Meanderings

Just an experiment in dialogue/thought process writing.
607 words


“Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Sarah says again, the word flat and inflectionless as it falls from her mouth. It doesn’t sound like an epithet this way; it’s exasperation and confusion and frustration but all balled up and held inside and tightly leashed.

Jo has a wry twist to her lips that can’t quite be called a smile, not with that much bitter knowingness in them. Her eyes are dark and already resigned and it’s that, the look of defeat, that makes Sarah throw up her hands.

“Alright. You win. I’ll fucking do it.”

Jo’s chin comes up in stubborn surprise, the protest that Sarah doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to already forming on her tongue but Sarah knows this game, has played it too many times before.

“Look,” she says, words a clipped staccato that break in before Jo can try to get in a single take-back. “I told you to tell me and you did. I brought this on myself at least as much as you have. And I know, okay? I fucking know and I go and push you anyway.” She brushes light brown bangs off of her forehead and sighs. “Hell, Jo. Just…”

Sarah’s voice trails off and Jo ducks her head so that the dyed black strands of her hair brush feather-like across her cheek. It’s taking all she has not to tell Sarah it’s okay, to forget she ever said anything. But Sarah will never let it go, not when she’s the reason it’s been forced out into the open, and Jo can’t quite feel guilty enough to squash the spark of excitement and relief that tingles between her shoulder blades as tension eases out of them.

“You gotta give me time, ‘kay Jo? I’ve got to work my way up to it. This isn’t the same thing as all the rest of it.”

The stern look of warning on Sarah’s face, her green eyes fierce and brooking no protest, make Jo bite her tongue and swallow back her argument that it is precisely the same thing, only more. Sarah has her own views on the matter and Jo knows better than to push when Sarah is this concerned. Besides, there hasn’t been an absolute refusal, which – and Jo does feel a little guilty about her subconscious manipulations now – she had known there couldn’t be when she’d let it drag out so long.

“Whatever you need,” she says quietly instead, almost meek except she knows that will only make Sarah mad. “If you have any questions…”

“Yeah, I know where to ask.” Sarah shakes her head, rolls her eyes a little. “And it ain’t you. Not for most of this.”

She fixes Jo with a hard stare. “You aren’t that trustworthy.” Jo can’t keep holding her gaze, not when it’s the truth, and Sarah snorts when Jo’s brown eyes fall away. “Yeah, I know better.”

“Sarah,” Jo starts, gropes for words without quite knowing what to say, what she wants to say. She settles for a heartfelt “thank you” because it’s the thing that fits the best, because even this much is a victory.

“You’re welcome.” Sarah’s face softens and she smiles ever so slightly. She reaches out and Jo can’t help her own smile when she sees the tiny goldfish painted on the surface of Sarah’s thumbnail. The rest of her nails are dark blue and the tip of one grazes Jo’s skin when Sarah strokes her fingers lightly across Jo’s cheek.

“Fuck but you’re impossible, baby.” Sarah grins, cups Jo’s chin and Jo closes her eyes and takes Sarah’s kiss, a faint purr of satisfaction thrumming in her throat.

Prompt: Foolish
Word Count: 575

Everything about the sorceress seemed innocuous and that made Miera’s hackles rise. Beware the forked serpent’s tongue of magic users for they deal with beings who know only trickery. In any similar situation, she would have had the woman at the very least gagged and bound with whatever happened to be handy and Siere free from his chains. But she’d been captivated by the sorceress’ voice and by her undeniable beauty and so she stood with her back to the wall and facing a choice that shouldn’t have been difficult but somehow was. Her heart was screaming at her to trust the swamp dweller and her head was telling her heart to shut up and think seriously and, apropos of everything else, lust had been coiling within her belly ever since the first notes of the lulling chant had tickled her ears. The smart thing to do would have been to distract the sorceress and then strike, aiming at the very least to knock the woman unconscious. Then she could take Siere and leave. But what she wanted to do, what looking at those glowing, cat-like eyes was making her want, was to hand over the blade and hear the sorceress out. It was a very bad idea.

Miera had always been headstrong and a touch foolhardy. And she had a weakness for pretty ladies with bright smiles. Ignoring her better senses and embracing her instincts, she raised her axe in readiness for a strike and held out her palm. The knife was cool as it balanced on her upturned hand, the silver glinting in the firelight. It flashed once, a searing surge of heat that left behind no mark, as the sorceress took it. Running a finger along the edge of the blade, the raven-haired temptress flashed very white teeth in another broad grin.

“Are you always this trusting?”

Blood rushed to her cheeks; a bloom of shame and rage making her flush and tighten her grip on the comforting haft of her axe.

“Are you going to explain,” she asked, jaw clenched so hard she was having trouble speaking, “or am I going to have to fight it out of you?”

“Now now.” The sorceress tossed the knife into the air, spinning it and then catching it seamlessly. “I am a woman of my word. You’ll get your reason. But I should think you would have an idea about that already. There are few in this world who do not celebrate the solstices.”

Miera scowled and decided that the sorceress wasn’t the only one who could show off and threaten at the same time. With the ease of practice she flipped her axe over her wrist, the blades winking and catching shadows. “There are few who take it upon themselves to kidnap people, bind them in chains in the midst of a stinking swamp, and then brandish knives at them. If you wish to avoid having a different sort of weapon used against your own person, I suggest you stop toying with me and get to the point.”

The sorceress sighed and tossed her head, gleaming fall of ebon hair copying the metal and picking up light, glinting in the flames. “Very well. Time is wasting after all and I suppose the sooner I explain, the more minutes I shall have to make sure you understand. The explanation is simple. Modrona is my patron goddess and it is the beginning of summer. Thus…Siere.”

