|
<b>*Warrimbull High School, Australia.*</b>
The world blurs and shudders around him as the fist connects with his right jaw, snapping his head to the left and throwing him off balance. Despite the pain, he enjoys the sensation of disorientation, the sense of not knowing who or where he is for just that fleeting, weird moment. it makes him smile. No, it makes him grin. He doesn't even think about the other boy's name, or why they started fighting. He just reaches out, grabs the other's school shirt, tearing off a few of the buttons from the cheap material and swings his own fist at the boy.
The other ducks his head, and the blow glances along the side of his skull. Jaden can feel the short coarse hair of his opponent as the blow grazes and reddens the skin over his scarred knuckles. As Jaden pulls back for another stike, he instead finds his gut muscles clenching reflexively as one of his opponent's fists flies into his stomach. Their close grappling makes the blow too awkward to bring it's full impact to bear, but the pain is enough to make jaden let go of the other boy. The two stumble away from each other, getting their bearings, and the squall of the other youths shouting, cheering and jerring them rushes back into his senses.
The timber of the student's voices lacks the depth to make their shouting jeers sound anything more than empty and pathetic to jaden't ears, and it only increases his contempt for them. Safe to stand around us, shouting, yelling, enjoying the adrenaline rush vicariously. He knows that if he turned and started smashing his fist into the crowd, they'd balk.
After his quick glance around at the savage young faces around him, the 16 year old boy turns back to his brown-haired opponent, just getting his balance back and getting ready to begin again.
Jaden doesn't hesitate in rushing in, avoiding a clumsy blow at his head, and slamming his left fist hard into the other boy's chest head-on. The blow knocks the other youth off his feet, and this time Jaden doesn't wait for him to get to his feet. He straddles the youth and throws several savage fistfulls of determined antagonisim into his face, opening up a cut on his right eyebrow, splitting his lip, and giving him a black eye. When he feels the fight go out of his opponent, and the boy cries out through his split lip, spraying stringy blood mixed with spittle onto Jaden's wrinkled and untidy school shirt.
"Thtob! Thtob, i gib ub!"
Jaden slowly gets up, breathing hard, his chest heaving as his body tries to suck in oxygene. <i>Perhaps i broke his nose, too.</I> he thinks, <i>It looks very swollen.</i>
Just then, an authritave voice begins making it's way through the crowd. A womman's voice, full of stern anger and disapproval. The circle of students breaks apart, and a short, middle-aged womman, plump but not fat, handsome but not pretty, moves into view, taking in the scene. She sees the tall figure of Jaden Marrik, his messy dark hair falling onto his brow and the longer strands into his eyes.
He is well-muscled, but not bulky, more the stringy muscle of a fit youth still growing. His school uniform is creased, and has grass and dirt stains on it from this and probably previous fights.
She looks over at the other boy, sitting on the ground, gingerly touching his face, and wincing when he finds one of his injuries. The woman starts, and a look of mild horror passes across her face. this isn't a schoolyard scrap, of shirt pulling and clumsy blows. The is the beating a man gives a boy.
She looks at the crowd of teens arounder, and points at a girl with a cowed look on her face. Jaden remembers how her face had been twisted up in a different expression only moments ago. "Amy, get Josh to the nurse's office." She turns to jaden, ignoring the girl's reply. "yes Mrs winters"
She turns back to Jaden, stern disapproval warring with disgust across her face. Jaden's laboured breathing has somewhat calmed by now, and he is merely a little out of breath, his ever-so-slightly green-tinged hair still in his eyes.
"You. My office. <b>NOW.</b>"
***************
<b>*The Grasslands, Hell.*</b>
The two figures travel through the tall grasses in the midmorning light, one tall, and with long unruly crimson hair lifting and curling about in the brisk wind. Adric walks with strong, purposeful strides, but there is a slight slump to his broad shoulders. Behind him walks a shorter figure with short dark hair, and a rich caramel color to his skin. A long, sinuous tail sweeps and swishes out from under Hurin's cloak, collecting morning dew from the foliage. It is covered in short silky fur the same color and sheen as his hair.
