[identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
Sunday, 21 September
The Dormouse

Now our luck may have died and out love may
Be cold but with you forever I'll stay
We're goin' out where the sand's turnin' to gold
So put on your stockings cos the night's getting' cold
And maybe everything dies
That's a fact but maybe everything that dies
Some day comes back

Something curious happened. Not the disruption to the world from the breach into Dream; that, while unusual, is hardly an unknown event, and the resulting chaos was mundane. No, I mean something more interesting, and pertaining to my daughter. Wanda's hapless dream of Kent - her abiding devotion to a phantom would be touching if I did not find it pitiable - meant a little aspect of myself turned from conjured flesh into real man, like Eve born from Adam's bone. But my daughter unstitched him from the fabric of dream... And gave him a soul. Not much of one, true, but he is no longer a mere flesh doll that walks and talks. There is some spark inside him that means he is nothing of me any more. How very curious.

It is easy enough for me to shrug on a new version of him, of course. The idea of Wanda having to deal with the two of us at once is vaguely amusing to me. And I want to see my daughter. So I cross through the town and knock gently on her door.

[Open to Wanda's household]
[identity profile] managementchild.livejournal.com
Wednesday, 20th August; afternoon

One week - one week and one thousand thousand thousand days since I
since I
I, I, I
opened one great
eye
and am
when before there was only we (in the darkwomb belly of Creation, we).

I AM
ἐγώ εἰμι
(and there was a great cry in this my new Egypt.)

I have been to my Father's house, and touched his cock and cunt to receive my blessing, for she will not deny me that, even if I am unlike any other child of his seed that was or ever will be. For only I am this. And I bathed in the blood of her baptism between her legs, and made myself a body and face that honours my Father, for what child does not want a heritage? I will wear this, for a while, and when I need it not I will put it in a box like an old suit, for I am of my Mothers too and we can have a hundred faces.

In this body, come out of Egypt, I go into the town. It is my first place and my last place and I will love it until it is gone to dust. Will that be between my teeth? Perhaps. Perhaps.

I choose a building of a pleasing shape to enter. It is a tavern. I ask to see the different colours of the drink and I choose one that is pale gold and amber. I do not drink it, but I hold the glass close to my face so I can smell it. I smell the scent of decaying crops and sunlight. It is a fine drink.

[OPEN]

[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
Saturday, August 7th, Well past dark
Neither here nor there


I had been checking into days and times that might correspond, position of the moon and the sun...
but when the storm blew in, lighting splitting the sky and thunder making Excolo sound like we had a rail station?

The time was now.

I bundled Rose off to Lucien's. He was concerned of course. Where was I going on such a night? Was someone in trouble? Was I doing something stupid? Well, yes, I am sure it's stupid, but I couldn't rightly tell him that. I kept assuring him everything was fine, it was just something that had to be done, and I would be back as soon as I could. Rose took much more convincing, and she was still agitated when I left. "Mummy loves you and will be back soon!" I called out as I dashed back into the storm. I hoped I was not lying to her.

Changed into something bettered suited for the task at hand; threw on my coat, strapped on my sword and took up arms. Out, into the night, into the storm, into the woods. I had thought of sacrificing a young black calf, burning it as offering, finding the right herbs... but something else guides me now. I know, without knowing, what to do. Stride out with purpose to the clearing in the woods, where I practice my knife throwing. My space. My circle.

I stand in the center of the clearing now, the rain beating down on my upturned face. My leather trench keeps the chill out, but my tank top and jeans are soaked to the bone in spite of it. I watch the sky, the light that illuminates it, and suddenly there is a crack that makes my ears ring, and a flash that turns the night into day. Hold up the shield to protect my eyes and when I lower it again I see one of the trees has been hit by the lightning, and has split down the middle, still smoldering and on fire in some spots.

“Well. If that's not a doorway...”

