’s Quarters barged into the room, shouting, “get away from the windows.”<br />
For the first time in hours, Celatrix Verna looked out the window. Upon seeing the white mist, she cursed, “well shit a brick!” She glanced at Kent who remained with his head cocked to one side listening to the sirens. At which point she realized that the young man had no idea what he was hearing. As much as she would have loved to explain to him the emergency signal, she didn’t have time. Without knowing how long the fog had been in place, she was absolutely convinced that they had to get to Mercury’s Marshes to check on the Ignes Fatui. The Celatrix tapped Kent’s arm, “I need you to follow. Now.”<br />
Although curious, her tone compelled him to obey without question. The Merc fell in line behind them and as they exited the Bard’s Quarters a sullen, pimple-faced Ministrae Officer fell in, too. With the bleating siren as the only sound, the quartet marched through the Gryphon’s Gardens, passed the practically invisible Phoenix Rose with her ever circling sentry, and through a hidden entrance in the furthest corner of the temple compound. The Merc and the Officer hazarded surprised glances at one another but otherwise maintained their disciplined silence. By the time they reached the edge of Mercury’s Marshes, their clothing was damp and their exposed skin dripped.<br />
Flinging water off his hand, Kent whispered, “what are we doing?”<br />
Without acknowledging his question, Celatrix Verna continued forward. She finally stopped when they reached a series of knee-high stone markers, where she turned to their bodyguards and said, “no matter what you hear, you do not cross these,” she pointed to the nearest stone. “Understand?” Once they’d nodded their ascent, she said to Kent, “this is the only time you’ll come with me. Step where I step. Say what I say. Understand?”<br />
“Um. Sure,” Kent agreed.<br />
Thrice Celatrix Verna tapped the stone nearest her. A slow-building, dim, orange glow pulsed out from the stone she’d touched and lit up the barrier stones in series running away from the quartet.<br />
“Whoa,” Kent said.<br />
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” she promised. “Ready?”<br />
“I guess,” Kent replied.<br />
“Good. This is what you will say, ‘O’ Termine. Hoc dico ne urbs capiatur. Via mei doce.’” She smiled at the confounded youth, “say after me, ‘O’ Termine.’”<br />
<br />
Having moved inside after the fog fell upon the backyard, Patrick Field continued to play host to Praeceptor Archeleus Imler while his Merc bodyguard paced the house between front and back doors. If the man’s unstoppable pacing didn’t drive Patrick to heavier drinking, then the uncomfortable silence of Archel’s visit would certainly do the trick. <i>Mercury, grant me the patience I need…</i>Patrick prayed. He contemplated asking the boy king questions, but couldn’t wrap his mind around anything that he had a right to ask. So, he waited for Archel to speak.<br />
For Archel, there was no grand plan. The boy had seen the hedgerow and impulse had brought him to the door. He knew he could never go back to the way things had been when he was still a servant—not that he ever wanted to see Adonis again—but, somehow it all had been simpler. “Mr. Field, uh um. Patrick,” Archel began for the 20th time, “what… never mind.” So many questions rolled through his brain, but he didn’t know what he could rightfully ask. Each time he started, the would-be question sputtered out like a fuel-less fire. Without knowing enough about politics and proper kingly behavior, Archel didn’t only feel out of his element, he was hindered from otherwise normal conversation. He reached into the dirty underbelly of his subconscious and grasped for memories of their previous interactions. At the moment when Archel had finally lit upon some safe topic, the sirens had begun. The Merc dashed through the house, opened the front door, and let the wailing in. The awful noise was enough to banish the safe topic from Archel’s mind. “What is it?” he asked.<br />
“Shh,” the Merc whispered, his eyes were practically white as they rolled back while he listened. When the cycle began to repeat, the soldier closed the door. “That’s a distress call,” the Merc said as he looked around the room, frowned, and then added, “we can’t stay here. It isn’t safe.” To Archel, he said, “my liege, we must get you to safety.”<br />
Laughing, Archel choked out, “safety.”<br />
Uncertain what had caught Archel as funny, Patrick offered, “I have a basement.”<br />
“Thank you, but no. I have procedures,” the Merc motioned to the door, “Sir.”<br />
“Can I come back later?” Archel asked.<br />
“Of course,” Patrick answered, silently finishing the thought with, <i>you’re the king. You can do whatever you want.</i> When they were gone and the door shut behind them, Patrick let out a long sigh. Then, promptly went to the fridge, removed another beer, and then returned to his comfy chair. “Still early.”<br />
<br />
Inside the kitchens, the steady thrum of banging pots and pans masked the sirens. Cassie, with the young cook’s help, had returned to Preston’s office couch where she promptly laid out and lost consciousness. The novice cook stood watch, pacing between Preston’s desk and the doorway where she could watch the kitchen staff flit around like hummingbirds. She thought about the work she needed to get done, glanced at the couch where the Messenger lay snoring, and contemplated returning to her station. But, every time she put a toe outside the door, she heard Preston’s voice bellowing orders. There was no way she’d risk his ire by leaving the Messenger’s side.<br />
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-16958257682273085642017-04-17T04:20:00.000-07:002017-05-13T07:42:00.947-07:00Spem Alere The scent of pine cleaner burned her nose hair and made her eyes water. Clara “Chondee” Darin blinked at the eggshell white, pock-tiled ceiling, then rolled her eyes around. A hideous pink and yellow flower print privacy curtain looped out of the wall to surround her. Though its proximity encroached on her space, she wasn’t ready to face the shadows that passed by. The left side of her head felt as if some asshole had taken a jackhammer to it. Between the throbbing bursts of deep nerve pain, her throat ached. She vaguely recalled someone choking her. <i>That’s what you get</i>, Chondee told herself. <i>Should have kept walking. Should have…</i> She groaned under the weight of her lips. <i>No. No. No.</i> Repeating in her mind as she sent command after command to her uncommunicative lips. <i>Dear Mercury, please not paralyzed. Not paralyzed.</i> To her great dismay and infinite joy, her ocular muscles functioned normally.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
The unconscious men, Domino and Jessup, were sprawled out where they’d dropped. The girls had already removed all valuables from the Hellions’ pockets. Caramel and Praline stood over their latest victims, both girls were shaking their heads.<br />
“Why is it so easy?” Praline asked.<br />
“You know why,” Caramel laughed.<br />
“We know how to pick them,” Praline said.<br />
“Yes we do,” Caramel agreed. “Now, should we find two more?”<br />
“No time,” Praline tapped her wrist with a forefinger, “they’d wake up in the middle. We don’t need that.” She walked from the men to the window and stared down at the raging Stadium. “They wont notice if we jet now.”<br />
“Think they’ll tell?” Caramel tapped the window, “they’re in a gang. What we just did… that makes them weak.”<br />
Praline glanced over her shoulder at the half-naked heaps behind her, “aren’t they though?” She chuckled softly. “What do you want to do?” Praline asked, barely keeping the humor from the question.<br />
“What? I don’t know. They were nice enough. Don’t want to see them killed,” Caramel answered.<br />
“At this party?” Praline asked. “I’m sure they expect it.”<br />
“We have to do something...else...” Caramel lit up.<br />
“What?”<br />
“We have to give them a story,” Caramel giggled.<br />
“What kind of a story?”<br />
“A kinky one,” Caramel responded instantly. “So kinky that they’ll either be absolutely proud and brag about the experience, or, so horrifying they’ll be ashamed to admit it and will remain quiet.”<br />
“I take it you have something in mind.”<br />
“Indeed I do,” holding up two fingers, Caramel said, “two somethings.”<br />
“Do tell,” Praline turned to face Caramel.<br />
“Either we leave them like the tunnel rats or the princes.”<br />
“The princes,” Praline repeated as she nodded her head. She was no longer looking at Caramel. Instead, she saw far beyond her friend to the last time they’d traveled through the lower regions of Montisi. “You don’t really think they were princes, do you?”<br />
“They’ll always be princes to me,” Caramel’s eyes twinkled.<br />
<br />
Commander Randle Dante Sr. climbed into the back of the Iago Citadel. After shutting the commander’s door, Lieutenant Musgrove slid behind the wheel. Upon Dante’s word, Musgrove backed the land yacht up, and then pulled out. Normally, they’d head to Officer’s Country, where Musgrove would provide the commander with front door service. Tonight, they had a different destination and they had to be discreet. “Got your change of clothes,” Musgrove said.<br />
“I see them. And, they don’t reek.”<br />
“I hope not.”<br />
“That last outfit,” Dante responded.<br />
“Your decision,” Musgrove reminded.<br />
“Drive the car,” Dante ordered.<br />
“Yes, Sir!”<br />
When they were about 30 minutes from their destination, Musgrove said, “the room is prepared. The guests have instructions. Security’s in place.”<br />
“Perfect. Make sure they put their little toys inside the silver boxes.”<br />
“Yes, Sir,” Musgrove said.<br />
“The masks?”<br />
“With the boxes, like you said.”<br />
“Good. Good.” He stared out the window—through his reflection—at the nothing between occasional flickering highway lamps. “Do you think they’ll all come?” He sighed. “We don’t need them all.” He chuckled. “Iphi knows, we only need a couple. But. More is always better.”<br />
“With respect, Sir. I’ve never known anyone so rich as to ignore an ‘all expenses paid’ invitation to Ambossi A Cinq.”<br />
“That is the bait,” Commander Dante mumbled.<br />
“One day you’ll have to explain to me how you swing the bill for 9 people to stay at,” Musgrove tilted his head forward, drew his shoulders back, and pinched his nose while saying, “Ambossi A Cinq, when you’re on a Commander’s salary.”<br />
“Lieutenant’s salary for the next six months,” Commander Dante corrected.<br />
“Wait? What?” Lieutenant Musgrove repeatedly glanced over his shoulder. “You never said anything, Sir.”<br />
Dante leaned forward in his seat, saying, “that’s because it’s none of you business. Eyes on the road.”<br />
“Then, why say something now, Sir?”<br />
“I want you to fully recognize the lightening when it strikes.”<br />
“Sir?”<br />
“It didn’t cost me a single credit.”<br />
“You’re shitting me!” Musgrove coughed, “sorry, Sir. How’d you do it?”<br />
“I am the lightening,” Dante laughed.<br />
“Sir?”<br />
“I am the lightening,” Dante repeated as his amusement grew.<br />
<br />
Two pink and yellow flower print silhouettes stood at the edge of her peripheral vision. They spoke as if the thin cotton fabric was woven to keep sound out. “...yes. I know,” the shorter shadowed woman said. “But, hear me out. With the effort she exerted, it’s likely she caused too much damage.”<br />
“So long as she doesn’t need a machine,” the taller woman said, “I’ll treat her.”<br />
“We don’t even know who she is.”<br />
“The decision was made when she risked her life.”<br />
“Okay, Doctor,” the first woman gave in.<br />
While the shadowy flowers talked to themselves, Chondee thought to herself, <i>risked my life? I didn’t. I gave that up for a lying sack of shit.</i> Her eyes involuntarily shut. Although she didn’t realize it at the time, her jaw also clinched. As a couple tears rolled down her cheeks, she tried desperately to move her head, and then suffered the tears that dripped into her ears. <i>The things I’d tell you, if I could,</i> she wished upon the shadowy flowers and the fact that one was giving her a chance. <i>A chance for what? To live. I can’t live like this. Not like this… I’ll lose it!</i> She choked.<br />
“Did you hear that?” the doctor asked.<br />
The first woman pulled back the curtain and held it out of the way.<br />
“She’s crying...” the doctor stated.<br />
<br />
Major Dickinson’s office smelled of cheap cigars and cheaper spirits. Holding a half-filled tumbler in one hand, and a half-smoked cigar in the other, Major Dickinson hovered over Captain Randle Dante Jr. who was trying desperately to not burst out laughing.<br />
“You thought you’d come in here and what? Take some time off while Senior Command figured out what to do about your Daddy problems? Thought you’d throw accusations around, con the enlisted, and what? Take it easy? Ha.” Dickinson shoved a cigared hand to his mouth and puffed a couple times. For his efforts, small clouds floated off and grey-white flakes rained down.<br />
Enough light came through the window that the trailing tendrils and haze enshrouded the major. For one flashing instance, Dante saw the man on his deathbed, surrounded by machines, and weakened by the poisons he’d consumed. And, that only if he was lucky. <br />
The major continued droning, “you have no idea what door you opened.”<br />
“Please. Why not explain it to me like I’m a child, sir?” Dante asked.<br />
“Oh, no you don’t. No you don’t,” Dickinson wagged the cigar. His eyes lit up, “I know you. Oh. I know your type. You think you’ve got me in a vice. Think you know something I don’t. Well, Mr. Dante, that is the question.” After taking a drink, he continued, “you showed your cards too soon.” After letting that set in, he added, “you’ve got some pictures. I’ve got some pictures.”<br />
Dante held his hands in his lap and tapped his thumbs together, leaning forward he said, “next time, let’s put them in albums. We can have croissants while we flip through.”<br />
“Watch it,” Dickinson warned as he opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out an envelope. “Would you believe, these were just hanging out atop my uncle’s desk. Do you...” Dickinson smiled, “do you recall my uncle, Lieutenant Colonel J.S. Dickinson?”<br />
“Yes,” Dante groaned.<br />
“I thought you would. As Special Assistant to the Prosecutor, Uncle Jon… well, you know. He brought these,” Dickinson dropped an envelope into Dante’s lap which bounced off his thumbs and landed on the floor next to the chair.<br />
Keeping his attention on the major, Dante reached down, felt around for the envelope, and then straightened up. At first he saw nothing of concern. And then, he saw the photographs play out in his memory. The chirping birds, whistling leaves, a light breeze. The girl. The kite. The gust of wind that knocked her into him. Her perfect car. Perfect house. Perfect life. <i>O sweet mother of Iphigenia!</i> The President’s niece.<br />
“She has a preference for bikers. You’re not the first. You might be the highest ranking.”<br />
“What’s your plan for those?”<br />
“Captain, when you’ve fully grasped the gravity of the situation, you’ll finally comprehend the extreme kindness I have shown,” the major said through his smirk. He pulled a second envelope out of the drawer. “Those are nice. But, these...” The major bared his teeth and bulged his eyes. Like Iuppiter Fulgurator with his lightening rod, Dickinson’s cigar rained fire and brimstone across the papers Dante had left earlier. “These are the kinds of pictures that cause magazines to be banned. What do you call that?” He pulled out one of the pictures and dropped it into Dante’s lap.<br />
“A bad angle,” Dante muttered as he picked up the offensive image of him and several of the officer’s wives in what can only be described as an orgy. “Okay. We both have scandalous pictures,” Dante Jr. said.<br />
“Looks like,” Dickinson concurred.<br />
“Well?”<br />
“Well.” <br />
To say the silence was palpable would under-represent the thick haze billowing off Major Dickinson’s cigar. The two soldiers stared at each other through the fog. Captain Dante held no illusions that Dickinson thought his was the better hand of Poker. Fortunately, Dante also knew they were playing Chess. Making himself small, Dante squirmed under the major’s gaze, shifting in the chair and glancing over his shoulder at the door. “Seems we’re at an impasse,” Dante said halfheartedly.<br />
“I don’t think so.” Major Dickinson took a deep swig from his tumbler, polishing off the liquid. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he glared at Dante. “Seems to me, we’ve got an opportunity.”<br />
Continuing to squirm, Dante asked, “opportunity, Sir?”<br />
“Oh, yes, Captain Dante,” the major smiled, “I think your time at Front Depot just got better. A man of your talents...” he laughed and tapped the desk, “...with women.” He laughed again. “You can keep those for your photo album. I’ve got more. Dismissed!”<br />
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-3409207747431297672017-04-10T04:20:00.000-07:002017-05-22T15:15:40.373-07:00Convenire Aliquem He hadn’t had a destination in mind when he’d left the Templus de Ambros for the Gryphon’s Gardens. After 10 minutes of wandering aimlessly, he’d realized that the Mercury’s Elite Guardsman would always be nearby. Upon sighting the disheveled hedgerow that marked the border
of the groundskeeper’s home, he sped up. The last time that Praeceptor Archeleus Imler stood inside Patrick Field’s house he was stuck in griffin form, struck by the horror of death, and fucked by circumstances outside his control. As he rounded the hedge, a wave of memory slapped him in the face. Bowing into it, he closed his eyes and blindly forced himself onward. After three or four steps, the mental hurricane died out. Opening his eyes, Archel focused on the
sidewalk and slowly made his way to the door. <i>Weak,</i> he silently spat at the hollow sound of his knock. He tried again, but with a little extra weight thrown in. <i>Not much better.</i> He shrugged off the urge to continue beating on the door and opted for shifting from foot to foot while he waited. <br />
“Stop there!” the guard yelled.<br />
<a name='more'></a> Archel spun around and immediately saw that the guard was turned toward the side of the house. Taking a few steps into the yard he saw the very confused, frozen gardener holding a shovel in one hand and a beer in the other. Archel shouted, “hey Mr. Field.” Without warning the Merc, the boy ran over to Patrick whose eyes were practically bulging. “Where
are you going with that, Mr. Field?” Archel asked.<br />
“How many times do I have to tell you: call me Patrick?” The exchange was an old game and Patrick had answered habitually. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he ground his teeth. Bowing his head, he said, “apologies, my liege, you may of course call me by any name you deem fit.”<br />
“Not you too,” Archel groaned softly as he shook his head. “Don’t look down. Look at me,” precisely as the words left his mouth the memory of Kaiser Rudolpho
saying the same thing struck him. <i>The lonely circle</i>, Archel nearly cried. “Patrick.”<br />
“Yes?”<br />
“Are you busy?”<br />
Quickly glancing between his beer bottle and shovel, Patrick chuckled, “not exactly.” Once he’d actually looked at Archel, he realized that the boy was in as sorry a
state as he ever had been while suffering Adonis’ abuse. “I was headed to the back,” he said as he held up the shovel, “got a hole to dig. Thought I might get thirsty,” he chuckled again as he lifted up the beer. “Got a few more in the fridge, if you want one,” Patrick offered the Merc who grimly tilted his head but did not move. “Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug. <br />
“Can I go with you?”<br />
“Uh? In the backyard?” <br />
“Yeah.”<br />
“Sure thing,” Patrick said with a forced smile. <i>Just when I thought things were finally getting back to normal.</i> “After you,” he motioned with the beer.<br />
<br />
The twins, Jocelyn and Gerick Motown, were laid out on the ground staring up at the cave ceiling and listening to the sunset dragon. Meanwhile, Willem Slaughter scratched his bearded chin and paced at their feet. <br />
“And, that my little Brash ones,” the sunset dragon concluded, “is why you’ve been chosen.”<br />
“But,” Willem exhaled, “it doesn’t make sense. Papa never mentioned...this,” he absently waved his hand. “He would have said something. Right?”<br />
“I cannot answer to the motives of your kin, save to say, I’m sure they didn’t expect to die before they inducted you into the Mysteries of the Ancients.”<br />
Leaning up on her elbows, Jocelyn asked, “do you think they were ‘secretly’ preparing us?” She looked down at her brother who was sprawled out next to her, and added, “remember ‘the hideaway’? Didn’t Mom say it went all the way back to the Before Times?”<br />
“Nah, that was Aunt Morrigan,” Gerick laughed, “she told crazy stories. Like she knew what happened way back then.”<br />
“Morrigan, my old friend,” the dragon softly bemoaned, “your loss hurts the
world.”<br />
Tearing up, Jocelyn laid back down. She held her palms to her eyes and ground her teeth. <br />
Seeing his sister upset, Gerick did what he always did, he reached over, squeezed her shoulder, and took her hand. The loss hurt him deep in his heart, but he didn’t want to spill tears; instead, he longed to spill blood. <i>I will find them… </i> Every
one of Jocelyn’s trembles sent him that much further into the resolve he would ultimately need to muscle through. “Were the stories true?” he asked.<br />
The dragon tilted its head, “I’m sure some were.”<br />
“Gramps used to tell me about the...uh...the...” he leaned close to the dragon, “the Portal.”<br />
“Portal?” the twins echoed.<br />
“What did he tell you?” the dragon asked.<br />
“That...uh...well, that the Messenger is the only one allowed to use it. And, that it goes places that Mercury’s Bracelet doesn’t,” he quickly added, “but he
never said where.”<br />
“Hmm. Is that all?”<br />
“No,” Willem confessed. “But, it can’t be true.”<br />
“Pray tell,” the dragon insisted.<br />
“It can heal the Servants.”<br />
A deep, throaty cough-snort issued from the dragon.<br />
“What?” Willem asked.<br />
“Mere side-effects of the process.”<br />
Sitting up and dropping his sister’s hand, Gerick asked, “process?”<br />
If a dragon could smile, then the creepy, full-toothed grin that the sunset
dragon gave the kids might have qualified. “The Portal System removes contaminates from the Messengers during transportation. Servants—and their children—who undergo a full scan may also be healed though they are not transported anywhere.”<br />
“Wait. What?” the twins asked.<br />
The dragon tipped its head to the right, narrowed its eyes, and then answered, “Motowns, my dear little Brash ones, know you nothing of who you are?”<br />
First the twins looked at each other, then they stared at Willem, and
finally they turned their attention back to the dragon. No one spoke. Suddenly flying close to the twins, the dragon opened its mouth and breathed fire onto them.<br />
“No! Quit it!” Willem shouted as he ran toward the fire-breathing dragon. He slid to a stop when he heard Gerick giggling.<br />
“That tickles,” Jocelyn squeaked.<br />
The dragon turned its fire onto Willem, who back pedaled as quickly as he could, freezing in place just as the flames rushed over him, Willem shouted, “stop it!” Then, he started laugh-pleading, “will you stop it! That tickles.” <br />
When the dragon stopped, the three children stood in a line staring at it.
