Ashes fell down from the sky like snowflakes, even though it was mid-summer, the day a scorching hot one. The smoke from the dead fire covered the sky giving the whole area a gray outcast. All there was left was skeletons of the house, only the brick church stood proudly left, it's roof the only victim of the fire. It should have been a perfectly lovely day, but instead unfortunate survivors the few half a dozen or so walked around numb, shoulders sagged, their eyes registering the mayhem in silence. Except for the little girl in her cute white dress, now all dirtied and bloody as she ran around crying for her parents, squealing at the top of her lungs. None of the older survivors registered her, nor did her parents, lying at the bottom pile close to the brick church wall the firing squad had used for executing the straggling survivors. Even if they had lived, they could not have answered anyhow, their eyes and tongues cut out with an expert touch of a butcher.

A butcher who now sat languid under the shade of a parasol as his troop rested up against their military truck.

She looked away from the scope swallowing the bitter saliva in her mouth. The sergeant sat beside her, it almost looked like his swirling hard edged red tattoos glowed in the shadows of the bush they were hiding in.
“That aint fucking war, that's slaughter.”

“It happens.” He cut himself another slice of the apple he had brought offer her the slice. She shook her head, barely hiding her disgusted look before willing herself to look back through the scope, the only consolation was the caress of her grip and the coolness of her sniper rifle. Maybe, just maybe she would be allowed to shoot. “They don't even care about the rest, like they just gave up shooting.”
“That's because they aint going nowhere. When they're bored later they can just reload and use'em for target practice.”

“Fucking hells, Sarge.” She was at the edge, a careful precipice of crying and disobeying direct orders, they weren't here to shoot anyone, this was a simple damned recon mission. She loved her sergeant, but the way he sometimes was so cold, so indifferent to everything as he sat there eating the green apple, looking with his deep indigo eyes at the scene but seemingly absolutely nothing. But he didn't see what she saw, hell he didn't even look through binoculars.

“I have a daughter around her age.”

“Huh. Three 'Pineapple' antitank disposable missiles in the truck, an extra 50cal and the Kerin 5.56mm Assault rifle as standard issue. Bastards are well armed.”

She turned the rifle around to confirm what the sergeant had seen in the back of the truck, true enough the butchers were armed to the teeth, not the revolutionary tribes men she had expected to meet out here. Sheera swore again, this time silently before returning her attention to the visible back of the leading officer's head. He was pointing now in the general direction of the little girl, His adjunct, broad shouldered man in a sharp vintage uniform stepped forward moving slowly without hesitation as he drew his side arm.

“No.” She whispered.

Yes. He shot only once, the crack of the pistol echoing out towards the two camouflaged soldiers as the little girl's head exploded and crumbed next to the pile where her parents had been buried her white dress now crimson. Sheera could feel herself shake, a single tear escaping, her trigger finger ever so slightly touching the side of trigger, the safety wasn't even on.

“Let's go, we've seen enough.” His raw voice was surprisingly soft in it's tone. A heavy hand touching her shoulder.

“Sarge...” Sheera managed to look away staring deeply into her Sergeant's strange Sin-Aede eyes.

“Yeah?”

“War... What is it good for?”

Sergeant Calhoun did not hesitate to reply, “Absolutely nothing.”

They found themselves a couple of stools by the bar and Richileu quickly managed to order two Ayre whiskey on the rocks. Duncan tapped the table with his fingers a couple of times to the muttered beat of the live band in the background. He looked over his shoulder checking the surroundings once more and winced as the multitudes of hair leather clad bikers that littered the place. One of the biggest bikers turned, a stream of smoke coming from his cigar. His hair was tied into a pony tail though the top of his head was balding. He carried a leather vest with pride, a pristine insignia of a flaming skull on it, with devil horns. What a lovely crowd.

Duncan looked away again,

“Here we go, Mr. O'Toole.” Richileu slid the drink in front of him in a suspicious looking glass.

“Duncan” he corrected him, and wiped his red tie with his hand. Next time, Duncan would chose their drinking establishment, he decided. He wasn't really sure what the finely dressed Richileu considered worthwhile in this particular speakeasy.
“So will you listen to what I got to say now?”

Duncan jerked his head and raised his shoulders for a second. “Well you bought me a drink. I'll give ya until I finish it.” Duncan smiled broadly.

“Right, Well as I was saying we are a-”

“Done.” Duncan smacked the empty glass down, making the lone ice clink as it connected with the rim. He exhaled with pleasure.

“That's hardly fair.”

“You know what's not fair either? My glass, it's empty!” Duncan pushed it a little away to make his point.

Richileu sighed heavily and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Fine.” He swung his finger in the air motioning for the bartender to refill Duncan's glass.

“Look.” Duncan drew in his breath, he admitted he had a problem saying no to free drinks and that was fine by him. “What you're selling I aint buying, braw.”

“I've not yet said what I am selling here.” Richileu held up his hands defensively, a thin blond brow slightly raised, and a slim smile curled his lips upward.

“I think I know what you're selling,” Duncan jiggled with the fresh glass of Whiskey and took a tentative sip this time. “You're from the government, nice suit, matching tie. Gun hidden beneath your jacket.”

“Nothing surprising about that.” Richileu shrugged.

“No.” Duncan agreed and kept on going. “Well you said you weren't here to arrest.” though it certain almost looked like it, with that huge Eli guy sneaking up behind him, along with the multitude and other 'suits' rummaging through Egan's bookstore. It really sucked you couldn't sucker punch a government official. Duncan couldn't remember much of that night, but he did remember waking up in detention. “you're here to offer me a job, and I don't care what kind of dental plan you got. I've had enough.”