I take a deep breath, back up several paces. With a battle cry, I run towards the V-shaped opening and hurl myself through it. Using the shield, I keep the flames from my face, and drop into a roll once I clear the blackened wood. Come back up to my feet and---

"Fuck me, it worked." I breathe out, staring up at the mountain before me. The rain still falls and lightning illuminates the clouds that obscure the top from view. Squinting my eyes, I can see a break in the terrain and scrub about 20 yards before me. The break seems to lead upwards in a barely discernible line. I take a deep breath, and exhale. He never said it would be easy. Firming up my resolve to see this to the end, I put one foot in front of the other and begin the trek up.

(open to Ares)
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com

Sunday, May 30th
The Spaces in Between


The stars glitter and gleam from above, sprinkled across a velvet black sky.  The moon shine down on the gravestones, making it easy to ready the names and inscriptions.  Winged skulls grin forevermore, and cherubs and angels give me mournful looks until the end of time.  Up on the hill, my own monument stands.  The hooded and cloaked figure smiles down at me, but it appears a bit more weathered than last I saw it.  I cock a head and study it.  Last I saw it....?

Oh.  Right.  Not real.  Well, then if I am dreaming, I don't have to stay here, do I?

I think for a moment, then the scene shifts and ripples, changing it to something more welcoming.  A bar shimmers into being, something that would remind one of the old west.  A long wood bar lines the one wall, gleaming brass fixtures and abundant bottles.  There are tables, and a poker game is being played by nameless men in the corner.  A piano is being played in the corner.  People mill about and order drinks at the bar, and some head up the stairs, being led by the hand by soiled doves.

"Much better."  I say to no one, wandering in and plucking a black hat off a man close to me.  He's passed out drunk, so it's not like he'll mind. Goes with my jeans and black tank top better, anyway.  Set it on my head, and get a glass of whisky from the bar.  Find a table, and look about.  It's nice, but not quite inviting enough.  Looking to the poker game, I give it a though, and smile.  Suddenly, they all have aces over eights.  The inevitable fight errupts, and I laugh as a man goes sailing past me, shattering a chair as he lands.  I lean back in my chair and prop my boots up on the table, sipping my drink as the typical chaos ensues.

There.  That should call him.

(Open to Ares)

[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com

Sunday, May 30th
The Spaces in Between


The stars glitter and gleam from above, sprinkled across a velvet black sky.  The moon shine down on the gravestones, making it easy to ready the names and inscriptions.  Winged skulls grin forevermore, and cherubs and angels give me mournful looks until the end of time.  Up on the hill, my own monument stands.  The hooded and cloaked figure smiles down at me, but it appears a bit more weathered than last I saw it.  I cock a head and study it.  Last I saw it....?

Oh.  Right.  Not real.  Well, then if I am dreaming, I don't have to stay here, do I?

I think for a moment, then the scene shifts and ripples, changing it to something more welcoming.  A bar shimmers into being, something that would remind one of the old west.  A long wood bar lines the one wall, gleaming brass fixtures and abundant bottles.  There are tables, and a poker game is being played by nameless men in the corner.  A piano is being played in the corner.  People mill about and order drinks at the bar, and some head up the stairs, being led by the hand by soiled doves.

"Much better."  I say to no one, wandering in and plucking a black hat off a man close to me.  He's passed out drunk, so it's not like he'll mind. Goes with my jeans and black tank top better, anyway.  Set it on my head, and get a glass of whisky from the bar.  Find a table, and look about.  It's nice, but not quite inviting enough.  Looking to the poker game, I give it a though, and smile.  Suddenly, they all have aces over eights.  The inevitable fight errupts, and I laugh as a man goes sailing past me, shattering a chair as he lands.  I lean back in my chair and prop my boots up on the table, sipping my drink as the typical chaos ensues.

There.  That should call him.

(Open to Ares)

[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com
Time has little meaning here, though your body back home may disagree.

Dream.

A forest.


A forest of the oldest sort, thick with brambles, trees snarled with centuries of life. It stretches for miles, many of them very dark, because the trees grow so close that it is hard to see. From a high vantage point, on one of the hills of the forest, one may glimpse a tower at the heart of the forest, a great graceful column of grey stone. Here and there there are clearings, bright with sunlight, and streams running with clear water. But mostly there is dark.

In the distance, the howl of a wolf.


