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Panther
Mar 19, 2004 4:53:40 GMT -5
Post by adam_bat on Mar 19, 2004 4:53:40 GMT -5
Panther the sheep's graabaas and whatnot
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Panther
Mar 22, 2004 8:16:51 GMT -5
Post by Panther on Mar 22, 2004 8:16:51 GMT -5
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Panther
Mar 23, 2004 19:27:04 GMT -5
Post by Panther on Mar 23, 2004 19:27:04 GMT -5
Figured this was hte place to put on of hte fic I'm extremely proud of. Mind you, it has nothignt o do with any of my fandoms. IN fact, I'll have to dig through my LJ to find it.
*Returns with little bits of past tghougths stuck under fingernails*
Here we go!
________
It's a still life watercolor, of a now late afternoon sun shines through the curtain lace, and shadows wash the room.
Aislin was showing off her latest work of art, 'A Ponderance on the Joys of Love'. It was a sculpture done in red and purple, of two twisted forms, one red, one purple, coming from a single marbelized base. It was perhaps the best sculpture in her gallery, though not her first work of that nature. It was just he one that had turned out the best. She was beaming like a mother showing off her newborn. In a way, this was the truth of the matter.
We sit and drink our coffee
Devnet was also beaming. She was coming from a lecture on the usage of imagery to convey the mood of a writing piece. She looked around, wanting to tell Aislin about her latest sucess. She felty bad about being late to the unveiling of her girlfriend's latest piece, but knew the other woman would understand.
Aislin spotted Devnet before Devnet saw her. The lauded artist quickly covered the space between her and her lover, giving the other woman a kiss, larger than usual for show. Devnet laughed inwardly at it, but was enjoying the attention too much to make a point of it. Aislin wrapped her arms around Devnet and continued bragging about her sculpture.
Devnet flipped the taped news report off. Aislin had been watching it, to bask in the glory of that night from two months ago. But now the artist was dancing with her muse, copying a poem out of Devnet's collected poetry book in quick and loopy calligraphy.
Aislin was so wrapped up in her art, she almost knocked Devnet's coffee over when the other woman reached for the poetry book. Devnet looked over Aislin's work, noticing that the poem was almost done. Devnet opened her mouth to recite the line to Aislin and reclaim her book, but closed it again, realizing this would be futile.
The coffee that had almost become victim to Aislin's art was Devnet's only consolation at the loss of both her book and her love. She meditated over it, enjoying the heat from the coffee.
Couched in our indifference, like shells upon the shore, You can hear the ocean roar.
Aislin pushed the book back toward Devnet, not saying a word. She was studying the poem, and how the sections would look surrounded by this or that. Where would be the best place to put each bit of imagery she had in mind. She grabbed her pastels, like they had been trying to escape. She needed to get the ideas on paper while they were still there.
Devnet shook her head and sipped her coffee while flipping through her poetry book to find the poem she had been reading. She was used to this. She didn't like it. It was actually the bane of her existence, but she couldn't do anything about what was happening. All earlier attempts to stop the inevitable were squashed then, Devnet had no hopes that trying again would yeild a different result.
In the dangling conversations, And the superficial sighs, The borders of our lives.
Aislin turned to lookat Devnet. Devnet was reading her poetry, pointedly not paying any attention to Aislin. Aislin didn't seem to notice. She just made a quick sketch of Devent's expression next to a stanza of the poem, and went back to creating. The poem was one of her favorites, so it seemed appropriate to her to put a sketch of her love doing something she loved on the border.
You read your Emily Dickenson, And I my Robert Frost. And we note our place with bookmarkers, which measure what we've lost.
Aislin looked at the caligraphed poem and suddenly had an inspiration for a new piece. She pulled out her notebook. Aislin flipped through the pages, smiling at ideas, pictures, snippets of songs and poems that sounded memories in her mind. Going through her inspiration book was like re-living the best parts of her life, and seeing it all in the most beautiful shades of purple. In fact, many entries were written in purple, from lilac when she'd gotten that pen for Easter, to deep purple ballpoint, her favorite pen.