“I am offering you more than that, Duncan. Say how old are you?”

Duncan perked his head to the side and with no words at all said to Richileu, 'are you kidding me?'

“Right, ok so, you're twenty-six, you've been in the marines for a third of your life, and you were good at it. But sometimes Duncan, life throws you a curve ball, and sometimes you are given opportunities to catch that ball. You don't have an education, you don't have family, you don't have any economic security Duncan. Where do you want to be in your life? What do you want to do with it? You really want to run around aimlessly shooting at people?”

“Only if they shoot back.” He muttered and looked down into his drink which didn't taste as good as it once had. He put it down and sighed. This was the same old song he'd heard a lot of times, from teachers, foster parents, more teachers, the cops that usually arrested when he got caught and so forth, the list was long.
“Imagine if you will, you were once on a boat.” Richileu and finished his own drink, “Until something bad happened and now you're out there in middle of the sea all alone, the boat leaving you behind.” Richileu removed a ice cube from the glass and put it in the middle of the counter. “That's you Duncan. Aimlessly swimming, and you don't have anyone or anything to save you.”

“Wow, you must be a joy to talk to at parties.” Duncan drank from his glass, and cleared his throat. “I am still not interested. I don't know what exactly you want from me in particular, I reckon this is not how you do all your interviews.”

Richileu chuckled, “No.” he admitted. “But maybe I should.” He ordered another drink with the wave of his fingers and looked back at Duncan. “Be honest here Duncan, what is it about working for the government that doesn't appeal to you? You've done it before.”

“Freedom.” Duncan said instantly. “Sure the Achillion Marines were a strict military. But it also made me feel free, and a part of something.” Caracka, Nolan, Neil... What the hell were those guys up to, he wondered.

“Freedom to do what exactly?”

“Not to do anything in particular.” Duncan shrugged, “It's not about that, braw. You know throughout my life a lot of people had a lot of different expectations in regards to me. My aunt whom I lived with for the first seven years expected me to do something really stupid and become a convict.” Score one for the old hag, Duncan had to admit that. But it had technically not been his fault. “Good or bad, with expectations comes responsibility and that is not what I want. Not thrust upon me in regards to something in the end don't want to do.”

“What about the responsibility of the marines?” Richileu had been so eerily quiet. His blue eyes sparkling in the dim light. Attentively listening as Duncan suddenly poured his damned heart out, to a damned suit.

“Different. Marines are brothers. But that's gone now too, and now I got no responsibility. I might be alone that sea of yours.” Duncan pointed at the melting ice cube. “But I don't have to drag anyone else around with me.”

Richileu nodded whether from agreeing or something else, Duncan couldn't see. He ran a hand through his golden hair and smiled. “Everyone, no matter who, has a responsibility.” He looked up at the bartender, “Can I have some toothpicks, please.”

the bartender lumbered away for a brief second looking none to pleased about being interrupted in standing around and doing nothing. He quickly came back and silently gave Richileu a handful of tooth picks which he set down on the table and picked up five toothpicks setting them aside. He picked up a single one now and with a serious stern face, reminding Duncan of his mathematics teacher Mr. Gonegal said, “This is you.”

“I am handsomer, but I can suspend my disbelief.”

Richileu picked up another tooth pick and held it in front of Duncan. “We can both admit that you have often gotten into trouble.”

“Which are not directly my fault.” Duncan nodded, holding up a finger.

“Right. Now this toothpick in my left hand is that trouble.” He broke the toothpick in his right hand and drew in his breath. “Now that's what would happen if you didn't do anything. If you lost.” he picked up a replacement toothpick as Duncan.
“Now that toothpick is prettier, looks like me.” Duncan fished out his packet of cigarettes and some matches, lighting one up.

“If you won...” Richileu broke the toothpick in his left hand now and set it on the table.

“self-defense.” Duncan inhaled the cigarette smoke and exhaled making a pretty little smoke circle with his mouth.

“I am not judging you.” Richileu said, he tapped the table with one finger “What if that toothpick here had friends, or family who wanted to come after you. What if they tried to break you?”

“Well I guess I would defend myself.”

“Right, you would. There arises the responsibility Duncan, what happens to you because of how you reacted can affect others. Innocents. It's your responsibility to see that they don't get hurt. Even if you're faced with one choice, and one choice only, that doesn't mean you can escape the responsibility of it.” Richileu twisted his torso and extended a finger in the direction of the biker Duncan had been looking at earlier. “you see that guy over there? His name is Orden Deveahl.”

“How do you know his name?” Duncan almost dropped his smoke from the edge of his mouth.

Richileu merely shrugged and continued, “He had a choice as well, but he choose to do what you want, escape everything. Live free on the road out of society.”

“And how exactly did that work out for him?”

Orden Deveahl had with a huge cigar in his grinning mouth sat down by a table to for a arm wrestling match with another scarred nasty looking biker. He looked like a modern when Duncan considered it. A big salt'n'pepper bushy beard, earring ornaments dangling from his ears, and one from his nose, tattoos on his neck, of various images. Griffons, skulls and dragons.

“He thought going of the grid would help.”

“And it didn't?”

“No.” Richileu sighed, “He started driving his motorcycle around Achillion, doing what he wanted, when he wanted. He crossed the whole damned continent. But ever so slowly, he collected a bigger and bigger following who were attracted to his freedom, his way of living. Even out there in the sea, like you.” He turned back to point at the almost melted ice cube. “He attracted others swimming alone, and soon responsibility found him from his actions. One man became many, and Orden was suddenly in charge of them all following his ideal.”