Hurin looks off into the distance, to the west, and sees a trail of smoke in the sky. He turns to Adric and asks about it. <i>"Achari, what do you suppose is that smoke on the horizon?"</i>
Adric doesn't even look at it. his senses are keen enough to pick up the smells on the wind. Burnt wood, burnt thatch...the smell of burnt cloth, burnt hair, and burnt meat. The scent of civilisation made ash. He continues walking on.
<i><b>"i have no idea."</b></i>
********
<b>*Principle's office, Warrimbull High School, Australia.*</b>
Jaden stares out the window at the dry school oval, the grass looking scraggly, struggling to grow in the heat of the Australian climate. The oval is now emplty, and the school eerily quiet after hours. A permanent scowl is fixed on his face as he ignores the silently staring Mrs Winters, school headmistress.
His left eye aches and he knows it must be bloodshot red. He start to feel the pressure and itching of a black eye in the early stages, now that the adrenaline is ebbing out of his system. His knuckles hirt, his side hurts from a rather vicious jab from another boy's knee a few days ago, and his jaw pounds with a steady rythm. All of the hurts act as distractions from his thoughts and the silence. Allow him to pretend the woman isn't i the room with him as he stares out the window and savours the sensations that afflict him.
He purposefully ignored the woman that knocked, and then at the headmistress' call, let another woman, in her mid-30's, into the room. The woman has hair a similar color to Jadens, although much finer, and glossy instead of the dull sheen of his messy hair. There are faint lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth, and no sign of the premature grey hairs she routinely plucks. She gives the boy a worried look before turning to speak with the headmistress.
"Mrs Marrak. Thank you for coming on such short notice. please take a seat. You too Jaden." Jaden's mother sits herself neatly in one of the worn, uncomfortable 60's style lounge chairs. all square and beaten and ragged looking, the awful pattern in the rough fabric pilling into dirty balls of fluff. Jaden does not move.
His mother looks over to him and softly calls, the tone carrying almost no authority, sounding almost apologetic. "Jaden," The boy scowls at the two of them, before stalking over tothe chair and sitting in it, straight-backed, and staring fixedly at the wall. He doesn't listen as the two women begin discussing him, prefferring to systematically flex and clench all the acheing muscles in his body, close and open his itching, swelling eye.
<i>Just ger it over with, goddamnit.</i>
He is snapped out of his reverie by his mother saying something, and resting her hand on his shoulder. He is disgusted by her touch, wants to shrug it off, slap her away. He is just as disgusted with himself for leaving it there, the fingers slowly massaging his shoulder and the back of his neck.
"Right, Jaden? Principal Winters is going to see a turnaround from now on." Her voice is bright and airy, but there is a brittleness underneath it that stops jaden from saying something sarcastic or condescending.
"Right." he says in a flat monotone, the best he can manage.
"No more fighting, i'll get you a tutor for your grades, and we'll start seeing counsellor Trebuchet again. Things will get better, sweetie" With each sunny, brittle word she says, Jaden grows colder and colder, the hairs on the backs of his arms standing up. He knows her words are as empty as his. Nothing will change, he will keep fighting, and she will keep....being herself.
"Right."
***********
<b>*An'Alkin, bandit town, Hell.*</b>
Adric and Hurin stride through the small side gate to the forest-shrouded An'Alkin, and into the busy street, packed with rogue Chantha and demons. the town is of a decent size, and somewhat resembles what one might have seen in a colonial encampment in the british empire's prime back on earth. Slipshod wooden buildings fill the town, looking like they were never meant to be permanent residences or places of business, the wood green and splintery, the streets muddy with more of the poorly prepared wood for walkways.