Devnet sighed. She had found her poem. The bookmark had, thankfully, not been disturbed. It was picture taken at some winter festival. Devent was laughing uproarously, her expression matching the intensity of her bright red winter coat. Aislin was laughing as well, and looked like she was having the time of her life. Devnet's expression clouded as bittersweet memory enveloped her and pressed at the back of her eyes, making her want to release her feelings. But she held back. It wasn't worth it.
Like a poem poorly written, We are verses out of rhythm Couplets out fo rhyme, In syncopated time.
Devnet sadly flipped the picture over, reading a haiku she'd written on the back. Devnet wasn't very good at haikus, but she appreciated them, and had been reading quite a few of them when she'd had the film developed. It was just a short little blurb, than made her smile ironically, not letting her sadness have a lever beyond that.
"The day was cold She wrapped her arms around me The cold is gone now."
Lost in the dangling conversations, And the superficial sighs, The borders of our lives.
Aislin wrote down her new ideas, letting old inspirations spur her on to new ones, loving every minute of her creative process. She didn't need drugs, she had art. Aislin didn't notice when Devnet sighed. She was too wrapped up in her art to notice anything.
We speak of things that matter, with words that must be said, Can analysis be worthwhile, is the theater really dead?
Aislin noticed a program tucked in her notebook. It was taped in between a doodle she had done at the beach, or her and Devnet. Devnet was in a beach chair, with a studious look on her face. She had a book in hand, and an umbrella shading her from the sun. Aislin was on a seperate beach chair, putting on sunscrean. Aisling grinned at the memory of their last vacation, but a tiny twinge of something or other struck at the back of her mind. She shrugged it off and looked at the program.
The program was for one of Devnet's lectures, this one on symbolism in art rock. Aislin remembered the whole thing had been abuot love. Usually unrequited or lost love. Aislin frowned, the twinge was stronger now, more pronounced. Aislin flipped through a few more pages, to various sketches she'd made of Devnet. All of them, after a certain date, were thoughtful, resigned, or depressed.
Now the room is softly fading.
Aislin looked up from her notebook to Devent, a shocked look stretching her face, pulling her down to realitty. Devnet was still not looking at her, still reading, only now, Aislin saw something that had been hidden from her before. Devnet was trying not to pay attention to her. Aislin made a small noise, like a mouse being stepped on.
And I can only see your shadow, I can not feel your hand
Aislin watched Devnet sigh again, unable to articulate what she'd just found out. The revelation had hit her, but she couldn't say a word about it.
You're a stranger now unto me. Lost in the dangling conversations
Aislin tried to find what had happened since the page in her notebook that dvided before and now so cleanly. Her gallery opening was teh only thign she could think of. The rush of energy and creativity had forced her to neglect what was most important to her. not tha she knew, small memories began to seep back into her mind. Like all the 'not now babe's and other small signs of neglignce on her part.
Aislin tried to speak, to say somethign to Devnet; apologize, cry, anything to break the sound barrier put up betweent hem, stone by stone. To anniahlate any constraints that stopped theri happiness. But all that happened was Aislin's mouth flapping opena nd shut while Devnet either refused to hear, or ignored her.
And the superficial sighs
Devnet sighed one more time. Aislin couldn't stand it anymore and ran to her room, crying. Devnet looked up form her book, startled. She went after Aislin, leaving ehr book open to a T.S. Elliot poem. A line highlighted in green was going through Devnet's mind as she chased her love. "and now do I dare, Do I dare, disturb the universe?"
The borders of our lives
Devnet couldn't catch up to Aislin to grab the girl's attention before Aislin had shut the door on her old lover.
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Panther
Apr 24, 2004 12:43:09 GMT -5
Post by adam_bat on Apr 24, 2004 12:43:09 GMT -5
Ah ha! Finally, a critique. Sorry it took so long Panth... Very nice imagery and emotion in this piece. The poem worked well between the lines and really helped convey the mood. There is something, however, lacking in your characters. They don't really have a past and its hard to tell how they interact. They are not speaking and falling distant, but how close did they used to be? The pictures help show this, but may come a bit late in the story. It's easier to feel the growing seperation if the reader knows right away what the connection used to be. They are interesting characters and with some developement could create a real good story. I enjoyed the piece, and you are right to be proud of it. Good job.