“So you're saying there's nothing as freedom?”
“What I am saying Duncan, is that, freedom does not absolve the idea of responsibility for anyone. Even if you're alone in that sea, you will make ripples in the water that affects others.”

Duncan emptied his second whiskey and exhaled, “Never knew government suits to be so philosophical.”

“I think it comes with age.”

The bastard didn't look that old really, early 40's if Duncan had to guess, no real wrinkles, but then Duncan had to admit there was something ancient in his uncannily blue eyes.

“I still don't see how this has anything to do with your job offer.” Duncan jammed the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray making it sizzle quietly.

“Maybe it doesn't, but I am not just offering you a nine to five job here, Duncan. I am not here to take what you perceive as your freedom. I am here to offer you helping hands when that sea drags you under, and you feel like you're drowning. The responsibility you want to avoid in not taking this job and wandering around aimlessly, are already there.” He released himself from the stool, correcting the placement of his dark blue tie and the position if his jacket. From his inner pocket he took out a card, putting it on the table. “I've said what I want to say. If you change your mind, Duncan and need a helping hand, call me on that number.” He patted Duncan lightly on the back before throwing down a few dollar bills before collecting his moss-colored coat and matching hat, “I think I've given you enough to chew on.”

“Aye, Braw.” Duncan looked at the amount of money, “and enough for a couple more drinks.”

Richileu tipped his hat with a crooked smile, and turned around to walk away. “you're wrong though.” Duncan called out to him, turning around on the bar stool to face him.

“About what?” Richileu stopped, his eyes glowing strangle under the shade of the hat.

“I have friends, I have Egan and Maggie. I am not quite as alone as you make me.”

“Duncan, for what's coming,” he shook his head. “you're alone. Goodnight.” Richileu disappeared, the door creaking as he headed out into the night.

Duncan lit up another smoke, and took a deep wheeze from it. He noticed the ice cube on the table had already melted, and now the leftovers of the toothpicks was now 'drowning' in the small puddle.

For what was coming?

Why did everyone know a lot more than Duncan himself, it was really really annoying. He put Richileu's card down into his inner pocket before he ordered another whiskey. Choices, Duncan hated them, at least the Marines had been easy, 'go there, shoot that.'

Civilian life was multiple choice, and that complicated things.

He looked down into the fresh drink, and shrugged silently to himself, “I'll worry about that tomorrow.”
 

This is a description of my main character from no particular scene, but merely meant to set down how he looks and moves:

He sat in a corner, the chair leaning up against the wall, his small glowing blue eyes piercing smoke and the shadows always fixed on the unknowable places, the color flaring almost as if flames and when he blinked, some small piece of light in the room disappeared. He got up, wearing his dark green vest with a faded white shirt underneath. His black pants had a darkred-wine line on each side of the legs.
He was broad shouldered, with a lanky sinewy build but his movement was slow and deliberate like a bear. Spurs sang with each step he took, following the thumping of heavy boots. His narrow mouth was set in one straight line beneath a long straight nose, his scruffy beard and long hair was purely white, not by age, but white as the untouched snow on the peaks of the mountains. He took of his black broadbrimmed hat, letting a hand run through his hair, before turning his long sombre face that possessed the slight darkened skin tone of an elir.
A shuffle of chairs and Priest turned, drawing his huge revolver in a fluid motion, he did not hesitate as the revolver cracked and a man on the other side of the room was flung backwards in a spray of blood. A gun clattered to the ground next to the dead man.
“Let's go.” his voice was from the grave. He holstered turned his back on the silent patrons of the saloon and disappeared out into the desert.

Slick grip
Fortyfive caliber ready to slip
Chrome plated Hyperbole
Fuckahs gonn' get
A bullet in da Head hole
Turn around, Turn around
Da clip, Da feed
Aint nothin' Faster
than a bullet speed
Come on Fuckahs
Bleed, bitch, bleed

Da way of Da gun
created our empire
and it's wit da 9mm
Us gonn' get our desire
The world it burns
It's red fire!

Da way of Da gun
created our empire
and it's wit da 9mm
Us gonn' get our desire
The world it burns
It's red fire!

Red-rum, red-rum
Aw Five-o
Don't ruin mah fun
Itchy trigger fingah
Hearin' da dyin' victim's scream
I aint evah seen the inside of a spleen
One Slug left
Restin' snugly in da chambah
Saved just for you
No-one to save ya
One more theft,
One more life to bereft

Da way of Da gun
created our empire
and it's wit da 9mm
Us gonn' get our desire
The world it burns
It's red fire!

Da way of Da gun
created our empire
and it's wit da 9mm
Us gonn' get our desire
The world it burns
It's red fire!
Setting sun, setting sun
Aint got no more
in da colt
Oh shit, time ta bolt
Aint no hero here
to stop da flood
River of blood, river of blood
Fell down to da knees
to pray
God aint able to stop da spray
Through the looking glass it sees
daat universal truth
Da religion dat is da NRA Booth

Da way of Da gun
created our empire
and it's wit da 9mm
Us gonn' get our desire
The world it burns
It's red fire!

Da way of Da gun
created our empire
and it's wit da 9mm
Us gonn' get our desire
The world it burns
It's red fire!

