From quinn@fazigu.org Mon Nov 07 13:49:45 2005 Return-path: Envelope-to: quinn@fazigu.org Delivery-date: Mon, 07 Nov 2005 13:49:45 -0500 Received: from yami.57thstreet.com ([216.110.12.54]) by work.fazigu.org with esmtp (Exim 4.50) id 1EZC3s-0002Fk-M2 for quinn@fazigu.org; Mon, 07 Nov 2005 13:49:45 -0500 Received: from moo.ghostmoo.org (yami.57thstreet.com [216.110.12.54]) by yami.57thstreet.com (8.13.1/8.13.1) with SMTP id jA7IwkIt035801 for ; Mon, 7 Nov 2005 18:58:46 GMT (envelope-from quinn@fazigu.org) Message-Id: <200511071858.jA7IwkIt035801@yami.57thstreet.com> Date: Mon, 7 Nov 2005 12:58:46 -0400 From: "Quinn@Ghostwheel" To: quinn@fazigu.org Subject: Ghostwheel Message(s) 292 - 305 from *storylines (#5236) X-Mail-Agent: Ghostwheel (moo.ghostmoo.org 6969) X-Spam-Checker-Version: SpamAssassin 3.0.2 (2004-11-16) on work.fazigu.org X-Spam-Level: X-Spam-Status: No, score=-0.9 required=5.0 tests=AWL,BAYES_50 autolearn=ham version=3.0.2 Status: RO Content-Length: 30715 Lines: 630 Message 292 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Sep 9 12:27:08 2005 EDT From: Augustus (#18463) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Fire An over night fire destroyed the Bloody Claw near Red's keep, unfortunately the flames went over the wall and destroyed Moonheart's Tower as well. Red was able to save the rest of the keep and had no comment on whether he would rebuild or not. Anonymous reporter -------------------------- Message 293 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Sep 9 13:45:16 2005 EDT From: Rhianna (#37042) To: *storylines (#5236) Sitting on the soft ground, strewn with pine needles and dappled mid-summer sunlight, Rhianna finished the letter and rummaged around in her backpack to find the sealing wax. A restlessness like she'd never felt before had kept her up these past few nights; she'd done little else but wander, here and there amongst the trees and the tumbledown, ruined foundation of what had once been a sprawling homestead. For once, stealing away from home in the middle of the night had led her to what she was looking for. It hadn't worked, the last time, and she half wondered if she was heading for still more hurt by turning back toward home again. Home. Funny name for it, really, but it was the only thing she'd thought of for weeks now - that building, with its little walled-in garden, baking in the wasteland sun. And him. She was trying hard not to think ahead too much. Not to think about the fighting that most likely lay before her, or the possibility that he'd done what any reasonable person in his position would do, and found himself a woman that wasn't prone to wandering, to fits, to dreaming. She refused to think about these things, and instead she penned a letter home -- sealed it up with wax inside its little tube, and sent it ahead of her with the sparrowhawk. Her mind was clearer, now. No less plagued by dreams and seeings and doors into the OtherWorld, but clearer all the same. She knew, now, who she was. What direction she wanted to head. She could make some crack about being her father's daughter - wandering off in the middle of the night, and then stealing back again - but it wouldn't be true. She was who she was. She'd slipped out in the dark, but she would come home in the daylight and through the front door. Ready to face whatever awaited her there. She had been a very long time growing up - a long, and lonely time - but for the first time she could remember, she was sure of things. The sparrowhawk flew off - she felt the breeze run over her as if she were flying, too. But she hadn't wings; only legs, and her camp to carry, and it would be days, yet, before she crossed back into the Wastelands of the Wheel. Days before she stepped into that dusty garden. Days, yet, before would know for certain if she was home, with Trae, and if she would be allowed to stay there. -------------------------- Message 294 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Sep 11 23:24:46 2005 EDT From: Ydhana (#37181) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Without Ceremony Ydhana moved quietly and quickly around the cavern. It was an effort to keep from imbuing her movements with ceremony, to shush the part of her that wanted to create a litany to accompany her actions. 'This is the last time I unlocked the trunk. This is the last time I made the bed...' but by a combination of force of will and singing nonsense rhymes in her head she managed to simply do what needed doing and not let it become ritual. She didn't want to do this. She hated the whole idea, everything about it. The very thought made her want to weep and cling and beg for reprieve. In fact, she didn't want to do it so desperately that she figured it almost had to be the right course of action. Her instincts often ran that way. When the last necessity was shoved into the ugly canvas duffel and the cavern was spotless, Ydhana had to steel herself to take that last step. She pulled the letter out of her pocket and laid it carefully on the bed, adjusting it fussily until it was exactly centered on the silk coverlet. Then, without weeping, without trembling, without hesitating or looking over her shoulder, Ydhana made herself