Current Music: Motorhead - Hellraiser

Sorry, Miho. No update today. I just...didn't have the energy for it. Nor the inspiration.

Prompt: Motive
Word Count: 552

Yellow-green eyes, the color more suited to one of the swamp felines than a human, stared fearlessly at Miera and the dangerous weapon in her hands. The sorceress smoothed down her kirtle, straightening it as much as the scant material would allow before favoring her unexpected visitor with a warm smile. Her voice was honeyed when she spoke, a tone that reflected the dulcet singing voice that had only a little while earlier been ringing throughout the room.

“They told you he was a girl? Really?”

Her first words seemed to pick up the most pointless part of the entire endeavor and Miera quirked an eyebrow and steadied her stance. It could have been a lulling tactic and she wasn’t going to be taken unaware again. There was no harm in answering the question though and politeness was always a wise idea where magic users were concerned.

“Not in so many words but the implication was fairly strong. I have a certain…reputation and I would have been far less inclined to venture here had I known Siere was male. Not that I wouldn’t have come but I would have charged his father a great deal more than my negotiated fee.”

“I see. So you made an assumption.”

Amusement underlay the flat observation and Miera bristled at the condescension she thought she heard. It was the truth but it certainly wasn’t very flattering and she didn’t think she could be faulted for her belief in Siere’s sex.

“I did,” she ground out grudgingly. “Are you implying that I have made a similar judgment call in the past few moments?”

The sorceress grinned and looked positively delighted. Miera scowled and privately hoped the woman would clap her hands together like a giddy maid if only so she could watch the fabric over her hips fly up. She wasn’t stupid and the sorceress HAD been coming at Siere with a naked blade.

“Right on the nose, my lady warrior. Siere is most certainly NOT a girl and I was NOT aiming to spill any of his noble blood with my knife. Certainly not.”

It could easily have been a lie and Miera, dander up from the implications about her intelligence, didn’t make any move to holster her weapon after the sorceress’ declamation. She did, however, lower her body enough for her fingers to grasp the knife in question as it had ended up near her present location. A fine piece of work and very sharp, there were designs etched into the blade itself although she only recognized a stylized moon and sun. Studying it, she flicked her eyes between Siere and the sorceress, noting that Siere’s earlier problem seemed to have dissipated thanks to his nudity and their conversation.

“Seems like a mighty sharp knife though. What other purpose could it be for?” Miera pointed at the baron’s son with her own weapon, jerking her head for emphasis. “If you just wanted to get him in the all, why not have him disrobe before chaining him up? Or at least use something less dangerous?”

The sorceress glanced at Siere herself, seemed mildly disappointed at his present state. Still, she smiled softly, dimples appearing in her cheeks, and held out her hand. “If you give it back to me, I’ll be glad to tell you everything.”

Current Music: KMFDM - Megalomaniac

Prompt: Fever
Word Count: 544

Pale, thin youth, Siere was, now that Miera was looking at him again instead of doing her best not to ogle the sorceress lying at her feet, fully naked. The knife that the sorceress had threatened him with had cut neatly through the ties at the waist of his pants and the clothing now rested in a puddle of brown fabric around his ankles. Whether that had been the woman’s aim or if she had truly intended to slice his flesh, Miera couldn’t tell yet. Her eyes settled instead on the proof of the prone female’s prowess, the flushed curve of flesh that is nestled still mostly erect between the boy’s downy thighs. Siere made another noise, and this time Miera recognized it as the mortified and frightened thing that it was. Chains rattled as he strained against them, instinct to cover himself from their gazes hampered by his position along the wall.

Torn between pity and laughter, Miera kept an eye on the still-giggling sorceress and took a step towards her target. Her axe was still drawn before her and she waved it threateningly at the woman she’d knocked to the floor in warning. “You stay where you are.”

Another step towards Siere and the baron’s son whimpered and pressed back into the cold grey rock. She must have looked, she guessed, rather intimidating. She was large for a woman, although only slightly bigger than average when compared to her countrymen. With the leather armor, the daggers at her hips and the admittedly massive battle axe in her arms, she probably scared the poor boy out of his wits. He didn’t act like he knew what was going on and Miera supposed he had no idea she was there to rescue him. Still with half of her attention on the sorceress, she lowered the axe slightly and softened her voice.

“Siere.” The boy jerked at the mention of his name, confirming that she was really and truly in the right place and Miera sighed. “Siere, your father sent me to rescue you. Or at least, I was sent to rescue his child. I was under the impression that you were a girl.”

That earned her a snort from the reclining sorceress and Miera shot her a warning look before she moved forward again. “Regardless, I’m here to take you home. If you’ll hold very still, I’ll just strike these chains from the wall and we can go.”

The young man gave no response, only continued to gape at her open-mouthed like one of the large, slow fish that lived in the banks that formed at the roots of the drooping trees in the swamp. She didn’t need his permission, though, and so Miera hefted her weapon and gave him one more command. “Don’t move. This’ll just take a moment…”

Her attention distracted from the previously compliant sorceress for only the few scant seconds it took to raise her weapon in preparation of the strike, Miera didn’t hear or see the woman move. The hand that closed over her bare forearm and halted her blow was hot, feverish, and she jumped at the unexpected touch, whirling away to stand with her back to the curved wall and her axe brandished in front of her.

Current Music: Sonata Arctica - Reckoning Day, Reckoning Night

Prompt: Bubbles

Word Count: 402

Steel and flesh fell at the same time, gravity carrying both the knife and Miera’s body inexorably downward.  A cry bubbled up from Siere’s chest, a thin reedy sound of fear.  In the split second of her jump, time seemed to slow and Miera could see clearly how the young man’s eyes had grown wide, his attention locked on the blade.  As she fell towards the sorceress, she could already tell she had waited too long.  The knife would hit Siere before she would be able to reach the pair of them.  Her mind’s eye painted scarlet trails down the boy’s naked chest, his life’s blood spilling out of him and onto the grey rock, a sacrifice to whatever god or demon the sorceress honored.  But, as it had seemed throughout the entire night, there was something off.  Something was wrong again and it wasn’t that Siere was male or that he was being sacrificed.  No, it was the angle of the sorceress’ arm as it plunged down.