He looked over at the cave mouth with a worried sigh, for all the beauty of the place, he hoped Wolf-eyes would return before the darkness. It seems intangible ghosts wafted in the background just out at the edges of Callian's peripheral vision.
He walked around the grass oasis, feeling the softness of the earth beneath his feet. It was nothing like walking on sand. The only sound apart from Callian's breathing was the the verdant leaves of the tree which rustled under the soft whispering wind. The smells was fresh and moist not posessing the dryness of the desert air. He walked to the tombstone his eyes drawn to the carved mark of the Pentagon. Had she been a convert? Wolf-eyes did not seem that interested in the Pentagon. But at least someone had been but who exactly? Callian wasn't sure, and he didn't expect any answers from Wolf-eyes. Time passed in unknown quantities. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, apart from the slow and steady rhythm of his break and the rising and fall of his chest Callian did not move an inch. His eyes transfixed on the tombstone. Something flashed before Callian's eyes images he could not quite make sense of. Then darkness swept a heavy blanket over his eyes...

A dark summer night, stars twinkling above and powerful colors hidden in the shadows. Three male figures under the tree bent over a fourth a female. A smell of sweat wafted in the air and the fourth figure's breath was ragged.
“please... James...” a woman's voice said. The voice was weak and strained with pain. She was propped against the base of the tree, the swell of her belly left no one in doubt. Two of the others were hidden in the darkness talking in mute strange voices. A hulking man, broad shouldered, was crouched in front of the woman, in his callused hand he gently held hers caressing the back side softly with his thumb.
“Calm Keruh, breathe slowly.” his deep powerful voice was surprisingly soft. His facial expression hidden beneath the brim of a dark hat. With his free hand he wiped away the sweat from the woman's brow. Her face was clear, her dark eyes looking desperately at the two huddled figures next to her. Her oval shaped face plastered with raven hair.
“Please just save the baby.” she said and grunted from sudden pain.
One of the figures moved closer, his golden Wolf eyes glinting in the darkness.“We will do everything we can, Keruh-Vara.” Wolf-eyes said.

Callian hit the ground hard with a loud grunt the wind forced out of his lungs as he landed. He blinked his eyes watering, as single tear ran down his cheek. The memory of his vision trickled away, a fog closing on it as he lay his mind heavy on the ground. With a groan Callian moved to a sitting position, sweat drenched his shirt, his hair moist to his head and still now his breath was heavy and laborious. What had he seen? His memory failed him It was gone wafting away like smoke, but something about it persisted prodding at him like an intangible dream he would never catch. He felt dragged down by a sour mood, and Wolf-eyes' sad song about a birth and a death came to mind.
Grass crunched under heavy footsteps in the darkness and Callian turned his head to se into the shadows.
“Wolf-eyes?” His legs shaking beneath he arose, wiping the dirt from his clothes.
There was no reply and Callian could just about make out a lumbering form was moving slowly towards him. Something uttered an inhuman groan while darkened hands reaching out in Callian's direction.
“Yiaghe ui...” a rasping voice said.
Callian recognized the Elir language, but could not understand a word of it, damn he wished Wolf-eyes had been here. The Pentagon switched colors changing it's hue to the color of Malae. Under the light the intruder showed himself. He was thin, the body stripped of all fat, his legs like mere bony sticks. Skin stretched tight across his torso, so the ribs almost bulged out. His cheeks were sunken in showing his round cheekbones. A dead look across his face that looked haunted as he reached out with his both his hands towards Callian. In the light his skin looked sickly gray. his veins throbbing with a certain unnatural blackness to them. A reek exhumed from him, an acrid smell with a rot of flowers and tree mixed together with the freshness of the oasis.
Callian opened his mouth to speak, but thought the better of it, there was nothing that made Callian think the Elir knew Draekian. It didn't matter what he said. He tried lodging down the rising fear in the back of his head and kept his voice calm and level.
“Please come sit, I was making a fire, are you hungry?”
“Yiaghe ui!”the Elir screamed which then turned into a high pitched shriek. With a ferocious speed he began to run towards Callian. Eyes transfixed on Callian, the Elir intruder leap his thin skeletal body glowing in the now green light of the Pentagon.
Callian fell backwards from the weight of the Elir pressing down on him, saliva dripped from his mouth his mouth turned in a nasty hungry grin. With his one free hand Callian fought to stave him off, pressing his forearm into the throat of the Elir as his long nails dug into Callian's cheek.
“Yiaghe UI!” it was a helpless sob that uttered from the still attacking Elir, tears ran down his throat, his eyes rimmed red and insane. Callian was losing, his arm too weak to fight against the surprisingly strong attacker, he sucked in his breath hoping for someone or something to help him.
Callian screamed.
A howl roared joining in with Callian's scream in a horrible song of desperation. The Elir's eyes widened his attack losing it's power before he was suddenly thrown of Callian in a sudden blur.
A powerful growl rumbled the earth beneath Callian as he caught his breath lying perfectly still on the grass. Then silence, warm blood trickled down his cheek from the deep scratches. His breath laborious, if he had while Callian had been unconscious, he shook his head not daring to think of it. But what had saved him? He slowly made himself sit up. His head felt heavy, as if someone had attached an anvil to it.
Not far away, looming above the unmoving Elir was the shaggy fur of a beast the size of a small bear. It's chest heaved up and down as it stood still above his attacker, it's giant brick sized clawed paws pressing down onto his chest keeping the Elir pinned where he lay.
The beast turned it's broad round head, glowing blue eyes shining in the darkness as they transfixed on Callian blinking slowly before with predatory grace moved towards him. A dog, it was a dog with fur the color of night, it's sharp, long, wolfish ears attentive to every small sound. Grass crunching and whispered beneath it's movements. Tentatively he reached out his working arm to scratch the animal on it's head. It's fur was soft beneath it's touch and a low whimper uttered from it's mouth.
It licked him in the face, and Callian chuckled, before sputtering and turning away from the rough tongue.
“Ned.” Wolf-eyes stood by the cave mouth entrance. The dog had turned it's head, it's dark tail wagging back and forth. “Do not feel afraid.”
He fell back down onto the ground, his body shaking from everything. Deep down he did not feel afraid, rather he felt... relieved.
The Path of the Pentagon shone in the night and Callian couldn't really decide whether someone up there hated his guts or that he was born lucky.