As the two move through the town, not a few heads turn at the sight of Achari. It is not common for a demon to live past his 30th or 40th year in this harsh world, where cannibalisim is the only means of survival for demonkind, and exceptionally rare for one to reach 70. There are many folklore tales about the flamboyant Achari the red, and many of them have a grain of truth at the core.
Many eyes turn away when Achari's gaze passes over them, but a few note the weariness they glimpse in them, and a few plot, but the two travel on unmolested to their destination.
Their destination is a large mansion, built in the center of the town, surrounded by lush, extravagant grounds, which are in turn surrounded by solid stone walls. Achari strides right up to the front gate, as extravagant as the beautiful hardwood and polished stone mansion and announces himself to the burly Chantha guard, an ex-Templar Cyrre, by the gold-etched sword on his back.
<b><i>"Achari the Red to see Her Lady Killiana of An'Alkin."</i></b>
The guard looks at Hurin. <i>"Who's this then?"</i>
<i>"I am Hurin, of no tribe or clan."</i> The guard looks disapproovingly at the young Chantha. <i>"'tis someone very unlucky, or very follish that goes by that name."</i>
<i>"Nevertheless, i find it suits me well."</i> Hurin responds. The guard gives his name no more thought.
<i>"Very well. wait here while i send someone to see if the lady will permit you to see her."</i> He calls out to the guardhouse, and a demon girl that looks no older than 14 comes out. Her swagger, and her eyes, however, mark her older and far more worldly than 14, and the sharp spines growing from her shoulders and hairline mark her more than just a girl. Mad smirks to Hurin as the chantha guard instructs her. <b><i>"just Ez's flavour, that one."</i></b> The girl demon gives a quick, irritated look in their direction before heading off.
A few minutes later, she returns, and walks up to the chantha guard and his two charges. "The Lady Killiana will see Achari the Red, and his companion. follow me." She turns and silently walks into the mansion grounds, and they follow.
<b><i>"What is your name?"</i></b> Adric asks, passing the time. Hurin looks around at the extravaganc e of the garden, rare plants and wild, dangerous animals chained to great posts in the ground are a hallmark of the flora and fauna, with a multitude of masterfully sculpted statues in the same polished grey-green stone around the grounds.
The girl looks back over her shoulder at him, suspicion the clearest thing in her expression. "Here, i am Marin." she says in a flat, hostile voice.
Mad continues, unperturbed by her tone. <b><i>"How long have you been here, Marin? ten, twenty years?"</i></b>
"Fifteen" she does not turn around this time. "Why do you insist on speaking in chantha? it is quite annoying."
<b>"an old habit. fifteen years is not a short time."</b> Mad switches back to his native dialect, a strong but undefinable accent coming through.
"You ask a lot of questions, Achari." she stops outside some heavy doors made from a hardwood stained to a dark red-brown, with gold filligree inlaid in patterns and reliefs of battles. She looks directly at Achari, hostility in her eyes. "The baroness rescued me from the wilds shortly after i....arrived here. She took me in, and i was...fed, and groomed to be in her service. Without the baroness, i would have either starved, been raped or eaten, or both by one of the packs that roam the rocky forests to the north of here. i owe her my life."
"and your bed no doubt," A chari said, amusement in his voice. A furious scowl distorts the young girl's face, and she looks about ready to pounce on the older, far more powerful demon. Hurin's hand goes to the bone dagger at his side, but adric stills his hand. <b>"please, let's not keep her lady the baroness waiting."</b>
"No weapons." the girl growls, gesturing to hurin's blade.
<b><i>"Hurin will stay here, and i will leave my overcoat."</i></b> It is unclear why mad calls it an overcoat, as the only clothing he wears it over is his faded pants made of a tough, solid weave, and his large, solid kneehigh warrior's boots. His large chest and thick forearms are crisscrossed in a pattern of old, dark scars.