Though each child’s face was plastered with a grin, the fronts of their shirts were soaked by their tears. The sunset dragon licked the children’s faces and one-by-one they snapped out of the daze. <br />
“Whoa...” Gerick muttered as he gazed at the ground and dug his toe into the dirt.<br />
“But, we can’t do that,” Jocelyn’s voice wavered, “you can’t mean it.”<br />
Willem sniffled, kicked at a rock, and grumbled, “figures.” He shook his head, rolled his eyes, and grunted. After a moment, he asked, “so, how many Portals are there?”<br />
<br />
The old woman, in the rocking chair, hadn’t been asleep on the porch when
Locos and Machine approached. In fact, she’d called out to them before they’d gotten close enough to properly see her. Machine could honestly say that it was the first time he’d been held at gun point—much less shotgun point—by someone old enough to be his great grams. Once they’d approached and she’d gotten a feel for them, the old lady had lowered the weapon and invited them onto the porch for lemonade and muffins. Now that they were sitting in wicker
chairs on the porch, they had an up-close view of the decorations. In Machine’s opinion, the most remarkable item was a giant turquoise dreamcatcher with chimes made of hollowed bones. Locos, on the other hand, was fascinated by the innumerable and quite random pieces of
shiny metal that dangled on varied lengths of twine. Neither man was the least bit interested in the plethora of potted plants that shaded and covered the rest of the porch.<br />
“Where ya heading,” the nearly toothless old woman asked from her rocking chair. <br />
Glancing at Locos before answering, Machine said, “north, I
guess.”<br />
“Folks don’t usually wind up here without a destination in mind,” she said.<br />
“Where is here?” Locos asked.<br />
“One Old Sea Road, Ocean, Poterit Don,” she answered with one eye squinted and her other eyebrow raised. “Ain’t ya seen the number when ya come up the steps?”<br />
“I guess,” Machine chuckled,“we were a bit distracted by your
shotgun.”<br />
“Has a way of doing that to men,” she leaned in, “not used to seeing a woman defend her own property. Well, ‘I been here longer than the land so its mine to protect,’
as my grams used to say. Now, ya boys’re looking roughshod. I’ve got hot water and razors. Why don’t ya clean up for dinner? I ain’t figured on company, so nothing’s ready. But, I can whip something up while ya get the U.G. off ya.”<br />
“U.G.?” Machine asked.<br />
“The underground, boyo. Oh, don’t tell me y’all’re thick,” she shook her head. “First company I get—since the Darins disappeared a few weeks back—is thick as tar. Shame.” <br />
“I’m not thick,” Machine whined.<br />
“That remains to be seen.”<br />
“I’d love to get the U.G. off of me,” Locos stated.<br />
“At least one of ya got some sense. Go on. Down the hall. Last door on the right. Come into the kitchen when you’re done,” she said as she patted Locos’ forearm.<br />
“Uh. What’s your name, ma’am?” Locos asked.<br />
“My name?” Her nearly toothless grin sprouted and faded in a flash. “Ola Mae Thompson.” She stared expectantly at Locos. “But, my little ones call me, ‘Oma.’<br />
“What a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Ola Mae,” Locos said. “My name is
Maxwell Locos and that fellow is Richard Machine.”<br />
“I can’t promise to remember,” she smiled, “so don’t be mad if I
ask ya again.” She tapped her left temple, “I can remember forever ago without a problem, but damned if I know where I sat my coffee cup right after making it. You boys coffee drinkers?”<br />
“Yes ma’am, we are,” Locos said as he stood up. He circled around Machine and pulled open the screen door.<br />
“Just dig in the closet. Get a towel. Use yuh eyes, it’ll be quicker than
waiting for me to show ya.”<br />
As the screen door shut behind him, Locos loudly agreed, “okay.”<br />
When they were alone, Ola Mae asked, “the muffins kick in yet?”<br />
“Huh?” Machine asked.<br />
“The muffins. They kick in yet? I been working on a special recipe,” she pointed to the plants, “Lemon Haze. Got my own tolerance up so damned high, I don’t never know.
Just tell me when they kick in.”<br />
“What?!” Machine’s head twisted around, his half-glazed eyes bulged at her, and he again exclaimed, “what?!”<br />
Ola Mae’s laughter reached into the bathroom where Locos had stopped shifting through the closet to hold the door jamb. <i>That’s odd,</i> he thought, <i>I haven’t felt like this since before I signed up. </i> He grinned to himself as he recalled the last night he and his girl had flown so high they’d woken up naked on the plains. He grimaced at
the memory of that sunburn, grabbed a towel off the shelf, and turned into the bathroom. The old lady had kept with the sea theme. He hadn’t realized there were quite so many shades of blue. For the first time in weeks, he got a look at himself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. He shook his head, rolled his eyes, and whispered, “you have to get cleaned up. Don’t I know it.”<br />
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-24594003005680498352017-04-03T04:20:00.000-07:002017-04-25T17:19:36.532-07:00Manus Inicere<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> He threw his head back, rolled his eyes, and then sharply focused on the speaker whom he asked, “what? Not interested in excuses.” Shaking his manacled wrist and pointing his finger around the room, Adonis said, “well, look around. I don’t know where the fuck we are or how the fuck I got like this,” he shook the chains holding both wrists to the hospital bed. “So tell me. How the fuck am I supposed to care?”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “How? How? This is your fault!” the irate pock-faced man yelled from his bed. “You set us up!”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Tapping his keys on the bars, the guard grunted, “shut up, Gorrie.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Wasn’t me, boss,” Gorrie called from his rack across the room.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Sure,” the guard nodded, “and, I’m a rainbow butterfly unicorn kitten. Shut your trap!”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Didn’t know animals could talk,” Gorrie muttered.
</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Didn’t know ‘shut up’ meant ‘keep talking.’ You want me to make my presence felt?” the guard yelled
as he grabbed his crotch and shook his bulge at Gorrie.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Knowing when to act was one of Gorrie’s talents. Knowing when to shut up was not. “Like a flea on a dog,” he mumbled.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “WHAT?” the guard struggled to get his key in the lock. “What’d you say to me?”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Nothing, Officer Baker. I swear,” Gorrie pleaded as he squished himself into the furthest corner of the
hospital bed. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “That’s what I thought! You little bitch!” Officer Baker smacked the steel with his keys, “don’t make me come in there.” He glared at Gorrie with the same contempt found on an attack dog waiting a kill order.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Partially hidden under his covers, Gorrie looked ‘the scared child’ with his blankets pulled under his chin and his face obscured by a naked elbow. “I won’t, boss. I won’t,” Gorrie chanted.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “That’s what I thought,” Officer Baker repeated. He dropped his hand, stepped back from the door, and then disappeared behind the wall to Gorrie’s right.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> As soon as he was gone from view, Gorrie stood up on the bed, grabbed his pecker and shook it
vigorously, while mouthing, “feel this? Bitch!” He dropped back down, then looked at the other prisoners. “What?” he whispered.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> The acne scarred man with the broken knee stared across the room and over Adonis. When he had Gorrie’s undivided attention, he said, “‘wasn’t me, boss’?”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “What? He’s gone, ain’t he?”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Yep.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Well, there you go,” Gorrie interlaced his fingers over his head, and then pulled his hands down. He wriggled into his pillows and his hands, before rolling his head to the right, and whispering to Adonis, “I know who you are.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Good for you,” Adonis hissed. He had lain as still as possible during the guard’s little tantrum. He might not know what happened between Points A and B, but he certainly knew better than to volunteer himself up as a practice bag for a nut
job hoping to beat someone to death. </span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">How do these whacks even get hired? Half of them ought to be locked up.</i><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"> For just a moment he genuinely wondered if he could do something to change the hiring process. For just a moment. Then, he began struggling against the handcuffs.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Stop,” the calm, familiar voice ordered.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “You,” Adonis countered, hitting his arms against the bed rails.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Stop or die,” the unperturbed Inquisitor ordered as he tried various keys in the lock.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Freezing, Adonis stared. He lowered his hands and sunk back onto his pillow. <i>Well. It was a good run old boy.</i>
He sighed. “What are you doing here?” Adonis asked.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “I could ask you the same,” the Inquisitor stated. He jiggled the key and pushed on the steel bar above the lock. When he heard the click, he pulled the key out, and shoved the door aside. “You owe me.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “You owe us!” Gasoleo practically shouted.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Quiet!” the Inquisitor commanded.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “As you can see, I was unexpectedly detained.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Check’em,” the Inquisitor motioned to Jougs, who scrambled around an empty bed to investigate the other Misters. The Inquisitor asked, “should you be unexpectedly released?”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “I’d honor the deal,” Adonis answered. He shoved his shoulders into the pillow and squirmed until he’d adjusted it.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “With interest?”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “In reason.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Don’t trust him,” Gasoleo warned from his bed. “He had us followed.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Both contracts in full. Plus, a tithe off the two,” the Inquisitor smiled. “Due now.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “The first contract remains outstanding,” Adonis objected, sitting upright a little too quickly. The world
spun, his stomach sunk, and the Inquisitor became a vague black spot. He grabbed the bed rails and hung on.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> The Inquisitor laughed, “aye. And, thus it stays until I’m paid.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Fine,” Adonis said waving one chained hand and rolling his eyes, “fine. Get me to Rainboy’s and you’ll get yours.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Rainboy’s is out.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “What? That’s where my money...”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “That’s where your crazy acolytes hole up waiting to handle your problems,” the Inquisitor shook Adonis’ blanket covered feet. “You pay and we have no problems. Understood?”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Yes,” Adonis hissed. “Those ‘acolytes,’ as you call them, are the keepers of my accounts.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Report,” the Inquisitor commanded Jougs.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Butano’s out. Face busted. Broken ribs and fingers. Gasoleo’s got a broke knee.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “You’re kidding me.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “No way they’re crawling through,” Jougs stated, shrugged his shoulders as he glanced at the infirm men. “Maybe Gasoleo.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Give them the choice,” the Inquistor authorized Jougs with a nod.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Alright,” Jougs said, turning towards the unconscious Butano.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “The choice?” Adonis asked.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Do you want to die?”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “What’s wrong with you?” Gorrie asked. He’d managed to keep quiet through so much of it. But somehow, spectating was not enough. He had to open his mouth. “I mean seriously? Do you really go around asking that?” Bobbing his head back and forth, Gorrie mouthed, “‘do you want to die.’”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Gripping Gorrie’s throat, Vorant asked, “do you want to die?”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Oh. I see,” he choked out, nodding yes and saying, “no.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Forcing Gorrie to look across the room, Vorant said, “do you see?”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> The glint of the dagger flashed. The steady thrum of overhead florescent contrasted the not so gently burbling life stream of Butano. “I see. I see. I see,” Gorrie chanted as he nodded.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “See quietly,” Vorant ordered, letting go of his throat.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Time,” the Inquisitor tapped his watch, and then circled his forefinger. He motioned to the doorway, “gentlemen, follow Mister Vorant,” as he watched Jougs clean the knife on Butano’s blanket and Gasoleo fall off the bed.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Furiously shaking his handcuffs, Adonis growled, “I can’t follow him.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Oh,” the Inquisitor snorted. He quickly flipped through the key ring, until he came to the handcuff key, which he promptly used to free Adonis. “Jougs,” the Inquisitor called, “go with.” Behind him, Jougs and Adonis disappeared; before him, Butano bled out and Gasoleo poured sweat as he hobbled from bed to bed. “Mister Gasoleo?”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Eh,” he picked his head up, stuck his neck out, and waited.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “An honor, sir,” the Inquisitor slit the outstretched neck. He cleaned his knife on the nearest bedspread, and then walked out of the hospital room. Mister Gasoleo stumbled, bounced off Adonis’ bed, and then collapsed into a gurgling heap.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Down the hallway, Adonis stared around Jougs. When the Inquisitor appeared alone, Adonis glanced at
Jougs and then stared at a spot on the floor. <i>Two gone. Killed their own. Oh, fuck me. Fuck me.</i> Adonis held his tongue as they shuffled down a couple hallways and passed by three dead guards. They stopped in a short of hall and Adonis really had to hold his tongue. He silently watched as the <i>duumviri</i> removed the vent cover. After Vorant slid into the vent, Adonis stopped chewing his cheek and reevaluated his chances for survival. Through the various bends of the air ducts he continued with the reevaluation. At no point during the process did he feel 100% about their chances. He did however feel 100% better taking the chance on escape, than risking the certainty of death. <i>Treason.</i> He sighed. <i>Have to get to the Monks before the news spreads. If I can convince them...</i> Though lost in his thoughts, he recognized the section of tunnel when they dropped out of the duct nearest a bricked over door. It’d take some movement for him to really know where he was, but certain eras were notorious for using specific building materials. So, anyone who spent enough time
exploring the tunnels could develop an ability to recognize the tunnel’s tells. Every chance he got, he contemplated the virtues of making a break for it. The thought never made it far, before necessity pushed it out of the way, causing him to focus on the next bit of tunnel.
<i>Heart of the Seven Faeries.</i> The thought hit him and he exhaled. <i>Of course.</i> Never one to waste perfectly good irony, he laughed.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “So. Uh. Where are we going?” Gorrie asked. He stole peeks over his shoulders, alternating with each step. “Uh. Where are we?”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Ask another question,” Jougs said.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “What?” Gorrie asked. He was promptly thumped in the back by Jougs. “Ow.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Gentlemen,” the Inquisitor intoned.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> They moved through the concrete halls with purpose. The collective click-clack of their footware slapping concrete worked like a metronome. Each walked on in silence, thoughts their own, their eyes darted everywhere. Adonis huddled into his entirely too thin hospital gown, held the back closed with one hand, and desperately regretted not locating his shoes. Vorant calculated distance to the naked guy. Jougs wondered if it was too late for Plan C. Gorrie feared for his life. And, the Inquisitor congratulated himself on possessing the skills required to pull off a regicide and jailbreak. After countless steps, they made it back to the Interrogation Room. The sound of the door opening jarred the sleeping cat who lay curled in the woman’s lap. As the door opened, the cat darted across the table, over the broken glass, and into the shadows next to the wall in the Observation Room.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “How in Iphi’s High Heaven…?” the Inquisitor asked.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “What the fuck?” Jougs and Vorant asked.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Adonis and Gorrie stuck their heads in the doorway, but neither man understood why they’d be so upset over an
unconscious woman.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Where’s the naked fella?” Jougs wondered.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “We do not have time for this,” Adonis stated.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> It took restraint, but the Inquisitor did not punch Adonis. Instead, he pointed to the woman, “untie her.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Oh come on, boss,” Jougs complained.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Untie her,” the Inquisitor repeated. He stuck his head out the door, checked up and down the hall, and then paced a few feet into the room. He tapped his foot, knocked his knuckles on the table, and exhaled heavily. His eyes kept returning to the Observation Room. Holding up a fist, he left the Interrogation Room and reappeared holding open the Observation Room door. Standing there
quietly listening, the Inquisitor strained to hear and see, but the room was vacant. He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, and
closed the door. A moment later he stood in the Interrogation Room doorway, “let’s go.”
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-19084402249958876022017-03-27T04:20:00.000-07:002017-04-16T20:55:52.294-07:00Mala Cognitio Putting his shoulder to the brick wall,
Jougs shoved and as he did so his boots slid across the cement. He
quit shoving as he neared a 45º angle to the wall. Pushing himself
upright, he asked, “you sure it’s this wall?”<br />
Glancing from the map to Jougs, the annoyed Inquisitor replied, “use
the tools,” and tapped the bag slung across Vorant’s back.
<br />
Shaking his head, Vorant unslung the
duffle, unzipped the main compartment, and proceeded to dig around.
After a moment, he held up a short handled sledge hammer. “Here,”
he said before disappearing back into the bag to withdraw a rusted
railroad spike.<br />
“Is that all you brought?” Jougs asked.
“Seriously?”
<br />
“Nope,” Vorant said, extracting a
hammer and an incredibly long screw driver, “brought this too.”<br />
“So, we’re just supposed to start banging on the wall?”
Jougs’ doubt as to the sanity of the plan had grown exponentially
since leaving the Interrogation Room. He asked, “don’t you think
someone on the other side will hear us?”
<br />
<a name='more'></a> Though the
Inquisitor’s irritation level had surpassed what he normally
thought acceptable, he refrained from bashing Jougs’ face into the
brick. Instead, he held the map to the wall where he shined the light
down and used his other hand to point. “On the other side is heavy
machinery. First thing we do is tap through. Then, we verify no one’s
around. After that, we break it down.”<br />
“Um. So. What
about the next one?” Jougs asked.<br />
Same thing,” Vorant said, shaking
the duffle bag.<br />
“So. Why aren’t we just blowing them
all?”<br />
Without answering, the Inquisitor stepped back,
rolled the map up, and shook his head. He breathed heavily for a
moment before slapping Jougs with the map and saying, “we don’t
want them to know we’re coming.”<br />
“So, we’re
breaking down four walls?” Jougs asked.<br />
The veins on the
Inquisitor’s neck began to pulse as he ground his teeth. “We’re
breaking down three walls and blowing up one.”<br />
“But. I
thought the last one had to be silent,” Vorant said.<br />
“I
don’t mean to rain on your parade,” Jougs began, “just think
about it. You want two guys to beat down three brick walls with
minimal noise,” he held up the sledge hammer and the railroad
spike, “before silently blowing up a fourth wall to extract two
other guys who were so stupid they got caught. You’re the
Inquisitor and you don’t seem to have questioned this plan.” He
paused, while watching the Inquisitor’s jaw clench and face redden
in the dull fluorescent light. For a split second he contemplated
stopping, but the thought never made it to his mouth. Jougs
continued, “it ain’t that I got a problem busting them out...it’s
that we’re gonna be worthless after breaking down those walls. I
ain’t even joking. Think about it. That last wall goes boom,
there’s gonna be fighting and we’re gonna be tired from
hammering. Do I look like a mother fucking construction worker? No.
See these hands?” He held up his hands, “cold-blooded killers
don’t get callouses from hammers.”<br />
Although Vorant said
nothing, his head bounced up and down in agreement. <br />
The
Inquisitor glared at the two
concurring men. While one part of him greatly desired to bash their
skulls together, another somewhat more rational part of him saw their
point. Realizing that for the first time in weeks the <i>duumviri</i>
were once again in concert convinced him that the time was right. “I
wondered how long it’d take you two to balls up.”<br />
“Huh?” Jougs and Vorant asked.<br />
“I just can’t
believe you let it go this far,” he shook his head. Tapping his
wrist, he added, “time is ticking.” The Inquisitor unrolled the
map and began pointing to various boxes with Xs, “air ducts.” He
drew his finger across the map, “you see this? This is our way in.”
<br />
“So, the brick walls weren’t <i>the</i>
plan?” Jougs asked.<br />
“Mr. Jougs, I’ve been a patient
man,” the Inquisitor smiled as he rotated his hand and used his
middle finger to point at the vent over his head.<br />
“That’s
fucked up, Boss!” Jougs exclaimed.
<br />
<br />
Shivering, Commander Samuel Felis’ head lolled back and forth as
he moaned. In the struggle to get his head up, he managed to drop his
chin onto his chest. He fought to lift his eyelids like a kid trying
to heft a caber. When he finally got one open the blinding light
forced him to close it again. “Come...on...” he growled, blinking
that one eye again, and then squinting at the floor. “Wha—?”
Grinding teeth, forcing brain to fight fog, and repeating, “come
on! Hey ya! Sammy!” Upon getting both eyes to cooperate, the old
boy realized his problems lay deeper than whatever drug coursed
through his veins. That low-born bastard had done more than knock his
head against the wall. And, though his temple pounded, his left side
throbbed to the point that every breath felt like a slow death.
<i>Breathe shallow,</i> he
told himself as he took in the room. <br />
<br />
“Toilet,”
Cassie muttered, her eyes rolled loosely as she tried to focus on the
young cook.<br />
“Oh! Uh. Okay,” the young woman nodded
emphatically. She unceremoniously heaved the wobbling Messenger off
of Preston’s couch. “Can you walk?”<br />
“I. I. Sure,”
Cassie said as she weakly leaned against the cook before bringing
them both down onto the couch. “Make the spinning stop!” <br />
“How?”<br />
“I. I don’t kno—” Cassie spewed her
belly full of water across the arm of the couch, and then held
tightly to her lower abdomen. “Oh, Mercury. Just end me.”<br />
“You can’t talk like that,” the horrified cook said. “We
need you.”<br />
Glaring
at her with crossed eyes and wobbling head, Cassie snorted, “and I
need to feel normal for five minutes.”<br />
“Are you
pregnant? My sister’s pregnant and she throws up all the time.”
<br /> “NO!
I’m not pregnant!” Cassie growled as she pushed herself off the
couch.<br />
“Why
ya mad? I’m just asking.”<br />
Cassie
shot the girl a sideways ‘go throw yourself off a mountain’ look
as staggered upright. Weaving, she said, “I’m not mad. And, I’m
not pregnant!” She stumbled past the chair, then suddenly gripped
its back, “where’s the toilet.”
<br /> “Oh.
This way,” the cook stood up, took Cassie by the arm, and moved
toward the door.
<br />
<br />
Pulling on his restraints, Felis
cursed his luck, <i>takes some kind of damned genius, don’t
it?</i> He shivered. <i>Got
one choice left, don’t you?</i>
Thinking about it too long wouldn’t change a thing. And, while he
didn’t know when his captors would return, he did know he needed to
be ready for them. When transforming, it always helped him to
envision the change as successfully completed. But, as he shivered in
the steel chair, his naked ass clenched against the cold, and his
normally superb ability at forward thinking vanished. He gasped; pain
shot through his ribs and he immediately regretted that breathing was
a necessity. <i>Like back in school, when you’d broken your
wrist. It’s gonna hurt. </i>Laughing,
he said, “oh fuck me. Everything always hurts.” After biting his
lip and glancing over at the unconscious woman, he growled. Slowly
his features began to morph; hair sprouted from his pores, his ears
elongated, and his growl grew into a hiss. Once the transformation
was complete, a large tuxedo cat lay panting on the cold steel chair.