The knife hit, caught and tore.  But Siere’s pale flesh remained intact.  Instead, the muffled noise of the light fabric of his pants suddenly hitting the floor was hidden under the impact of Miera as she desperately tried to alter the path of her jump at the last instant.  Head tucked down and her limbs pulled into her body, she couldn’t change it far enough and her shoulder thudded into the sorceress’ side, sending both women to the ground.  Rolling with the blow, Miera was on her feet in seconds, her trusty axe pulled from its holster across her back and held in warning before her. 

On the hard stone of the cavern floor, the sorceress lay sprawled; her short linen kirtle rucked up so that every inch of one brown thigh and a portion of smooth stomach was revealed to the room.  Her eyes, the color hard to discern in the flickering shadows, blinked in shock and her breath left her in short bursts.  But before Miera could open her mouth to pronounce her intentions and her challenge, the sorceress began to laugh.  Loud ringing peals mingled with the warm musky smell and the curls of smoke and Miera’s brows furrowed as she took a tentative step forward.  And it was then that Siere shrieked, a squawk of noise that immediately drew two pairs of eyes to the boy hanging in the chains.

Current Music: Kamelot - Center of the Universe

Prompt: Ache

Word Count: 411

Moonlit glory danced before her, the sorceress every inch a wild sylphlike creature bringing in the height of summer.  Lust and a pure yearning towards beauty ached within Miera’s heart as she crept even closer towards the pit and her quarry.  This type of situation was on her list for possible worst-case scenarios and it was one of the few for which she had absolutely no coping plan.  The best she had ever been able to come up with relied solely on willpower and improvisation and at the moment she was failing rather spectacularly in both areas. 

Before her the sorceress sped up her movements, feet no longer anchored to the stone floor as heels were stomped and inky hair was tossed like a curtain dyed in the vat of night sky visible through the opening in the roof.  Siere was seemingly mesmerized and Miera was definitely feeling rather foggy herself.  No wonder when the sounds and the sight were so captivating.  As the sung chant rose and the sorceress twirled in the column of moonshine, her hands moved towards the low neck of her dress and disappeared inside.  When they returned from those elusive depths, she flung one hand towards the altar.  Powder hung in the air before it was gobbled up by the flames, an elusive musky scent at once beginning to fill the cavern.  And in the other hand she held a knife. Her voice began to crescendo as she walked forward confidently, the steel glinting as she pointed it at Siere.

The winking blade was enough to rouse Miera from her trance-like state and she swiftly moved, still in her low crouch, from the shadows and across the bare expanse of rock ledge to hover anxiously at the edge.  Siere didn’t even seem to notice the knife.  All of the boy’s attention was absorbed by the sleek figure of the sorceress herself.  Miera tensed, gathering her body beneath her.  Her muscles coiled, ready to spring her forward and down onto the woman, and her fingers closed convulsively on the familiar worn haft of her weapon. 

At last the sorceress released her final note, a high, clear sound that echoed throughout the chamber, and at that moment clarity returned to Siere’s eyes.  He gazed at the spring-clad woman before him, mouth dropping open as he finally registered the knife.  The sorceress smiled at him and raised the weapon.  As her lightly muscled arm began to fall, Miera leapt.

Prompt: Siren

Word Count: 476

As Miera watched, the scantily clad young woman stood before Siere and gently reached out with a finger to tip his chin up.  It was hard to tell in the dim lighting, but Miera was fairly sure the boy’s cheeks were flushed.  He was biting his lip and she could tell he was reluctant to meet the sorceress’ eyes.  A smart move but one Miera was fairly sure came about because the lad was embarrassed rather than out of any sort of common sense.  The sorceress smiled at her captive, taking her finger from his cheek and using it to trace a line down the center of his naked chest.  She could see Siere heave in a breath, anticipation making both of them forget to breathe, as that finger trailed ever lower towards the belt holding up the boy’s trousers.  With a clever flick of finger and a deft turn of the wrist, said belt was unbuckled.  It was slowly pulled free from the confinement of the belt loops and Siere wasn’t the only one who jumped when it was finally loose and the sorceress snapped it once, cracking the air.

As far as precursors to bloody sacrifice went, this didn’t seem to quite fit the mold.  Usually captives were drugged, delirious, and pliant or else completely unwilling things that screamed and writhed in their bonds in protest to the sadistic laughter of their tormentors.  What lay before Miera’s eyes seemed more like a seduction.  This impression was only strengthened by the swaying walk the sorceress adopted as she turned away from Siere to place his belt with her rope.  Hips moved back and forth almost hypnotically, the ends of midnight hair brushing tantalizingly even with the lower hem of the sorceress’ scant clothing.  Bug-eyed once again, Miera could do little more than stare at the tempting figure below while her pulse quickened in her veins.  She needed to stop being so distracted and come up with a plan to rescue the boy from whatever his fate might be.

Unfortunately the sorceress was a thing of mesmerizing beauty as she moved through the shadows from the torches and stepped into the silvery ring of moonlight.  It was there, arms raised above her head in supplication, that the compelling chanting resumed.  A pure voice, at turns dulcet and sultry, carried easily through the chamber.  The chanting, a form of singing in which the sorceress’ tone modulated on every third and fifth word, once again dulled Miera’s senses.  She gazed at the sorceress, creeping forward without even noticing her motion, and drank in haunting sight and sounds before her.  And then the woman began to dance, arms lowering and weaving and hips shaking, and Miera couldn’t help herself.  “Fallan help me,” she breathed, the words little more than a whisper.  “How am I supposed to fight against THAT?”