leave. -------------------------- Message 295 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sun Sep 11 23:32:36 2005 EDT From: Garben (#15950) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: letters Garben entered the room, still damp with ocean water from his latest swim. The smile given to him by the ocean quickly faltered as he realized the cavern was spotless, and the only thing out of place was an envelope laid out to be found. Cautiously he opened it. Eyes still closed, muttering to himself "She'd best not be leaving me. Garben opened his eyes, and immediately wished he hadnt. By the first few lines he could tell she was gone. Who knew for how long, but he knew she was gone. He forced himself to read on. Dedications of love, and things that needed to be done. He sighed and pulled himself fully onto the bed, indian style with the letter in his hands. "She'll not be coming back. She'll see that she's strong enough, and brave enough without me." He bowed over the letter and wept softly. -------------------------- Message 296 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Sep 16 04:46:17 2005 EDT From: Adele (#43312) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: A Change. Happy, content perhaps, the tree, dead to allow the wind to graze her naked body, Grace sits, legs stretched out, wide and with purpose. "I need a name, something special, something to let the world know.." Her pondering brought peace with the breeze, slow as it tickled her inner thighs. "Adele..she heard between the branches, Adele.." Her studies brought clam, awareness, within days of work inside the dark room of the Cathedral, her hair grew to a tangled mass, thick and long. Eyes wild as they stood edged in dark rings, lips drawn to a sullen line. At times during the twilight she can be seen sitting in the square, an out door cafe, staring as the sun sets, naked, alone, her otherwise creamy skin dark with dust and sticky strings of web. -------------------------- Message 297 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Sat Oct 1 04:34:29 2005 EDT From: Laurent (#14050) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Promises in the Night The Wyrmmaster's bedroom on Uruken is the single most luxurious chamber in the Mount. As, Laurent always maintained, it should be. The rough stone cavern made luxurious by the addition of thick oriental carpets, deep padded furnishings, and priceless tapestries hung from rock spikes in the walls. There are polished copper braziers to drive the chill from the room and heavy carved wooden furniture built for any number of purposes. On this particular night all the braziers had been lit, warming the room to the temperature of breath. Many tall white candles lit the room, sending flickering bands of golden light and deep shadow across the oversized wooden bedstead. Despite the precious antiquity of the bed itself, the satin sheets and velvet hangings were stained almost black, caked with blood and worse. A crumpled figure lay bound and very still atop the foul coverlets, so battered and torn that at first glance it was impossible to tell whether it was even a man or a woman. Standing at the foot of the bed, admiring the view, was a tall pale woman with icewhite hair falling loose down over her bare back. Tiny droplets and sprays of blood on her skin providing an almost electric contrast to the pallor of her nude body. Laurent stepped up behind her and bent his head to kiss the back of her shoulder. "Enjoying the show, dawnstar?" The woman shrugged irritably, shaking off Laurent's caress. "I forget how fragile you creatures are. I wasn't finished yet." Her pale grey eyes never left the torn body laying motionless on the bed. Laurent glanced at the messy remains of their evening's fun. "He'll recover. Live to play another day. By morning he'll even have remembered how to scream." At the sound of his voice the semiconscious figure on the bed stirred, voicing a rasping protest. "Mmmm. That will be nice." She watched the broken boy writhe in his bonds for a few moments longer and then suddenly whirled to face Laurent. "You promised me my name, Huissier." "And you will have it, silverdawn. Soon, I swear it to you." As though to punctuate his promise Laurent reached out to grasp the pale swells of her hips and pulled her toward him, pressing their nude bodies together in a line of hot skin and someone else's blood. She turned her face aside to prevent a kiss. "We shall see, little Huissier." Leaning closer anyway, the Creole whispered into the pale strands of hair just over her ear, "You'll have it, my white goddess. And as soon as it's returned to you we will set about making sure it's a name that everyone knows. And everyone fears." A fine, pointed smile crossed her lips. "As to that. I have a few ideas of my own. I have a...charming surprise planned. A celebration of my return." Laurent would have asked more about this plan, but his Lady chose this moment to finally kiss him, and any questions he might have had were forgotten in the taste of bloodtinged lips and the swan-soft texture of her hair. -------------------------- Message 298 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Tue Oct 4 22:20:18 2005 EDT From: SnowHawk (#24690) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Snow Emerges Snow gasps loudly as she breaks the surface of the sea. Always liking this cove off of Jizo, she finally feels cleansed enough of the dirt and grit from the cave-in to look forward to a hot soak. She hums an old tune of the forest as she wrings out her long hair and gathers her bundle of clothes, walking up the steep trail to the hot pools, the breeze raising goose-flesh on her pale bare skin. Reaching the lower pool, she drops slowly into the warm water with an audible ahhhhh. Closing her eyes as she rubs sore muscles and bruises. A grin... it seems to have worked. Well, it was working at least. The dreams. The visions... the cold consuming swamp and the pure white swan. Gone. After many nights of fitful sleep, the idea struck her. It was worth a try. Calling Daan to take her there, up to the old mount, to Morlith. Even Daan seemed agreeable to her idea, yet worry showed. Morlith is a dangerous place these days. The mount so unstable. She found a small comfortable cave, deep in service tunnels, that was still secure. There, surrounded by the magic of the Sarkus, she also found peace. And sleep. Healing sleep. Recovering both strength and sanity, the intrusive visions gone. Oh, she felt a sense of sorrow for the White Lady, but what could she do? Somehow, the fey woman's enchanting beauty seemed to hold something horrid, like the rotten core of a perfect white peach. Then the shaking got worse. She barely escaped with her life, the cavern and tunnel collapsing behind her. Daan giving her that I-told-you-so look... if only she could understand them, but dragonspeak won't seem to come to one not bonded. Again, she pushed all thoughts of the horrid visions out of her mind. So far they had not returned. She sighs, other things needing mending now. -------------------------- Message 299 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Oct 5 01:34:04 2005 EDT From: Rill (#37114) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Subtle was never her strong suit Singing cheerfully to herself, Rill dusted the bright-orange square of posterboard with silver and yellow glitter. o/~ Have you seen the ghost of Tom? Long white bones with the flesh all goooooone... o/~ Blowing away a puff of glitter, she held the poster out for inspection. Black gothic lettering surrounded by capering skeletons proclaimed: All Hallow's Eve Masquerade at DarkReach Tower Six o' Clock in the Evening until the stroke of Midnight Illusions, Gifts, Prizes Costumes Required To Reach the Party, step into the Eternal Flame which burns in the Round Room Adding one final flourish of glitter, she stacked the notice with the others. o/~ Oooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-oo oooh-ooh-ooh. o/~ Picking up the pile, Rill headed to the R/T to post the brightly-colored announcements. Nobody was going to be able to claim later they hadn't heard about THIS party. o/~ Wouldn't it be chilly with no skin on? o/~ -------------------------- Message 300 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Wed Oct 5 08:35:06 2005 EDT From: Daryan (#41242) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: A perfect rose... Daryan glances around the room and nods. "Evening." Daryan sits down at the bar. Anteia glances up after a long moment and smiles toward the man who spoke. "Good evening," she says pleasantly enough. Daryan nods with a smile in return, glancing at the staff in the hands of the standing man. "Doubt you'll need that, but it's your prerogative." Anteia laughs softly as Galen arches one eyebrow at you. "Galen always carries a weapon. It's a part of his...well, duties I suppose." Daryan nods, conceding the point. "I see. Well, I won't begrudge a man his duty. And besides... I don't like to go out unarmed, either," he says, raising his gloved hands. Anteia smiles at you, those blind white eyes nonetheless seeming to seek out your face. "Thank you for understanding. I know our ways are strange to some people here, but truly Galen won't act aggressively to anyone who doesn't act aggressively first." Daryan smiles, nodding to himself as he notes the whiteness of her eyes. "It's a dangerous world, even when you've got someone to look over your shoulder." Anteia sighs softly, "Yes, it does seem to be. I keep hoping for some reason to believe that people who say that are overstating the case. And I keep being proved wrong." Daryan shakes his head. "I've seen firsthand proof of it... but I'd rather not go there." Anteia twists her wine glass idly in her hand and says in a quiet, sad voice. "Yes. Everyone seems to say that too." Daryan reaches into his pouch to retrieve a silver flask, uncapping the end. He pours a bit of its contents into one palm, then returns the cap to the flask before phanging it by a loop from his belt. "Everyone has their stories. Some are true, some false; truth can only be found in the eye of the beholder." Anteia turns toward Galen briefly and smiles a little. Saying as much to Galen as to you, "Some of us have to suss out truth in other ways." Daryan idly twirls his fingers through the liquid, which seems to flow around his hand, lacing between his fingers almost as if it were a snake. "That's