Upon seeing the unconscious and tied up woman, Commander Felis hopped
off the chair, yelped on landing, and remained stationary as he
breathed through the pain. His ragged breaths turned into a guttural
purring, as he rubbed himself across the woman’s calves. Finally,
he hopped into her lap, curled into a ball, and power purred himself
into a mini coma. The drugged security guard never even twitched.<br />
<br />
“Gentlemen,” the Inquisitor quietly ordered over his
shoulder, “knock it off. Sound travels and we’re almost there.”<br />
Choking and trying desperately not to breathe in the foul stench
of Vorant’s ass, Jougs muttered, “tell it to Stinky.” Jougs
punched Vorant in the ass. “Nasty.” <br />
“Can I help
it?” Vorant whispered.<br />
“Shhh!” the Inquisitor hissed.
He resumed crawling through the air duct, the
<i>duumviri </i>right
behind him. Using a penlight, he rechecked the map<i>
</i>at
every junction. Once they reached what he hoped was the right spot,
he carefully edged up to the vent, and motioned for Vorant to pass
him the duffle bag. Cupping the penlight with his hand and shielding
the overhead vent with his body, the Inquisitor dug around in the
bag. When he had what he was looking for, he passed the bag back to
Vorant, and then clicked the penlight from white to red. Shoving the
light into his mouth, he took his tools, and stuck his face as close
to the vent as he could get. It took a minute to maneuver in the
cramped air duct, but once he was properly positioned, he was able to
manipulate the retaining clamps and release the vent cover. With a
bit of effort, he managed to climb out of the air duct and into an
empty hallway. <br />
“Where are we?” Jougs asked after
replacing the cover.<br />
“Inside Raven’s Drop, you
asshole,” Vorant growled. The hair all over his body stood at
attention. <br />
“Shut up,” the Inquisitor ordered without
looking up from the map where he was using a finger to follow the air
duct. He counted junctions, tapped the map twice while nodding to
himself before heading toward the door at the end of the hall. Upon
reaching the door, he snapped his fingers and pointed to Jougs, who
withdrew his lock picking set from his back pocket and immediately
went to work on the doorknob. <br />
While to two of them were
focused on the door, Vorant paced the hall between them and the vent.
On his third trip, he realized that the placard on the wall was an
Emergency Exit map. When chirping and pointing didn’t get the
Inquisitor’s attention, he whispered harshly, “stop!” <br />
“What?” the Inquisitor mouthed as Jougs continued picking the
lock.<br />
“Wrong way,” Vorant mouthed back as he pointed at
the placard.<br />
The Inquisitor put a hand on Jougs’ shoulder
and showed him a solid fist. <br />
Jougs nodded his
understanding and peeked over the shoulder at Vorant, who’s face
was six inches from the wall. Jougs waited mid-pick for the
Inquisitor’s signal to resume. He watched as the Inquisitor lined
the map up with the wall map and made quick notations. Just as he was
about to resume picking the lock, the Inquisitor motioned for him to
leave the door. Jougs sighed, though he loved conquering locks, he
loved his freedom more. Besides, getting lost in Raven’s Drop was
not on his bucket list.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-45081186875259921512017-03-20T04:20:00.000-07:002017-04-07T15:32:37.075-07:00Nunc Sciunt<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">What kind of beans are these?”
Captain Dante, Jr. asked as he inhaled the delicious aroma wafting
from his mug. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> The staff secretary adjusted her
uniform shirt, straightened her shoulders, and met his curious gaze
with a steely, “Donian Dark Roast.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Closing his eyes, Captain Dante
sipped the coffee, and then said, “tastes more like Montisi Black.”
He took another sip, “you may want to talk to your guy. If he can’t
sort that out, let me know.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">You going to report me, sir?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Listen carefully, Staff
Sergeant: the </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>best
</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">coffee in the world
comes from just north of Baroport, Poterit Don. It’s the original
Donian Dark Roast. Many knockoffs have been peddled across Dan and
we, poor Danians, have been subject to every manner of black market
treachery thanks to current import controls.” After taking another
sip, he sighed, “our only problem is backwards law.” </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Her eyes narrowed and her lips
formed a thin line as she tilted her head away from him. For a
moment, she sized him up. Then she said, “it is possible that I
misjudged you, sir.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> With a short snort, he replied,
“most people do.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">So. Uh,” she stirred her
cup, “what’s up with the major?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">He misjudged me too.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Staring at him, she nodded, “I
learn something new everyday.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">That’s good. So long as
you’re learning, you’re still living.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Uh yup. True story.” She
sipped her coffee and then asked, “so you can taste the difference
between Donian and Montisi blends?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Of course. You can’t?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I know the difference between
crap,” she kicked the cabinet door where the extra containers of
ground coffee were stored, “and real shit,” she held up her mug.<br /> “Have to start somewhere,” he nodded.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Before she could respond another
enlisted soldier walked in.<br /> Captain Dante, Jr. said, “Staff
Sergeant, I expect to see that document,” he winked at her,
“tomorrow. No excuses.” He about-faced and strolled out of the
Front Depot’s Break Room.<br />
</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Just sit,” Ensign Gunter
Baeckerei ordered, pointing to the reception area outside his office,
“I’ll page you when the commander is available.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Uh. Okay,” Tech Sergeant
Rydel sighed as he turned to open the glass door leading back into
the short hallway. He opted for the chair directly across from the
door so that he’d at least have a view of the ensign. Precisely as
his butt hit the seat, Baeckerei’s voice echoed down the hall.
Rydel heaved himself out of the chair, crossed the hall, and pushed
open the door again. “Sir?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Commander Dante will see you
now,” Baeckerei said without looking up from his desk.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Closing the door behind him, Tech
Sergeant Rydel thought, </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>office
bitches</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">,
as he shook his head. He ignored the ensign, crossed the room, and
knocked on the commander’s door. After waiting a moment, Rydel
twisted the knob and pushed the door open. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Come
in. Sit down,” Commander Dante ordered.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Quickly
following instructions, Rydel stared at the stacks of paperwork
neatly organized on Dante’s desk. For a split second he
contemplated verbally vomiting the finer details of Major Peters’
last hour, but opted for silence as he watched and waited. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Finishing
up with a significantly smaller stack of papers, Commander Randle
Dante, Sr. signed his name with a flourish before adding the papers
to the left stack. After straightening up the stack, he looked at
Rydel, and said, “yes or no?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Yes,
sir,” Rydel answered.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Good.”
Cmdr. Dante stood up, kicked back his chair, and then circled around
his desk. Slidding a piece of paper onto the desk in front of Rydel,
he tapped it twice, while saying, “the next promotion cycle is in
three months.” Tapping the paper again, he added, “I see, your
supervisor recommends you...”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Though
Rydel attempted to continue listening, his capacity to hear was
instantly tested when he read the words: </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>My
office is bugged.</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
Rydel immediately looked up at Dante who’s lips were still moving
and who’d begun shaking his head in the affirmative.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">As
you know, with your scores, I can’t push for your promotion. Regs
are regs,” Dante droned as he walked around the side of his desk,
motioning for Rydel to follow him to the window. When the two men
were staring into the parking lot, Dante pointed to his Iago Citadel.
“Better luck next time, Tech Sergeant. I suggest actually studying
beforehand.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Yes,
sir,” Rydel replied softly. He shoved the piece of paper into his
back pocket. “I really thought my scores were high enough,” he
muttered.<br /> “Close the door behind you,” Dante ordered.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> With
a bit of effort, Rydel plastered a dejected look on his face. When he
passed by Ensign Baeckerei, he narrowed his eyes, and nodded at the
amused secretary. He promptly walked out of the building toward the
commander’s car. In the dull halo of the parking lot lamps,
Lieutenant Musgrove, leaned against the Citadel trunk as he cleaned
his fingernails with a pocket knife. A cigarette hung from the right
side of his mouth, with each inhale the cigarette bobbed up, before
returning to it’s original position. Rydel was instantly fascinated
with the length of ash that curled down but did not fall. “Got a
light, sir?” Rydel held up a pack of his own.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Without
pausing in his hygiene efforts, Musgrove answered, “yep.” Upon
finishing his nails, he flipped the knife closed with the ease born
of long practice; he then slid it into the same pocket from which
he’d pulled the lighter. “Half an hour. The jogging trail back of
the Koi Pond.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Thank
you, sir,” Rydel said, taking the lighter. He beat his pack against
it, removed the plastic, pulled the ‘stay fresh’ foil, and popped
a cigarette into his mouth. Though there was no wind, he cupped the
flame, and bent his head as he puffed. Afterwards he handed the
lighter back. Nodded once and walked off.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Where
is that useless cum-guzzling queef-stain hiding?” Major Dickinson
slurred from the Front Depot’s main entrance. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Heads
popped up from the cubicle rows. Enlisted soldiers stared at the
red-faced, pissed off, major as he weaved in the doorway. In fact,
every head, except for Captain Dante’s popped up. The captain
slowly pushed away from his desk, sat down the book he was reading,
and rolled his eyes while shaking his head, </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>figures
he’s a drunk, too.</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
Standing up, Captain Dante immediately made eye contact. Keeping his
tone even, Dante projected, “Major, you may want to take a minute
in your office.” With the plethora of witnesses available, Dante
knew his best bet was to keep as civil as possible because Major
Dickinson was steering right toward charges for ‘Behavior
Unbecoming an Officer.’ </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Oh!
Imma take a minute,” Major Dickinson reassured the room, “go on!
Get your jizz slurping slimy slit in my office now! You think the
Front Depot’s full of vanilla twats that don’t know their asses
from their elbows. You got another thing coming, boyo.” He waved
his arm around the room, “this here’s a hand-picked bunch of
cutthroats, card sharks, and spitfires. You don’t really think that
Central Command sent you to the Front by mistake, now do you?” His
wide eyes burned with the type of crazy generally reserved for
straight jackets. “I don’t see you moving.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> The
captain’s jaw dropped as he glanced around the room. One after
another, the enlisted soldiers began nodding their heads, grinning,
and making faces at each other. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Seems
I underestimated this jackass.</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>No worries,</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
Captain Dante closed his mouth into a tight smile. “On my way,
sir,” he bellowed as he pushed in his chair, picked up his
practically empty mug, and turned toward the major’s office. As he
passed by the staff sergeant’s desk he whispered, “if he’s your
connection, you’ll never get the real shit.” By the brief flash
in her eyes, Dante knew he’d hit on one more nail for the major’s
coffin. The old boy was a dead man, he just didn’t know it yet.
</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>This much
attitude, he must think he’s untouchable. He’s got dirt on
someone. </i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Suppressing
the outright grin that threatened to form, Dante, Jr. bowed his head,
tucked his tail, and headed for the major’s office. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>
</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
</span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Hiding in the shadow of a bench
under a weeping willow tree, Tech Sergeant Rydel waited and watched
the solar lake lights illuminate the water as the wind moved the
surface of the Koi Pond. From his position he could see the entire
parking area, both tennis courts, and the racket ball walls. The
well-lit night jogging path wound from the parking lot along side the
Koi Pond, and every few hundred yards a dim yellow flashing light
indicated an emergency phone booth. Keeping alert, he warily sought
any sign of Commander Dante or Lieutenant Musgrove. The solid
tick-tock of his eyes became as regular as an old grandfather clock.
He remained in position when he saw the black Iago Citadel pull onto
the asphalt and then slowly roll into the spot nearest the water. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>He
always takes the closest one. Man of habit. </i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Rydel
snorted, then muttered, “that’ll get you into trouble.” Once</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
Rydel was certain that the lieutenant was alone, he gave two shrill
whistles, and stepped out of his hiding place.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> “Ah,”
Musgrove said. He m</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">eandered
down to the water’s edge and kicked a stone into the Koi Pond.<br /> As the ripples traveled out of the circle of light, Rydel hung
back in the shadows. “Sir?”<br /> Seemingly oblivious to the
light, Musgrove spun toward Rydel, “speak when spoken to.
Understood?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Yes,
sir.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> After
an awkward moment, Musgrove about-faced and marched out from under
the lamplight. He leaned toward Rydel, whispering, “got another
job. Game?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Always,”
Rydel whispered back. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Good.
You ever been to Sanctuary City?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">That
shithole?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Yeah,
that shithole. You know the place or what?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Yes,
sir. I know it.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Ever
been to the Stadium?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> A
shocked Rydel stared at Musgrove.<br /> “Well?” Musgrove
asked.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I
didn’t catch that. Say again.”<br /> “The Stadium.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> He
forced air out his nose, cracked his neck, and then answered, “what
I thought you said. I’ve been.”<br /> “Any reason you can’t
go back?” Musgrove asked.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Rydel
shrugged. “Just the usual: they kill strangers.”<br /> “You
a stranger?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Aren’t
we all?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Nodding,
Musgrove replied, “indeed.” He then said, “have to risk it.
Back of the Burn Building there’s a brown burn bag sitting next to
the Pits. It has two stars on the side. Take the bag to the Stadium.
Talk to Steele. Give him the bag. Don’t let anyone else touch it.
And, don’t look inside it. Got me?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Yes,
sir!” Rydel answered.</span></div>
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-14419087647796277312017-03-13T04:20:00.000-07:002017-03-21T21:24:46.141-07:00Ergo Fornicationis<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> After putting the Tesla-C2 Dune
Rider in park, Tech Sergeant Rydel climbed out of the vehicle and
walked to the back where he dropped the tailgate. He removed his
service revolver from its holster and pointed it at Major Derrick
Peters, saying, “sir, please get out of the vehicle.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Sergeant, you don’t have to
do this,” Major Peters said.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Get out of the vehicle, sir.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> The major scootched to the edge
of the Tesla-C2, dropped his legs off the tailgate, and stumbled
down. He said, “if you do this, there’s no going back.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">You got that wrong, sir. Soon
as I get you set up, I’m going back,” Rydel replied.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Why do you think we’re out
here?” Peters asked.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Orders, sir,” Rydel
answered.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">That might be why you’re out
here. I’m here because I reported Dante. It’s why he got sent up
the creek. You see? That’s how he handles his problems. He finds
soldiers who follow orders and he gets them to do his dirty work.
Don’t you get it? You’re his henchman.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Laughing in the major’s face,
Rydel waved his revolver, “nobody says, ‘henchman.’ Where </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>are</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
you from? Whole mess of better words: muscle, minion, lackey, even
thug. Keep going, sir. Up there,” he pointed to the top of the
sandy slope, “on the left. Stop. Sit down.” </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Think about it, sergeant,”
Peters urged. “You do this, there’s no going back.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Don’t know who you think I
am, sir,” Rydel began, “but I ain’t gone back since I signed
up. Guess you never read my file. ‘Member what Commander Dante said
in the tower about no one getting sent to Camp Polkner for good
behavior?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Not quite his words, but yes,
I remember.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Good,” he howled as he
gleefully pulled the trigger. “If you’d read my file, you’d
know that I don’t play well with authority.” Rydel holstered his
gun. When he was back inside the Tesla-C2, he turned the engine, and
cranked the music. He rocked out to his favorite band, </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Death
Daemons</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">,
all the way back to Camp Polkner.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> As
the last sheet of paper landed in the Done pile, Captain Randle
Dante, Jr. leaned back in his chair and popped his back. He wondered
at the strange feeling of accomplishment that had overcome him upon
completion of the most tedious task he’d ever been assigned since
leaving Officer Training School. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>How
do these paper pushers do this shit day in and day out? </i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">h</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">e
wondered as he stood up, grabbed the stack, and then kicked his chair
out of the way. He walked the stack down the hall, stopping at the
third door on the left. He rapped on the door twice. When no one
answered, he walked into the office. Like all nondescript military
offices, the walls were covered with pictures of high level
government officials. While placing the paperwork on the desk, the
captain stared at President Scrub Thicket’s portrait. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>One
day soon,</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
he promised himself. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">What
are you doing in here?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Captain
Dante turned toward the voice. Upon seeing the major, he answered,
“I’m dropping off this.” He flicked the stack with his
forefinger. “What about you, Major Dickinson?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">It’s
my office, Captain,” Major Dickinson answered.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Rolling
his eyes, Dante agreed, “at least, that’s what the plaque on the
door says.” </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I
don’t think I understand your meaning,” Dickinson said.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">You
wouldn’t. Not your fault. You were born that way.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Watch
your tone, Captain Dante.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Oh,
my tone hasn’t changed,” Dante said. “It’s time we have a
conversation. Why don’t you close the door behind you.” </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Tread
carefully,” Dickinson warned.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I
will. So should you,” Dante reciprocated. “Now, if you would,”
he waved a hand toward the desk.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> The
major’s right eye twitched as he closed the door and approached,
passing within a foot of Dante. It took every ounce of self-control
not to clock the cheeky bastard. When he stood in front of his desk,
he looked at Dante with disgust. “What do you want?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Laughing,
Dante said, “please sit,” he motioned to the chair. “Why thank
you. I will,” he answered as he sat down. When he was completely
comfortable, he raised his eyes to meet the irate Major Dickinson.
“If this were a normal day in paradise, neither of us would ever
cross paths. Obviously, this isn’t a normal day. We’re stuck
working together. It doesn’t have to be a bad time. Let’s just
admit it outright. We’ll never be friends. We’re not drinking
buddies. And, I’m sure if we had a choice in the matter we’d
choose to go our separate ways.” He paused for a moment to let his
words sink in. “We don’t have choices. We’re military men.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Don’t
think that this is about your favorite nap spot. It’s not. Major,
when you’ve fully grasped the gravity of the situation, you’ll
finally comprehend the extreme kindness I’ve shown.” He waved a
hand at the major who’d thrown both of his hands onto the desk top
and was slowly rising from his seat. “Please, don’t get up on
account of me. We have much to talk about. Not the least of which is
your role in the...” Dante leaned toward the major, “Slaver’s
Consortium.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I
never!” Major Dickinson hissed.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">As
the head auctioneer, I believe you have contact with every slave that
walks the stage.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Lies!”
Dickinson shouted.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Lower
your voice, sir,” Dante instructed.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I’ll
not stand for these accusations!” Dickinson declared.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">You’ll
do like you’re told. Like you always have. Only, now, you’ll do
what I tell you.” He smiled, and then said, “I see you
calculating. Stop. There’s no sense in this moment interfering with
our long term plans. Though I’m not a cop, I have more than enough
proof of your indiscretions to unveil the largest scandal in military
history. Or, you can cooperate and nothing changes.” He nodded,
saying, “good. Good. Think it over. You see, I need your answer
before I leave the office. It’s important that we are in complete
alignment.” Sitting back in the chair, he crossed his ankle over
his left knee, laced his fingers on his thigh, and stared at the
nervous major.<br /> “Alignment?” Dickinson snorted, “right.
So. You come into my office. Make accusations at me. And then demand
I capitulate. I have this right?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Felix
Horatius, the famed Auctor Nonus,” Captain Dante pulled an envelope
out of the inside pocket of his uniform jacket, “of the Slaver’s
Consortium gave me problems for years.” He flipped up the flap of
the envelope, “he always managed to wear hats that interfered with
cameras. So, I had a real problem getting a good shot of his face.”
Picking slowly through the pictures, he continued, “perseverance
rarely nets so perfect a picture,” he dropped the photo of a
hatless Major Dickinson wearing the formal attire of a professional
auctioneer. And, next to that, he dropped a photo of the major
standing next to a petrified, naked girl. “You can keep those for
your scrapbook,” Dante offered. “Now, Felix,” he began, “I’ve
completed the mountain of paperwork you made such a show of assigning
when I arrived,” he leaned forward and tapped the stack. “That’s
the last thing you ask of me. I have more than enough work to do
without you tacking on crap best handled by some staff flunky. My
talents are far too important to waste on such triviality. It would
behoove you to pretend that I don’t exist. The less we interact,
the better we’ll both feel at the end of the day. Questions?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Where…?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Don’t
you recognize the girl? This was the Sanctuary City sale. You were at
the top of your game. I really admire your lung capacity. Did you
have to practice that to become an auctioneer, or, does it just come
naturally over time?” Dante grinned, “it’s fine. You’re under
no obligation to chit chat. In fact, if we’re now in alignment, I’d
like to get a cup of coffee. Are we aligned?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Major
Dickinson held the pictures in his hands and quietly nodded.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I
need you to vocalize.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Yes.
We’re in alignment.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Dante
clapped, saying, “perfect. I’ll just leave you to it then.” He
pushed himself out of the chair, crossed the room, and exited the
office. He walked right to the break room. While standing in front of
the coffee pot, he relaxed his shoulders, and broke out in a
shit-eating grin. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>I
really thought that smug bastard was going to come across his desk.
</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Dante
stirred the milk and sugar, then took a quick sip, before adding more
milk and sugar.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>
</i></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I
don’t know what you did,” a throaty female said from behind
Dante.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Facing
the coffee pot, the bemused captain replied, “I’ve no idea to
what you refer.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I
saw you leave his office. A minute later he slams the door as he
leaves. He only slams it when he’s pissed and his hands are tied.
What did you do?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I’ll
make a deal with you. Tomorrow, you bring enough of that delicious
smelling coffee for both of us and I’ll tell you what I know.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Why
wait until tomorrow, sir?” she asked.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">You’ve
got enough for two?” he asked.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Of
course, sir,” she answered. </span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Ah,
well,” he stepped away from the coffee pot, waving her over,
“please. I’ll wait.” He sipped his generic coffee and watched
her prepare gourmet grounds from her secret stash. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> A
blond and a brunette straddled the two Hellions who were oblivious to
everything happening inside the Stadium save the women in their laps.