[OPEN TO ALL]
[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com
Time has little meaning here, though your body back home may disagree.

Dream.

A forest.


A forest of the oldest sort, thick with brambles, trees snarled with centuries of life. It stretches for miles, many of them very dark, because the trees grow so close that it is hard to see. From a high vantage point, on one of the hills of the forest, one may glimpse a tower at the heart of the forest, a great graceful column of grey stone. Here and there there are clearings, bright with sunlight, and streams running with clear water. But mostly there is dark.

In the distance, the howl of a wolf.


[OPEN TO ALL]
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com

And we'll all dance along to the tune of your death!
We'll love again, we'll laugh again,
and it's better off this way...

(Friday, sometime after the blackness crowded in...)

I am not quite sure what happened;  I was tossing and turning, punching the pillows unhappily and thinking that I should go to the apothocary to get something to help me sleep because I can't carry on like this...

and now I am here, in the graveyard that has yet to be filled.  That's impossible.  It's not real, I only come here when I am...

Oh.

Well, at least I am sleeping.

It's a clear night, the stars a carpet of bright pinpoints against the black velvet canvas of the sky.  It's calm, and it's quiet, and even the baby is still under my hand.  I start to wander about the stones, uncaring if it turns into a nightmare, for I am finally getting some rest.  Besides, I've always found a eerie beauty in graveyards, the stillness mixed with the statuary, and to be honest... when my husband is not here taunting me about it... this place is rather beautiful in it's way.

As I walk, I see a large, solitary monument on a rise, overlooking the rest of the graves.  I don't ever recall seeing it before, so I make my way towards it.  As I come closer, I take note of the large statue that seems to be sitting sentinel over the final resting place of some poor soul.  It is a somber figure, cloaked and imposing, and it fills me with dread.  As I draw near, before I can make out the weathered name of it's future resident, I can see a fresh spray of black roses placed across the statue's lap.  Oh... 

Taking a deep breath, I close the space between myself and this elaborate monument, and once I am standing before it, I drop my eyes to read the name:  Wanda Whitman.  But unlike the other markers... there is a month and a year inscribed into the stone, for my death; the only space missing is the exact date.  But it does not matter really what the date is, for it reads that I shall dieTHIS month.  I shake my head in disbelief and go to touch the swell of my stomach...

but it's flat.  There is no child now.  

I raise my eyes again to the statue to see it's face has changed.  It now resembles my husband's.  An there, on his face; a small, pleased smile hovering on stone lips.

"Oh you bastard!"  I yell at the piece of rock, spinning around and planting my foot against it's smug face.  At least it has the good grace to shatter under the blow.

(Open to Ares)

[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com

And we'll all dance along to the tune of your death!
We'll love again, we'll laugh again,
and it's better off this way...

(Friday, sometime after the blackness crowded in...)

I am not quite sure what happened;  I was tossing and turning, punching the pillows unhappily and thinking that I should go to the apothocary to get something to help me sleep because I can't carry on like this...

and now I am here, in the graveyard that has yet to be filled.  That's impossible.  It's not real, I only come here when I am...

Oh.

Well, at least I am sleeping.

It's a clear night, the stars a carpet of bright pinpoints against the black velvet canvas of the sky.  It's calm, and it's quiet, and even the baby is still under my hand.  I start to wander about the stones, uncaring if it turns into a nightmare, for I am finally getting some rest.  Besides, I've always found a eerie beauty in graveyards, the stillness mixed with the statuary, and to be honest... when my husband is not here taunting me about it... this place is rather beautiful in it's way.

As I walk, I see a large, solitary monument on a rise, overlooking the rest of the graves.  I don't ever recall seeing it before, so I make my way towards it.  As I come closer, I take note of the large statue that seems to be sitting sentinel over the final resting place of some poor soul.  It is a somber figure, cloaked and imposing, and it fills me with dread.  As I draw near, before I can make out the weathered name of it's future resident, I can see a fresh spray of black roses placed across the statue's lap.  Oh... 