Prompt: Grace

Word Count: 552

The scrape of stone on stone echoed loudly around the large and mostly empty room.  Miera swore under her breath and moved even deeper back into the protective darkness of the hall.  So much for just grabbing Siere and getting the hell away without any sort of confrontation.  Steel wasn’t much use against magic and she changed her prayer of thanks to one of supplication.  If she had any good fortune left to her in what had been a largely luckless adventure, the sorceress would be unable to cast directly at her.  Conjured monsters she could handle.  Streams of energy or mental controls she could not. 

The purpose of the hole in the roof soon became apparent as she watched.  It left an opening directly over the center of the hollowed out pit that was itself in the center of the temple.  As Miera gazed upward, she could see the full silver disc of the moon, swollen with light, approaching its zenith.  Presumptively, the moon would form a direct line with the gap when it reached its peak and would let the sorceress know that the time was ripe for whatever purpose she had captured Siere.  An old technique but a reliable one, and the warrior woman shook her head in frustration.  Those who followed the old ways were often versed in the more arcane arts, the sort that summoned demons and fire from the netherworld.  Her first chance gone, she had little choice but to wait for the sorceress’ next move so that she could plan her own.  Miera sank down to her belly, lowering her profile within the shadows, and waited. 

A rope dropped from one side of the hole and Miera ground her teeth in frustration.  She’d been hoping that whoever was on the roof would have climbed back down however they had gone up, giving her a second opportunity to snag Siere and run.  But it seemed that time was too short to risk that.  The rope was quickly followed by a pair of bare feet and calves dangling over the twenty-foot drop to the floor.  As Miera watched, the calves preceded a shapely pair of thighs, also bare, and then finally a nicely rounded rear barely covered by a slip of a skirt.  Siere gawked openly and Miera felt much the same as more of the presumed sorceress, certainly NOT a swamp hag, came into the faint light from the torches and the moon. 

Raven’s wing hair fell to her waist and muscular arms swiftly lowered the woman towards the floor.  She was wearing a scrap of a dress, more of a shift, in a pale green the same color as new leaves, and as she climbed down, the fabric swished enticingly over her firm young body.  Finally she touched down lightly on the naked stone and said a single word in a language Miera had never heard before.  At the seeming command, the rope came down from the ceiling and coiled itself into a neat loop.  The woman hefted it easily and carried it over to the ledge where she left it.  Then, with a certain amount of predatory grace, she stalked back across the floor towards her captive.  Siere shut his mouth with a snap of teeth audible even to Miera in her hiding place.

Current Music: Queen - Who Wants To Live Forever

Prompt: Strategy

Word Count: 561

Miera blinked.  It was quite possible that she hadn’t seen Siere correctly.  After all, her eyes had been assaulted by smoke and then by jumping from moonlight to nearly absolute darkness to the shadowy, torch-lit gloom she was now peering out into as she plotted her next move.  A second look didn’t change anything.  Siere, pale and blond, nineteen and topless, hanging from ropes about the wrists to the wall of the chamber below where she waited, was decidedly flat-chested.  And not flat-chested as in, ‘aw, poor girl barely has bug bites on her chest’ or ‘how will she ever nurse a babe,’ but completely flat.  As in, Siere was decidedly NOT a female.  This would definitely put a bit of a kink into her plans. 

It wasn’t that she was beyond rescuing men.  Far from it.  Miera believed in helping any in need, male or female, human or animal or even some of the strange beings from beyond the mountains, should they ever need her assistance.  But in her experience, men could be quite prickly about being saved by a woman.  Out of the three major times she’d retrieved a male captive only one had ended decently.  As for the other two, the less said the better.  At least Siere was as waifish as many women.  If she needed to carry him from the temple, she’d certainly be able to manage without much difficulty.  As long as the lad didn’t put up any fight, that was.  Sometimes they struggled even more with her than they had with their captors, the indignity being – stupidly – worse than the threat of death itself.  Stubborn creatures, most lowland men.  Where she came from, anyone strong enough to wield a weapon did so, and those incapable did other work as suited them, male or female. 

No matter, she’d deal with Siere when it came time to retrieve the young man.  What mattered more than his gender at the moment was how she was going to get to him.  Miera inched further out of the shadowed protection of the hall, one hand on the weapon at her back as she studied the rest of the sanctum’s layout.  Roughly circular, a ledge about the width of a good horse covered the circumference of the room.  Her hallway lay opposite of another on the far side of the circle with at least two other doorways also lining the ledge.  Several jugs and wall hangings decorated the area around the ledge but it was otherwise unobstructed.  The focal point of the room was the smaller, equally round chamber carved into the rock itself.  A hollowed out bowl, it was accessible by steps leading down from both her hallway vantage point and another set on the other side.  Siere was tied up to her right and opposite from where the lad was bound was what appeared to be a flat altar flanked by two torches. 

There was no sign of the sorceress and Miera was in the middle of offering up a silent prayer of thanks to her patron god, more out of the hall than in it, when a scraping noise jerked Siere’s head off of his chest and sent her scurrying back to the protection of the shadows.  The sound had come from above and, as Miera gazed upward, the previously seamless gray, soot-stained roof began to move.