After he throws his coat to Hurin, Marin opens the double doors and announces him. "Achari The Red, Crimson Elder." A sumptuous woman looks up from her position sprawled amongst silk cushions, on a soft, plush couch low to the ground. There is a game board between her and a scantily clad chantha boy of perhaps 13, who is frowning at the board.
<b>"Achari. it has been a long time."</b> the woman says, and her voice carries the powerful tone of an elder demon, making the room sound full of her voice. She is an attractive creature, with a shapely figure, and the kind of sexuality that comes from powerful women, sensual, mature, in control. her hair is a soft mauve, and her skin color shades from a light cyan on raised, exposed areas of her body to a deeper navy along the neat natural folds of her body, and along features like the outer edge of her pointed ears and along her lightly spined eyebrows, giving her the appearance of an indian diety, a female version of Vishnu, without the extra arms.
<b>"Twenty years, perhaps. you look well, Baroness."</b> Adric says, not waiting for protocol and slouching in one of the low, cushion covered couches, his eyes passing over the chessboard between the baroness and the boy. <b>"Do you play?"</b> she enquires, noticing his glance. <b>"Aye. Terribly"</b> He replies, humor in his deep, velvet voice. <b>"i have not the patience for the game, i fond even one match to be tiresome after half an hour."</b> He grins conspiratorily <b>"i don't have the subtlety for the intrigues of the game, apparently."</b>
The woman laughs, and her voice wanders and echoes about the room. <b>"Very well, then i would offer you access to bathing facilities before dinner. I will have Marin take you to our baths."</b>
Achari smiles as he rises and stretches his large frame, dwarfing the nearby Marin. The young chantha boy looks up from the game he is losing in wonder at the relatively massive creature, his chest and arms criss-crossed with a multitude of old, dark scars. <b>"Baroness, are you implying something about my hygine?</b>" Achari asks, in a mock hurt tone.
<b>"Only that you stink like an animal, Achari."</b>
He grins over his shoulder as he follows the small demoness Marin from the luxuriant room.
<b>"My Lady, i <i>AM</i> an animal."</b>
**********
<b>*Warrimbull, Marrak residence.*</b>
Jaden throws his schoolbag on the floor next to the couch in the loungeroom and eases himself down onto the soft leather, his adrenaline having fled, leaving him tired, and his muscles acheing, his bruises smarting, and his cuts and scratches itching. His mother goes first into the kitchen, then after a minute or so, the bathroom. She comes back into the loungeroom with a glass full of orange juice in one hand, and some antiseptic lotion in the other.
She sighs as she sits down in the couch next to him, sipping her drink before setting it on the coffee table, and settling back in the couch, the bottle of lotion resting in her lap. Many would think she looks quite smart in her business suit, very much the in control, powerful woman. mature, alluring, conscious of herself and the effects her looks can have on others. Jaden stares at the silent, inactive television, trying to ignore her, her hand across the back of the couch, the smell of orange juice and Vodka on her breath.
"What am i going to do with you, Jaden?" she says, a mournful note in her voice. "why do you keep doing this? to me? to yourself?" He wants to flinch away from her cool fingers as they brush his tender cheek, wants to stand and scream at her, call her a disgusting freak, tell her he wants her to die, anything but sit there and let her touch him, talk to him, act like a mother. He sits there, and tries to ignore her soft, cool fingers.
"Why do you do this to your pretty eyes?" she murmurs, softly running a fingertip along his scarred eyebrow above his slowly forming black eye. "it's such a shame...such a handsome boy..." Her hand trails off, to rest back in her lap with the lotion. She seems to wait silently, as though hoping for something, anything from her son. Apologies, questions, anger, anything to confirm that she is sitting next to him, and he recognizes her. He has no idea how deeply it hurts her when he stares off at nothing, and if he did, his blank eyes might show a glint of triumph.