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Panther
Apr 26, 2004 19:15:26 GMT -5
Post by Panther on Apr 26, 2004 19:15:26 GMT -5
*grin* Aww! Thanks Batty!
I shall keep establishing their formet relationship in my mind. I am trying to show how close they were in later editions. Perhaps some genreal musing between the two.
Thanks again beb!
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Panther
May 26, 2004 9:05:21 GMT -5
Post by Panther on May 26, 2004 9:05:21 GMT -5
The hardest part about writing slahs, any slash, is you have to name the characters, and keep using the names. I'm bad at names. So I wrote this one without any. It kinda adds to it, in a way.
Does anyone know what the copyright thingy for fictionpress.net is? I'm curious to see if they'd claim they own my stories or not.
Pulse
You crawled into my bed that night
He curled up against her, his head resting on her stomache, just below her breasts. His head rose and fell with the steady rhythm of her breathing, his pulse tapping against the arm he had pinned under his neck. The only sounds were the ones seeping in from outside, and the occasoinal whisper of obserations or promises. And the sound of their breathing.
Like some kind of giant insect and I found myself spellbound by the sight of you there
She ran her hands over his face, the short stubble on his jaw a pleasant contrast to the smoothness of the rest of his face. Her fingers traced lines over his jaw and chin. Her hand pushed his hair away from his exposed ear, playing with the longish strands. She couldn't see the expression on his face, since he was faced away from her, but she knew he was enjoying the attention.
Beautiful, grotesque, and all the rest of that bug stuff.
He lifted his head, turning to face her. Her hand trailed over his neck, and fell off the other side as he moved closer to her.
She sat up slightly, and he pressed his lips against hers. It started out gentle and quick, while both participants searched for a comfortable position. The stronger they kissed, the more they searched for position.
bluffing your way into my mouth, behind my teeth, reaching for my scars
The feeling of the whole thing, wet lips pressed against each other, tongues exploring, arms supporting and pulling the couple together. The taste of strong mint gum barely covering something sour and bitter.
Her stomache turned, and she wasn't sure if it was from hunger or a reaction to the kiss. It was hard to tell at times. Dinner had been a lifetime ago, and drinking made her hungry anyway.
that night we got kicked out of two bars
A car alarm shattered the mood, making her jump and pull away, before being embarrassed about her paranoia. He laughed and kissed her hand, which seemed to be the cue for it to relax and open, to allow him easier access to it, if he wanted. The woman on the other end of the arm was laughing, and he was too, and the room filled with their laughter like light, making it brighter than it had felt earlier, forcing away some of the black closeness and velvety sensuality, replacing it with more innocent silk and tulle: contrasting textures that were both light and innocent, instead of heavy and seductive.
and laughed our way home
The couple settled down, after a few minutes of slightly forceful laughter. His stomache ached from being jarred after being sorely abused so recently. Even having gum in his mouth bothered him. He rolled away from the girl and spit his gum into the garbage can in between the bed and the adjacent desk. He turned back, and the girl was looking at him in the dim light cast into the room by the outside street light. She had her head cocked, and looked at him curiously. He ran his fingers over her face, to reassure her he was okay. It just seemed like the wrong time to speak. At least to him.
that night you leaned over and threw up into your hair
The woman moved closer to him, pressing herself against him, wanting to be near him and touch him as much as possible. She wrapped her arms around him, and opened her mouth to speak, her words halting before they would come out.
and I held you there, thinking
"I was afraid you were really sick." She said, her words coming with difficulty, not wanting to break the silence of the beautiful moment that had been, but needing to let her emotions out.
I would offer you my pulse, if I thought it would be useful
"It scared me." She continued, her words flowing more freely, now that she had taken the bandage off the wound in her mind.
I would give you my breath
"I'd do anything to make sure you're never hurting or sick or unhappy again." She continued, her voice showing emotion that she usually kept under tight rein, hidden from everyone but him. She spoke like she was divulging some deep dark secret.