Current Music: Kamelot - Karma

Prompt: Nineteen

Word Count: 598

With every fiber of her being Miera fought against the luring, mellifluous voice that tugged at her.  It made her blood dance in her veins, skin goose-pimpling and the short hairs at the back of her neck – the ones that always drifted free of her tail – prickle and stand on end.  It wasn’t a foreboding sort of noise, something that made her wary and prepared for the worst.  Rather, it made her feet feel light and her head ever so slightly foggy, although that could have been a product of the smoke.  She didn’t recognize the language, no surprise since magic users tended to perform their work with arcane words that twisted the tongue and tried the ear.  This, though, didn’t grate on her senses.  She wanted almost to skip forward, drawn by the pleasant sounds, the cadence rising and falling in a pattern that reminded her of the traditional reels her people used to dance around the bonfires that marked the equinox. 

It was all too familiar and easy, like a trap to lull the unwary, and Miera bit down hard on her lower lip until the bitter tang of copper flooded her tongue and freed her senses.  She shook her head, brows knitting, and sucked in one cheek, holding it between her teeth in readiness as she finally crossed the threshold.  Only a few feet inside, the shadows in front of her seemed almost impenetrable and Miera blinked, wished she could risk closing her eyes until they had adjusted.  But time was short and she had always had excellent night vision. 

Treading carefully, not wanting to make a sound, her boots were quiet footfalls on the stone floor until about three yards down what had ended up being a narrow entry hall.  There was fabric beneath her feet on the next step, and she knelt down, fingers running with surprise over a rather plush carpet.  A carpet in the middle of a swamp.  Everything about this so-called sorceress was ringing false and for a heartbeat Miera reconsidered the job.  And then, the lilting voice still bright and warm in her ears, she tasted blood for a second time and rose to her feet.  She wouldn’t abandon a helpless young waif just because the job seemed off somehow.  She was braver than that.

Angry now, annoyance at the lovely sounds that still tried to compel her making her strides longer and heavier, Miera headed for the only point of light ahead of her.  There was a faint golden glow coming from the end of the long hallway and she strode forward unabashedly until she reached the next arch.  There, hanging back in the shadows, she cautiously stuck out her neck, squinting against the light.  The room below was more like a bowl, a depression that had been carved out of the living spine of rock itself.  And to one side, held by the expected ropes at the wrists to a curving grey wall, was Siere.

Pale blond hair, bleached by the light, hung in ragged strands over the bowed head and Miera felt a flash of pity for the poor girl.  Nineteen and taken by a sorceress.  That Siere hadn’t already been married off was a bad sign and this captivity would only make her chances worse.  Still, at least she was still alive.  Studying her assignment, Miera tried to see her face but it was hidden behind the fall of hair.  Tracking downward, she eyed the white unblemished skin of the girl’s neck and then the flat expanse of bare chest.  And…wait.  Something wasn’t right here. 

Current Music: Kamelot - Karma

Prompt: Coerce

Word Count: 451

As silent as one of the sleek black cats reputed to stalk the swamps and battle even the great green lizards for prey, Miera slipped off of her horse.  With careful fingers and the ease of long practice she tied the reins in a clever knot that her horse could pull free should the gelding need to.  Then, after double-checking the placement of her thick hide breastplate and the ties holding daggers to both her hips, she slid through the shadows towards the glowing beacon of the fire.

There were two of them, well-stacked pyramids of wood whose flames burned bright and straight, fragrant smoke tickling Miera’s nostrils as she crept closer.  Her path through the swamp had led her to this unexpected place and she once again spared a thought to wonder about just what sort of sorceress would be waiting to face her steel.  In her admittedly limited to one other encounter with swamp-dwelling magic users, the residence had been a ramshackle hut covered in vines that had blended easily into the tangled growth that surrounded it.  But now before her lay stone, old and dotted with moss and lichen, but heavy and grey, squared stuff that should long ago have been swallowed up by the stinking black water around it. 

Cautiously Miera moved forward and even through the soles of her boots she could tell when the land changed.  It firmed drastically, leaving her on much better footing than the sucking, slippery mud that had composed the sturdiest path up until that point.  Like the interior road, a finger of rock must have underlain the area, allowing for the heavy construction.  The fires burned on chipped and crumbling columns, acting almost like sentries as they lay to either side of the only obvious route.  Beyond that, shadows from the flames dancing on the moonlit walls, lay what to Miera’s well-traveled eyes looked like a temple. 

Square construction in an ancient style, with a gently sloping roof and a great black hole for a doorway, it hadn’t been at all what she’d been expecting.  Her thoughts jumped to snakes and booby traps and Miera stepped very slowly between the flames.  When no warning buzz of magic tingled on her flesh and no rotting bodies of those who’d perished before her popped up to challenge her, she squared her shoulders and ventured towards the door.  The moon was moving inexorably higher and she didn’t have much time.  And as she stood half in the inky cool arch of the doorway and half in the silvery glow of the moon, a soft and sonorous chanting tickled in her ears, urging her feet forward in spite of her determination to proceed slowly.

Current Music: Kamelot - The Shadow of Uther

Prompt: Hoof

Word Count: 630

The air was still and heavy, fetid with the stench of decay.  Beyond the constant noise of her horse’s hooves moving on the muddy path, silence reigned.  It wasn’t a good sort of silence.  Swamps were supposed to be filled with croaking frogs and droning dragonflies and raucous birdcalls and the occasional *plop* of water as either a turtle or a moldering piece of vegetation slipped into the stagnant water.  Instead Miera could hear little beyond the shoosh of water around the bay’s feet, punctuated by sucking mud that tried to hold them both back.  It was ominous and, she supposed, fitting. 

A week into her journey back home after a rather typical job rescuing a baron’s daughter who had been ‘kidnapped’ – as was frequently the case, the girl had had a different suitor in mind than the one her father had selected for her to marry and had run off with the young man – she’d received an urgent request to turn around and ride half a day’s journey back the way she had come.  The lowlands in the area were governed by a loose patchwork of petty fiefdoms and more or less quiescent warlords.  It was a hard place but one that could bring great wealth to those skillful enough to wring the right sort of bounty from the earth.  Apparently it was also home to an alleged sorceress; one who had taken it upon herself to ensorcell the eldest progeny of an impoverished count.  The child had supposedly been spirited out of the keep in the middle of the night and was even now in great danger. 