She makes a show of leaning over to the coffee table to take a sip of her vodka and orange to hide her hurt, takes a long sip, letting the liquid simultaneously cool her throat and warm her belly, soften her neves, relax the tension in her muscles from her high pressure job and the pressures of a delinquent son. A son she can't help loving more than life itself. <i>...just can't stop myself...</i>
"Jaden," she murmurs softly, turning back to him and retreiving the lotion from where it had fallen from her lap. "Take off your shirt," He doesn't move, doesn't respond. None of his emotions show on the surface as he fills his thoughts with the grey rectangle of the television, imagining his fight displayed on it like some amateur boxing show. He ignores her cool fingers playing with his collar, tracing a line along the skin of his neck. despite himself, goosebumps run up the back of his neck at the soft touch. "i can't help you if you don't take it off, Jaden."
Again, she sighs, that mournful, uniqe sigh, and leans forward to undo the buttons down the front of his shirt. A few are missing, and there are blood stains that will never come out. it is common that his shirts are in such a state, and she always buys new ones. He can feel her breath on his skin, warm, smelling softly of fruit and the vodka & orange she prefers to drink at home. He can smell the vanilla perfume she likes to wear, and even though she only wears a little, and the smell is not unpleasant, he feels nauseated.
She finishes with the buttons and leans him forward, slipping him out of the shirt and inspecting his back. There are distinct tan lines around his arms and the back of his neck from his school shirt, and a fainter set from the bonds singlets he prefers to wear out of school. his skin is smooth, and he is well muscled for his age, his physique between that of a boy and a man still. The steel of his muscles is only slightly tempered by the softness of adolescence. She puts some of the cool cream on her palm, and begins to massage it inot the skin of his back. his shoulders tense as he stares forward, but slowly, the cream warms and sinks into his skin, making him relax involuntarily.
She works the ointment into his back, softly massaging and rubbing, until his skin has a smooth, creamy texture. He still stares foreward, his expression and eyes blank, as though carved from wood. She runs her fingernails softly up his spine, and is gratified by the goosebumps and fluttering of his muscles.
Jaden is only faintly aware of her fingers, faintly aware of anything. The massage, and his own distant thoughts make him feel disconnected from himself, make him feel as blank and silent as the screen before him. So he doesn't question when he feels the woman behind him pull away, doesn't hear the sound of rustling fabric and the creak of the couch's leather, the snap of plastic clasps, or the pop of the plastic lid of the lotion bottle.
He barely notices her hands, covered in the lotion, as they take him by the shoulders, and pull him backwards. He barely registers the slick, cool sensation as she pulls him against her chest, her breasts smooth and soft, covered in the creamy lotion, her nipples rubbing against the naked skin of his back. Her hand massage and carress up and down his toned, well muscled arms, across his chest, down his stomach, covering him in the excess lotion on her hands. Her breath tickles his ear as he retreats into the greyness. "such a handsome boy, such a good boy..."
*******************
<b>"Achari, you have barely touched your dinner,"</b> The baroness croons from the head of the oval table, spinning her fork, a chink of meat on the end, Marin to her left, is slowly chewing her food and staring daggers at the red-haired demon and his chantha companion. hurin picks at a plate of vegetables, quietly munching on the fresh greens and seeming to watch the entire room simultaneously for any sign of treachery. Achari sits with his elbows on the table his hands templed over his untouched plate, his fingers interlaced. There is an air of relaxation about him, but the deadly wild animal lies just underneath, staring out of those eyes odd even among demonkind. He reminds Killiana somewhat of a sleeping snake, coiled, seemingly relaxed, but no less dangerous for it. Both Hurin and Achari are clean and freshly groomed, wearing robes provided by the Lady's estate.