Unlike the last boys, these had one track minds which were screaming
to escape their pants. Making eye contact, Caramel and Praline winked
a code at each other, and then simultaneously began stripping the
Hellions.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Rolling
his head over his shoulder, Jessup took one look at Domino, before
righting his head and losing himself in the feel of Caramel’s
touch. Not much earlier, the men had dragged the girls off to one of
the private rooms over-looking the Stadium. Now, Jessup was putty on
the couch with Caramel massaging his chest. And, Domino was sprawled
upon a chaise lounge chair, topped by Praline who was expertly
sucking his fingertips one-by-one. On the field below, a tree burned,
an A-Track ran circles, and the </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Death
Daemons</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
played on: “They’ll nevah live it down. City burned to the
ground! Rock it! Fire it up! Show me how you burn!” </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-25489592702761150962017-03-06T04:20:00.000-08:002017-03-12T23:05:44.043-07:00Res Relinquebant<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, come on,” the bard whined as he stood up from the gaming
table where a black stone had just been placed inside a square of his
white stones.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What?” the old woman innocently asked.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Don’t ‘what’ me,” he scolded. Pointing at the Go board, he
said, “you can’t do that.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Who says?”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“The rules.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh? Do tell.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You can’t commit suicide,” Bard Kent stated.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I beg to differ,” Celatrix Verna replied.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“But...it’s the rules.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Is this a <i>tactics</i> game?”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yes.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“When a soldier jumps on a bomb, does he commit suicide?”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Uh. Yeah,” he closed his good eye, and then reopened it to add,
“I guess so.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
His scrunched up face and pained expression amused her greatly. With
effort, she stifled her oncoming outburst saying, “exactly. Thus,
in my set of rules, ‘suicide’—as you so indelicately put it—is
a perfectly tactical move.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Your rules?” his head tilted left and his expression tightened.
“We’ve got different rules? It’s the same damn game.” He
sighed as he sat back down and removed her black stone.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“As you know, every game is as different as our opponents.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He shrugged, “I’ve only played three people, counting you.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Ah. Yes. I’ve had a few more partners,” she confessed. “You
are by far the youngest.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You’re the oldest,” he blurted. Blushing, he looked at the
board in front of him. “Well, you are.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I don’t doubt it,” she patted the table midway up the board.
“One doesn’t become Celatrix by remaining young.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
After maneuvering the security guard into one of the interrogation
chairs, Jougs stood back staring at the two unconscious prisoners. He
contemplated asking a number of questions regarding the intelligence
of maintaining hostages during such a risky operation, but ultimately
decided that he’d rather not deal with the Inquisitor’s bullshit.
Shaking his aching head and rolling his eyes, he finished tying the
bitch up. <i>Definitely time for plan C,</i>
he thought. <i>Vorant’ll be a problem. Have to play my cards
close. Don’t know how much longer I should wait…</i>
Standing up, he found himself face to face with his silent
compatriots. Though he felt the urge to shiver, he braced himself
against it, and asked, “ready?”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
“That’s it?” Machine asked.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh. You’re disappointed? Wanted
proof that the Virpisces exist?” Locos frowned, adding, “use your
head private,” he tapped Machine’s noggin. “We’ve got bigger
problems than titan fish people. Iphi save us. This generation...”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What? No. It’s not like that!”
Machine exclaimed.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What’s it like?”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“My great-grands are from there.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Locos stopped walking and really
looked at the private. They were roughly the same build, tended
toward a similar sense of humor, yet age and mentality separated them
like earth from the stars. “Really? From Port Askance?”
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“According to Grams we go all the
way back.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Then, what are you asking me
for?” Locos asked, resuming their northward plodding.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You know how the elders talk,”
Machine shrugged. “Somethings are hard to believe. I figured, if
you were there, you must have seen,” he nervously glanced around,
“the skeletons.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I thought you said it wasn’t
about the Virpisces,” Locos replied.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It’s not.” He kicked a rock
into the tall grass strip in the middle of Old Sea Road, “Grams
said her parents were slaughtered as they fled. She said lots of
people were...most of the town, in fact.” Chewing his bottom lip
and kicking at random pebbles, Machine added, “I just figured with
all them dead people, must be lots of skeletons still laying around.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh,” Locos said. “Only
skeletons I saw were buildings.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The two ragged soldiers silently
marched up the abandoned road. Though they were exhausted, both kept
their heads high, and watched the mountain valley with suspicion.
With every step forward the sun fell lower and the fields of tall
grasses waved more menacingly. As they rounded a bend in the road,
they abruptly stopped, and then dropped to their hunches.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You see that?” Locos asked.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I sure do, Maser.”<br />
Four houses sat alongside Old Sea Road, the tiny neighborhood was a
testament to lost hope. Two houses were in relatively good condition
when compared to their dilapidated neighbors. The first house on the
right, a dingy white single story with light blue shutters, appeared
vacant but not abandoned. On the left side of the street, the porch
of the second house was covered in shiny discs, elaborate chimes, and
strange tinkling decorations. An average-sized calico and a giant
orange tabby were on their backs sunning themselves on the porch
steps. The matron of the home, an elderly woman, participated in her
own version of sunning by sleep-rocking in her porch swing.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You think she’ll let us in?”
Machine asked.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The master sergeant stopped staring
at the oddly adorned porch and raised an eyebrow to Machine. He
asked, “who said anything about going in?”
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No one,” Machine mumbled.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Guess no one got around to it
yet,” Locos smiled and winked as his stomach rumbled.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
At the front of her makeshift
classroom, Mary Darin lectured the teenagers on the virtues of
preparedness. With each word Willem Slaughter focused more deeply on
the doodle he had created. The soft scratch of his pen was barely
audible under the shrill voice of Ms. Darin which resonated in the
converted schoolhouse. The twins, Gerick and Jocelyn Motown, listened
in absolute boredom, silently communicating their own plans by
speaking with their eyes and a slew of hand signals they’d long ago
developed to keep their parents in the dark. During the course of Ms.
Darin’s droning, the twins decided to continue their exploration of
the underground. In the weeks since their lives had been ripped from
them, they’d taken to meandering down different cave paths and
sneaking through crevices. The time away from the younger children
was a reprieve from the reality of their situation. Plus, there’s
nothing quite as enticing as a little after-school exploration. So
far they’d located four empty chambers, three routes to the
underground river, and three creepy paths that they’d decided to
only explore when armed. <br />
With so few children in her
class, Ms. Darin had no issues observing their exchanges. Although
she was tempted to yell at them to pay attention, she knew that would
not actually help. They’d been through too much. She needed to
engage them. From where she stood, she could just barely make out
what Willem was drawing. On an impulse she said, “Willem, where did
you see that?”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Huh?” the teen scratched his
beard, tilted his head, and raised his eyebrows.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Crossing over to the dining table,
she tapped his notepad, “how do you know this flag?”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Had one,” he muttered.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You had one?” she grilled, “of
these?”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“My folks.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Where’d they get it?”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I dunno. Gramps said it’s been
in our fam forever.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Really?” Ms. Darin asked.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That’s what he said.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What else did he tell you?”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Suddenly more interested in the
exchange, the twins had stopped talking to each other in order to
listen.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He shrugged, “I dunno. Stuff.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Did he explain what it
represented?”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No. I asked once. But. He didn’t
say.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It’s the Stellar Explorer’s
flag,” she stated. At those words she finally had their undivided
attention. “In the Before Times they wanted to travel between
stars. The stories say they even had the technology to do it.” She
once again tapped his drawing, “six stars for six ships. Do any of
you know what caused the Great Global Conflict?”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jocelyn raised her hand and Ms.
Darin nodded at her. The girl answered, “a diamond planet.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That’s right,” Ms. Darin
replied. “They found a diamond planet. No one knew for sure if
they’d be able to get to it. Much less if they could harvest the
diamonds...”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“So, like, what happened?”
Gerick asked.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“They fought over resources.
Destroyed everything. Made it so no one could go,” Ms. Darin
sighed. “Greed.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Ms. Darin, what’s the big
circle for?” Jocelyn asked.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Some say it represents the Earth.
Others say it’s a space station. I think it’s both.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“How do you know all this stuff?”
Gerick asked.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Briefly smiling, Ms. Darin answered,
“you’d be more surprised by what I don’t know.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What’s that mean?” Willem
asked. “And, why’d my family have one?”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
She laughed, “some things everyone
knows. Other things no one will ever know.” Turning away from the
teens, Ms. Darin added, “and, some things only a chosen few are
privileged enough to know.” In that moment, she realized she really
was the last bastion for the Mysteries of the Ancients. Decisions had
to be made, but they weren’t hers to make. The children of the
Servants had become the Servants when Avalona was destroyed. She
suddenly called out, “Haeroc! Mapsson! Come.” The two dogs took
their time heeding her call. “You three, come here,” she pointed
in front of her. When the teens and the Catahoula Curs had moseyed
over, she asked, “will you do your duty?”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The two curs cocked their heads as
if thinking about her question, then they both barked a single time.
After quickly circling the children and shoving their snouts in
questionable places, the two dogs meandered back toward the silver
archway leading out of the dining area.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Ms. Darin?” Gerick asked.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No questions, child,” she
ordered. “The time has come for you to learn the Mysteries of the
Ancients.”</div>
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-5819768632102937722017-02-27T04:20:00.000-08:002017-03-02T18:17:33.045-08:00Bona Tempora<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Leaning her head against the arm
of the small couch, Cassie kept her eyes closed. She deliberately
took slow breaths, while holding on tightly to the couch cushion.
Silently fighting to stay conscious as her world spun out of control,
the only thought she managed, </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>not
really dignified behavior for Mercury’s Messenger, is it?</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
As if she had any control over her sudden blackouts, ever-constant
urge to blow chunks, and incredibly weakened body. Without opening
her eyes, she croaked, “you here?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Yes,”
the novice line cook answered.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Water.”
Cassie managed to lift her hand up a few inches off the couch.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Here,”
she shoved the glass of sugar water into the Messenger’s wavering
hand.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Careful
not to spill, Cassie got the cup to her face, but was incapable of
drinking in that awkward position. “Take it,” she ordered as she
attempted to push herself up onto one elbow. During the process, she
forgot to keep her eyes closed, and nearly hurled for her efforts.
“Oh, I can’t,” she muttered as she fell back into the couch
arm. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">What’s
wrong?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Sick,”
Cassie sighed as her head slumped over and her shoulders drooped.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Oh
shit! Hey!” the young woman put the glass on the table and focused
her whole attention on trying to wake Mercury’s Messenger. “Hey!
You gotta wake up. Wake up!” She shook Cassie’s shoulder, saying,
“he’ll kill me if you don’t wake up. Come on!” After a solid
minute, Cassie stirred, and the line cook exclaimed, “thanks be to
Mercury!”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Huh?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">You
okay,” the girl asked.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Yeah.”
Cassie tried opening her eyes, and then promptly shut them. “No.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Don’t
move. I’m going to get you a straw.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Please...don’t
leave,” Cassie begged.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Chef
Preston said you need to drink.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Please,”
she said again.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Okay.
I’ll be right here. Okay?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Than—”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> The
unconscious Messenger spurred the line cook into action. She stood in
the door way bellowing, “STRAW! BRING A STRAW!” Without waiting,
she returned to the chair next to the couch and moved the fallen ice
onto Cassie’s neck.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Standing
against an ancient oak tree in the middle of an oak grove, old Bonnie
Taylor watched the fork in the river. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Late.
Capt’n’s never late. </i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Absentmindedly
using his pocket knife to scrape the dirt from under his fingernails,
Taylor</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i> </i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">snorted,
</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>better not bring
trouble with him.</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
At that thought, he folded the knife, slipped it into his pocket, and
then eased himself off the oak. The walk back took less time; such is
the case with downhill travel. Before showing himself in the clearing
in front of the beat up shack he let out a series of long and short
whistles. A height deficient, stocky blonde woman, stuck her head out
of the door and matched Taylor’s whistles note for note. Upon
hearing her response, he meandered out of the brush and into the
clearing.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> When
he got close enough to hear, she inquired, “well?”</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> </span>“</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Nothing,”
he shrugged.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Oh.”</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Come
on. Let’s get everyone together. Time to figure our next move,”
he said.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">What
do you mean?” she asked. “Aren’t we supposed to wait here?”</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We’ll
talk about it inside,” he instructed, motioning for her to move
aside.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> She
pushed the door out of her way, spun about, and strode down the short
hall. As she passed the first bedroom, she called, “Siriah, come to
the kitchen.”</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Okay,”
Siriah Darin responded. To her mother she said, “I’ll be right
back.”</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Was
that Martin?” Daphne Darin asked.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Uh.
No, Mom,” Siriah said. “I’ll be back in minute, okay?”</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">When
Martin gets home, tell him I need garlic and onions for the soup.”</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Biting
her lower lip, Siriah’s breath caught. She closed her eyes, bowed
her head, and took a moment. Patting her mother’s foot, she said,
“I’ll let Dad know.” She then opened her eyes and saw Bonnie
Taylor standing just outside the bedroom. With a half-smile, she
followed him. Though her body ached from the wounds she’d received
at the Inquisitor’s hands, the physical pain was nothing. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>I
will kill him, </i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">she
promised herself. Upon entering the kitchen, they were greeted by the
cautiously expectant faces of the other rescued women. Taking a
moment to clear her mind and check her rising emotions, Siriah
navigated through the women to the sink, where she grabbed a cup out
of the dish rack and filled it from the tap. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Ladies,”
Taylor said. He took the time to meet each woman’s gaze. “Capt’n
Decker is late.” They each looked at his crazy overgrown goatee. “I
realize you’re not familiar with the Capt’n. In short, he’s
never late.” He let that sink in a moment before continuing, “it’s
time for us to head to the next place.”</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">But…
I thought...tomorrow,” Siriah glanced in the direction of the
bedroom where her mother was currently laid out. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">To
be safe,” Bonnie Taylor nodded. “Nothing here feels right. We go
now, we have time to move.”</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">She’s
not ready,” the blonde blurted.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Ready
or not,” Siriah muttered.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We’ll
go slow,” he reassured the women, who were hazarding nervous peeks
at one another.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> The
twins, both of whom had never wanted to stay in the shack, spoke
simultaneously, “when are we leaving?”</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Right
now,” Taylor answered.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Good,”
agreed the twins.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> While
staring at the bloodied nudist, the Inquisitor rolled his shoulders,
popped his neck, and cracked his knuckles. “Unfortunately, I don’t
have time to play. Would that I could, we’d spend the next week
having fun. As it stands, your presence is both an enigma and a
hindrance.” Picking up his carving knife from the table, the
Inquisitor pointed it at his newest subject, “what should I do with
you?”</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">You
could let me go,” Commander Samuel Felis offered. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Now,
why didn’t I think of that?” the Inquisitor laughed.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We
can’t all have brains.” Felis barely got the comment out of his
mouth before he was belted twice in the neck by Jougs, who was only
too willing to let out his pent up aggression. “You’re fucked!”
Felis yelled while attempting to look at the man behind him. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Watch
your tongue,” the Inquisitor warned, “I will cut it out.”</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">That’ll
make your interrogation difficult,” Felis retorted.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> After
nodding once to Jougs, who immediately began beating on the prisoner,
the Inquisitor used a cloth to clean the blood off his knife. He
examined the keen edge in the bright light, before placing it back
into its slot in his toolkit. While the Inquisitor tended his tools,
he spoke softly to Vorant, “make sure he’s alone.”</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Got
it, Boss,” Vorant replied. Outside the Interrogation Room, he stood
absolutely still. Calmly spinning to his right, he took a couple
steps forward, and then paused to hear his own footfalls echo. At the
bottom of the stairwell leading through the Heart of the Seven
Faeries, he stopped again to listen. Shaking his head, he whispered,
“guy’s buck-ass nekkid.” Rather than climbing the stairs to
check the clearing, Vorant sped back down the corridor. The only
sound was the clickety-clack of his heavy boots as the echo ran
before him. Inside the Interrogation Room, Vorant found that Jougs
was still pounding on the bound nudist and the Inquisitor was
watching with the delight of a child waiting for an ice cream cone.
Grunting, “clear,” Vorant shut the door.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> An
old patch of cord-grass began bobbing up and down at the base of Mt.
Caliber, a few feet up from head of the tattered and practically
abandoned Old Sea Road. Underneath the overgrown escape hatch, two
disheveled soldiers from Poterit Dan grunted as they pushed up for a
solid ten minutes. When the earth above the hatch finally gave way,
they were blasted with cool salty air. The two men promptly exhaled
the stale underground and hungrily gulped in the sea. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Private,”
Master Sergeant Maxwell Locos ordered as he locked his fingers
together, providing the step up. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Aye,
Maser,” Private Richard Machine responded automatically as he
popped his foot into the waiting hands and his head out of the hole.
It took a bit of struggling to wiggle out, but once he was free and
had verified the area, he dropped onto his stomach and offered a hand
to Locos. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Upon
standing up next to the hole, Locos gazed out at the Sovereign Sea,
and said, “never been this far west or south before.” After a
minute of observing the area, he added, “looks like Port Askance.”</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">You’ve
been to Port Askance?” Machine asked in awe.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Yup,”
Locos replied.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Well
don’t leave me hanging,” Machine insisted.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">You
want a fish tale?” Locos asked, rolling his eyes and shaking his
head.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I
know you got one, Maser,” Machine laughed.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">More’n
one,” Locos agreed. “Alright. Down in Merced. Maybe 17 years
back. It was my second duty station. Anyway. We patrolled the route to
Port Askance hunting illegal Montisi and Donians. The Port’s been
derelict for what? 80-90 years? Typically, we drove to the Limits
sign, then turned around and went back. This one day, ole Hargreaves
and I talked about what a shame it was to get so close but never see
all that water. We’re flatland boys; there’s just too much
temptation in proximity.” He chuckled, and continued, “for an
abandoned shithole, the roads weren’t bad. We drove right down to
the docks, parked, and got out to walk about. We weren’t out of the
truck 5 minutes before Hargreaves starts acting spooked.” He paused
the story, moving his right arm back and forth with his forefinger
extended while he tried to choose a direction. Deciding on away from
the sea and going up Old Sea Road, he resumed, “he kept elbowing me
every few feet, asking, ‘you see that?’ Now I hadn’t seen
anything but the deep blue. So, I was getting pissed off about that
little jackhammer slamming into my arm. Halfway down the road we come
up on this battered old wharf. Seriously, some of the buildings and
most of the docks were just missing. I was thinking how time sure
does its own brand of damage, when that crazy son of a bitch
practically jumps in my skin. He’s rambling on about the eyes
watching us. And, I’m about ready to teach him a lesson, when I
notice the damnable red eyes staring at us from the shadows between
two crumbled up warehouses. Now. I wasn’t always the brainy chap
you see before you,” he laughed, “that particular day, I threw
Hargreaves off of me, and ran right at them eyes.” </span>
</div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Though
they were walking on a partially overgrown road, Machine’s full
attention was on Locos and the story. The private stumbled along,
trying not to miss anything and nearly broke his ankle for the
effort. “So, what was it?” he asked.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The
sun glinting off of...something.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-45078130623629261332017-02-20T04:20:00.000-08:002017-03-02T18:09:48.490-08:00Ad Libitum<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Where did you learn to play?”
Kent ‘the Bard’ Wheelock asked the old woman sitting across from
him. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">She looked up slyly, a slight
smile slipping along her lips. “One does not become Archeireus et
Celatrix Ministrae without learning a number of strategy games.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Don’t become </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>the</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
Bard without it neither,” he muttered. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Sizing him up, her grin faded,
“oh, I do say.” She nodded sympathetically as she pushed her
queen-side bishop into play.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">A little premature, no?” he
asked as he threatened the bishop with a pawn.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Always test your opponents
defensive positions,” she withdrew the bishop diagonally one
square.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Why waste time? When you just
back off?” Kent asked.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“‘<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Sometimes you must take two
steps back in order to take a single step forward,’ to quote a
mentor.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> His mouth dropped, and a
disbelieving chuckle shook his upper body, “that doesn’t make any
sense. You always take two steps back for one step forward, you go
backwards.” </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Wisely, Celatrix Verna met Kent’s
gaze and nodded. She slowly blinked her eyes as her smile quickly
grew, and then disappeared. Removing his knight from the board with
her bishop, she asked, “always?” as she basked in the glory of
his confusion. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Unable to fully look her in the
eyes, he caught glimpses of her between long moments of studying the
chess board. He tentatively reached toward a pawn, changed the angle
of his view, and then withdrew his hand. Shaking his head, he
grabbed his other knight and relocated it away from her other bishop.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Digging around in his bag, the
Inquisitor removed a slender black protective case. Unzipping it, he
took out a needle and a light brown bottle. Jougs and Vorant stood on
either side of him, watching as he methodically unscrewed the cap,
slid the needle through the thin plastic membrane, and then
half-filled the barrel with a clear liquid. He set the bottle on the
table. After tapping the needle, he stepped around Jougs, saying,
“this will not hurt.” When the security guard realized he was
coming to her, she began struggling in her chair. The Inquisitor
stepped in front of her, ordering, “stop.” At the sound of his
voice, she froze before involuntarily shuddering and shrinking into
the cold metal chair. He pulled her arm up, practically dislocating
her elbow. She whimpered. He smiled. She ground her teeth at the
sudden jab. “Goodnight,” he whispered as he dropped her elbow.
Caressing her shoulder, he added, “sleep tight.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Eyes agape, Jougs watched the
exchange. To Vorant, he mouthed, “who is this broad?” Vorant
raised an eyebrow and quickly dropped it.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Silently observing the woman
drift off, the Inquisitor still had his back to Jougs. He slammed his
left elbow into Jougs’ chin while spinning around to grab him by
the back of the head which was then promptly shoved into the table.