I am thinking of overhauling this LJ, make it more manageable maybe more easy on the eyes and fancy schmancy. Not deleting anything from it though.
and maybe some more often updates other than the random rough draft shitty snips once in a while.
We'll see. in the meantime here's a Poem;


I sat all night and kissed her tears away,
allaying her salty fears upon her face.
In silence we sat, no more to say
Feeling her warmth in our sad embrace.
Gone I am, my love, a man who must stray
Home is where the heart is, and my heart has no place.

Trees covered them in, shutting them off from the world as if only they were alive, just the two of them. Forever Celeste could get lost in Angus shining blue eyes. Frogs croaked in the distance, the water lay calm and dark at night, Celeste shivered even though Angus had offered his jacket to her, the cold night of Octen evening. She leaned close feeling his warmth closing her eyes, sighing contently.
She had to go back soon she knew, even now Edward was already covering for her, even though he was loathe to do.
Angus wrapped his one arm around her waist drawing her closer to him, and his warm body.
It had taken her months to even get so close to him without him running away, and she never wanted to break
”That Serape, you never wear it, but you keep and act like it's very precious to you.”
”My father's.” he half-croaked it out, like it was a pain that sat raw in his throat.
”I'm sorry.” she inched closer, letting a hand slide across his back, to the nape of his neck. She closed her eyes, taking in the scent and feel of him, his muscles for the first time under her caress relaxing.
”No, it's fine.” He cleared his throat, ”He got shot when I was three while playing cards. It's all I got left of him.” there was a pause, before he whsipered silently in her ear, ”Celeste, open your eyes and look.”
She settle herself against his shoulder opening her eyes.
Light ranging from green to blue, to red and finally yellow, played across the small pond, silent tinkling of bells ringed as the multihued flying colors moved around, lighting up the darkness and the conture of Angus' face.
”They're beautiful.” she whispered as she looked upon the pond.
”It's Mindu-fairies, they only come out at night. The tinkling is a mating song. The blue and green ones are males, and the red and yellow ones are female.” he explained.
The fairies danced in concert with each other, as each blue found a yellow and each green found a red, they lit before disappearing a small shover of sprinkling dust.
”They only do this once every ten years. My uncle showed me when I was a kid. They mate for life, my uncle said.”
Their hands found each other then, and they sat in the light of the Fairies, watching them finding love holding hands, Celeste heart surged under the callused hands of Angus, and she turned her head looking directly into Angus' eyes.
”Why aren't you looking at them.” She smiled.
”Because I'd rather look at you.” A hand cupped her cheek, and time stood still, as she leaned close, feeling the hotness of his breath upon her face before their lips met.
She should've gone home that night, but she would've never forgiven herself.
They talked for hours, of Angus and his family, about everything, until there was nothing more to say.
That night, they found each other. And she was not cold.
As morning cracked through the trees, the Mindu-fairies long gone, Celeste lay covered by Angus coat, sweat glistening on her naked breast, his fingers running from her buttocks to her neck.
In her eyes she saw something she had never seen before, letting a look that said to him, ”I love you, I will never leave you.”
For the first time, Celeste saw him smile.