The man held her closely, tightening his arms around her as she continued baring her soul. He knew that the events of the night were just the most recent thing that made her feel so desperate to help him. And it hurt him to hear her hurting on his behalf, even while it made him feel better.
Except the problem with death is we have some hundred years and then they can build buildings on our only bones.
"I sound so stupid. I knew you'd be okay. But it still hurt. God I'm such a spaz. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get so emotional." The woman said, feeling stupid and embarrassed about the way she'd felt, how she'd just lost her mind when something was wrong with him.
A hundred years, and then your grave is not your own
"Shhhh." He said, hugging her tighter and kissing the top of her head. "I know." It seemed like the only thing he could say, the only possible way to make things better. The woman stopped and took a breath, still feeling a little stupid, but for the most part, she felt better having heard him say he understood.
And we lie in our beds and our graves, unable to save ourselves from the quaint tragedies we invent and undo.
The two held each other, neither one giving voice to the things going through their heads, occasionally not even aware there were things going through their heads, just focusing on this sensatoin or the other. The fact that she felt so safe and loved in his arms, the way her fingers sent small shocks down his body.
from the stupid circumstances we slalom through
A loud yell accompained by a drunk roommate burst through the door, disturbing the couple where they lay. He looked in on the couple, squinting into the dark, a sharp contrast to the yellow light slamming into the room, giving everything an unhealthy tinge.
"Not my room. Sorry." He said, before backing out, leaving the door open.
and I realized that night
The man laughed a little as the woman tried to sheild her eyes from the garish yellow haze that was invading their room. He retreived his arms from her sides, letting her shade her face with her own arms as he made his way to the door.
that the hall light, which seemed so bright when you turned it on, is nothing
The man went back to the bed, sitting behind the woman, before laying down and setting an arm around her re-relaxed form. She scooted backward and covered his arm with her own, tracing invisible lines on his hand as her eyes became readjusted to the dark.
compared to the dawn
The first edges of light were tentatively filetering into the room, replacing shadows and darkness with dark grey tones. The couple were quickly dropping off. The woman was talking in low tones about nothgin of importance, and he listened, talking when he had something to add, letting her talk when he didn't. She stopped after a while, and began to fall asleep, snuggling deeper into his embrace.
Which is nothing compared to the light which seeps from you when you're sleeping.
The man watched the room get lighter by shades, his stomache still too uneasy to sleep. He could smell her shampoo, and the faint stench of the bars they'd been in.
Cocooned in my room Beautiful, grotesque, resting That night we got kicked out of two bars and laughed our way home.
He kissed her neck, removing the hair from his lips with his free hand. She moved a little bit, and made a small scared noise. He tightned his hold around her, and hoped that whatever she was dreaming about would leave her alone.
I thought, I would offer you my pulse, I would give you my breath
He understood how she'd felt earlier, so unable to help when he was needed, so useless to ease her pain. So distant, as if they were seperated by huge amounts of land, and not just their clothing. He wondered if the distance was in their souls, and if they could ever bridge the gap left between them. If the damage done to their two souls would allow a bridge to stand between the two long enough for them to close hte distance, or if they would plummet into an endless chasm before they were safe.
Offer you my pulse, Give you my breath
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Panther
May 26, 2004 14:14:23 GMT -5
Post by Veldrin Dalharil on May 26, 2004 14:14:23 GMT -5
*claps and whistles*
I like it Panth. Needs a bit of brushing up grammatically, but other than that is very good!
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Panther
Jul 4, 2004 19:11:03 GMT -5
Post by Panther on Jul 4, 2004 19:11:03 GMT -5
Awww. Thanks, beb. My grammar sucks, I'm sorry.
Anyway, I've got a new offering.