Taking a deep breath, I close the space between myself and this elaborate monument, and once I am standing before it, I drop my eyes to read the name:  Wanda Whitman.  But unlike the other markers... there is a month and a year inscribed into the stone, for my death; the only space missing is the exact date.  But it does not matter really what the date is, for it reads that I shall dieTHIS month.  I shake my head in disbelief and go to touch the swell of my stomach...

but it's flat.  There is no child now.  

I raise my eyes again to the statue to see it's face has changed.  It now resembles my husband's.  An there, on his face; a small, pleased smile hovering on stone lips.

"Oh you bastard!"  I yell at the piece of rock, spinning around and planting my foot against it's smug face.  At least it has the good grace to shatter under the blow.

(Open to Ares)

[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
Gunfire in the street, where we used to meet,
echoes out a beat and the bass goes "bomb"
Right over our heads, step over the dead
Remember what you said,
you know that part about life?
Is just a waking dream?
Well that aint how it seems
right here, right now....



Sunday Night, January 17th

Block, block, block, shift, THRUST.  Turn.  Block, parry, parry, block, THRUST.  Jump back.  Block, block, crouch, swing at the tendons....

The nameless, faceless mob came from nowhere.  They threw torches, burning my home to ashes, driving me out into the street.  I barely had time to grab my coat and my sword before the windows blew out, before the fire consumed my life, or the facade of a life I was living.  None of that mattered anyway, all that matters now is that I keep one step ahead of them, keep myself alive, keep the baby I am carrying alive.

Swing, swing, a dagger from my coat flies from my hand.  THRUST.   Block, Block, duck, swing....

I am tired but my body does not, cannot register it, or I will be as dead as the people that have fallen before my sword.   If I falter, if I hesitate, if I stop to think I will surely fall.  And I cannot, for it is not just my life at stake. 

Swing, swing, parry, spin, scream, SLICE.  Jump back, charge, THRUST.  Twist....

Just keep moving, let them do all the work, just keep going until THEY tire, and maybe, just maybe, I will survive. 

It is the oddest thing though... here I am fighting for not only my life but my baby's, and I am grinning!  Dear heavens, I am ready to drop from exhaustion, but I am enjoying myself!   Giving my newest assailant a wide smile, I bring my arm down and slice his chest open.  the look on his face is priceless.  I turn to my next would be murderer and laugh, before humming under my breath.

Yo Ho, Yo Ho, a pirates life for me!
We pillage plunder, we rifle and loot.
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho.
We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot.
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!

Laughing to no one, I throw myself fully into the melee...

(closed)
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
Gunfire in the street, where we used to meet,
echoes out a beat and the bass goes "bomb"
Right over our heads, step over the dead
Remember what you said,
you know that part about life?
Is just a waking dream?
Well that aint how it seems
right here, right now....



Sunday Night, January 17th

Block, block, block, shift, THRUST.  Turn.  Block, parry, parry, block, THRUST.  Jump back.  Block, block, crouch, swing at the tendons....

The nameless, faceless mob came from nowhere.  They threw torches, burning my home to ashes, driving me out into the street.  I barely had time to grab my coat and my sword before the windows blew out, before the fire consumed my life, or the facade of a life I was living.  None of that mattered anyway, all that matters now is that I keep one step ahead of them, keep myself alive, keep the baby I am carrying alive.

Swing, swing, a dagger from my coat flies from my hand.  THRUST.   Block, Block, duck, swing....

I am tired but my body does not, cannot register it, or I will be as dead as the people that have fallen before my sword.   If I falter, if I hesitate, if I stop to think I will surely fall.  And I cannot, for it is not just my life at stake. 

Swing, swing, parry, spin, scream, SLICE.  Jump back, charge, THRUST.  Twist....

Just keep moving, let them do all the work, just keep going until THEY tire, and maybe, just maybe, I will survive. 

It is the oddest thing though... here I am fighting for not only my life but my baby's, and I am grinning!  Dear heavens, I am ready to drop from exhaustion, but I am enjoying myself!   Giving my newest assailant a wide smile, I bring my arm down and slice his chest open.  the look on his face is priceless.  I turn to my next would be murderer and laugh, before humming under my breath.