It was the night of the summer solstice, the longest day of the year and a time commonly held in both practical and folklore as a source of power.  Many religions as well as practitioners of magic honored the day, saving their rites for the apex of the full moon.  The count believed that it was then that his child, a pale blond thing called Siere, would be brutally sacrificed in a bloody ritual designed to empower the hag who dwelled deep within the depths of the swamp.  Miera could never refuse to save a young woman in danger; it went against the very nature of her chosen calling, and she’d sighed and turned her steed towards the swamps.

All through the long afternoon and into the growing shadows of night she’d traveled.  Insect bites and the heat and a touch of hunger had been her only companions, nothing out of the ordinary beyond the bits of arcane clues she had had to find and follow into the heart of the swamp.  No map could be made of the place for the fens and hillocks changed with every rain; only the road that skirted the left, interior side of the place remained constant thanks to the spine of local rock on which it lay.  Miera kept her sharp green eyes open for the runic carvings and the odd groupings of rock.  Occasional faded streamers of once-bright cloth too helped to guide her way.  It was difficult going but not impossible and, before she found herself enshrouded by silence, she had begun to reconsider just how much danger this Siere could be facing.

But with the ominous quiet weighing down on her more palpably than the humidity, she knew she had to be drawing near.  Night lay heavy over the dark swamp, the moon nearly over her head and visible as a pregnant silver disc through the densely woven branches.  Miera shifted in the saddle and chucked the reins, spurring her horse along faster.  And when, after rounding the next humped bit of earth and ghostly trees, she saw the fire, she loosened the weapon at her side and began to prepare.

Prompt: Ringing

Word Count: 450

“Mmm…oh yeaaah…right there.”

Sara bit back a snicker.  Not at Erin’s words but at the hand that had found the back of her head and was pushing her nose deeper into the thick thatch of dark brown hair that covered her girlfriend’s pubic bone.  She had no intention of going anywhere.  They had a whole morning ahead of them, no plans until a tentative date for cocktails with her brother and his roommate at four in the afternoon.  And it wasn’t often she could convince her body-conscious love to let her explore the tender and fragrant expanse she was currently busy licking. 

Pussy was delicious; nothing in the world smelled quite as good, as erotic and arousing, as the scent of a woman’s body and it tasted pretty damn good too.  Erin obviously agreed for she was always burying her face in Sara’s crotch but she got nervous whenever her girlfriend wanted to reciprocate with more than just her fingers.  Thankfully they’d managed to get up and take a morning walk, followed by a rather luxurious and entertaining shower, and Erin had no excuse to keep Sara away from what she wanted. 

And what Erin was most certainly enjoying if the silky thighs closing around Sara’s sandy head were any clue on top of the moans and the demanding hand.  Oh yes, this was a wonderful way to spend a morning and Sara was busy contemplating the idea of seeing just how many orgasms she could draw from her girlfriend when she heard it. 

‘Damn you Alexander Graham Bell!  Damn you!’  That was the thought that ran through her mind even as Sara reluctantly raised her head to murmur against Erin’s smooth stomach.  “Let it ring.  They’ll leave a message.”

Not even giving her girlfriend a chance to respond, she dove back down and laved her tongue right over that perfect spot, pressing hard and making Erin’s head dig into the pillow even as her back arched off the bed.  “Yeah…okay.”  It looked like she was in the clear and Sara went back to her ever so pleasant task.  But almost as soon as the telephone stopped, it started up again.  An annoying noise and this time she knew there would be no escape.

“C’mon, just let it go.  At least until I finish.”

“But what if it’s important?  What if someone’s been hurt or even worse?”

As soon as those words were out of her mouth, Erin swung her leg over Sara’s body and hopped off the bed.  She watched her girlfriend’s pert ass as Erin walked across the room to the phone.

“Hello…”

One of these days she would remember to unplug the infernal machine before they started. 




I LOVE YOU BRIAN!  HAVE A GOOD DAY!  I'd email this to you but I doubt you'd get it.  So have it with pr0n instead.

Prompt: Intolerable

Word Count: 446

Home was Hell.  Literally.  Jaccen had been born there and, for the first eight years of his life, had known no other existence.  It was when he turned eight that he first met his cousin and learned that far more worlds, far more places, far more HOMES existed beyond the dangerous boundaries of Hell.  His was an odd circumstance although as he aged he grew to realize that his cousin’s was perhaps even stranger.  They were of two worlds and yet of neither, different by virtue of their birth.  Perhaps that was why he was so drawn to his cousin.

Silvus was beautiful, impossibly so.  He was lovely in only the way a product of Heaven and Fae could be, but it was a hard beauty, the flashing edge of a finely forged blade in the sun before it was lowered with enough speed and power to kill.  His cousin wore his birth-granted looks like armor, flaunted his beauty and sexuality and sneered at everyone around him.  No one insulted Silvus to his fine-boned face and got away with it.

Jaccen, though, hadn’t recognized his own attractiveness until his cousin had pointed it out.  It was one day shortly after his wings had come in, pain still striking him from time to time and making him hunch even more into himself.  Silvus was a cruel young man but he had truly been doing his cousin a kindness when he smacked the boy who was like a shadow to his brilliant light between the shoulder blades and the new outjuttings of his wings. 