Taking a quick step backwards, the Inquisitor bent over Jougs’ ear,
and growled, “as you can plainly see, she is my prisoner.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Going completely loose as the
double impact rolled through his already tender jaw, Jougs threw up
his hands, and with his face all smashed into the table, he mumbled,
“okay, Boss. Okay.” </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Supplying a bit more pressure,
the Inquisitor grunted, before releasing Jougs. He walked around to
the opposite side of the table, power staring at the die-hard
murderer who refused to look at him. In disappointment, he shook his
head. Tapping the map, the Inquisitor said, “these three walls. No
problem. This one,” he moved his finger further into the tunnel
system, “absolute quiet.” The </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>duumviri</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
stared at the small line indicating the tunnel opening. “40 yards.
Give or take. Up a ladder-well, into the laundry room, and then down
this corridor. As you can see, the ground we have to cover is
inconsequential. Need I mention Baroport?” He paused a moment,
gauging the duo, then he added, “from here, caution and direct
action. We get in, them, out, and gone.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Won’t
he be under additional guard?” Vorant asked.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">That
is the assumption.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Oh.
Okay,” Vorant replied.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">What?”
the Inquisitor asked.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Three
of us against, the guards of Raven’s Drop?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Do
you think three is too many?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Jougs
instantly stepped back from the table, “they’ll never have a
chance, Boss.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> The
fork scraped across the bottom of the cast iron skillet, churning
roots as does the plow. The Chief Justice set the fork on a saucer,
grabbed a shaker of her dried garden herbs and salt, and heavily
sprinkled it over the skillet. She then changed spice for spatula and
vigorously chopped at the chunks. The dried garlic and onion began
their tantalizing race out of the skillet and throughout the kitchen.
In the threshold between the kitchen and the dining room, Ensign
Osborn leaned against a cabinet wall and listened to her excitedly
explain, “the garlic has to turn a light brown, just enough to know
the edges have been seared. Then, add the butter and onions. Turn up
the heat, stir, and brown the onions. Ooh! So good. Really seasons
the pan, too. I’ll pour it all into another dish, let it sit,
marinating in its own juices as I do up the ‘tatoes.” She stopped
chattering for a moment, turning away from the stove, “you got
quiet.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">All
the tantalizing aromas,” Osborne assured her. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Ah,”
she nodded knowingly, before returning her attention to the skillet.
“On the days when I’m not feeling like plain old country
potatoes, I add some boiling hot water and cook it down to make it a
little saucy,” she giggled. “As a child, I fancied myself a
wizard with a magic wand,” she gave the spatula a slight wave over
the pan, “I pronounce you, ‘Dinner.’” Dishing up two plates,
Moira carried her victory meal to Osborne, ordering, “set these on
the table.” </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> When
he returned from the dining room, the ensign found Moira once again
preoccupied with the top of the stove. “What are you cooking now?”
he asked.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">What
I should have cooked first,” she groaned. “The meat.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Mmm.
What kind of meat?” he said half-peeking around her shoulders.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Steak,
young man. We’re celebrating,” she answered.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">And,
will there be alcohol at this celebration?” a deep voice asked from
behind Osborne who froze at the sound.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">None
for me, thank you,” Moira chirped.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">A
very sobering party it will be,” Colonel Gawain Dagon stated. “At
ease, Ensign.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Osborne’s
shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch as he turned to look at the
highest ranking officer in Mercury’s Elite Guard. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>I’m
in so much trouble,</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
he thought. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Why
is he smiling? It’s so creepy. </i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Turning
back to the Chief Justice, the ensign asked Dagon, “shall I leave?”
</span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Not
necessary,” Moira assured them. She handed Osborne a two additional
plates, “if this young man is to spy on me, he’ll do it from my
elbow.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> For
a moment, Ensign Osborne grinned. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Three
steaks and an extra plate. She’s good. </i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Then,
he remembered </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>the
</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Colonel.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I
prefer to think of it as protecting the realm,” Dagon answered.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Oh.
I see. A protector, then?” Moira actually laughed.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Dagon
nodded. “Speaking of protectors,” he began, “as Chief Justice,
you have a duty to protect the citizens of Poterit Don.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Oh,
Gae. Please don’t presume to pump me up with speeches of duty,
honor, commitment. I don’t rally. I’m not one of your,” she
nodded at Osborne who missed the gesture, “soldiers.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Let
me speak, Moira,” he urged. “We’ve been infiltrated. Adonis did
not do this alone. He hired out the dirty work. He knows all the
players. We need him alive for as long as it takes to milk him.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">You
want me to delay justice?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Yes,”
Dagon answered.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Justice
be damned?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Dagon
shook his head, “no, Moira. Justice be thorough, patient, and
proactive.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Proactive?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Yes,”
he replied. “You must fill two vacancies. Postpone all cases until
those vacancies are filled.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Do
you have any idea of the backlog we’re already under?” she
gasped.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Yes,”
he smiled, “and when the freeze is lifted, it will be necessary to
see to those oldest cases first.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Sitting
down at her dinner table, Moira waved her nose across her plate,
inhaling deeply. She whispered, “delicious,” looked up at Dagon,
and said, “of course, it is always necessary to address cases in
the order in which they were filed. Pass the coffee, Ensign.” She
nodded to the tan thermal carafe in the center of the table.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">When
did you make coffee,” Osborne asked.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">This
is the best place in Ambrosia to watch the fog roll in,” </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">1</span></span><sup><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">st</span></span></sup><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">
Lieutenant Juan Pedro Ramon Garcia Santos explained to the
exceedingly tall woman sitting next to him on the highest roof ridge
of the Templus de Ambros.</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">And,
then, what? Sit out here covered in fog?” she stood up, towering
over him. “Perhaps, we get closer to the exit.”</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> He
patted the roof, “sit. Trust me.” </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> Against
her better judgment, she sat down.</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Two
search lights will chase each other across the sky.” Staring out
into the dim purple night, he lit up briefly, then pushed the memory
away. “Bet me which will turn on first.”</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">You’re
crazy,” she asserted. “You want to sit on a roof in fog gambling
over lights?”</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Well,
when you put it that way,” he chuckled, “yeah.”</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Um.
Okay,” she caved.</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Well?”</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Well
what?”</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Which
one?”</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">What
are my options?”</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> He
grinned, answering, “left or right.”</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Right.”</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Right.
Sure?”</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> She
glared at him, “yes. I’m sure.”</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Okay,”
he confirmed. Meeting her eyes for a split second, he nodded, and
then returned to staring off the roof.</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">You’re
an odd little man,” she stated. They sat silently, each lost
wandering their own paths through the grey-white wisps rolling off
the mountains. “How long does it last?” she asked.</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Differs.”
The moist tendrils wrapped themselves around the base of buildings,
tickling the streets along the east-west axis. Though watching the
process, one never saw the movement. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>It
creeps. Building as it goes,</i></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">
Santos latched on to the thought. A powerful reminder that progress
is made over time. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>Look
at her,</i></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">
he chanced a glance, </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>not
two weeks ago...</i></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">he
squashed the laughter before it did more than simply twinkle in his
eye. “I’ve seen it both fly through and linger.” </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> Opening
the Interrogation Room door, Jougs stopped.“You’re all naked,”
he blurted out.</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Master
of the Obvious, eh?”</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> With
a glee born of a man tired of holding back, Jougs laid into the nude
man who flew into the opposite wall of the concrete hallway. </span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Who?”
the Inquisitor asked.</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">I
dunno. Dude, ain’t wearing clothes,” Jougs responded.</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> Commander
Samuel Felis shook his head and pushed himself up from the cold
concrete. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">“Bad
idea,” Felis warned.</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> Grabbing
him by an arm, Jougs yanked Felis up, and led him into the
Interrogation Room. “Son of a bitch was in the hall,” he said as
he shoved Felis toward the Inquisitor.</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Tie
him up,” the Inquisitor ordered.</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Sleeping
beauty?” Jougs asked.</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> Wrinkling
his face, the Inquisitor answered, “dump her on the floor.” He
pulled a small kit out of his bag, untied it, and chose a knife, saying, “I only have five questions for you. I don’t like to repeat
myself.”</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
</span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-36747000244001995002017-02-13T04:20:00.000-08:002017-02-14T19:11:50.554-08:00Iratae Voces<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Suddenly flooded with brilliant emerald light, the kitchen staff froze. Without giving a second thought to the sudden disco, Preston the Head Cook yelled, “snap to! Hungry people waiting! Go on!” His business as usual attitude hid his shock at seeing a young woman appear out of thin air. He spun towards her with a metal whisk in one hand, saying, “I don’t care who you are. You ever just pop in here like that again, I swear to Mercury, I’ll turn you over my knee! Do you know how close you came to making Scott drop the tray he’s carrying?” For his part, Scott had chosen that moment to disappear through the swinging doors leading into the Dining Hall. Regardless, Preston continued, “damned Royals, just come and go as they please. No consideration for those who slave away making sure they have all the luxuries they need. Ridiculous,” he shook his head as he turned back to the mixing bowl, “if you’re hungry, I suggest you find a seat out there,” he waved the whisk like a magic wand.</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Unable to help herself, Cassie bellowed laughter at the grumpy cook’s back. She snorted, “you’re just like he said!” At the instant she thought of Kaiser Rudolpho, she shrank into herself, all humor evaporating. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> It wasn’t her laughter, but the sudden lack thereof, that caused Preston to whip back around. Facing the distraught Messenger, he left the whisk sitting in the mixing bowl, and crossed the room to her side. He put a hot hand on her shoulder and pulled her to his chest, saying, “I know, little one. I miss him too. He was an arrogant, troublesome ass,” the nearest line cook gasped, “but he was our arrogant, troublesome ass.” To the gaping line cook, he growled, “back to work, eh! Potatoes don’t chop themselves.” As he escorted her through the kitchen to an unofficial break area, typically used in the summer for overheated staff, he continued to bark orders, “finish mixing that batter. Lay it out. The oven’s already set.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “I don’t feel so go—”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Before Preston realized she was collapsing, the Messenger was on the floor awkwardly contorted around her overstuffed backpack. As one of the few people in the realm fully aware of the special medical needs of the Imler family, Preston knew exactly what to do. “Sugar water. Ice. Now!” He didn’t look to see who’d follow his orders, rather he bent down to scoop the unconscious girl up backpack and all. He carried her to his private office, where he put her on the sofa that he’d kept since Kaiser Rudolpho was a boy. Once she was on the couch, he carefully pulled the backpack off, and laid her down.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Standing in the doorway, the newest line cook waited without speaking. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “Well, don’t just stand there,” Preston ordered, “letting the ice melt, give it here!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “Uh, here,” the youth said as she offered the dripping cubes to her impatient supervisor.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “Grab that chair,” he said. “Right here. Good. Now, sit down and hold this on her neck.” He maneuvered out of her way. “Keep the ice on her. She wakes up, give her the sugar water. Got it?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “Yes sir,” the novice line cook answered.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “I-I’m fine,” Cassie mumbled.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “Obviously,” Preston replied as he left them in his office, ordering over his shoulder, “sugar water.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “Quiet!” the Inquisitor ordered the security guard who’d begun sniveling when she realized that the approaching men were her kidnapper’s accomplices. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Jougs elbowed Vorant, jutting his chin in that ‘do you see this?’ manner. Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Vorant shrugged it off. Jougs briefly touched his tender chin, <i>definitely time for Plan C</i>, he dropped his hand. Though walking side by side, after six years of working well together, the <i>duumviri</i> had come to an impasse. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> The Inquisitor shoved the woman against the wall, “stay,” he commanded. “We need to lay out the maps,” he indicated the door to the Interrogation Room where he’d previously spent a great deal of time with the Darin family, “there’s a table.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> The <i>duumviri</i> stopped before the door, knowing full well that they’d never gotten the chance to clean up the mess. Neither man gave a lick about the dried gore, they were concerned with the intelligence of returning to the scene of such a nasty crime. Knowing full well that Vorant would never speak up, Jougs said, “should we be here?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Narrowing his eyes, the Inquisitor squared his shoulders, sucked in his breath, and puffed up his chest. He took two steps toward Jougs, answering, “this is the last place anyone will look for us.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Shrugging and feigning indifference, Jougs turned the knob and pushed the door open. The brilliance of the overhead light blinded him. He stepped back into Vorant, who promptly shoved him into the room. Jougs blinked repeatedly in the painfully white light.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “That’s odd,” Vorant said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “What is?” the Inquisitor asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “Well. It’s just...I mean...we were in a hurry to get the body,” the security guard squeaked, “out. But, I always turn the lights off,” Vorant answered.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> With one hand he shoved her head into the wall, hissing, “shh,” before adding, “probably left on by those idiot Mercs. They were the last down here.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “You’re the ones!” the security guard cried out.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> The Inquisitor chortled, “of course, love! Did you think I was joking?” He stroked her hair, whispering “that’s sweet,” then he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the Interrogation Room where Jougs and Vorant stood waiting. The Inquisitor pushed her towards Jougs, saying, “tie her up.” He then kicked through the shattered glass on his way to the table he’d previously used to lay out his torture toolkit. While Jougs secured the woman to the same chair that had held Daphne Darin prisoner, Vorant and the Inquisitor relocated the table to the center of the room, directly under the overhead light. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “So...what’s with the broad, boss?” Jougs asked as he approached the table.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Pointing out their location, the Inquisitor said, “as you can see, this tunnel is the key to getting anywhere in the underground.” He tapped the map, “this is the remodeled section. According to the justice, we’ll find the tunnels still intact. They just didn’t feel like maintaining the whole place. The cheap bastards bricked up everything.” Unrolling an even older map, he laid it over the first. The changes were immediately obvious, “I’ll be damned! Old Shiny Baldleaf was telling the truth,” he pointed to a couple sections. “Raven’s Drop, here we come!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Pushing up with all his kitty might, Commander Samuel Felis shoved and shoved on the hilt of the sword he’d seen Jougs move to activate the secret passage leading under the Heart of the Seven Faeries. Regardless of how much effort he put into it, he just did not have the necessary strength to budge the statue. <i>Damn it</i>, he silently cursed as he hopped down from the ancient fountain. Once on the ground, he stretched out his front paws, first the left, then the right. With his cat ass high in the air, he gave it a little wiggle. His tail darted back and forth as it slowly retracted. In a full body shudder, his fur seemed to evaporate. Arching his naked human back, he drew in his hands, first the right, then the left. After a decent stretch, he pushed himself up onto his knees where he weaved and held back the nausea. He slowly surveyed the clearing and verified that he was still alone. It took him little effort to move the sword hilt the half inch required to trigger the secret passage. <i>So stupid!</i> He momentarily contemplated changing back, but knew that the energy required for back-to-back transformations would incapacitate him for a solid ten minutes. As it stood, after two weeks in cat form, he was certain to have plenty of issues getting his feet under him. <i>Like riding a bike,</i> he thought. Leaning onto the fountain, he heaved his mass up, and staggered back a few steps. <i>Never will understand,</i> he shook off the second wave of nausea, right before the urge to puke took hold. After expelling the contents of his stomach, he used the back of his hand to wipe the slime off his chin. Shuddering, he refused to look at the mess, recalling his last cat meal of gopher. Backing away from the nasty, he slapped a hand on the edge of the fountain, took one look down the stairs and muttered, “dirty son of a dick weevil!” Though descending a relatively short staircase would take the average man less than a minute, Felis held to the rail, and eased his way down like an 80-year-old. At the foot of the stairs, he glanced back, sighing, “small favors,” as the world above disappeared. Blinking in the dim light, he focused his energy on moving forward regardless of the growing cold that started in his bare feet, shriveled his package, and caused him to hug his upper body. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Sitting in his office chair, Colonel Gawain Dagon listened patiently as General Willard Isaac Tomlyn raged about the ineptitude of civilians and children leading war efforts. The belligerent general had already eaten up 30 minutes of Dagon’s precious time and by the manner in which he was pacing, it seemed he was in no hurry to vacate the premises. Stifling a yawn, Dagon exhaled sharply and nodded. When Tomlyn stopped speaking long enough to take a breath, Dagon interjected, “I understand your concerns, Will.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “Oh, don’t try to blow me off.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “Now, Will. That’s not—”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “I’ve had enough of the games!” Tomlyn practically shouted.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “Do not yell at <i>me</i>, in <i>my</i> office,” Dagon ordered. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Tomlyn stopped mid-step, cocked his head to one side, and for the first time since entering Dagon’s office he said something that didn’t piss Dagon off, “that wasn’t my intention.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Standing up, Dagon said, “I know.” As he walked around his desk, he continued, “our hands are always bound by law. If we’re law abiding.” He leaned against the edge of his desk, saying, “the boy has much to learn. Unlike the Advisers, he can be taught. Point of fact, we’ve only a short time to teach him before the law says he must lead us.” Dagon looked down at his throw rug, contemplating the situation.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “It’s not just the Advisers,” Tomlyn began, “who wouldn’t know barrel from butt. It’s that damnable Whistler. If I hadn’t watched the paper-pushing pansy prick… He’s a backstabbing, regulation-manipulating sneak. The only reason he replaced Michaels was because he forced Kaiser Imler into a corner. Not that I have to tell you about it.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Bracing himself with both hands on his thighs, Dagon pushed his shoulders up, straightened his back out, and popped his neck. “I remember. And, if I had any proof...” he shook his head, “conjecture never solved anything.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “Conjecture? Ha! That old Rumpled-fore-skin! I can’t prove anything, Gawain. But, I know he’s in the same camp as the Oathbreaker. I can hear it in his voice as he tries to drive the War Cabinet. He’ll never command the Regs as long as he’s fourth in line. But, that’s not a long line when you’re a conniving shit. Mark my words. Either of the other generals fall… I’ll be the last he comes after. And, I swear to you. Mercury as my witness, I’ll put one in his forehead.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “Hey, now, Will! Don’t go talking like that outside of this office. Anyone else hears you, they might take it the wrong way.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “They can be damned! I’m not playing these games!” Tomlyn growled.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “<i>My</i> office,” Dagon reminded the angry general. </span>
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-53548576742110951142017-02-06T04:20:00.000-08:002017-02-09T07:01:14.444-08:00Pueris Problematis<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Standing in the foyer of the Chief
Justice’s Chambers, Moira Thibodeaux once again stared at the depressing
painting of the wrecked ship being pummeled on the rocks which served as its
cause of destruction. “Osborne, do you think this place would make a good
museum?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The young ensign looked at her
quizzically, shrugged his shoulders and answered with, “yes ma’am, I believe it
would. Might even quiet the rumors about it.” He smiled. “You do know your
refusal to live here will cause an uproar. The papers will go nuts.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I certainly hope so,” she said
approvingly. “I’ve always been a simple, practical woman. I see nothing
sensible about this,” she circled her forefinger, “palace.” She sighed. Turning
away from the painting, she walked over to the door through which they’d
originally entered. “When we get back to my house, I should like to speak with
Colonel Dagon. Can that be quickly arranged?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I’m sure it can, though I can’t say if
it’ll be quick or not,” he half-heartedly lifted the corner of his mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “That’ll do,” she nodded. “Young man, when
is the last time you had a good home-cooked meal?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Ma’am?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Food, Ensign. Not that crap they serve in
the Dining Hall. Real home-cooked food.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “It’s been ages. Why?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Because I’m hungry and I plan on making
something delicious to celebrate my new position. I can neither imagine eating
alone nor forcing you to suffer the enticing aromas.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The shit-eating grin consumed his face, <i>to hell with protocols</i>, he thought as he
said, “what do you have in mind?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Depends on what is in my kitchen. Shall
we investigate the matter?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He pulled open the doorway leading down to
the Antigone Courts, “absolutely.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Chista, please tell Preston lunch was
great!” Archel said to the servant girl as she cleaned the table of the meal
he’d almost shared with Cassie. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Baffled by the direct address and open
praise, the girl paused, plate in mid-air, “my liege?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Lunch,” he said as he patted his belly,
“was great.” He stretched in his chair, then stood up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The girl bowed before him, nearly dropping
the stack of plates in the process.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Hey! Look out!” he rushed to her and
steadied the dish tower. “What are you doing? You don’t have to do that.”