Under the golden chandlier, beneath the gleaming moonlight of the night, the last vestiges of the string quartet sounded off the last bit of the melody, annoucing the dance to be over. Celeste's feet hurt like hell, and like other quickly spread away from the dancing line hoping innerly she had placated Tylar's advances for tonight. She had no wish to dance with him more tonight. Around the corners soldiers stood tall and proud, guarding the rich people's kids from harm on this night.
The Torn and Iel Priory dance, where the two schools met publicly.
Edward, she had noted, stood in a corner leaning up against one of the indoor pillars talking to Richette, the pretty brunette from Celeste's class.
Pretty but her head was as empty as a Roundball. He did rather like the daft ones Celeste decided.
”May I get you a drink, Celeste?” Tylar had followed her silently, and now took her hand as if he had been given permission, he smiled, dimples showing in his freckled face.
He wasn't ugly, tall, and broad from playing many sports, and did send many of her classmates swooning.
But Celeste had already decided years ago, Tylar was as interesting as a bag of bricks.
She saw him, almost hiding behind a pillar as if his own classmates were monsters frivloing around, his blue eyes burning even in the darkness.
She WAS thirsty, and it would get Tylar of her back for a few moments.
”Yes, please a drink would be pleasent.”
Tylar made what he thought was a graceful bow, but Celeste had seen more grace out of a bull than Tylar. He danced very much the same way. He wandered out of the way, leaving Celeste alone to stalk her prey.
Though it was hard to do, while wearing her verdant green and white dress, making her look in her own eyes like a poisonous lollipop.
He didn't seem to be wearing anything particularly impressive, simple earth toned jacket and pants, with a black cravat in a almost white, shirt.
He wasn't one for money it seemed, but then again, Celeste had figured as much from their earlier meeting. His hair was still somewhat unruly, like he could never quite get it under control, and he constantly stood striaght like he was a soldier settling into a line with his mates.
Amazingly, he never did seem to notice her as she snuck past friends standing in a hurdle to walk onto the otherside of the pillar, she wasn't really sure if she wanted to say 'Booh!' or merely clear her throat, but she wasn't about to let him disappear without at least saying more than one sentence.
”you move quiet for one in high-heels.” He turned, seemingly unsurprised that she was standing there, hands outstretched preparing to give him the scare of a lifetime. They fell slack to the ground and she pouted disappointed.
No sense in getting fazed, come one Celeste!
”Oh so you do speak!” she crossed her arms, ”I wondered about that. I figured you as slow.” she just hoped he wouldn't get insulted, and would rather take the bait.
A second dance flared off, and many took up into one straight line their feet deafened by the orchestra.
”boyfriend's lookin' for ya.” he said, glancing quickly out onto the dancefloor, and it was true Tylar was holding two glasses of punch in one hand while carefully trying to avoid several slobbering girls from the class above her.
She turned back, puffing annoyed about the boyfriend comment. ”He is not my boyfriend.”
”Still lookin' for you.” he said.
”Trying to get rid of me already?” she pouted again, not sure whether he was joking or not, or whatever the hell he was thinking.
”Yes.” he replied flatly.
”Well you know.” Celeste unclenched her hands gripping his arms, ”Whoever taught you about the Summer dance got it all wrong, you aren't supposed to hide, you're supposed to mingle.”
”I aint here because I want to be.” he snorted and gave her a half smile.
”Oh? Someone dragged you here?”
He did not reply but pointed, over to the left of the dancing room up the curving broad stairs decked out with a silvery carpet stood Father Villalobos in his plain brown robes overlooking the whole dance.
The growns-up was up there, talking, making their backhand deals. Her father at this very minute was probably trying to create some damned marriage deal for her.
”Excuse me.” he slided away from her grip as if she was burning his arm with her touch and put his hand in his pockets. He blinked once, and glided gracefully out of her way. She turned and scowled in his direction as he passed.
”You know what?” she sighed. ”you're annoying!”
”And a Goodnight to you, Lady Belrose.” he did not look back, quickly finding the door and walked into the night.
She stood stunned that a second time without even looking back had walked away from her, No-one walked away from her, she walked away from them!
Determined she began to pace after him, disappearing out the door before her father, her brother nad for god's sake Tylar would see where she had gone.
She followed him in the chill summer night, walking directly towards the huge garden that encompassed the Belrose estate.
Muffled music and general jovial mutterings was heard from the inside, but Celeste ignored them trying to follow instep with Angus with had the advantage of the long legs.
Halfway there, with Angus gaining a certain distance, Celeste angrily discarded her shoes, throwing them across the lawn.
”Aren't you going to stop?” she called out to him.
”Nope.”
Determined she drew up the length of her dress and tried to follow Angus again.
”Where are you going? Where do you live?”
He stopped, he actually stopped, turning around looking exhasperated as Celeste gained on him, before they finally stood in front of each other with mere inches between them.
”What do you want?” His voice became raspy, his eyes hard, and suddenly it seemed for the first time in Celeste's life she was at a loss for words.
”I want to get to know you, is that so bad?”
”Well, uh-”
”HEY!” Oh no, Tylar had found them, she could hear on his voice, that certain high pitched slant it got when he became jealous.
This was going to end well. She turned around, seeing that not only was Tylar walking towards them, hands curled into fists, but so was Edward.
”Get your hands of her!” Edward pointed accussingly with one fingers, and if Celeste did not know the seriousness of it all, she would've laughed, he had never touched her.
Tylar a big brute was one thing, and with Edward along.
”Run.” She turned her head and pleaded him, but he seemed to stand perfectly still.
He was most like a head taller than both the men, but their build was stockier compared to his lanky body. He would have no chance.
”I'm so sorry.” She felt a tear run down her cheek.
He gently put a hand on her shoulder, pushing her out of the way as Tylar came into the vicinity.
Celeste found herself finding a place on the sideline, pleading for her brother and Tylar to stop.
They did not.
Tylar was the first one who arrived, sending a brick sized fist towards Angus' head, that would most surely loosen teeth.
If it had hit.
Angus took one single step, and with startingly quick body movements jerked out of the fist's path, letting it hit air above Angus' right shoulder.
His hands snaked around Tylar's putting them into a firm lock as Angus set his right foot on the back side of Tylar's knees pressing him down into the dirt, and the amazingly he let go, letting Tylar fall face down into the gravel.
It made Edward hesistate seeing his friend eliminated so quickly, and efficiently by the thin Angus.
”I aint gonna fight you. Gonna turn around and I am gonna go.”
Edward took a step forward growling before thinking the better of it, hearing Tylar groaning on the gravel.
”Alright.” he sighed, but you leave my sister alone. He puffed up his chest, even though he knew that Angus could probably throw him to the ground in a heartbeat.
Angus did not reply, his blue eyes blazed in the moonlight. He held up his hands in assent before taking two steps backwards and then set into a fast sprint.
Edward turned to Celeste, hands on his hips looking very disapproving, ”I am very disappointed with you!”
”oh really!” she snapped, ”Just not disappointed you had to break off your kissing session with Richette!”
Edward inhaled, his finger waving in the air, before letting out the air, ”Don't tell father about this.”
”Likewise.” she said arm scrossed, ”Now, Let's get Tylar inside.”