<b>"Forgive me, Baroness."</b> Achari says, a lazy glint in his eye. <b>"We animals feel uncomfortable eating something we didn't catch ourselves. Besides,"</b> he pauses to yawn, showing perfectly white and sharp teeth, a habit he'd picked up from the Chantha. <b>"Only the other night i feasted on four of our bretheren, so the need to eat is not that immediate."</b>
The baroness smiles in cool amusement. <b>"it is a wonder to me how providence allows one so coarse and base as yourself to live so long, Achari. Were these unfortunates anyone We know?"</b>
Achari chuckles and leans back <b>"I doubt it, just some rabble from that Idiot's Army out in the plains. They were near-starved, barely more than younglings. if i wasn't such a murderous bastard, i'd have barely enjoyed it."</b>
<b>"Barbaric,"</b> Killiana breathes, her tone and the sparkle in her eye gives the word a different edge than distaste. <b>"But, i am sure your visit isn't just to brag about your exploits. To what do i owe the dubious pleasure of your visit, Achari?"</b>
The red haired devil just grins wolfishly. <b>"I bring you information."</b> Achari leans forward, pushing his plate of roast meat aside, secretly disgusted with the act of cooking anything that used to be sentient. <b>"within the week, that great, stupid dragon that's been giving you so much worry these past 20 years will lose it's head."</b>
All ears bart Hurin's pick up at this news, and he continues to pick discontentedly at the vegetables as all other stare at the large guest. Killiana's expression is calculating, already weighing up possibilities and advantages to be exploited. Marin's expression, too changes, but only for a moment before she hides it.
<b>"Valuable information indeed, Achari. But how can you vouch for it?"</b> The baroness enquires.
<b>"That,"</b> Achari grins, <b>"Is the part that will cost you."</b>
<b>"and what, then, is the price?"</b> the baroness is now leaning forward, openly interested in what her guest will say next. Hurin continues to pick at his vegetables, chewing on some kind of soft green fruit not unlike a tomato. it is unclear whether or not he can understand the demon's language.
<b>"just that you use this information as you will, to destabalize the army. without their fanatic leader, there should be a good deal of things one with your resources should do."</b> A warm, calculating smile fills the baronesses' face as she leans forward, her melodic voice filling the room with soft laughs. <b>"Easily agreed, and how exactly will this Dragon's head be vanishing?"</b>
Conversation continues for a few hours, mad tellinmg some truth but fabricating much about his intentions. at the end, however, the lady is convinced that within a week, the leader of the massive demonic army will indeed have vanished.
"It has become indeed late, and i regret i have other matters i mus attend this night. gentlemen, i exten the hospitality of my guest quaters to you both. rest here this night, if your business permits," The lady says graciously, rising.
<b>"sounds good,"</b> Achari says, rising and stretching, his bones creaking audibly as he flexes. <b>"It has been a long time since i have enjoyed such comforts. even us barbarians enjoy a night of civilisation every now and then."</b>
*********************
It is rare that Achari sleeps. He could count the times he'd slept in his 70 years in the chantha world on one hand. The creation of the demonbane boneweapons had weakened him greatly though, and food is not enough to restore his equilibrium. As uneasy as it makes him, the giant finally concedes to sleep, and rests himself on top of the covers of the wonderfully soft bed in his rooms in the guest apartments.
The dreams that flit across his eyes are old ones, remindind him of his time as a mortal, before he knew what lay beyond the veils of death. They flit from events in his mortal life, to dreams from his spradic mortal sleep, to his death, a great cacophony of blood, rage, and madness. Then a face forms, a young girl's, soft, warm expression, warm eyes, dark hair with a sheen of purple to it. Her face becomes gaunt, her expression terribly sad, before her features change again, into those of the young Marin.
Realizing this new image is not a dream, mad starts up off the bed, silently grabbing the smaller demon by the throat and standing up, holding her feet high off the floor. The girl reflexively struggles to breath, and reflexively panics when she cannot, clawing ineffectually at his great hand about her thoat, kicking out with her legs, hitting only air. mad throws her small frame on the bed, and pins her there with a withering glare.
<b>"Bold to sneak up on an elder, kid. Fucking stupid, too."</b> he growls menacingly.