Taking the plates from her, he carried them to the bin, set them in it, and
then returned to the table to finish clearing it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Watching in awe, the girl stuttered, “my
li-iege. S-stop. Y-you can’t!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “What?” he asked her, “why not?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Because!” she declared, “you’re king!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He flinched at the accusation, whining,
“Chista!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “My liege!” she bowed again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Just stop it! Three weeks ago you chased
me through the Gardens. Do you remember? We got in so much trouble!” He laughed
at the memory. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Lowering her gaze, she struggled to
withhold the plethora of emotions that raged through her. She fought the smile
that rose at the thought of the hilarious expression on Magistrix Anna’s face
when she caught them pissing on the roses. “I remember,” she managed to stifle
her laughter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “And…and two months ago…‘member?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Though her head was still bent, she raised
her eyes, a slight smile curled her lips as her cheeks reddened. She nodded
once.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “We were almost caugh—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Shh! Don’t say it!” she glanced over her
shoulder toward the door to the Kaiser’s Chambers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He giggled, “kissing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> She grew instantly serious, stating,
“everything’s different now,” in a swirl of movement, she grabbed the dish bin
and fled to the door which she flung open before running out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Chista!” Praeceptor Archeleus Imler
bellowed from where she’d left him standing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Thrice came the knock on the open door,
“my liege,” Ensign Ford asked, “shall I bring her back?” Waiting for an answer,
it occurred to him that the Messenger wasn’t at the table. He knew she hadn’t
left from the front door; after all, he would have seen her go. <i>Secret passages all over this place. That’s
what they say.</i> Shrugging to himself, he sighed and watched the young
griffin prince sling himself onto a dining chair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “What’s the use?” Archel groaned, “she
doesn’t like me anymore.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> In that instant, Ensign Ford recognized
what he’d just witnessed. If the boy had been his little brother, he would have
told him to give chase. As it stood, there were definite rules of conduct and
acceptable behavior for royalty and chasing after servant girls was absolutely
against them. He bit his lip as he struggled for any piece of advice he might
be able to offer. In the end, he settled for saying, “sire,” before backing out
of the entry and closing the door. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The black and white tuxedo cat hid in the
bushes on the edge of the clearing that surrounded the Heart of the Seven
Faeries fountain. He was absolutely exhausted from following the Inquisitor
around Ambrosia City for the last two weeks. That he’d even happened across the
bastard talking with Clara Darin had been sheer luck; he’d been on his way from
Sentinel Cemetery to Merc HQ, using his little cat legs—the far faster mode of
travel—when he’d stumbled upon the two whispering under the watchful gaze of
the Pissing Puppy statue. Since that day, Commander Samuel Felis had resisted
every urge to transform, grab the sick fuck by the throat and choke slam him
into unconsciousness. If he didn’t get some answers soon, he might as well say
goodbye to his military career. Colonel Dagon and Kaiser Rudolpho had always
understood the usefulness of his unique Versicatus skill set. But, two weeks
without reporting in? That was a new record. <i>Don’t worry old boy! They won’t court martial you when they find out
what you’ve been doing. </i>He sighed, kicked his back leg up and scratched
behind his ear. While in that ‘impossible to appear dignified’ position he
watched the Inquisitor and the kidnapped security guard disappear into the
Heart of the Seven Faeries. For the umpteenth time since this little excursion
began, Felis found himself wishing for his pants. No one ever took the naked
guy seriously. As he contemplated the virtues of transforming, his breath
caught at the sight of the two men, he’d repeatedly seen with the Inquisitor,
approaching the Heart. <i>What are you boys
up to now?</i> he wondered as they suspiciously stood on the opposite edge of
the clearing, their heads darting every which way as they both checked that no
one saw them. Once they’d determined that the path was clear, they jogged
across the clearing, and then began making a slow circuit around the fountain. Even
with his exceptional auditory capabilities, Felis could barely hear them:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Dude, you remember which one?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Uh…” the slightly larger man, paused
before each faerie, studying them carefully. “Nope,” he said as he shoved on
the hilt of the blade nearest him. “Not that one,” he muttered, before pushing
the next. His compatriot took the clue and followed suit with an immediately
satisfactory result.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Ah, don’t be mad, Vorant,” the man said,
“I’m good-looking and lucky.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Lucky you landed in a bush when I hit
you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He stopped one foot in the air, turned and
dropped it back on the grass, stared at his compatriot and said, “and you’re
lucky I didn’t kill you when I came to.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Man, you really wanna play that? Who’s
the butcher?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “The baker and the candlestick maker.
We’re late. Let’s go before someone shows up trying to make a wish in this
well.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “First smart thing you’ve said in weeks.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Hey, listen…I’m serious, Dude. Shit ain’t
right with this job. Think about it. Mythical creatures. Magical bracelets. Disappearing
kids. We got followed by a fucking bird. Half the team’s locked up. Our
shipment took off. The Inquisitorlost his shit back there on that judge. We’re
about to <i>go</i> to prison,” he tapped his
head, “think. Six years we been at it. Never fought each other until now. Six
years. You ever see it go this far afield in all that time? No. ‘Cause for the
last six years we never did a job without a clear-cut plan. Six years. A plan.
Last two to three weeks: no plan. We gotta watch our backs, Vorant. And, you
know it too. I seen it in your eyes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I got opinions. I keep’em to myself.
Don’t forget Silverstein. Plans get fucked. That’s life, death, and the crazy
shit we’re into. Get me?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> If they said anything else to each other,
Felis didn’t hear it. The second they disappeared under the fountain, he crept
out from the bushes and began cat creeping across the clearing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Angrily shutting the Antigone Passdown
Log, Cassie pinched the bridge of her nose. Her head ached from reading Adonis’
crappy handwriting and self-absorbed drivel. And, though she hadn’t been hungry
while she sat with Archel, her stomach had begun growling 5 pages earlier. <i>What is it with this place and the lack of
food?</i> She wondered. Standing up from the table, she stretched her back,
popped her neck, and looked around the lounge. “I still can’t believe people
used to work down here,” she mumbled to herself. Though tempted to look through
the cabinets, she knew they were bare; that night they’d opened them all and
found spider webs. She shuddered at thought. Out of the corner of her eye she
spotted her rucksack laying against one of the chair legs. She did a little
dance, “I knew I left you in here!” Ripping the bag off the ground, she tossed
it onto the table, opened the flap, and then dug through it. She wasn’t looking
for anything in particular, but was relieved to have her bag again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Okay, girlie! Let’s shove these books in
here, and then go raid the kitchens,” on the last word, her stomach grumbled,
“I know. Hold your horses,” she said as she patted her belly. She tried to
recall the last thing she’d eaten, but could only remember the last time she’d
hugged porcelain. Her stomach flipped at the thought, “oh no you don’t!” She
organized the Log books into a stack and jammed them into her bag. It took her
a moment to maneuver them, she had to reach a hand in and lift up some of her
stuff. She gave the drawstring a tug and knotted it. Putting the now quite
heavy bag onto her back, she weaved under its weight, “sheesh. I don’t remember
it weighing this much last time,” she muttered. Looking around the room, she
realized that the hiding spot was still wide open. Cassie crossed the lounge,
kicked at the safety pin, and nearly losing her balance in the process. The
heavy stone fell into place a split second after she got her foot out of the
way. She should have taken the bag off to push the massive chest back over the
stone, but she didn’t. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> With the lounge returned to its original
condition, she ran her thumbs under the straps of the heavy rucksack,
concentrated on her growling stomach, and thought of food. It took a moment for
her to really focus on the kitchens, to see the place she wanted to be, but
once it had formed clearly in her mind, the bright green light flashed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Did you hear that?” the Inquisitor asked
his prisoner. The corridor wasn’t brightly lit, but was illuminated well enough
that he could see that the woman’s eyes had widened at the sound, so he didn’t
actually expect her answer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Yes,” she whispered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “What in Iphi’s name…?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The question wasn’t meant for her to
answer, though she whispered, “I don’t know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Before either could say or do anything
else, they heard the deep rumbling of two men chatting and walking towards
them. With nowhere to go, save the Interrogation Room, and expecting his men,
the Inquisitor pushed the woman in front of him, pulled out his knife and held
her steady, “don’t move,” he ordered in her ear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> When Jougs turned the corner, the
Inquisitor relaxed, sheathed his knife and called out, “about time you two
showed up.”</span></div>
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-50053958712758655162017-01-30T04:20:00.000-08:002017-01-31T19:55:19.755-08:00Vir Crudelissimus<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Did you check
everything out, first?” Jougs asked while perusing the refrigerator. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You fucking
kidding?” Vorant spun toward Jougs and with vehemence continued, “when’d I have
time, eh? Ain’t I been takin’ care of the mess?” He dropped the gore covered
saw in the sink, turned on the hot water, and growled, “d’you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Did I what?”
Jougs asked with his head inside the refrigerator. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Check the
site. You were out. D’you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He cracked
open a can of Eagle’s Nest Cola, stood up, and slammed it down. After belching,
Jougs said, “wasn’t on the way, now was it?” He grabbed a couple slices of
lunch meat out of the package, closed the fridge door, and then pulled down a
bag of bread. Quickly making a half-assed sandwich, he knotted the bag and
tossed it back on top of the fridge.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Of course
not,” Vorant grumbled. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
With a mouth
full, Jougs asked, “dude, what’s your prob?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Dropping the freshly
cleaned butchering devices into the drain rack, Vorant said, “I ain’t got a
problem. Everything’s peachy.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Well, it sure
seems like something’s got your panties in a wad.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Minute I
start wearing panties, you’ll be the first to know,” he yanked open the cabinet
under the sink, pulled out a box of garbage bags, and slapped the cabinet door
closed. He shoved the box into Jougs’ chest, saying, “if we gotta rush, then
you gotta help.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh man!”
Jougs mock moaned between bites, “what have you been doin’? Dickin’ around?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Of course.
Now, make yourself useful while I wash this gunk off.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Fiddling with
his yoyo, the Inquisitor threw a strong Sleeper and Walked the Dog an inch from
the head of a bound and gagged security officer. “It’s the first real trick
kids learn,” he informed the dazed woman. He dangled the yoyo off his elbow,
saying, “and this is an Around the Corner,” then he plucked the string,
grinning at her as it rolled up his arm and into his waiting hand. “If I wasn’t
in a hurry, I’d show you a few more tricks.” Dropping the yoyo into his jacket
pocket, he unceremoniously grabbed the woman by her left ankle and dragged her
around the corner from the security desk. He then proceeded down the hallway dragging
her behind him as he tried various doorknobs before he found one that turned
easily in his hand. “Knock, knock,” he said as he entered the unlit office
marked, ‘Billing.’ Without bothering to feel around for the light switch, he
pulled the woman into the room, and used her torso to hold the door open. After
he’d stepped over her, he knelt down, put his face in hers and jokingly said, “you’ve
seen my face. Now, you have to die.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Though still
dazed from being hit in the temple with the yoyo, the woman panicked. She
struggled in vain against her handcuffs at her back, all while screaming
through the shirt he’d belted into her mouth. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The sadistic
prick lit up at the sight of her useless attempt at fighting. Though he wasn’t
Mr. Gasoleo, he’d long ago mastered the finer arts of bondage. “I am
apologetic, love. You see, I already have a girlfriend. And, she does get
jealous.” Removing his boot knife, he shoved the woman into the office, and stopped
just as he was about to pull the knife across her throat. Standing next to the cracked
door, he listened deeply. A door closed. Goosebumps raised on the Inquisitor’s
arms. He pulled her the rest of the way into the office, and then stopped. A man
coughed and sneezed; footsteps approached. To the security guard, he whispered,
“make a sound, I kill you, him, and anyone you’ve ever known. Nod if you
understand,” he waited for her, then said softly, “good.” He slowly pushed the
door to, turning the knob all the way so that the latching mechanism wouldn’t
click. Holding the knife in one hand and the knob with the other he glared at
his prisoner, who lay silently shivering on the cold tile floor.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Vorant!”
Jougs called from the torture chamber in the safe house basement.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I hear you
for Iphi’s sake!” Vorant yelled back, before mumbling, “give me a minute to get
my shoes on. Damn man.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Vorant!” he
yelled.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Once his shoes
were on, he moseyed out of the bathroom and down the hall to the basement door
which he found half open. He stared at the door for a moment, one eyebrow
raised. Then pulled it out of his way while yelling, “what do you want?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Appearing at
the bottom of the stairs, Jougs asked, “this place got a dumbwaiter?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What? No,”
Vorant responded. “This look like Ambossi A Cinq?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Outright
laughing, he retorted, “if you’re their best bellhop, I’ll never get my bags to
the car. Come on, fucker.” He about-faced and strolled into the now mostly
cleaned torture room. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I just know
you’re the kind of SOB that don’t tip,” Vorant grumbled as he descended the
stairs.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The sniveling
security guard whimpered softly as the Inquisitor helped her up. “I do not
repeat myself. I haven’t time for games. Nod if you understand…Good. It appears
not everyone has gone home. If you’re not in the front, will whoever just left
be suspicious?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She glared at
him, dripping wet panicky hatred as she shook her head ‘no.’</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Using a
dangling piece of the shirt wadded into her mouth, he dried her eyes, and said,
“don’t cry. I haven’t given you reason. You know where the Archives are?” When
she nodded the affirmative, he decided she might be of use. “Good. That’s where
we’re going. Now, do <i>not</i> make me
regret this.” He quickly ungagged her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and pulled
her close. With her undivided attention, he spoke softly, “any sign of
disobedience, a hint of dissent, the gentle breeze of rebellion, I take you
away from here and flay you alive. Get me there without issue, I promise you
will live.” He waited for her to acknowledge his words, when she remained
silent, he shook her, “understand?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes,” she moaned.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You don’t
believe me?” he asked, though it was less question and more a moment of vague
awareness. “Ah. Well, if you can’t trust the word of a cold-blooded killer, whose
word can you trust?” He pushed her into the wall right of the door, “behave,”
he ordered. On the silent count of five,
he eased the knob and slowly pulled the door open a centimeter. Putting an ear
to the door, while keeping his eyes on the woman, he listened.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Careful, the
bag’s ripping,” Jougs ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I told you to
double bag it,” Vorant replied. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
They carried
the 50 gallon yard bag full of Justice Levi Bayleaf through the house, down two
stairs, and into the garage. When Jougs got the trunk open, he said, “shit! I
left the box.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Well, we got
two more bags to carry up.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Jougs shook
his head, “that’s right. Just set it down here,” he said as he dropped his end
of the bag next to the bumper. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Usually one to
see it coming, Vorant missed his cue and kept holding his end of the bag. The
gory contents splattered to the floor. Fortunately, Jougs’ end was the ripped
end. Vorant dropped his end and laughed as more gunk landed on Jougs’ shoes.<br />
“Fuck! That’s sick,” Jougs shook
some of the grime off of his right shoe. “Don’t laugh, dude. Nothing funny about
it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Grab some of
the shop towels off the bench behind you,” Vorant said through his deep bass chuckle.
“You ain’t spreading that shit through the house.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Without
incident and in complete silence she had led him into the Public Works Archives,
where they now stood in awe. The room was filled with wall to ceiling steel filing
cabinets labeled ambiguously with numbered metal placards on the face of each
drawer. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Fuck me
running backwards with a chainsaw!” the Inquisitor exclaimed. “How in Iphi’s
name am I supposed to find anything in this…” he let the thought fade as he
gestured vaguely to the rest of the room. In the center of the room four desks
were set up in a group and just behind them stood four normal-sized filing
cabinets. “Let’s start there,” he said as he yanked the security guard across
the room. He slung her into one of the rolling desk chairs, ordering, “sit.
Stay.” Circling the standalone filing cabinets, he whistled to himself, removed
his yoyo and began practicing Split the Atom. After two failed attempts, he
restrung his yoyo, and then dropped it in his pocket. “Don’t move,” he said to
the woman, though he hadn’t turn to look at her. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She froze in
the chair.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Good girl,”
he said as he walked around the desks and began the tedious task of searching
through the drawers. “Little known fact about office workers…they’re basically
lazy people. You see that box on the wall next to the door?” he asked his
prisoner.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yeah,” she
muttered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The keys to
all these locks,” he waved a hand around the room, “should be in that key box.
But, I’m wagering that one of these desks has three keys in it.” He paused to
glance up from the desk furthest from her and wasn’t surprised by her lack of
enthusiasm. Regardless, he continued speaking, “what three keys you ask? The
obvious one that opens the key box. Then, the one that opens that cluster of
filing cabinets. But, the coup de grâce,” he’d moved on the desk directly
opposite of her, “is the one that opens the current drawer,” he waved again,
“being used in here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Pulling the
car over in a dirt drive a few blocks from their destination, Jougs said, “you
wanna check it out or what?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Man, I’m
tired. You go.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You’re
tired?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yeah. Tired.
You got any idea how much energy it takes to saw through bone?” Vorant asked.
“I ain’t had dinner. Wasn’t really hungry yet when you got back and started
rushin’ me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“So, you’re
too tired and hungry to do your job?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t play.
You go. I’ll be right here takin’ a five minute nap.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Get out of
the car,” Jougs ordered. “I’ll buy you a steak after we’re done. You know, well
as I do, it’s better if’n we both go. I can’t believe I’m hearing this shit,”
he muttered to himself as he opened the driver’s side door. “Him with toys and
you with the ‘I’m tired’ bullshit. Don’t know when I stopped working with
professionals and started working with babies.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Watch that,”
Vorant warned.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What? Why?
You know it’s true. We’re not in the house now,” Jougs started in on all the
things he’d kept quiet for the last couple weeks, “the bastard’s gone crazy.
You know it. He took a yoyo out of the glove box before he sent me back. What’s
he doing with a yoyo? I get back there and you’re whining about cleaning up.
You always chop the bodies. It’s your fucking thing, Dude. Me, I’m a driver.
That’s my thing. My ass goes numb behind the wheel. You hear me talking about,
‘I’m tired?’ No. You don’t. ‘Cause we’ve got a jo—”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When Jougs
regained consciousness, he could barely see Vorant leaning against the car, and
smoking a cigarette.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What the
fuck?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Job’s done,”
Vorant stated.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You punched
me,” Jougs said as he sat up and rubbed his tender jaw.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Only way to
shut you up. Can you drive?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He blinked a
couple times, swallowed, and said, “yeah. You ever do that again, I’ll fucking
kill you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Quit your
bitching. Let’s go.” </div>
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-44095883996069222922017-01-23T04:20:00.000-08:002017-01-25T08:26:15.447-08:00Sanguine Manare<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Her head ached
worse than her last migraine which had kept her bed ridden for three days. Completely
unaware that the oozing pool of Sparks’ final heartbeat was mingling with her
own spilt life fluids, Clara “Chondee” Darin bit her lip as she yanked the uncomfortable
boiler plate out from under her shirt. Though she was already on the ground,
the effort sent her falling back into the shelving unit. The impact of her head
knocked down wooden cooking utensils which clattered to the linoleum and
splattered blood on her thigh. When she came to she was horrified to find her
body incapable of obeying the simplest commands. She lay there against the
shelving unit in the kitchenware aisle of Chang’s Bazaar, staring at the dead
body of her ex-boyfriend’s compatriot. <i>Come
on, Chondee! Get up girl. Get up! GET UP! MOVE YOUR ASS!</i> Not that it
mattered how loudly she chastised herself, her damnable limbs had gone on
strike. Sinking further into the shelving unit, she closed her eyes and began
sending motor commands to various parts of her body. She was midway through her
body survey, when she heard the distinct sound of multiple foot falls and
Tages’ all too familiar deep laughter coming from behind her.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Now that
makes everything much simpler,” he continued laughing. “Whoa, easy boy,” Tages
commanded. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Holding her breath and hoping he’d mistake her
for dead, Clara desperately tried not to so much as twitch.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Listen
carefully, boy,” Tages began, “you try anything, I’m not just gonna gut you,
I’m gonna make you watch as I fuck your momma to death. You get me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes,” Gabriel
Seagrass hissed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, what?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, I get
you,” the boy muttered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Good. Now
don’t move a fucking muscle,” Tages said as he slammed Gab into the same
shelving unit that Clara was slumped into which caused a variety of cooking
implements to rain onto her head. Fortunately for her, Tages was way too
involved in emphasizing his point to Gab to notice her gasp. As he approached, her
stomach dropped. She still had no viable motor control. He kicked her in the
hip and cracked up as she slid down the shelving unit; the back of her head
slapped the linoleum with a heavy thunk. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said lovingly as
he knelt over her, “if Sparky wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him for this.” He
unceremoniously ripped open her shirt exposing her black bra. After fully
examining her chest for wounds, he grabbed her chin and pulled her up toward
him. “Well shit on me!” he exclaimed upon seeing the gaping bullet hole in the
side of her head, “if you ain’t dead now, you will be soon enough,” he chuckled
deeply as he let go of her face. “Let’s go boy!” he ordered as he stood back
up. “You’re gonna show me where the rest are hidden. Move!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I already
showed you!” Gabriel shouted.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Boy, don’t
play with me! That was a stagin’ area. Means there’s a bleedin’ shippin’ area
somewhere. I’m not a fool, boy! Think hard,” he slapped Gab in the head,
“before you try playin’ ole Tages. Now, move!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Gabriel
Seagrass took one brief look at the bodies lying in the aisle and instantly
spun away. He felt nauseous knowing that help would not come. He silently
prayed that his mother had gotten away. Gritting his teeth and resolving
himself, he moved down the center of the shop toward the front door. <i>I’ve got to lead him on. Where can I take
this son-of-a-bitch? Oh, sweet mother of Iphi? Momma, please tell me you got
outta here! I bet I can get him to the park before he thinks twice about… </i>Before
he could finish the thought Tages yanked his head backwards and threw him to
the floor.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t fuckin’
move, lil’ boy!” Tages ordered as he stepped around Gab and began pointing his
gun down the empty aisles. He wasn’t sure where the noise came from, but he
knew some bitch was loose in the store. He’d be damned if he wound up like
Sparks. It had only taken him a second to realize Chondee hadn’t butchered
Sparky: the blood trail led away from their bodies. On a hunch, he spun around
and leveled his gun at Gab, who froze. Shaking his head, Tages whispered,
“stay.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Feigning
compliance, Gab nodded his understanding and bid his time, waiting in precisely
the spot he’d landed. No sooner was Tages out of sight, then Gab was on his
feet and running through the store. The two crazy soldiers had wasted no time
murdering the runaway girls. Gab had no doubts that he stood a better chance on
the run than waiting for his turn. As he ran, he pulled up a mental map of
Chang’s Bazaar. The kitchen aisle wasn’t a bad idea, but the hardware aisle was
better. Slipping down the tampon aisle he had just enough time to think, <i>fucking Tampon Lady</i>, before he heard
Tages erupt.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You got
nowhere to go, lil’ boy,” Tages yelled. After a few seconds he added, “don’t
think I won’t tear this shithole apart!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Too busy
looking over his shoulder, Gab nearly bit his mother’s hand off when the woman
grabbed him by the mouth and jerked him into her. She whispered, “it’s me,
Gabs. Shh. It’s me!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He pulled away from her, his eyes wild with panic. “Shh,
baby,” she cooed. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He didn’t
bother asking her about a thing; rather, he grabbed her by the blood-caked
wrist and dragged her after him. Every few feet he paused to listen, but heard
nothing save their labored breaths. If he’d know what Tages was up to, he would
have gone directly for the Employee’s Break Room instead of heading for the
hatchets. As it stood, young Gabriel Seagrass was thinking defense not escape. Besides
which, this murderous psychopath would damn sure be dead before Gab let the
bastard lay one finger on his mom. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When they made
it to the hardware aisle, Kate let out a satisfied exhale, <i>gets his brains from me</i>. She didn’t have to be told twice, hell not
even once. The moment they were in front of the hatchets, hammers, and assorted
beating implements, the mother-son duo began the picking their weapons. Without
getting into a deeply philosophical debate on the pros and cons of dividing up,
Kate went back in the direction they’d come and Gab left out the opposite side
of the aisle.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m gonna
give you this one chance, boy,” Tages called out. “Come up to the front of the
store right now and I won’t kill you.” The vocalization was all the Seagrass’
needed to know where he was located. From opposite sides of Chang’s they slowly
began sneaking toward Tages, which is precisely what he had banked on. And, all
the more reason to keep running his mouth, “ain’t but one girl that I’m looking
for. You know, I’m sorry ‘bout those other chicks. Sparky was a loose cannon.”<br />
When Gabriel was halfway to the
front of Chang’s he realized that the store no longer smelt right. He froze
again, nose to the air sniffing every which way. The ungodly stench of cleaning
products struck him. They were walking into a trap. <i>That stupid fucker!</i> He had to get his mom’s attention or she’d end
up smack dab in the middle of whatever Tages had planned. <i>Think. Think, Gabs!</i> A distraction. Something to pull everyone’s
attention on him. <i>Oh, this is a terrible
idea. </i>Gabs threw down his hatchet, ran out to the middle of the store and
bellowed, “hey chickenshit! I’ll give you one chance to get the fuck out of my
store before I show you just how we treat worthless shitsticks ‘round here!