something I've no real experience with... Even with the crippling injuries I've had, I've never been wholly deprived of sight." Anteia lifts her shoulders in an easy shrug, "Beneath the waves it's not so much a handicap as one might think. Up here, though I have to admit that I'm nearly helpless." Galen scowls at this indiscreet confession. Daryan nods, with a slight smile. "And this is why your friend stands guard over you, weapon drawn. I almost envy you, for having someone you trust so fully." Anteia turns her face toward Galen again, expression warm with affection. "Galen has been looking after me and bullying me by turns since we were children." Galen stands impassive under this, continuing to watch you with still neutrality. Daryan smiles more fully, still weaving the water between his fingers. Presently, his other hand moves to join in the dance, weaving a silvery web from the strands of liquid. "Be thankful that he looks after you; I can say from experience that having siblings or friends that bully you constantly are no fun at all." Anteia tilts her face away from you, "That is something with which I have no experience." Daryan nods solemnly. "And it is something I pray you never experience; at least, the constant bullying part." The web in his hands begins to glow, faintly, as a single spark of something brighter forms at its center. Anteia can see neither the nod, nor the web. Instead she tries to assess based on your tone of voice. "It sounds like this is something you think of often." You say, "Not so often as I once did, but it still weighs heavily on my memory. Even though I've been out of their reach these many months, I still feel as if the other foot is about to fall at times." Anteia continues toying with her wine glass, though you haven't seen her take a sip yet. "That seems...tiring to me. Always braced up for an attack to come from those who are miles and miles away." Daryan smiles faintly, as the spark at the web's center grows larger and brighter even as the web itself shrinks and fades. "There are several foes closer at hand that I must keep myself prepared for. Yes, it is tiring; but eternal vigilance is the cost of peace, a wise man once said, and I believe every word of it." Anteia's eyebrows arch in mild surprise. "I very much hope that you and your wise man are both wrong." Daryan nods, his smile fading somewhat. "As do I, ma'am. As do I." The web is by now completely faded, the ball of light almost harsh in its intensity and purity; the pure, undiluted essence of water. Anteia says quietly, "Anteia. I rate no other title." Galen expresses some quick surprise at Anteia's statement, but does not speak. Daryan bows in greeting, even though he knows you cannot see it. "Daryan, Seeker, student of Rill. I am pleased to meet you, Miss Anteia." Anteia smiles warmly, "A pleasure, Daryan. I think I have met your teacher. She's an extraordinary young woman. Very charming, if a little hard to understand sometimes." Daryan returns the smile as the small globe of light does little more than hover between his hands. "Very charming, yes, and very mysterious too. She's a very nice person, unless you anger her..." His voice trails off at the memory, both of when she rescued him from Laurent and of the meeting afterward with Moonheart. Anteia laughs, "I try not to anger anybody." There's a pause, and then in an oddly forlorn tone she adds, "Try my best, anyway." Daryan shakes his head with a sigh. "Some people will be angry no matter what you do. Even if you're just sitting in the bar, drinking tea..." Anteia shrugs and will not turn her face toward you as she says, "I think I took a more active part in angering people than that." Daryan casts his own eyes aside, looking briefly down at his hands; the mark placed on his aura burns bright to his trained vision, even against the harsh purity of the elemental force between his palms. "I don't know if I have or not... but I know that I won't allow myself to fall in the same trap again." Anteia finally turns toward you and regards you with a bright compassion that even the blank eyes cannot dim. "I wish you luck in that. Learning and luck both." Daryan looks up again, meeting her sightless eyes. "Thank you. And I wish you better fortune than you've had till now." Anteia shrugs and says with a bad attempt at lightness. "It's not ill-fortune that plagues me. Only my own clumsiness and stupidity." Galen clears his throat. Anteia turns her face briefly toward Galen, then back to you. "That means it's time to leave," she says confidingly. "He's a dreadful bully sometimes. I'm sorry to rush away so soon, I enjoyed talking with you." Daryan shakes his head. "Ill fortune is the bringer of clumsiness. As to stupidity... I've made my share of mistakes in that area, as well." Daryan smiles. "I've enjoyed talking with you, too, ma'am. Feel free to call me." Anteia rises and reaches out for Galen's arm, which is right there where she seems to expect it. "Good night to you, Daryan. And good fortune." Anteia quietly excuses herself and goes south. Galen quietly excuses himself and goes south. Daryan sighs as they leave, left again to his own thoughts. His left hand closes around the ball of energy; through