Yo Ho, Yo Ho, a pirates life for me!
We pillage plunder, we rifle and loot.
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho.
We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot.
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!

Laughing to no one, I throw myself fully into the melee...

(closed)
[identity profile] anushka-excolo.livejournal.com
Voronin Manor, Wednesday, October 14th, Mid morning

I know it when I wake. The beat of it thudding all through me. It is today. It is today. I know it with blood and bones and flesh and fire. I know it with the gauze of thought. I know it as the pale fish know the sun: filtered through darkness but unmistakable.

Oh hush. Oh, hush.

There are no more photographs to be burned. Winter creeps in across the town and the apples are drying in cellars. Starlings flock across the bare fields. Think of all these things before they are gone. Know them for one last time. The smell of cold earth and old wood. The way flames are bleached of colour in the daylight. So much, so much. The way the fairground rides are sinking into the damp earth down at the Carnival, the way grass grows up around them. Think of the photograph of Anton and Konrad and Anushka. Think of how happy they were on the shore.

Think of Monster waking in the library attic. Think of Wanda in her cellar, and Glass with her dead, and the candle which has not gone out, and Mab working at her desk, and Valmont's careful handwriting, and Gaueko, and his smile, and Verdandi at her still, and Reed in the shadows of the Boy, and the smith with his scent of metal, and Miao there with her diamond feet, and Kate stacking the shelves of the store, and the teacher at the school, and the boys at the bakery, and the carnies taking breakfast in the cook tent. I watch you all. It is all so beautiful. It is all right.

Turn away from the window. Let the garden gate stand open. Today. Let those animals which have crept back into the garden turn away. Steer the people who stray this way back into the town. Today. Steady your hands. Close all the doors. Remember what it was to be a woman once, what it was to bleed and to hurt and to love. Remember what it meant to be Anushka.

Now let these things go. Do not be afraid. Today. Today.

I grasp the wargod's mind and I drag him to me.

[closed]
[identity profile] anushka-excolo.livejournal.com
Voronin Manor, Wednesday, October 14th, Mid morning



[closed]
[identity profile] ares-thracian.livejournal.com
Tuesday, October 13th
Day 135
Morning


I have not slept. The bitch has deviled me for the past two days; everywhere I look she is there. She was there last night, where I went to get far away from here. Away from this town, away from the fire that seems to plague this body, away from it all. As far and as fast as I rode, the moment I stopped, she was there and her laughter made the flames inside me rise higher. That was the last thing I heard, before the blood and the pain and the clash of swords in battle. When I could hear again, there was nothing but silence as the town burned around me, the ground littered with bodies and soaked in blood. There was nothing left but me and my laughter roared over the flames.

The pen pauses in my hand as I think on these things and my resolve is firmer than it ever was. I need to get far the fuck away from this town and fast, before it happens again and there’s nothing left but blood and ash. As much as it made my blood sing, the core of what I am stretch to free itself from its confines, and I am losing control. I will not allow it to happen here.

All of the books, records and other various items will be moved tomorrow and weapons sent to their designated places. The papers for Simon have been signed, and all I have left to finish is this wretched paper in front of me. If I can fucking finish it. Who would have thought something as simple as this would prove to be such a cunt. As for the rest in this house, I care not. I have clung to it all for far longer than I should, it is time to leave it behind. Save the things that have always belonged to me and are part of what I am, and one more thing beyond that. As I think of it, my fingers run down the near smooth edges of the bit of stone that still hangs from a leather thong around my neck. My lips pull into a small grin as I bend my head and pen the words that would not come before.

My grin grows wider as the others in the house stir and I fold the last letter and place it in an envelope with the other documents and the bit of metal that will accompany it. Everything is set. As I leave, I close the door to my room and head for the main one. I was mistaken, there is one more thing I must do. Now let’s see if she’ll let me go. Not that she has a choice.