Come and get me, you fuck!” Gabs stood his ground facing the checkout counter
and waiting.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Like a derby
horse out of the gate, Tages sped down the aisles in the direction of Gabs,
while blaring, “oh, you want a piece of me?” Though generally one for
maintaining his cool, even in stressful situations, he’d had more than enough
of the insolent little prick and this ever-loving bazaar. Even with the woman
still unaccounted for, Tages felt confident that the twit was no match. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
What he didn’t
count on was that knocking Chondee’s head on the linoleum had proved to be just
what the doctor ordered to snap her motor control back into place. As Tages
came thundering down the center aisle, Chondee used every bit of her energy to
crawl in his direction. In each hand she carried a large stirring spoon that
she’d taken from the floor where they’d been knocked down around her. She knew
her timing had to be perfect; and, that’s all she knew. Her throbbing head
matched pace with Tages feet as he ran towards her. When she began to panic
that she’d miss the opportunity, Chondee shoved the two sticks into the aisle. Tages
missed the first one, but his foot slid across the second. At that same time,
Chondee slammed the first one into Tages ankles. The brute yelped in pain as he
stumbled down the center aisle. Her efforts weren’t enough to stop him, but
they were enough to give Kate the chance she needed. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Having been a
mother for some time, Kate knew two things with certainty: 1. a mother is a lioness
when it comes to defending her child; and, 2. only an idiot charges a lioness. She
swung her mallet into Tages’ chest with the same force she’d used on Sparks. And
then, all thinking went out the window as she pummeled him with every ounce of
energy she could manage. In her blind rage, she never heard Chondee’s nearly
silent pleas for her to stop. It took Gabriel’s full strength to drag her off
Tages’ unmoving body. Standing over the crumpled tormentor, the mallet dangling
from one hand, and her breath coming in heavy gasps, she screamed, “you never
fuck with my child!” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Kate’s left
ear ached, her hair was a catastrophe, and she was drenched in sweat and two
layers of blood; one already darkening, the other bright. When she smiled at
her son, he took an involuntary step backwards, saying, “uh, Momma, I promise
I’ll be good.” The poor boy was legitimately afraid of his mother for the first
time in his life. In fact, he feared that the brand of crazy she’d just let
loose was coursing through his own veins. Gently taking the mallet from her
nerveless hand, he wondered if he’d have to clean the mess by himself.</div>
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-60904242205936156352017-01-16T04:20:00.000-08:002017-01-16T15:22:37.771-08:00Momento Mori<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Her bewildered chuckle echoed in the dark.
The brilliance of the bright green flash imprinted her vision with slowly
fading hazel halos. Wherever she’d landed was chilly and dank like Mercury’s
Cavern in the Iphigenia underground; she stood weaving in the pitch black. The
absolute silence and lack of air movement unsettled her. Without moving her
feet, she repeatedly clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she
slowly moved her head from right to left. Putting her left hand out before taking
a step forward, she quickly found the nearest wall. <i>This would be so much easier, if I had some light</i>, as the thought
popped into her mind twin beams of red and green slowly grew from out of Mercury’s
Bracelet. Refraining her giggles, she thought, <i>if Ms. Darin had told me, I never would have believed. I love this
stupid bracelet. </i>She raised her left forearm and pointed the lights at the
wall in front of her. Somehow she wasn’t surprised that it was just a wall. She
swept the area with soft lights emanating off her bracelet. When her glowing
wrist passed across the ground five feet to her right, she stopped and stared
at the myriad red and green sparkles that illuminated the ground like rave glitter
under a black light. <i>What is that?</i>
she asked herself as she bent down to inspect the shimmering ground. “Glass?”
the word escaped her mouth on the exhale. Once again standing, she returned her
hand to the wall, but instantly removed it. Somehow, in the few feet she’d
walked the wall had changed from cold and solid stone to cold and solid wood. <i>A door,</i> she hoped. Ignoring the glass
covered ground, she used the lights to examine the wall. Though she couldn’t
perceive the texture difference in the dual beams, she did see the very obvious
division of wall, jamb, and door. She exhaled in relief when she found the
doorknob. <i>Where there’s a door and a
wall, there should be…ah ha! </i>clicking the light switch, she heard the low
hum of an overhead light heating up.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When she
turned around, she quickly shoved her right fist into her mouth and bit down in
a feeble effort to stop the scream from escaping. The blood drained from her
face. Stepping back to the wall for support, she closed her eyes to allow the
wave of nausea to pass through her. For a moment her body boiled and all
thoughts ceased with a darkness that shrouded her ability to think. <i>No. No. No. </i>Her first conscious thoughts
were the denial borne of one terrified by things outside their control. Her
second thought came as swiftly as the scream, <i>not here. Not here. Not here.</i> Quite unable to move off the wall,
she clung to it while she slowly lifted her eyelids. Blinking in the bright
overhead lighting, she shoved her whole body against the wall, and then wildly
felt around behind her. When she grasped the doorknob, she exhaled, g<i>et me out!</i> Yanking the door into the glass
caused the pieces to tinkle. The slight sound drew her attention down to the
crimson covered shards of what had once been an observation mirror. Not only
did Cassie know these rooms (for there were two, once separated by that mirror)
and why the glass was broken, she recognized that the crimson splattered
everywhere was her father’s dying blood. She didn’t look where she was headed
as she rushed out of the room and slammed the door closed. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
While she
stood staring at the doorjamb, her breath came in panicked gasps. Her left hand
was practically glued to the knob. Tears streamed down her face. She squeezed
her eyes shut, hoping to stop the flow. <i>Why?
Why? Why?</i> She rocked back and forth, one part of her desperate to run, the
rest of her incapable of movement. Standing there holding the doorknob to her
father’s murder chamber, she heard his voice as plainly as the night before his
murder. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t be
afraid of what I’m about to tell you, Cassie,” Kaiser Rudolpho had said. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
His voice came
to her so clearly that she momentarily forgot herself as she repeated the words
she’d said to him that night, “I’m not afraid, my liege.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Do not call
me that,” he had ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“But, sire.
What else should I call my king?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Father is
what I called mine,” he had responded with a slight chuckle. And so he did
again.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Father?” she
asked him once again. Her grip on reality faltering though her eyes were still
tightly closed and her hand still clinging to the door she’d just shut. “I have
no father, my liege.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“None that
you’ve met, child. That was for your safety. I wish…” he had been unable to
finish the sentence.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How?” she
couldn’t help but respond in the exact same manner as before, theirs was a
conversation that she’d played over and over in the couple weeks since his
disclosures and death.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Well, that’s
not really an appropriate conversation…let’s leave it at sex and a long wait,”
his deeply amused laughter had been contagious.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Ew!” she had originally
responded in laughter, but this time she repeated in tears.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
His response had not changed; his full
roaring laughter drew her eyes open. The only illumination came from the jeweled
eyes of the dragon and phoenix on Mercury’s Bracelet. “You say that now,” he
laughed some more, the jewels flashing in time.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Now? Forever!”
she declared with far less enthusiasm than she’d had originally. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We’ll discuss
that again, when the time comes,” he mused. “Right now, we’ve got a far more
important task ahead of us.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We do?” her
voice trembled as her memory played itself out.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Have you ever
used a focus?” he had asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No, sire,”
she answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Father,” he’d
replied, before explaining, “a focus is any device that can be used to direct
your thoughts.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh,” she had
said and subsequently said again.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You said you
can’t control your ability to teleport. A focus can help you. And, right now,
your ability to teleport is paramount to ensuring the survival of the kingdom.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“But, I’m just
a messenger,” she had moaned, but this time she answered timidly.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You are so
much more,” he had replied, before his warm hand landed on her shoulder and
squeezed. She could almost feel the heat of his hand and the pressure change in
his grip. Just as the voice had started without warning, so too, did it stop.
The alternating flashes of red and green light turned into solid crimson and
jade beams that reflected off the door and down the underground hallway toward
the stairwell leading up to the Heart of the Seven Faeries. <br />
For the first time since witnessing
his head explode, she knew where she was, and what she needed to do. He had
already told her everything she needed to know. Releasing the doorknob, the
nausea abated. With her left wrist raised and the light of Mercury’s Bracelet showing
her the way, she moved through the underground until she found the secret
passage that led into the lounge area where they had watched the justices
through the peephole under the gavel. If the Oathbreaker had known that they’d
hidden his books here, the Kaiser might have lived long enough to be tortured
for the information. Once she was fully in the lounge, she closed the entryway
and flipped the light switch. <i>It looks
the same,</i> the instant the thought came, she chased it away with, “stupid
girl! Of course it does. No one’s been here since…” She quickly scanned the
room, before fully entering it. The couches, tables, and chairs were just as
they had left them. “Which means…” she crossed the room to an old chest in the
far corner. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It took all
her strength to move the monstrous wooden box. Once it was out of her way, she
pushed one foot onto the edge of the stone tile. The opposite edge swiveled up
and she grabbed it in an awkward maneuver that nearly caused her to lose her
balance. If not for using her hard head against the wall she very well might
have lost her fingers to the stone tile. As it was, she stood precariously
balanced on one foot with a hand holding the upturned stone, her head and other
hand against the wall, and her other foot pinned in place by the stone. “This
was so much easier when the Kaiser was here,” she huffed. No sooner were the
words out of her mouth, than the pangs of loss slapped her in the heart. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She managed to
flick the safety pin in place, and then stepped back from the hiding spot.
Tears continued to stream down her face as she reached a hand into the hole and
pulled out a tattered leather-bound journal. After removing three more of the
aged diaries, she pulled out the last which was practically new. Taking the
stack to the table, she dropped the aged notebooks down, moved the chair over
and plopped into it. “Well, let’s see what’s so important…” she muttered to
herself as she randomly opened the newest journal and read: </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 74.3pt; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "pristina";">[17<sup>th</sup>
year of the false griffin, Rudolpho Imler, 2 Nones O’Iulius, 17:23]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 74.3pt; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "pristina";">The
monks have finished securing the passages and building my church. They hung my
portrait. It looks terrible. I can’t believe they used the same one I had
replaced in the Antigone. I knew I should have had the damn thing burned. <br />
Rold has infiltrated the Danians and Typhon knows the true depths of despair. Ha!
Brothers or not, I never should have told them about the relics. As the card
players say, “better to keep an Ace in the Hole.” Regardless, Rold is out
turning over rocks because Typhon is convinced that whosoever controls the
relics controls the Poterits. Let us hope that these many years have not been a
waste. If we keep to the plan, the Poterits will once again be Unified. But, if
Typhon goes nuts looking for a magical upper-hand, father will have to handle
him. Nothing can jeopardize the mission.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 74.3pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "pristina";">Chief Justice Fraunx Adonis<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt; tab-stops: 6.5in;">
She stared at
the page, reading the words over and over. “‘False griffin’…” shaking her head
she muttered, “if only you had seen the truth.” Tapping Adonis’ name with her
index finger, “you didn’t believe. You fool. Kaiser Imler—my father—was as real
as the griffin gets.” Closing the journal, she leaned back in the chair, her
eyes locked on the pile of tattered diaries, “what other secrets do you hold?”
After turning to the first page of the newest book, she leaned over the table
and began the laborious task of reading Adonis’ chicken scratch.</div>
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-52686374504903068382017-01-09T04:20:00.000-08:002017-01-09T18:05:44.831-08:00Munere Fungor<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Ensign Osborne
swung open the intricately carved oak door, revealing the mouse-like newly
sworn-in Chief Justice Moira Thibodeaux who’d picked up the Fasces of the
Antigone and stood holding the bundle defensively. “Whoa! Ma’am! Easy. Don’t
hit me!” Ensign Osborne’s easy grin and light manner caused her to lower the
fasces and relax a bit, though he could tell she still wasn’t thrilled at the
prospect of entering what had—until recently—been the sole dominion of the
Oathbreaker Fraunx Adonis. “I’ve checked the whole place. Don’t seem to be
anyone hiding. But…you should know…” he paused searching for the right words,
“…someone tore this place apart.” After once again taking the fasces from her,
he stepped out of the doorway.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She quickly
walked up the three steps and entered the foyer where she was greeted with the
solemn painting of a rock-wrecked ship being pummeled by fierce waves. Unable
to peel her eyes from the depressing imagery, she muttered, “so typical of you,
Fraunx.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Ma’am?”
Ensign Osborne inquired. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh, nothing.
Just talking to myself.” She shook her head thinking, <i>aside from the painting, this room seems fine. </i>Without waiting for
Osborne, she headed toward the double doors leading to Chief Justice’s private
chambers. When she shuffled into the blue marbled personal dayroom with the
gaudy gold embroidered chaise lounge, her breath stuck in her throat and her
eyes bulged. “You said ‘torn apart’…but. This.” Moira spun around to glare at
the innocent Merc.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Nearly
dropping the fasces, Osborne backed up saying, “well, I didn’t do it!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I have no
idea, ma’am,” he responded.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Is this the
only room like…this?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No, ma’am.
The bedroom and the office are worse.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Her mouth and
eyes dropped, her shoulders slumped, and she exhaled through her nose. Finally,
she asked, “you’re sworn to secrecy, yes?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Straightening
up, Osborne responded, “yes, ma’am.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Then, I must
confess that before we entered, I had no desire to live here. Now that I’ve
seen what I’m dealing with, my resolve is set. I will not live here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
If Osborne
hadn’t agreed whole-heartedly with the sentiment, he might have pointed out
that every Chief Justice since Brandon Boreas had lived in these quarters. As
it stood, the ominous aura, the stench of Adonis’ <span class="msoIns"><ins cite="mailto:Monique%20Finley" datetime="2017-01-10T02:10">uber</ins></span>
expensive cologne, and the utter destruction that had been unleashed all added
up to Osborne’s complete agreement. Not that she needed his consent. After all,
Mercury’s Elite Guardsmen were sworn to defend the Kaiser and the realm. After
the fiasco with Adonis, he’d been assigned to the new Chief Justice. As such,
his job had naught to do with dictating where the Chief Justice of the Antigone
Courts took up residence. Oh, no. His job was to make sure she staid alive to
do her job of ensuring that the Regius Quidnunc was followed to the letter. Not
to mention that with a Merc constantly nearby, it’d be infinitely harder for
the new Chief Justice to become embroiled in another conspiracy. What did he
care if she did slept in some elaborate chambers in the Templus de Ambros or in
her personal residence? He smiled at her, before saying, “ma’am, I am duty
bound to protect you. It makes little difference to me where we are.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Visibly relaxing,
she smiled back, “young man, that’s precisely what I hoped you’d say.” Without
doubt, she knew that he was not only her protector, but he was also Colonel
Dagon’s spy. Fortunately, she had only the security of Poterit Don on her mind.
“I need your help,” she kicked the shredded remnants of an opulent throw
pillow, “Ensign, hidden somewhere in this catastrophe is the Antigone Passdown
Log. It is entirely possible that whosoever is responsible for this mess has
also obtained the Log. We have to hope that this,” she waved her hand around,
“is an indication that they were unable to locate it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Practicing his
recitation, Bard Kent paced a triangle from the window overlooking the Forum Publicos
to his bed and then to the writing desk and back to the window. “Words are my
jaunty little friends, always willing to speak their full due. As such, this
bard greets you with toasted wishes,” he paused in walking to hold up a pretend
glass, “strong drink, good friends, and much cheer! Tip your glass, childe, the
storyteller’s here to furrow your brow with a heroic tale told in Mercury’s
name.” He pretended to throw the glass to the ground, moaning, “it’s useless.”
He huffed, “how did I get stuck with this?” Holding up the paper he’d been
reading from, he squinted, “I wonder if they’ll mind if I just read it.” So
lost in his task, he failed to hear the thrice knock of the Merc, and had no
idea that the Celatrix stood watching him. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As he was
about to resume pacing, Celatrix Verna cleared her throat, and then said, “Bard
Kent?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Startled and embarrassed,
he spun toward her, his eyes wide and his fists balled up. The page he’d been
reading puffed out of both ends of his white-knuckled left fist. When he’d
composed himself, a tiny bit, he shook the page at her, “what are you doing
here?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Checking on
you,” she said in a droll monotone.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I asked to be
left alone,” he declared.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“And, I
ordered the guard to let me in,” she replied. After a moment of quiet, mutual
staring, she added, “it helps that I am the Celatrix and not some street
urchin.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He flinched at
her remark.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Immediately,
she realized her error, “I didn’t mean…”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“It doesn’t
matter,” he sighed, “truth is truth.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“It is at that,”
she conceded.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Surprisingly, the silence was not
deafening, but merely a momentary silence which Kent broke with, “well, how
much did you hear?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Enough,” she
answered. He stared at her expectantly. She recognized the look on his face, and
asked, “my opinion?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“It breaks with
tradition…”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He huffed. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“…which fits
you perfectly, since you aren’t familiar with our traditions.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That bothers
you, doesn’t it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m bothered
by all kinds of things,” he laughed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“As am I,” she
muttered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Really?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Taking her
turn to laugh, she said, “of course.” It occurred to her that he had no clue
what her position actually entailed. <i>He must
be the one person in the entirety of Poterit Don that is not enthralled with me.</i>
The thought acted like a calming agent, revealing the silent tension she hadn’t
realized she constantly carried. “Young man,” she began, “you have no idea.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He nodded.
“That’s just typical.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How so?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As his brain
shot a million horrid memories throughout his body, he reigned in his tongue
and suspired, “I haven’t had…the best…luck in…uh, life…” He motioned to the
angry brown scabs and bright pink new skin that would eventually become scar
tissue around his left eye. “Typical,” he raised his burnt hand, “you see?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What did you
do to yourself?” Celatrix Verna crossed the room, grabbed his right wrist and
yanked his hand up to her face.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Ow,” he
moaned.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh, shut up.
Let me look at it,” she ordered. He stood there with his hand awkwardly being
twisted back and forth as she examined it. “I know exactly what this needs.
But, I’ll have to send for my healer’s kit.” She dropped his hand and without
saying another word she sped off toward his door.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“She’s so
weird,” he whispered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
A minute later
she was once again in front of Kent. This time her face was lit by a giant
smile and she was shaking her head.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What?” he
asked nervously.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“It’s just…
Well…” Her mind swirled with passages from the Indigimenta, she quoted, “‘<span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">nullum magnum ingenium sine
mixtura dementiae fuit.’”</span> </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“O mente,
morbus ingravescit,” he said bowing to her.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Touché,” she
said. Then, narrowing her eyes, she asked, “when did you learn…?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He began to
chew on the right side of his bottom lip as he kicked the carpet and
contemplated whether or not he could trust her. Finally, he opted for
maintaining the Mystery of the Bards. Tapping his head, he said, “O Celatrix,
mente captum esse.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
With a fork in
one hand and an oversized stein of milk in the other hand, Praeceptor Archeleus
finally looked his age, all 13 of his years. While taking a big swig and looking
over the lip of the stein, he unceremoniously stabbed a piece of crispy chicken.
Dropping the stein onto the table, he shoveled the chicken piece into his
mouth. Chewing, he said, “but, Cassie, they don’t listen. You’ve seen.” He
swallowed, before accusing, “it’s like they all wanted him to die so they could
take over.” After putting his fork down, he ran his tongue across his back
teeth, stuck his thumbnail between his front teeth, and said, “do you think
they’re in on it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Exhaling
sharply, Cassie watched him eat with the distaste of one only recently
recovered from a hurling incident. She hadn’t touched her plate. “Maybe one or
two…but all?” She shook her head. <i>It
can’t be</i>, she thought, voicing her concern, “I only saw the two…” Her hair
raised at the thought. She shivered. <i>How
many are involved?</i> Her stomach flipped again. It seemed this week’s constant
nausea was fast becoming her new normal.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Archel knew
that they were both way too young—shiny new like a freshly minted argenti—for
the diehard politics games being played by the War Cabinet. While they might
have ideas, neither had the wisdom borne of experience to be of any use…or, so
the War Cabinet thought. He had to convince Cassie that it was her duty to
convey his message to the leader of the Montisi. “I knew him better than you,”
Archel stated, “and he wouldn’t have just attacked an innocent town in
retaliation. If the Cabinet gets their way,” he paused, “it’ll be mur—” his
voice cracked, “—der.” She couldn’t meet his eyes, “are you going to let that
happen?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Unable to
contain herself, she shouted, “you act like I’m responsible!” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“If we don’t
at least try to get help…” he shrugged. “I’d go, but they won’t let me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What am I
supposed to say? Huh? ‘Hi. I am Tokus Cassius, Mercury’s Messenger, and Vox
Gryphi Archele. I’ve been sent to get your help.’?” She spit the words with the
same venom she felt churning in her stomach.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sounds good
to me,” Archel nonchalantly answered even though he could feel every bit of her
discomfort.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Standing up
and slamming her hands on the table, she growled, “that is the stupidest thing
I’ve ev—” Before she finished she was enveloped in a bright green flash.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Cassie?”