the glove's alignment and his own willpower, the light collapses into a more mundane form; a single, beautiful rose, flawless and fragile yet seemingly vital even without the touch of soil. But for its icy blue coloration, one might mistake it for one of its more common cousins. Daryan very gently places the rose into his pouch, careful not to bruise its petals. -------------------------- Message 301 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Oct 6 06:35:25 2005 EDT From: Anteia (#37282) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Faith isn't faith until it's all you're holding on to. Very carefully, with many extra touches and reassurances that she wasn't going to knock anything over, Anteia lit the small oil lamp that stood on her desk. The light did her no good of course, but she liked the faint warmth that it gave. When she sat close enough the fire heated the air and she could feel the skin across her cheekbones tighten a little, drying out. A tiny masochism, she would have to go out for a swim before she slept. She could hear Galen's breathing behind her, knew he was sitting in his favorite spot beside the door. His guard spot, she thought of it as. Always there, always watching. After so many years, she didn't even mind any more. Well mostly. "I'm doing this wrong," she said. "I knew I would." Galen didn't answer. He hardly ever did. "I know you all thought I was ready. That it was duty or destiny or fate. Or inevitable. Or something. But I don't think I am. I don't know if I'll ever be." She leaned closer to the lamp, feeling the heat of it and trying to imagine the light. "Maybe I'm not Touched, did you ever even think of that? Maybe I'm just blind. Maybe I'm a mistake." More silence. A waiting kind of silence. Patient and unimpressed. "I'm terrible at this. A real priestess would be better. Would be able to talk to people right. I just annoy, bore, or hurt them. I'm not doing this right. I'm not right. I should just go back home. Not that I do any good there but at least I don't do any harm." Finally even Galen's patience was exhausted. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You have work to do." Anteia bent her head forward. One strand of hair floated outward and caught the heated globe of the lamp. The faint acrid smell of burnt hair. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just...are you sure I'm the right one to do this?" But Galen had said all he had to say. -------------------------- Message 302 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Oct 6 06:45:07 2005 EDT From: Xavier (#37254) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: End of the Road It had been a long time since Xavier set foot in the R/T building for more than a few minutes at a time. He'd been wandering the wastelands and N'Orleans, even paid a visit to the Cathedral, the place where he'd fallen, so long ago. It would be nice to say he'd been thinking of his wife and children all that time; indeed, he had though of them, but not as often as he once would have. No; he'd been more or less constantly mulling over the results of his Trial in the basement of DarkReach. Every shadowy corner of his soul had been lit by that harrowing journey through the maddening halls of his own soul; for he had no doubt that that's what he'd been inside. Even now, the flashes from the things he'd seen made him stop and shiver. The deepest, darkest secrets of his life had been made all too plain to him. He'd begun his own journey not long after his new love had left on hers; she'd gone to search for her lost mentor, he to find some measure of peace with himself. The experience at Darkreach had changed him; he might not have gained advancement, but at least he could now tell what was truly bothering him. The faces of a hundred friends and family members, burning and howling from amidst the flames of a burning village; the four riders, on their steel horses; Aksinya. Aksinya, who had brought him to the brink of madness. Who had alternately poisoned his body and shattered his mind. Aksinya... to whom he owed the restoration of his memory, however indirectly. The month's growth of beard on his face and chin bore testament to his wanderings, the deep tan of his skin and the paling of his hair to the harsh wasteland sun. The lines of his face had changed; where they had been healthy and inviting before, they were now lean and hard, his eyes blazing with a fierce inner light. Some would call it madness; Xavier knew otherwise. He'd felt the touch of madness. This was something else. The burning knowledge that truth brought, and the realization of what he had done. Knowledge that brought with it a new focus, a razor-sharp edge of monomania that would frighten anyone that had seen him before. The Seeker had realized the one fundamental truth; that power was the only true justice, the only way to right the wrongs of his past. And that power had a price. A price best paid in blood... -------------------------- Message 303 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Oct 6 06:52:39 2005 EDT From: Scorch (#16959) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: cause I just gotta join in Scorch sat down on the bed. A mixture of emotions twisted