"Thought the legends said you never slept," the girl countered, not entirely cowed by the large, half-naked demon above her. <b>"Just rarely. Now what are you risking your life sneaking into my room for? with all those glares you sent my way, i doubt it's lust that drives you."</b>
"Of course not! how could any creature have any attraction to such a bruteish, uncouth barbarian as yourself! You are no better than those pigs out in that muddy town!" her outburst is not loud, but it makes up for it in vehemence. It only makes Achari smile. He leans in close, so she can feel the heat of his breath on her face, her collarbone, the slight upper swell of her small breasts. He leans his weight onto his left hand, next to her shoulder. It makes the matress creak and dip, rolling her against his naked arm. So close, she can see the dark scars on his body in even this dim light, and they too seem to be glaring at her.
<b>"Unlike Ezelek, say?"</b> She starts at the name, and again the anger flares to life in her eyes. Achari grins as his comment hits the mark. <b>"So that's what this is about."</b>
"I want to hire you for a job." the girl growls defiantly. She's finding it hard to think, looking into those strange, wild eyes, swirling and gleaming in the dim light from outside. <b>"Oh?"</b>
"I...i remember from the tales, you're a mercenary, or you were...i want to hire you. To kill Ezelek." Madadric chuckles softly, still leaning in close, making the girl uncomfortable. <b>"I am not usually hired as an assassin by jilted lovers."</b>
"He stole from My Lady. I wish to see him pay for his crime."
<b>"Like i just said, i'm not usually hired as an assassin for jilted lover-"</b> His words change to a gutteral chuckle when the girl slaps him across the face, her eyes now ablaze with anger. <b>"Aaaaah, so we come to the crux of it. Thrown aside for bigger fish, little one? Now, don't look so angry, eh?"</b>
he stands up, and looks down at her, the wolf's grin still shaping his features, the scars crisscrossed shadows over his chest and arms. <b>"Ok, i'll do it. but what will you pay, girl? i have no use for money or food. what else..."</b> He puts a foot up on the bed, leans on it, his odd eyes half-lidded. the grin looks more like a leer now. <b>"Have you to offer?"</b>
Her eyes grow wide with outrage, and she pulls her legs up close to her body. "how dare you! do you think me some whore?!" The giant chuckles with genuine mirth. <b>"and what happens betwee you and the baroness is love? Perhaps your revenge means that little."</b> He turns away from the bed, heading towards the balcony.
"...wait..." He turns to see the girl's face downcast, her hair hiding her expression. One side of her robe has been pulled of her shoulder, and the shallow slope of one of her small breasts is revealed, with a small, dark nipple standing out on the pale skin. The spines on her shoulders stand out starkly even in the dim light. Her hand moves down, parting the robe firther to reveal the smooth, creamy skin of her belly, the top of her dark triangle of hair...
She is stopped by a sardonic laugh and the sound of the large demon turning back to the balcony. <b>"put your robe back on, i don't want some skinny little kid's body. I'll get my payment when you have something worthy to pay me with."</b>
outrage and relief war across her face, at once affronted by his rejection, and thankful she didn't have to have the beast touch her. "There are those that would kill for an eternally young bedmate..." She says, her annoyance at his derision winning through momentarily, scoring across the fresh wound of her previous male lover's aparrent rejection.
<b>"I prefer the fruit of a mature tree to buds from a skinny sapling."</b>
"I...have been like this since coming to this world..." she murmurs.
<b>"I am patient, about some things."</b> He sighs. <b>"If you grow, i will take my payment. Even if you do not, I may change my mind later and take my payment anyway. either way, Ezelek will be dead and gone from here within the week."</b>
The girl gets up to leave, dressing herself. as she reaches the door, Achari speaks one more time. <b>"tell your mistress that she knows me better than i gave her credit for,"</b>
The girl pauses, before rushing out of the room, feeling more used and violated than if the creature had taken her.
_________________
Last edited by madadric on Wed Oct 13, 2004 7:07 pm, edited 2 times in total.
|
Login
FAQ
Search