Archel asked the empty space where she’d been standing. “I—uh—she’s gone!” </div>
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-91070164417445671102017-01-02T04:20:00.000-08:002017-01-02T18:07:46.078-08:00Sanguine Redundare<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Being in the
middle of the Inquisitor’s workroom was like walking into a Heart of the Seven
Faeries carnival – so many varieties of red splattered everywhere that it
seemed no other colors existed. Knowing the sticky, brick colored drippings to
be that miraculous fluid that somehow kept the body functioning was one thing;
using a squeegee, an ice scrapper, and tons of alcohol to remove it from the floors,
walls, and ceiling was a wholly different thing. Mr. Vorant stood in the
basement stairwell staring at the crumpled carcass of the ancient justice, Levi
Bayleaf. “What were you even doing there, eh, old man?” Vorant grumbled.
Rolling his shoulders, one by one, Vorant prepared himself, thinking, <i>always get the good jobs, don’t ya?</i> He
laughed, “o’course, ‘cause they’re a bunch o’silly bitches.” He set the
cleaning supplies down next to the door, slipped on a pair of shoe covers, and
entered the torture chamber. Quickly surveying the extent of the spatter,
Vorant wondered, <i>what does he do? Play in
it? </i>Vorant’s entire afternoon was blown. Not that he’d had other plans,
just that he hadn’t woken with ‘clean up the Inquisitor’s mess’ on his agenda
for the day. He lifted the dead man’s head by the chin, gave it a squeeze and a
shake, and then, grabbed the forehead to make the man talk, “too bad for you,”
Vorant mocked himself with a nasally West Donian accent. “Too bad for you,” he
repeated in his own voice as he dropped the head.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Everyone
develops private rituals. Picking up the justice, Vorant carefully carried and set
the corpse on the solid steel autopsy table that the Inquisitor had long ago
stolen from Ambrosia General Hospital’s morgue—a feat Vorant didn’t bother
wondering about. After laying out the body, Vorant returned to the cleaning
supplies he’d left outside the door. He bent down to dig through the box,
occasionally dropping his desired tools onto the ground. Slamming the roll of
paper towels back into the box, he looked up the stairs, rolled his eyes, and
grunted, “figures.” He yanked his pile of tools off the ground, carried them to
the autopsy table, and then dropped them between the corpse’s legs. He put a
hand on the former justice’s shoulder and said, “be right back, Shiny. Left my
favorite saw upstairs.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Paranoia was
swiftly becoming Clara’s best friend—her only friend. She’d somehow stumbled
into a slaver’s circle. And, her ex-asshole was involved. <i>This was a trap, </i>Clara ground her teeth, <i>I don’t even think so, bitch. </i>Squeezing Kate’s arm even harder,
Clara ordered, “explain the layout,” she indicated the false wall with a flick
of her chin.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Uh,” Kate
didn’t answer, her eyes darted all around the bazaar.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Answer me,”
Clara ordered as she shook Kate by the arm. Neither woman noticed the slow trickle
of blood that dripped off Kate’s elbow. “You want to help him, you answer me,
now!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“It’s a big
room set up like a warehouse. The back wall hides the passage down. That’s
where the runaways are kept,” Kate sighed, “until we can get them out.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Runaways?”
Clara asked suspiciously.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Runaways,”
Kate met Clara’s glare with anger, “need help. That’s what we do. We help.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We can talk
about it later,” Kate said as she ripped her arm out of Clara’s grip. “Right
now, those fucks have my son and half a dozen runaways are relying on me to
protect them.” Without discussing it further, Kate slipped around Clara and
made her way to the aisle full of kitchen goods. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Quietly
following, Clara couldn’t help but smile when she saw Kate slide a thin broiler
plate up the front of her shirt. “Really?” Clara whispered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Kate answered
by handing Clara one. After fiddling with her clothing to get the damn thing to
sit naturally, Kate searched the aisle for anything else she could use. She
settled on a meat cleaver and the giant lid to an equally giant gumbo pot.
Taking a few whacks at the air in front of her while blocking with the lid,
Kate approvingly nodded to herself. “Well?” she asked Clara who stood a few
feet back watching.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Soon as
you’re through,” Clara muttered as she grabbed a long handled skillet and a
meat tenderizer.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Double
fisting it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Seemed
reasonable,” Clara shrugged. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
All business,
Kate began, “we’ll be exposed going in and on the stairs.” She lifted the lid,
“I’d prefer something larger for us to hide behind, but this’ll have to do.”
Clara opened her mouth to say something, but Kate continued, “they aren’t
expecting us, so if we’re careful we can get my Gab out of the way before
anything happens to him.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“He’s always
expecting us,” Clara mumbled.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What?” Kate
hissed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The tall
guy…” Clara let those three words hang.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What about
him?” Kate asked as she stepped toward Clara, the meat cleaver raised out from
her side.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I know him.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Part of her longed
to deny the words as they flew out of her mouth, “we dated years ago. Big
mistake. Almost died,” she shuddered under the weight of her memories.
“He’s…he’s bad news.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Something in
Clara’s tone caused Kate to bounce her stare back and forth from the false wall
to the skillet wielding woman next to her. “<i>You</i>
dated <i>him</i>?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I use the
word loosely,” she closed her eyes a moment, adding, “we make it out alive, I’ll
tell you abou…” The skillet and meat tenderizer clattered to the floor. Her
eyes bulged and “ooohh,” escaped Clara’s lips as she uselessly back-pedaled.<br />
Spinning around, Kate came
face-to-barrel with the gun in Sparks’ hand. He smiled at her. Without pausing
to think, she swung the lid up into his gun arm and followed it with the meat
cleaver which she sank into his bicep. The gun exploded next to her ear, the
man screamed in horror as she screamed in anger. She yanked the cleaver out of
his arm and swung it at his chest over and over again. When she couldn’t lift
her arm, much less remove the cleaver from his sternum, Kate stopped. She
pushed herself off the body and the slick linoleum where they’d fallen. Weaving
over the mess, she couldn’t get her thoughts together. <i>Something…what…what’s going on?</i> she wondered while panting over the
butchered man. Her left ear rang. Her whole body hurt. And, she was supposed to
be… <i>GABRIEL! </i>They’d taken her son. An
afternoon of memories flooded her. <i>That
woman!</i> She coughed and fought back the urge to freak out. She had to get
her son.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
During the
fight between Kate and Sparks, Clara had attempted to vacate the aisle, but in
the heat of the moment, she’d frozen where she’d fallen. She’d been unable to
take her eyes from the brutal scene unfolding before her. Though she’d never
doubted that things would get bloody, she hadn’t counted on the sheer intensity
with which Kate had defended herself. She knew that the gun blast had
undoubtedly been more than enough to draw Tages’ attention, but, she couldn’t
get her limbs or vocal cords to function. When she saw the expression on Kate’s
face, her heart sunk. <i>Something’s wrong
with me! Damn it! Get up, Clara. Come on, girl. Just get up.</i> While Clara
focused on getting up, Kate mouthed, ‘I’m sorry,’ and then disappeared from the
aisle.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The Public
Works archives sat on the bottom floor of a mid-sized government building with
an obnoxiously large, practically empty parking lot. No signs informed the
public of the building’s purpose. Aside from the 150+ employees who regularly
worked there, only a handful of people even knew that the building was integral
to the continued functioning of Ambrosia City.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Smacking Jougs
on the arm, the Inquisitor pointed to the sky behind the Public Works building,
excitedly he asking, “you see that, Mr. Jougs?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Looking in the
direction the Inquisitor pointed, Jougs squinted, “I don’t know. No. What?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He exhaled
sharply, growling, “the sky.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Jougs just
didn’t know what the crazy fuck was on, he snapped, “so? What about it?” The
Inquisitor grinned. If Jougs had been someone else it might have been
unsettling, as it stood, Jougs was too bull-headed to be put off by anyone’s
smile. Instead, he was irritated. Ever since they’d gotten mixed up with this
job… he grunted, “so?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Mr. Jougs,
that is a sign from dear Iphi,” he pointed at the line of fog that covered the
tops of the distant mountains.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“A sign?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh, yes,” the
Inquisitor’s eyes widened as his grin grew, “a sign. We have to move fast if we
want to take advantage of the fog.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Jougs looked
up and down the street. He saw a black and white cat climb up a tree, but he
didn’t see any fog. “Fog?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Fog,” the
Inquisitor repeated.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What fog?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh, Jougs,”
the Inquisitor sighed, “trust me. The fog is coming. Maybe an hour. Maybe two. Get
back to the house and let Vorant know that I’ve moved up the timetable.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“If you say
so,” Jougs shrugged. He’d never been into weather forecasts. Hell, he’d grown
up with a weather rock outside. He chuckled at the thought of that old rock and
it’s sign: ‘If the rock is wet, it’s raining…’ <i>No one has a sense of humor anymore. </i>He shook his head to himself, watching
the black and white cat climb back down the tree before darting into some
bushes. Jougs had the distinct feeling of déjà vu. Though he briefly
contemplated saying something to the Inquisitor, he held his tongue and
followed the giddy assassin back to the car.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
While digging
around inside the glove box, the Inquisitor asked, “see anything unusual?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Without
missing a beat, Jougs asked, “you mean besides us?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The Inquisitor
shot Jougs a dirty look.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Not a thing,”
Jougs answered as he settled into the driver’s seat.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Ah, there it
is,” the Inquisitor said as he removed a blue yo-yo. He tossed it into the air,
caught it, and glanced at Jougs. “I’ve got some things to do. You two to handle
the…erhm…guest. Soon as you finish, pack up the house, load the car, and meet
me…” he paused, thought about it, and then said, “meet me at the Heart of the
Seven Faeries.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Jougs nearly
choked, “you can’t be serious.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m
absolutely serious.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“But, that’s
where…”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes. Yes. I
know what happened,” the Inquisitor leaned into the car, “I was there, if you’d
be so kind as to remember.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No. That’s what I mean…you were…we were…”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Precisely.
More important than the past, is what we’ll be doing in the future. Now, hurry.
The clock is ticking. The fog is rolling. And, we’re on a tight schedule,” the
Inquisitor shut the passenger door, beat the roof, and took a step back. He had
a shit-eating grin on his face as he watched the thick-headed member of the <i>duumviri</i> drive away. As the car turned
the corner, the Inquisitor flicked his wrist, and the yo-yo spun down his
middle finger, with a second flick, the yo-yo rolled up the string to settle
firmly in his hand. The second the car was out of sight, he dropped the yo-yo
into his jacket pocket, and the grin fell from his face. He scanned the street
for any sign that he was being watched. It was an unmistakable feeling that he
hadn’t shaken since the day he promised to meet Clara in Merced. He rolled his
eyes, shook his head, and groaned, “she’s gonna kill me for making her wait.”</div>
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5107149753258273166.post-6705701316018829262016-12-26T04:20:00.000-08:002016-12-26T14:09:14.007-08:00Pugnata Est<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Standing in
the middle of the kitchen with a steaming cup of espresso, Jougs asked, “how
much longer do you think he needs?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Vorant
laughed. Then, laughed harder when he realized Jougs was serious. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Why ya
laughin’?” Jougs asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Without
answering, Vorant crossed the kitchen to the espresso maker, took a cup out of
the cupboard, and set it in the cradle. He’d managed to calm himself down a
bit, but still wasn’t quite prepared to answer. After adjusting the dials and
pressing the start button, Vorant turned to face Jougs. He shook his head,
smiled lightly, and put a finger to his lips. Taking the cue, Jougs closed the
distance between them and leaned his right ear toward Vorant, who promptly
hissed, “the safe houses are rigged for sound. So, quit bitching.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For a split
second, Jougs contemplated belting Vorant in the mouth. Instead, he nodded his
understanding. The Inquisitor’s paranoia ran deep, had kept them from the
hangman’s noose, and this was his house. <i>I’ll
shut my trap for now,</i> Jougs thought,<i>
but, I’m not swinging for this.</i> Not that he’d have a choice if they got
caught. He sipped his espresso while Vorant poured enough sugar into his cup to
cause the espresso to drip off the sides. “Dude,” Jougs said, “just ruin it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What?” Vorant
asked innocently as he slurped the brimming cup.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The <i>duumviri</i> stood bickering over the proper
method for making espresso, when a blood-soaked Inquisitor walked into the
kitchen. He ignored the duo, made his way to the sink, and washed his hands up
to the elbows. A pointless effort since the second he stepped away from the
sink his soaked sleeves fell from his elbows and dripped blood down his wet
hands. The diluted pink puddled on the floor. “Boys,” he said in a fatherly
tone, “I’ve got great news.” He turned to Vorant, ordering, “pour me a cup. Not
a drop of sugar.” He glared at Vorant, before leaning toward Jougs, “you’re
right, you know?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Air caught in
Jougs throat, he asked, “right?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh, yeah,”
the Inquisitor nodded, “he might as well eat sugar.” Taking the cup from
Vorant, the Inquisitor inhaled the magic aroma with his eyes closed. After
thoroughly enjoying the aromatherapy, he took a light sip. “Ah, perfection.” Though,
the <i>duumviri</i> were impatient to hear
the ‘great news,’ both well knew that some rituals weren’t worth interrupting. Furthermore,
when a sanguine Inquisitor contentedly sipped espresso as watered-down life
juice fell to the floor around him, one tended towards patience. Is rushing a
professional murderer really worth your life? Always attentive, he noticed them
pretending not to watch him. Around the middle of his cup, the Inquisitor
sighed wistfully. When a quarter of the cup was left, he handed it to Vorant, cheerfully
saying, “another, if you will, Mr. Vorant.” Upon handing over his cup, the
Inquisitor twisted his back—left, right, left—and brought his interlocked fingers
above and behind his head where he continued stretching. Quickly popping his
neck, he grunted in satisfaction. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Once Vorant
handed him the refilled cup, the Inquisitor began, “I said great news, which
I’ll get to. Bad news first.” He paused long enough to verify his words
registered, before continuing, “only moments ago our guest passed away.
Arrangements must be made. Mr. Vorant, I suspect the Darin arrangements will be
satisfactory for this. Assume nothing. The two of you will scout the area <i>again</i>. If anything seems amiss, abort.”
After taking a sip, he inhaled, and then said, “Mr. Jougs, while Vorant
prepares our guest, I need you to take a walk with me. As for the great news…”
he paused for effect and to take another drink, “mhmm. I’ll miss this,” he held
up the cup. “As you know, we’ve already breached a significant portion of the
underground. It seems that some years ago the justice was involved in the
Antigone’s remodeling effort, which resulted in a number of dangerous passages
being cemented over. Including a passage that led directly from the courtroom
to Raven’s Drop. We’ll hit the Public Works archives for an accurate map. And
then, boys…then the fun begins.” When he took a step forward and slid through
the blood puddle, his grin instantly disappeared as he choked on espresso.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Throwing a
hand over his mouth, Jougs closed his eyes and bit his tongue. Opting for
diplomacy, Vorant turned to the espresso machine and began pushing buttons.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Quickly maneuvering
through the aisles of Chang’s Bazaar, Gabriel Seagrass couldn’t shake the
feeling that something was wrong. Not just with the blaring alarm, but with the
Tampon Lady. She didn’t seem aware… “Hey!” Gab shouted at the two uniformed men
who’d broken down his front door. “What are you doing?” The two men said
nothing; one veered right, the other left. “Stop that!” Gab ordered the man on
the right who knocked down a display of discounted beans in glass jars, the
resultant crash and splattering of glass shards and bean juice caught Gabriel’s
attention, he huffed, “I’m gonna have to clean that, you asshole!” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Unable to
contain his laughter, the man let loose with, “my, my, my! He actually thinks
we’re just fucking around. Grab him, Rold.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sparks, I
told you not to use my name!” Rold hissed from behind Gab. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The cashier
attempted to spin around, but found himself unable to move in Rold’s iron grip.
Gab struggled as he yelled, “lemme go!” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Not fucking
likely, sweetheart,” Rold whispered in the boy’s ear, which set Gab to throwing
his weight back and forth in a feeble attempt to get free. Losing his patience,
Rold said through clenched teeth, “stop struggling or your mother dies. You get
me?” Going completely limp, Gabriel Seagrass bit his lip to keep from shouting.
“I take it you do. Good boy,” Rold laughed heartily in Gab’s face.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Bring’im
here,” Sparks said as he pulled his pants up and adjusted his gig-line. “Right
there, against the counter. Good man, Rolly!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
With Gab under
his left arm, Rold backhanded Sparks, “call me that again and only one of us
makes it back alive.” He shoved the shop boy into the counter, “don’t move.” To
the surprised Sparks, he said, “Tages. You call me anything but Tages again and
I swear to Iphigenia…”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Uh-rumph…”
Sparks involuntarily bent in half holding his stomach. His narrowed eyes
conveyed his hatred. “Alright, Tages,” he heaved. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Watching from
the aisle mirrors, Clara Darin held Kate Seagrass back in another iron grip.
Clara couldn’t be sure, but the upright uniformed fellow looked very familiar.
Except, she was positive that the last time she’d seen him… <i>what is he doing here? </i>The air rushed
out of her, she sunk down a little lower, and gripped Kate tighter. “Shh, shh,”
Clara just needed to figure out what he was doing. If she revealed their
presence too soon…<br />
<br />
“…so you got one chance,” Tages
explained to Gab, “either you show us where Chang keeps the women, or…”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Slavers?”
Clara growled as she dug her fingernails into Kate’s arms, “you’re slavers?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In a panic
Kate shook her head, while mouthing, “no, no, no. You don’t understand.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Explain
fast.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We save them,”
Kate’s whisper wavered as she struggled to look Clara in the eyes, “we save
them.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Unwilling to
risk exposure, Clara hissed, “they coming this way?” Shaking her head, Kate
used her eyes to point out where Gab would lead the men. Clara let go of one of
Kate’s arms, the other she squeezed until Kate bled. With her knife in hand,
Clara pulled Kate back behind a display of children’s toys. With a little more
room between them, she felt they just might make it through without drawing
that psycho fucktard’s attention. She fought back the tidal memories of their
last encounter, <i>what is it with me and
guys? </i>she wondered. <i>I’m never dating
again, </i>she decided. When the men and Gab disappeared behind a false wall
covered in shelving units, she turned on Kate, “how do you help?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We free
them,” Kate confessed. “Well…some of them.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Some?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Ruefully, she
lowered her eyes, “can’t help everyone.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Obnoxiously
loud music blared from the Stadium, rattling the few windows left throughout
the neighborhood. The Hellions favorite band, <i>Death Daemons</i>, screamed on the makeshift stage, “…r-aaa-ge a yer
l-iii-fe, k-iii-llahs got yer w-iii-fe…” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
After
receiving his promotion, Domino had taken a handful of guys with him to gather
supplies for the party. They’d only just returned when someone, probably
Steele, had the brilliant idea of lighting one end of the giant log on fire. A
handful of the less intelligent guys took turns jumping on the top of the log
and pissing into the fire. Not one person made an effort to stop them. In fact,
most were waiting to see who’s pecker would burn first.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Wandering
around aimlessly, Willy Jessup took in everything: the log pissers, the
tailgaters, the copulators, and the poppers. He had too much work to do for
partying, but Steele’d made it clear that the only way they’d get the boys to
cooperate was to give in to their more base desires. The blaring music of the <i>Death Daemons</i> was lost to the ruckus as
Steele ploughed on the horn of the A-Track as he tore through the Stadium. The
Hellions roared with delight when Steele squealed tires, spitting dirt
everywhere. The A-Track screeched to a stop in front of the battered bandstand.
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
During
Steele’s show, Jessup found himself standing next to Domino. The two men
glanced at each other, nodded briefly, and then simultaneously lit up at the
sight of Steele dropping the back of the A-Track. A whole mess load of scantily
clad women began pouring out. The sight was enough to cause Jessup to mutter,
“oh, shit.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Punching
Jessup in the shoulder, Domino shouted, “race you!” It took Jessup a few
seconds to process Domino’s challenge, which was long enough for Domino to get
a lead. Spinning around the nearest group of Hellions, Jessup let out in a full
run. The two were neck-and-neck for the space of a millisecond before Jessup
veered left to avoid colliding into his cousin Tiny. When Jessup slid up to the
side of the A-Track, Domino already had two of the women in his arms. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Hey, loser!”
Domino laughed, “I thought about sharing, but asked the ladies.” He leaned
closer to Jessup, “they said they don’t fuck losers. Sorry, chump.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Shrugging his
shoulders as if it didn’t matter, Jessup linked his fingers together, and swung
the doubled fist at Domino’s stomach. With the women in his arms, Domino had no
way to defend himself, save to throw one or both of the women into Jessup’s
path. The act failed to protect him from Jessup. The women fell out of the way
with gasps, little screams, and the angered surprise of someone not expecting a
fight. The two went at it with full force until they slammed head first into
the A-Track. The solid steel military transport must have knocked some sense
into them; they staggered off the ground, leaning on each other for support. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Ladies,”
Jessup and Domino said in unison as they offered their hands to the fallen
women who reluctantly took them. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“It would
seem, he’s not a loser, after all,” Domino whispered to the brunette in
Jessup’s arms. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“But, he is,”
Jessup said to the blonde holding onto Domino.</div>
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