Pain had jolted Jaccen upright and Silvus had grabbed him by the shoulders and wouldn’t let him hide or curl away.  Silver eyes with a curiously purple pupil had held his own black and gold, his cousin having to tilt his gaze ever so slightly upward.  And then Silvus had laughed, a harsh chuckle that melded with the rustling of the woods there at the borderland of Hell and Fae.  Jaccen had been dropped, pressed to his knees as bitter words reached his delicately pointed ears. 

“A rival for me.  If you weren’t such a pathetic weakling.  A shadow to stalk at my side.  We’d cut a swath through court if you had any sort of backbone.”

At the time, only seventeen and remarkably sheltered considering his home and his parentage, Jaccen hadn’t understood.  Later, he learned firsthand just how double-edged beauty could be and the stigma of it became nearly unbearable.  He’d fled first, finding Hell and Fae and all the shadowy lands between intolerable.  And then Silvus had followed him into the mortal realm and their lives began to get REALLY interesting… 

Prompt: Authority

Word Count: 483

Miera strode confidently through the halls of the keep, weapons at her hip and back and her short hair for once hanging in loose, framing waves about her face.  Here she was the master, the lord of her domain in spite of also being its lady.  There were visitors expected in the afternoon and she had every intention of making their stay memorable in as many ways as she and her few servants could manage.  She was often away from her home, busy on mercenary missions or self-appointed tasks, and had little need for the small army of maids and cooks and grooms and all the other help that kept many larger, less frequently empty manors in good order.  The only time she felt the loss was on days like that day, with beloved company coming and only herself, Cook, Sarah, Ciena, and a swarm of temporarily hired youth to make everything ready.

Still, in spite of having spent the last two afternoons on her knees down in the wash house, the thrill of power that came from having her own household was more than enough to make up for the ache in her back and the indignity of being covered in soapsuds by a pack of mischievous brats.  There were very few women who could match Miera’s position and she sometime regretted her lack of peers.  Then again, few men, let alone women, were suited to the sort of life she had chosen for herself and at least she had company of other sorts. 

Her home would soon be host to a princess, a baroness, a high priestess of the western goddess cult, a bespectacled apothecary, and a bar maid who had recently opened her own tavern.  Women all, and all linked by common threads.  Miera had rescued each and every one of the women from rather unpleasant and, in an instance or two, downright deadly situations.  They also had found commonality in a feminine bond, a love of all that womankind could represent, and Miera had known the pleasure of their beds.  These links, Miera herself and a desire to see the lives of women everywhere improved, had led to occasional private gatherings as well as a complex web of written communication. 

This next week would be filled with laughter and memories and plans and good food and the gentle attentions that could be paid by females to one another.  She fully expected to be the butt of many jokes as well as receive the usual exhortations to be careful and to keep up the good work.  Too, she looked forward to being able to relax and be pampered and loved in a way she seldom was elsewhere.  And if Miera had any sort of authority at all, it was there, in her home, and surrounded by the beautiful and intelligent women she loved and was honored to call her sisters.

Prompt: Early

Word Count: 442

Dawn slunk in like a tomcat after an evening’s prowl, slow and proud and full as the sun moved steadily over the horizon.  The burning ball of light was red that morning, streaking the sky with trails of fading pink and burning off the fog that had settled over the valley during the night.  Kalla groaned and buried her face in the bundle of clothes that served as her pillow.  Her night had been filled with strange dreams and a fitful sleep that had brought her little peace.  No nightmares, thank the gods, but odd visions and what felt like memories even though they couldn’t possibly be so had kept her thrashing on her bedroll until the wee hours of the morning. 

Almost on instinct, face still blindly turned into the protectively dark fabric, she freed a hand from beneath her cloak and felt along the edge of her bedroll.  A smooth wooden handle, as chilly as the air around it and damp from dew, and then the even colder bite of steel, the axe was still next to her.  It was her savior and her curse and, only six weeks since the horrible night when it had helped to start her down her bloody path, she clung to all it represented even as part of her wished she could be rid of the burden it represented. 

As usual, a faint buzzing filled the back of her mind, the sound like a fly ramming futilely against a glass jar in the summer before it finally succumbed to the heat.  It drove her a little mad but she embraced the feeling on mornings like that one.  No birdcalls beyond the occasional raucous squawk from the ravens that circled overhead and her night had passed in silence beyond the slow dying of her fire.  She was alone in the borderlands, a young woman stalking paths that even troops of grown male soldiers avoided with a fire burning in her eyes and a lust for revenge propelling her footsteps. 

‘Time to get to it.’  Sometimes she wasn’t sure if she was just hearing the voice of her conscience or will or if something or someone actually was talking to her.  The razor edge of the blade slid along her fingertip as she moved her hand and she sighed and kicked off her covers.  With the sun’s arrival, she didn’t have any more excuses to lay around and nothing would get her to her destination besides her own tired feet.  Kalla sat up and blinked in the early morning light and settled her axe over her knees, the dual blades winking in the sun’s crimson rays.

Prompt: Monkeys

Word Count: 441

“They have those don’t they?” 

The question was unexpected; Silvus had been mostly silent after a raucous bout of laughter that had ensued when he saw the fate of the Eastern witch.  They’d made it through the majority of the film, past the talking scarecrow and the rusty man who would have looked, Jaccen thought, much better if he had resembled a suit of armor rather than a mismatched collection of cans, and beyond the lion with the irritating voice.  They’d sat through inane songs and the giant glowing head and the darker of the pair had been very surprised when his cousin had not made a snarky remark about the unlikely team attacking the wizard instead of meekly obeying orders.  Now, with twenty minutes to go until the movie was over and the time hit one a.m. and UFC came on, Silvus was asking unspecific questions.

“Have what?”  Jaccen didn’t really want to respond but Silvus got testy when he was forced to watch too much mortal television that didn’t involve a great deal of real or hyper-realistic violence.  He never had been able to take his cousin to watch the sort of arty foreign films he enjoyed beyond the occasional Chinese martial arts epic, more’s the pity.  The pale and slender man slouched next to him on the couch could have used an introduction to a less violent culture. 