This was written with one intention. I wanted to write the word 'scorpio'. I'd say I suceeded in that. *grin*
[glow=green,2,300]***[/glow] Scorpio flashed her stunning smile before increasing the intensity of her whirling, wild dance, mirroring the tempo and heat that was being pulled out of the guitar. A large group of admiring men stood around the girl in a semi-circle, watching nothing but the way Scorpio writhed, falling deeper everytime they caught a flash of her bottomless eyes, or ruby red lips. She could feel the weight of their gaze like a comfortable old robe, worn so many times, it fit in all the right places.
Cassiopia sawed on her violin, not noticing anything, working the strings like a woman possesed. You could almost see the demons frolicing around her, pulling more men toward the display, feeding the frenzy the violinist was caught in the teeth of. The sound of the violin singing and screeching could be heard all through the caravan, telling the others that the take that night would be huge.
Hydra scrabbled at the guitar strings, watching her two partners-in-crime reacting, so lost in their music it was becoming difficult where the women stopped and the music began. She poured all her strength and will into the guitar, watching Scorpio move as if she was wrapped in the notes, clothed in the sounds, protected by the force of the music itself.
The men around the small group of musicians were utterly spellbound by this display. The way the music and the dancer interacted, it seemed as if the young girl was dragging the music over her lithe body like scarves, her motions seemed reckless, like nothing else mattered but the music. The display was unbelievable, and there were very few who passed the women who didn't stop. And those that stopped never left.
One of the men grew bolder as the music played on. The violin sang to him, burning his mind the way the girl's dancing burned his body. He realized that if he wanted to experience endless joy, all he would have to do was touch the womna dancing like a thing possesed. Scorpio even seemed to dance closer to him, as if she knew her presence was so tantalizing, that all he wanted was to touch her, just once, to make his pitiful life whole. Scorpio made a motion with her hand, almost in his direction. The man took this as approval and consent to touch her.
His hand never made it close to her body. He felt something velvety and mind blowingly sensual, half an inch above her lithe frame. He was bewitched, and pulled his hand back. Scorpio smiled at him, and he smiled back, pleasantly dizzy and dreamy. He didn't realize he'd never made contact with her body, and if he had known, he wouldn't care.
The three women pulled away from the men, slowly. Scorpio fixed the men in a 'come hither' stare. The men followed the women, like children being led away by the pied piper, sure they were going to a beautiful and marvelous place. Cassiopia rocked back and forth like a snake charmer, and Scorpio laughed and danced harder.
The sirens led the men back to the caravan. Each man was claimed by one of the women in the carts. One latched onto a businessman, looking at his hands, promising him that his future would hold every desire he'd ever had, if only he would let her examine his hand more carefully in her tent. He looked into her green and blue eyes, and was immediatly wrapped in a spell as light as the paisley skirt she was wearing. He dreamt of love and wealth, as the fortune teller threw more stars in his eyes, dazzling him with the opportunities the future might hold for him. He was so taken with the beauty he would someday live, he never saw or felt the knife that found its way in between his ribs, his blood ozzing over the delicate star pattern on the base of the knife blade.
A buxom woman with flour muting the dark color of the skin on her arms held a tray of pastries, going over to one of the businesmen, the coins on the scarf around her waist jingling merrily as the man sampled some of her baked goods, and followed her into her wagon next to the cooking fire. She wove the threads of an entrancing spell around him, all as fine as the spun sugar that adorned her cooking, numbing all his senses but smell, making the world of taste the only thing he thought about as he sampled everything, including a cookie made with belladonna berry juice. He commented how marvelous her baking was, before falling into her strong arms, closing his eyes with a luscious sigh, before drawing his last breath.
An acrobat dragged the scarves she held in her hands across one man's face. He turned to look at her, taking in her bright make up and heavily dyed hair, before following her into a large tent, where many other men were being led by various other women. All had been drugged with the opium in the scarves. They noticed the woman doing a delicate and beautiful sword dance, clutching six swords, one in each hand; but they never noticed that every movement of her graceful body resulted in another man's death, until it was their time to meet Shiva.