[OPEN TO LÚGH AND ERIS]   [CLOSED]
[identity profile] ares-thracian.livejournal.com
Tuesday, October 13th
Day 135
Morning


I have not slept. The bitch has deviled me for the past two days; everywhere I look she is there. She was there last night, where I went to get far away from here. Away from this town, away from the fire that seems to plague this body, away from it all. As far and as fast as I rode, the moment I stopped, she was there and her laughter made the flames inside me rise higher. That was the last thing I heard, before the blood and the pain and the clash of swords in battle. When I could hear again, there was nothing but silence as the town burned around me, the ground littered with bodies and soaked in blood. There was nothing left but me and my laughter roared over the flames.

The pen pauses in my hand as I think on these things and my resolve is firmer than it ever was. I need to get far the fuck away from this town and fast, before it happens again and there’s nothing left but blood and ash. As much as it made my blood sing, the core of what I am stretch to free itself from its confines, and I am losing control. I will not allow it to happen here.

All of the books, records and other various items will be moved tomorrow and weapons sent to their designated places. The papers for Simon have been signed, and all I have left to finish is this wretched paper in front of me. If I can fucking finish it. Who would have thought something as simple as this would prove to be such a cunt. As for the rest in this house, I care not. I have clung to it all for far longer than I should, it is time to leave it behind. Save the things that have always belonged to me and are part of what I am, and one more thing beyond that. As I think of it, my fingers run down the near smooth edges of the bit of stone that still hangs from a leather thong around my neck. My lips pull into a small grin as I bend my head and pen the words that would not come before.

My grin grows wider as the others in the house stir and I fold the last letter and place it in an envelope with the other documents and the bit of metal that will accompany it. Everything is set. As I leave, I close the door to my room and head for the main one. I was mistaken, there is one more thing I must do. Now let’s see if she’ll let me go. Not that she has a choice.

[OPEN TO LÚGH AND ERIS]   [CLOSED]
[identity profile] ares-thracian.livejournal.com
Saturday, October 10th
Day 132
Night


After my talk with the Countess, I half considered not doing anything at all. Its not as if it fucking matters and it’s not as if she’s mine anyway. But my price was important and she may be a life sucking bitch, but she’ll make good on her end of the agreement. I do also wonder what D has been up to lately, besides fucking with Karina. Can’t wait to find out what she did to draw that fire though, should be good. Swear to fuck the Celt can’t find even one follower that can’t keep out of trouble. Another reason to check on D is her mention of Boku and Luke last time we spoke. I’ve held to my word and not pried into Luke’s affairs, much. Can’t help it if I happen to pass where he is every once in awhile just to make sure he’s well. So what if I took the long way through town so I would pass, no harm in that and it’s a small fucking town.

I have no bloody idea where the old girl hangs out and I’m not about to go ask the flaming fuck if his little friend can come out and play. So I go back to the last place I saw her, the park. Only go a bit farther in this time to a large clearing deep in the woods. She’s likely going to be in a foul mood over what I’m about to do, so no use taking the chance of her razing the whole fucking town from her tantrum.

Pulling out the knife I brought along, I bite the tip of my finger and using my blood I write the required name in Hebrew across the blade. Then using that same knife I draw two circles on the ground, one with symbols that will summon and draw her in and the other with symbols of protection she’ll respect and keep her from roasting my bloody arse. When the circles are cast, I draw the blade across my forearm letting my blood soak the ground in offering and sink the blade into the ground in the center of the circle. The summoning circle begins to heat and glow as I murmur her full name and step into the other circle and wait.

Can’t even stop the grin from forming when I think of how fucking torqued she’s going to be. Ah well, better than being bored.

[OPEN TO DJINN]  [CLOSED]
[identity profile] ares-thracian.livejournal.com
Saturday, October 10th
Day 132
Night


After my talk with the Countess, I half considered not doing anything at all. Its not as if it fucking matters and it’s not as if she’s mine anyway. But my price was important and she may be a life sucking bitch, but she’ll make good on her end of the agreement. I do also wonder what D has been up to lately, besides fucking with Karina. Can’t wait to find out what she did to draw that fire though, should be good. Swear to fuck the Celt can’t find even one follower that can’t keep out of trouble. Another reason to check on D is her mention of Boku and Luke last time we spoke. I’ve held to my word and not pried into Luke’s affairs, much. Can’t help it if I happen to pass where he is every once in awhile just to make sure he’s well. So what if I took the long way through town so I would pass, no harm in that and it’s a small fucking town.