across her face. Mostly though, mostly there was anger. "They outta cut that shit right out of her. Twist its head clean off is what they outta do." She gritted her teeth and tried not to look at Owen. "No offense." She sighs and looks across the room. Owen just shook his head. "I told her much the same thing myself. That it would be me doing it if noone else would." Scorch's face grew pained. "Does she have any idea of what she's thinking. Wanting to keep it?" She subconsciously groped at the sheets on the bed, digging her nails into the fine fabric. "Any idea what kind of damage that'll do?" She sighs and looks over at the bundle on the bed. Small sleeping baby swaddled for the night. "We made ours with love. Hers.. That was only poison. " She looks up at Owen with wide unsure eyes. "Whats going to happen next?" She lifts a hand to reach for him. Owen just stepped forward and slid his palm against her own. " "I dont know love. I honestly dont know." -------------------------- Message 304 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Thu Oct 6 08:48:19 2005 EDT From: Ydhana (#37181) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Once Upon a Nighttime He was weeping again. Fast asleep and crying as though his heart would break. As though it were already broken. For one searing moment Ydhana considered just staying in bed, under the warm covers, pressed against her sleeping lover's back. So comfortable, so tired, and it did so little good even when she did get up. Another sob and Ydhana rolled over and swung her legs off the bed. Shrugging into the robe and trying to ignore the chill of the floor on her bare feet, she hurried over to the cot at the foot of her bed and knelt beside it. "Trae? Baby brother, wake up?" She knew better than to touch him. "You're safe, wake up. Open your eyes, baby. I'm right here." It took several minutes of this before Trae would open his eyes. When he did they were haunted and terrified. "Angels in the nighttime. Shouldn't waste the dust. Dreams come in through the cracks." She smiled at him, keeping her voice light and warm. "That they do. And then the wings flap and it blows them back out again. Can't you feel the wind?" He shook his head, and when he stilled again there was more sense in him. "No wind in here, Chay girl. Wish there was. I need some noise to drown out the headstuff." And here again there was that gulf. That moment where she had to choose the exact right thing to say out of the thousands of possible responses, knowing that if she chose wrong he would spin away from her again and back into the void of his madness. "I'll made some noise for you then, baby brother." She sat down cross-legged on the floor next to the head of his cot. "I'll tell you a story." Trae lay back down reluctantly, face turned toward Ydhana and watching her with the wide-eyed trust of a child. "A happy story?" She nodded solemnly, "One of the happiest ever. Listen. Once upon a time there lived in a city of Hindustan a seller of scents and essences, who had a very beautiful daughter named Dorani..." On and on she spun the old tale, the Cinderella story of her own childhood. And all the while she could feel those little-boy eyes watching her. Halfway through the telling, when the prince witnessed Dorani's trip to the palace of rajah Indra, Trae's hand crept out from under the blankets and found Ydhana's. Tucking his fingers into her hand not with the uncertain clinging grip of the last several days but surely, confidently. The way a good friend holds your hand for simple comfort and the pleasure of touch. It almost surprised tears out of her, but Ydhana managed to keep her voice steady, to keep speaking the words of the old fairy tale. "So the prince won his beautiful bride; and they learnt more daily of the magic of Love, which one may still learn, although other magic has fled away." As she ended the story with the traditional phrase, she saw that Trae was asleep again. A quieter sleep than he'd had in days. Maybe even a true, healthy sleep. Slipping her hand out of his slack grip with infinite care, she crept back into bed and nestled up to Garben's warm broad back. And for the first time in more than a week, when she closed her eyes she saw hope instead of despair in the quiet dark. -------------------------- Message 305 from *storylines (#5236): Date: Fri Oct 7 00:32:57 2005 EDT From: Ruby (#12541) To: *storylines (#5236) Subject: Bombs and such. Soon, very soon she would learn how to throw those fucking bombs. Killing herself was not in the plan, though it seemed to keep happening. "If only I could find something, something to kill others to make em know I'm not a tool..". Stomping about her room muttering to herself, Ruby stops short to stare at herself in the mirror, "Should I take em to the party, blow up the mage..?" Her nose wrinkles on the thought, "No..to many walking about in their magic underpants, I would never make it out alive, not like I ever make it out alive." "Fucking Mama, if she wasn't such a bitch, Dera would not hate me so.." Eyes twitching from the mirror, "I'll just kill Elevar and Venom, then all will be good..right Kitty..?" her question of course to the one who loves her. --------------------------