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Panther
Jul 4, 2004 19:11:21 GMT -5
Post by Panther on Jul 4, 2004 19:11:21 GMT -5
(continued)
In this fashion, all the males except one were removed from the siren's presence. The one man left was the one who had attempted to touch Scorpio. He followed the women, listening in rapt attention as Hydra began singing. The song was in a language he couldn't understand, but it made him want to rip his clothes off and dance in the pure joy of living. He stumbled up a hill, which all the women seemed to climb with ease, despite the fact that they were walking backward. He never thought to look down and see the chains, bright as starlight, that had been formed on his hands and feet, making his movement difficult at best.
Cassiopia forged another link on the chain, before casting a spell on the man's mind, burning away his vision, replacing what he was seeing with what he thought he would see. She marveled breifly at the wonders of the human brain, as Scorpio slowy danced, while her skin peeled away. She flashed the man a smile again, as her mouth split open to her ears. The man smiled back, seeing only a pair of red lips smiling coyly, and a pair of dreamy eyes, not the slited pupils, or the yellow color.
Scorpio wrapped her snake tail around the man, while caressing his face with her hands. It was almost hard to tell she was a lamia. Her tail was partially covered by her skirt, and her scales were as pale as her skin had been earlier. She laughed harshly, before lunging for the man's throat, fangs extended. But she didn't poison him. She dragged her fangs across his neck, striking a slowly fatal blow.
Hydra abandoned her guitar, pulling out a large pocket knife. She made a face as she cut offone of the man's fingers, watching him try to justify the intense pain with the picture of a pale woman dancing sensually. She shook her head, before using his blood to feed the charm she wore around her neck that kept her from aging.
Cassiopia waited until Hydra had backed away from the confused dying man. Her fingers were practically itching the grab the man, but she knew a shock could kill him. The woman gently set her violin down, before kneeling next tot he man, licking her fangs before gently lapping at the wounds on his neck. Soon her hunger became too much, and she started ripping his neck open, her smaller, stronger fangs scoring the man's flesh, a look of fiendish bliss on her face as she fed.
Scorpio was sitting back, unhinging her jaw. She was also removing the man's clothing. There was nothing worse than getting a mouthful of fabric when you're eating. When Cassiopia had drunk her fill of the dying man, Scorpio took his feet in her hands, greedily shoving them into her mouth, pulling his ankles in her mouth, slowly devouring the man.
None of the women noticed their audience. A man in a loose white button down shirt and baggy tan cotton pants watched the women feed, in their various ways. Hydra was chanting to the charm, watching it fill with blood. Cassiopia was licking the blood off her hands and face. Scorpio had reached the dead man's knees. The newcomer picked up the abandoned violin, playing a few strains of one of his favorite songs.
Hydra tucked her charm back in her shirt, satisfied it had enough blood to be potent for a while. Cassiopia stoped cleaning herself, letting her fingers trail out of her mouth. Scorpio choked on the nman's legs, before slamming her tail on them, the sickening crunch telling her she'd suceeded in destroying the knee joint. She re-hinged her jaws, severing tte legs, falling into attention as she was joined by the women from the caravan.
The man continued to play, as if he didn't notice the large group of women around him. The females swayed, like a cobra before a snake charmer. The man began humming along, and the women hummed as well, their voices combining to sound like a giant swarm of bees. The man looked up from the violin, as if he hadn't noticed the women until that moment. He stopped playing, sending the violin to his tent, as the women crowded around him
The ones who were closest to him were fawning and pawing at him. A pair of indentical twins wrapped thmselves around his legs. Scorpio buried her face in his stomache, licking, biting, sucking, once again fully human. Hydra massaged his thigh, rubbing herself against his leg. The women who couldn't throw themselves on him waited paitently for him to speak.
"How have you fared, children?" The man asked, his light European accent marking his words, his voice not unpleasant or anywhere near as sinister as his smile. To hear him, you'd be sure he was simply asking if they'd had a nice day. His smile was the thing that asked for a body count.
The buxom baker woman unwound her arms from around his neck, and ceased rubbing her ample chest against his shoulder blades. The women cleared a path for her to step through, to face the master. She curtsied slowly, before responding. Her accented voice washed over all the people gathered, the coins on her skirt making small tinkling noises. She folded her hands together, the flour that always seemed to cover her arms now flecked with the blood of a difficult kill.