The trees were richly green, the ripples of the lake were smooth, lovers and courtiers of all ages, in gently rocking boats caressed the waters.
The weather was hot, in the early afternoon. A truly manigficent day if only her brother would keep her mouth shut.
”Oh Edward please,” Celeste snorted in a very unlady like manner, ”No more discussion of bloody politics, we're here to enjoy ourselves.” Celeste shook her head sadly at her brother who gleefully and with a crooked grin propped a strawberrry into his mouth.
”Rather fine weather, My lady.” Tylar changed the subject quickly, and inwardly Celeste groaned. Always trying to please her, poor sod. Ignoring Tylar's attention as nicely as she could, Celeste looked down and correcting her dress a bit, wiping some imaginary dirty away from her light sky blue dress she had decided to wear today.
She gave an annoyed sigh. ”I do wish I wouldn't have to wear a dress today, I cannot play round ball like this!”
Edward clicked his tongue, even with his mouth full of fruit he was a man not prone to keeping his mouth shut. ”Very unlady like sport, sister.”
Tylar and Seyle murmured in assent though Celeste merely glowered at her brother, that same brother who had taught her Cards, drinking wheksen and playing round ball.
”Is it now? Remind me that next time I am winning.” She lifted her chin into the air and perked her head to the side giving her brother a silent 'Hah'.
Edward did not seem to care, as he merely winked and propped another strawberry into his mouth, chewing for a few seconds before opening his mouth wide.
Celeste looked away in disgust shielding her eyes, uttering a sound reminiscent of ”Ew!”.
She saw him then, tall, lanky propped up against the shade of a hige tree, a dusty old tome in his hands, dark blonde hair falling down infront of his face.
”So anyway, it seems my father wants to Validate the creation of the second platoon for some reason, I do not quite understand.” Edward blabbed on with Tylar.
Celeste imagined Seyle looking sdilently awestruck by the two men's most 'interesting' conversation, bashing her eyelids.
Celeste kept her eyes fixed on the man, he was their age, most like taller than most though, but he had certain transfixed stare as he read his book, his front teeth lightly biting his lower lip, enraptured by it.
Compared to Edward who looked increasingly bored whenever he opened one.
”Who's that man over there?” Celeste almost pointed.
”And well I-” Edward stopped mid speech and raised and eyebrow.
”Over there, by the tree, Ed.”
”Well, well!” Tylar chuckled for himself, and Celeste could see his whole body tense.
”Oh that guy!” Edward finally saw him. ”Just some weirdo from our class as the Torn-Priory, Father Villalobos golden boy.” Edward said that with a sneer and clear annoyance before turning his attention away and as always everyone else's followed Edward's lead.
”My father wished me to join a Cavalry, though I feel I could do more as one of Colonel Ydris' Greycloaks.”
Celeste groaned inwardly for a second time, this was not the reason she had talked Edward and their friends to go out for a picnic, to talk about the same damned thing that they talked about at home around the dinner table as Father paraded them around as trophees, nor the girly idiotic talk of the Iel-Priory talking about who was handsome and which young lord would look great in a uniform.
Giving off a growl, Celeste sprang to her feet, and walked away, hearing her brother call after her, but she did not care.
She found herself within moments by the same tree as the man reading, his long sharp nose still buried deeply into the time as Celeste stopped up close beside him.
Rumors damned.
She cleared her throat, ”Hello.”
He moved slowly, setting a thum upon the page he was reading and looked up. She was stricken by his glowing blue eyes, so uncanny it made her feel a certain trembling in her legs. He was a strange looking man, he possessed sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw, but no beard grew on his chin. His skin was darker than most people, and Celeste wondering whether he was from the Free-states.
He blinked, looking more bothered about the disturbance than nervous about talking to the famed Celeste Belrose, the wild-rose of Draeklynn as the rumor circulated.
”Celeste!” her brother called out, but had probably still not brother to actually stand up and forcefully carry her away.
She waited for the a returning hello that never came and finally she exhaled before she decided to speak again. ”May I sit?” She gestured to the dark red carpet made of wool which he sat on, though it looked it was an oddly shaped, with curvy lines that reminded Celeste of the Elir effects she had seen at school.
”It aint my park.” he shrugged, he had a quiet voice, soft, rather, and he seemed reluctant to speak. His were eyes pinched slightly together from the shade of the sun.
”No. It's mine actually.” reluctantly she sat down next to the man, giving him an odd look, didn't he know who she was?
”Well, my father's actually.” she smiled as sweetly as she could.
”Hm.” he grunted before returning to his book.
Celeste peered over her shoulder wondering what was so interesting about the book, that could make him ignore her so nonchalantly!
She was trying to being a conversation here!
Weird sharp runes flowed down the pages, with colorings of the swords, lions and dragons marked the sides.
”What are you reading?”
He looked at her then, drawing his head slight backwards as if they were too close, with a quick snap, he had closed the book, and his blue eyes blinked.
”About the Wyrm-king.” he replied.
”Ah.” Celeste nodded, ”you don't talk much do you?”
”Excuse me.” He got to his feet, carrying the book under one arm, as he grabbed the ends of the blanket, gesturing for Celeste to jump off.
She did so with an unhappy grunt and brushed off a few leaves that had fallen onto her lap. Then she saw that it was a blanket they had been sitting on, but a Serape of a sort, something seen more out west rather in the middle of a Capital of Draek. He gathered the Serape in the other hand, turned around to leave.
Celeste felt herself panic for reasons unknown to her, and found herself half shouting, ”My name's Celeste what's yours?”
He stopped, having taken one slow step, it seemed as if everything he did was in so in deliberate moved, the placement of his hands, the current tilt of his head, the rise of a brow.
”Angus.” He raised two fingers to his temple in a goodbye before turning around once again, and walked down the small hill onto the road passing by a man walking his dog around the small lake.
Celeste stood frozen in her place,
”What a peculiar fellow.” she muttered aloud. But she really wanted to see him again.