“Those.”  This time a hand was raised, languid because Silvus’ blood rarely let him move it in a way that wasn’t designed to entice and antagonize, and the dim, bluish light from the television flickered and flared on the hard edge of his oversized but elegant ring.  Jaccen tracked an invisible line from the silvery end of his cousin’s fingernail to the t.v. and barely kept from sputtering.

On screen a bevy of flying simians surrounded the heroine in her ruby slippers and blue gingham, gibbering and slobbering and shedding feathers as they tore her away from her friends.  Creatures that had surely been the stuff of nightmares for small children, but only decades ago when such simplistic elements still had the power to scare, they were nothing at all like any of the beings that moved through the hot and sulfuric skies of Hell.  Then again, Silvus was not noted for his attention to detail when it didn’t suit his interests and there were some lesser denizens who could perhaps have been the horrible progenitors of the more benign Hollywood imaginings on the screen. 

Jaccen sighed and wished time could fast forward and put mortals beating each other before his eyes instead.  “Yes.  We have winged monkeys in Hell.”

Prompt: College

Word Count: 590

It had been a dream of Rebekah’s ever since she’d been old enough to understand why she saw the world in colors that were impossible to explain to her older brother.  Tumas hadn’t been born with magic.  Not many people in her country were; a lack that made the country beef up its army and pursue the more physical branches of magic like alchemy.  Those few born with an inherent gift had a mixed life.  On the one hand, magic was a valuable talent, a special gift just like extreme intelligence or the ability to play a musical instrument.  On the other hand, because of the general lack and the emphasis on other means, magic users were subtly scorned and viewed as having an easy life.  It wasn’t true in most cases of course, and it wasn’t fair, but as her grandfather had told her, that was just human nature.

She’d never been taught to rely on her magic.  Tumas, seven years her senior, had just begun learning the warrior arts when she was born.  Tragedy had struck, taken their parents when he was eleven and she was just four years old.  But it had been time enough for the fundamentals of their foreign father’s martial skills to take root in her brother.  He had continued training to be a soldier, going off to a special school and leaving her with her maternal grandfather.  Tumas had been a hugely important figure in her life, coming home taller and stronger with each school holiday and slowly teaching her how to defend herself.  She admired him greatly, looked up to him, and now that she was old enough, she could see how he’d come to dote on her, spoil her just a bit and see her always with eyes that remembered when she was still a squalling babe.

Tumas had marched off to war at eighteen, leaving her at eleven worried and scared and with the kernel of a dream.  Many girls her age trained in domestic arts and in commercial tasks.  She didn’t have the patience for the book learning necessary to become a researcher but she wasn’t stupid.  Tumas told her of a college he’d learned of, far off on the border of their country, where magic users and those with enough determination and smarts could enroll to further enhance their abilities.  But not just anyone with magical ability was allowed entrance.  There were tests that had to be passed, mostly for book learning but also a few for physical fitness.  At the school she could be trained to do more than just the basic shielding and grounding taught to any child with a hint of potential.  She could actually learn to utilize her talents for the good of the country.  It was enough to halfway comfort her through her fears during her brother’s absence, and she worked hard.

Rebekah wasn’t sure what she wanted to be but she did know how badly she wanted to be accepted by the school.  Being a battle mage was appealing because she could be on the front lines near Tumas.  But being a healer was probably both more practical and more useful.  Even being one of the artificers or having a talent for the rumored espionage magic would be fine because she would be utilizing her gifts to the fullest.  And, even though Tumas had been gone again for nearly a year and wouldn’t be back for another five months, the day she received her acceptance letter, Rebekah swore her brother somehow knew.

Prompt: Postmark

Word Count: 438

Her grandfather was waiting for her on the front porch when Rebekah came home for the day.  Classes had run long again, the final frantic rush to cram in every last piece of information before exams and the departure of some of the students if they were lucky enough to graduate.  Although she grumbled, Rebekah diligently took notes and listened.  She was to be one of those able to receive her diploma, a ticket to a completely new world, and this far into the game, she didn’t want anything to jeopardize her future no matter how irksome it was that her hours were eaten up by tedium. 

There was a letter in his hands, thick and brown, and could mean only one of two things.  Breathless, having sprinted up the walk upon seeing him, she held out her hand and he placed it gently in her fingers.  The postmark, a heavy black and red stamp with a curious winding of vines and snakes and a spear, eliminated one possible sender.  As for the thickness, that could go either way.  Rebekah was trembling, her fingers shaking the tiniest bit, as she carefully opened the top seam with her penknife.  When green pages met her searching fingers, she laughed in relief and grinned up at her grandfather.

“It’s from Kallen.”

A letter from the front and it wasn’t a military death notice with the accompanying insurance and claim information.  Thank the gods and the lady Sondellia.  Her brother and her dearest friend had marched off to war nearly a semester ago, leaving her reluctantly behind to finish what she’d already spent four and a half years on.  They didn’t give her a choice; education first.  And by leaving her with her grandfather, they’d effectively shielded her.  There was no way she could abandon the kindly but no longer so spry old man to go haring off to the front after Tumas and Kallen.  They’d found a way to keep her safe, damn it, and even though she’d known the truth of that since before they left and understood their reasoning, she chafed against it even now. 

Still, a letter was a precious commodity with the postal services at the front being very erratic, and Rebekah cradled it to her chest.  This was something to be savored and she still had a paper to write, dinner to start, and a bath in her future.  She would save it for later, once she was in bed.  Kallen always knew how to encourage her and she would need the cheerful woman’s strength to help see her through to the end of her path. 

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