"My lord," her voice intoned in a distinct french accent. "We have done well. All of us are well fed. None of us shall want for a few days. These men had deep pockets." the baker woman announced proudly.
One of the twins unwrapped herself from the master, laughing harshly. A small spark flew from her mouth, setting her sister's hair alight. Her sister looked anoyed and smothered the flame with her tail. The man looked down at the pair of werewyrms. "Yessss." The laughing sister said smuggly. "They had other thingsss weighing down their pantsss as ss well." Her harsh voice sounding like the hiss of dead leaves blowing across pavement in the autumn. It made several of the younger women shiver, as though someone was dragging a fingernail down their spines. The werewyrms gave each other a secret smile, before laughing at an inside joke that the rest could only guess at.
The Master chuckled and petted the werewyrms' heads. He looked back up at the baker woman. "Virgo, take Draco and Draconus to dispose of the bodies." The baker woman curtsied again, as the werewyrms joined her. The man motioned for them to leave, and the small crowd of women parted like the Red Sea.
Virgo walked through the empty caravan as the Master was fawned and petted over by the masses of women. She realized, once enough distance was put between herself and him, that she despised that sort of display. She looked down at her arms, and shook her head. She silently wished she didn't klive for the difficult kills. She stopped thinking to listen to the sisters banter abuot the men they'd killed. She smiled. They enjoyed every aspect of their jobs. It was refreshing. She wished she could take such absolote joy in this life. But all that kept her going was the rush of adrenaline when a life was going to be taken. It made her feel younger than she was.
Shakign these thoughts aside, Virgo stepped into her wagon. The large woman sat beside the huge oven in her wagon. The oven had to be taken outside to be lit, but she always thought better next to it, even when it wasn't on. "Now, what to do. . .what to do?" She asked no one, strumming her fingers on the arm of the chair. She looked out at her tent, which had its own collection of formerly lost men, found by the lost women. The dragon twins were dragging bodies to the empty space behind her tent. Virgo opened her window, so she could direct them.
"What do you ladies want to eat for the next few days?" Virgo asked, interrupting the twins' banter. They thought, as they dragged the various kills to the pile that had been started. All three knew that it would be very impressive by the time the collecting was over.
"Ssstew?" One of them suggested. the other nodded, grinning widely.
Virgo pondered the idea, rolling it around like a ball of dough, shaping it and kneading the thought. "That would work. But just one cauldron full. The others aren't as fond of it." Virgo studied the men, taking in all features. "Hmmm. Take the one in the grey pants and the obscenely yellow polo shirt. He's going to have tougher meat, he needs to be stewed."
The dragon twins set the man aside, and continued collecting the bodies as Virgo thought. She wrote down a few ideas, and the corresponding cadavers in her notebook with all her recipe ideas.
"Those two for roasting." She muttered to herself. "One for smoking. I'll send Cancer out for the proper wood later." Virgo said, tapping her pencil on the window sill. She caught one of the twins as she walked past, realizing that it was Draco in time to address the girl by name. "Do either of you like salted meat, Draco? I think we've got enough money to cure most of it." Virgo asked, already picking out which body would respond best to the process.
Draco smiled lecherously, before answering Virgo. "We eat whatever kind of meat we can get." The reply was followed by a snicker. The baker woman shook her head and put her palm over her eyes, as if the words would unsay themselves if she couldn't see.
"I should have known. . .go get the rest, and try to keep from making anymore sexual jokes about the meat. You know it's not right to play with your food." Wirgo said, shaking her head some more and trying to refrain from laughing. Draco saw no need to curb her amusement, and laughed long and full, barely managing not to catch anything on fire.
[glow=green,2,300]***[/glow]
Well, what can I say? I love it.
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Panther
Jul 5, 2004 20:23:04 GMT -5
Post by Veldrin Dalharil on Jul 5, 2004 20:23:04 GMT -5
*wild cheering*
I want more of this one. *nods*
Much more. It has so much potential for expansion love. Wonderful start, wonderful writoing, a little confused at times, but nothing that can't be fixed *grins*
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