”Saw Declan Nash in town, with a couple of cowboys I recognized.”
”Declan Nash...” Jediun tasted the name upon his name and sneered, ”Just what we needed.” He swore in his head, before whispering quietly to Dereckt. ”Tell the others, this could get ugly.” It had gotten ugly the last time they had met Declan Nash. Question that nagged Jediun though,, How the hell had Herrek gotten ahold of Declan Nash? Everyone turned their horses around, Stevnes had told his cowboys to stay at the ranch, riding alone with the Sheriff and The Seventh back into town.
Jediun motioned for Heimir ride on the other side of Stevnes with the Sheriff to the other. Thicke prob ably didn't have the relfex to catch Stevnes if he rode off. Heimir was for such a big man deceptively fast.
Ulgan caught up with them on the ride ride back to town, before the others caught up Jediun sent him on his way, to sneak into the town and find a good sniping position. Nothing might happened, but his father had taught him early enough, that one should always assume the worst.
It was in Late afternoon riding at a calm trot they rode into the town. It was very big, one general store, owned by Thicke himself, but several houses were sprouting up several different places, a whorehouse had recenttly opened, and the last time Jediun had been in town mere days ago it has bustled with activity. It was a Crossroads town, meaning many travellers came through either passing into the mountains to find gold, or head down south to Aspin.
Streets were empty now.
”Dayum where did people go?” Thicke did not seem to understand situation as they rode into town, a smile still on his lips and a innocent facial expression as the looked around the empty streets.
Jediun was purveying the could-be battlefield.
They all dismounted at the liverystables, the Seventh merely tied up their horses.
The sheriff and Stevnes put their horses in a booth in the livery stables, the owner nowhere to be seen.
”Expect trouble.” Jediun said to his men. Though nothing stirred on the streets. He did not expect an ambush, Ulgan would've marked a warning if there had been such a thing as they rode close to town.
Besides Nash was the kind of guy who loved to take things head on. Mano-y-mano.
”Bingo.” Ferden pointed with a long finger down the street as eight men materialised from the Saloon. Seven of them wore the chaps of a Cowboy, a revolver holster bound to the thigh, broad hats and sweat stained scarfs at their neck. One or two walked unsurely, as if they couldn't quite keep their balance. Other glanced nervously to all side, the way they moved, their slow movements with their arms along with their jerky head told Jediun once thing, they were shit-scared. Except one-guy, Declan Nash wore the trademark grey-coat of a Grey-man officer, a frontier lawman who was judge, jury, and executioner, protecting the interests of the country through protecting the borders and dealing with savage Elir.
”Damned fool, he's had to drink some of them drunk.” Kilan gave a loud unlady like snort as she loaded checked her revolver for bullets.
”Damn me to hell!” Thicke muttered from behind Jediun. He had pulled his hat backwards, scratching the thinning top with a shocked expression.
”They're here for Stevnes. Herrek wants requital for the theft of his cattle.”
”I thought you guys were working for him.”
”Guess we weren't satisfactory.” Ferden patted his black mount before adjusting his gunbelt a bit.
”I recognize some of them as Herrek's boys, but that guy in the grey jacket, who's that.”
”Declan Nash, former Grey-coat officer, now gun-for-hire.”
”Torndamned shit, the Hillsbury Butcher?” Thicke took a single stepped back before he realized what he was doing. He looked down, and Jediun knew what he was considering. The tin-star gleamed in the sunlight, he sighed heavily and shrugged.
Jediun noticed the missing prisoner, all of a sudden, ”Where's Stevnes?”
”Cuffed him to a pole in the Stables when I saw them guys walking down the street. Well... you brought me into this mess,” he gave Jediun and the rest of the Seventh a shaky grin. ”Mind gettin' me out?”
The Seventh settled into one straight line spread across the broad mainstreet, the only street in town. Jediun bid Thicke follow and he quick settled into the line in the outer edge to Jediun's right, next to Dereckt who held in his hands his doublebarreled shotgun.
”Damn what a day to need your deputies.” He grumbled as they took those long steps towards Declan and Herrek's cowboys.
They met half-way, stopping in front of Thicke's own general storw which also functioned as the Sheriff's office.
Declan was a sharp man, sharp in features with long hair, caressing his shoulders, and a rather dapper dress code beneath the worn Grey-coat. He smiled, and in his eyes Jediun noted the reocnizeable wicked gleam he had seen a few years back, mere weeks after the Hillsbury Slaughter.
”All he wants is Stevnes, and his cattleback.” He had a nasal voiced that already grated Jediun's nerves, but he kept himself rigids, a straight back, assessing each one of the men infront of them.
None were the coldhearted killer Declan Nash was supposed to be, Jediun could easily see it.
”He'll get his cattle, but Stevnes is in custody, Sheriff Thicke's custody.” Jediun nodded over at Sheriff Thicke who cringed at hearing his own name.