I have no bloody idea where the old girl hangs out and I’m not about to go ask the flaming fuck if his little friend can come out and play. So I go back to the last place I saw her, the park. Only go a bit farther in this time to a large clearing deep in the woods. She’s likely going to be in a foul mood over what I’m about to do, so no use taking the chance of her razing the whole fucking town from her tantrum.

Pulling out the knife I brought along, I bite the tip of my finger and using my blood I write the required name in Hebrew across the blade. Then using that same knife I draw two circles on the ground, one with symbols that will summon and draw her in and the other with symbols of protection she’ll respect and keep her from roasting my bloody arse. When the circles are cast, I draw the blade across my forearm letting my blood soak the ground in offering and sink the blade into the ground in the center of the circle. The summoning circle begins to heat and glow as I murmur her full name and step into the other circle and wait.

Can’t even stop the grin from forming when I think of how fucking torqued she’s going to be. Ah well, better than being bored.

[OPEN TO DJINN]  [CLOSED]
[identity profile] karina-vb.livejournal.com
Afternoon of Day 123. Day 19 without sleep.

I don't know what's wrong with me anymore.

No sé...

No sabemos...

You don't sleep, she says in my voice, in my ears, in our voice and I shake my head. Sleep was bad.

No more sleep.

Quietly I slip away while Maryk and Leah are busy, Lena helping to distract them. I would run if I could, to see him, to ask his help. God, I need someone. Make the path slowly, calléndome cuando se dobla el paseo.

En el país del no me acuerdo
Doy tres pasitos y me pierdo.
Un pasito para atrás,
y no doy ninguno más,
porque yo ya me olvidé,
donde puse el otro pie.

I need help.

Ayuda. Socorro. Algo. Something.

My fist finds the door of their home and we pound. Quizás.

"Lúgh?!?"


[OPEN to Ares.]
[identity profile] karina-vb.livejournal.com
Afternoon of Day 123. Day 19 without sleep.

I don't know what's wrong with me anymore.

No sé...

No sabemos...

You don't sleep, she says in my voice, in my ears, in our voice and I shake my head. Sleep was bad.

No more sleep.

Quietly I slip away while Maryk and Leah are busy, Lena helping to distract them. I would run if I could, to see him, to ask his help. God, I need someone. Make the path slowly, calléndome cuando se dobla el paseo.

En el país del no me acuerdo
Doy tres pasitos y me pierdo.
Un pasito para atrás,
y no doy ninguno más,
porque yo ya me olvidé,
donde puse el otro pie.

I need help.

Ayuda. Socorro. Algo. Something.

My fist finds the door of their home and we pound. Quizás.

"Lúgh?!?"


[OPEN to Ares.]
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
Thursday, September 17th, day 109
Marks Ranch, Late afternoon


Ares and I have been at this for almost an hour and a half.   Any hopes I had of getting my hands on that crossbow were dashed within minutes of walking through the door.  Whatever happened between now and three days ago turned Ares from a good humoured teacher to a foul tempered drill sergeant.   Today, I cannot move fast enough, strike hard enough, think quick enough.....
dammit all!  I know he's a fuckin' god of war, and this shouldn't surprise me, but its such a change from Monday, when he was roaring with laughter when I slipped in the mud, helping me up and handing me a towel.

Ares come at me, swinging hard, and I barely have time to block it, the force knocking me backwards and stumbling.  Ares growls and barks at me to get back into stance.  Getting frustrated, I charge him, swinging with everything I got.  Stupid, real stupid.  He not only blocks easily, but uses the momentium of my attack to knock me to the ground, and as I flip over and look up, there's a sword pointed at my throat.
No laughing today, no pointing out what my mistake was.... just one very hard faced God who is not pleased for whatever reason.

I am sweat drenched and bone weary, and although I never asked for mercy once since we began, or complained, I finally sigh heavily and drop my eyes.  "Ares, hold.  Please."  I hate that I have to ask, but if he keeps us going at this pace, I may make a mistake and get myself killed.  

(CLOSED)

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