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| Topic Started: Jun 18 2009, 01:10 AM (53 Views) | |
| Nameless | Jun 18 2009, 01:10 AM Post #1 |
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Femme Fatale
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Recovery was slow, and it pained her. Her body had been severely injured, and much of the damage did not rise until several days later. Her eyes in particularly took a week to relinquish their sensitivity, the fevers as her body adjusted to the normal plane from the shadow warren, the wasting in her muscle from her trek into Karash, and then into Kostroma. She had tried to push through the injuries, with grit teeth and the same brutish, standoffish temperament she always carried. She tried to train away the pain in her muscles, try to expose away the pain in her eyes. The sheer pain had warned her away, and she had raged the first few times, but eventually settled back to a smoldering disquiet, muted but proud. And was Eriale, after all she went through, still ever so proud. Each stance was veiled with a defensiveness, strong lines of her jaw and its profile, of her austere poised, declaring her autonomy. It was slightly ever more stated, and more pronounced whenever she crossed someone she did not know, or whenever Lasher’s expression might have seemed to question her. She did not like the fact it was so obvious effected, but chose to ignore the fact, with wary eyes and upturned chin. She often forsook the pretense long enough to tend to Lasher, in the quiet moments she’d let herself be vulnerable enough to soothe him, to hold him. Even then the psychological scars were not diminished. Her ego was wounded, and she could not hide the bruised pride so easily. The blows she had taken over the last month were immense enough to bypass the strictures of her training and the mental blocks Maelvrick had taught her over the years. She longed to be unfeeling and inhuman, to be the monster than brushed aside the emotional pain with such ease and nonchalance. Yet things were different now, and she had to acknowledge that it would unlikely she could discard them and revert. She was changed. It scared her. At night she dreamed. She dreams she stood in Karash, letting the breeze touch her face, electric chills conducting the unearthly silence down her spine. Over the years her bones and joints came to resonate with the innate sense for war and death, especially the latter, as if countless witnessed fatalities had ingrained something into her. She could feel it about her, the old creaking intuitions left from the front line, skills she’d rather have left in the stinking mud in No Man’s land. Karash was dead now, but once had been alive. It was almost as if she could feel the blight that had taken root there, the same disease spreading out to swallow the world. Vestiges of life hung in piteous forget-me-nots, a soil too rich with ash and a scarred landscape that carried a wound far too deep – no memorial, no cenotaph, and only painful memories. She woke up, breathless, silent and careful not to disturb the man who sometimes was asleep, often not, at her side. She did not share her woes. Her endurance was a silent battle, and most of her problems were dealt with quietly in secret. Much the same way as she handled her engagement ring – she wore it in private, everywhere else dangling between her breasts under her shift, like a stolen, secret trinket. Soon they would have to formulate a plan, but as of now, they needed time. Her own body still bore physical scars, though less so than Lasher’s, and she would not jeopardize his healing by pushing them back into the fray. News from Carthan and Terra was sparse, and when it did come it was never good. Eriale had stopped asking. Real information occurred on the streets, but she was forbidden from walking them. Kostroma loathed a woman without chaperone in the streets, no matter her relation to Lasher, and she wouldn’t go far attempting to interrogate the population. Days were spent, therefore at the Tadros estate, feeling the wounds in her ego fester, her mind trying to understand the extent of the trauma it had been inflicted with. Today was the first nice day in months, and she stood on the balcony, letting the sunlight warm her joints. Wind stirred the tips of her hair, gusting it about the high ankles of her boots, then rustling the high-collared, well-worn chemise where it snagged under the bust and the haphazard tucks into the waistbands of the pants slung across her hips. Its dark sleeves billowed about her arms, cuffs wound back from the wrists, exposing the vambraces of the armour, as the dark slashes of protective gear against the even, ethereal white complexion. There were children out, moving through the streets and she watched them idly, curious. She could hear Lasher in the room behind her, no matter how subtle his motions. The attention turned back to the blithe movement of the children, her mind poised in ambivalence. ‘Did you ever want children Lasher?’ The words seemed sudden, unplanned, the tone almost vexed in its own strange admission. She wondered herself, about her own motives. She knew them, she just chose to view them with a bemused and detached interest. It would be moments before she spoke again, not even aware if he had heard her, or even deigned to acknowledge the question, ‘Sometimes…since Karash…I wonder what I will have when I survive you, when I watch you age, when I almost lost you. Sometimes I wonder.’ |
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 Lasher Tadros
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Jul 2 2009, 01:00 PM Post #2 |
Air Order Captain
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His days had been spent healing as he noticed Eriale was. His battle was a losing one, he'd noticed, losing to the mental instabilities that had presented themselves after the brutal treatment he'd suffered at the hands of the Vampires. He'd taken each day very slowly, but being the head of the ruling House in Kostroma; he didn't have much time to take for himself when the battles broke out. Now most of his time was dedicated to his father and the Carthan Admiral, Logain. Lasher still despised the Admiral, but worked with him all the same. It was clear to Hroathgar and himself that Vampire's had taken over most of the Kostroman court, leaving the Tadros clan and a few small others untouched. They sought to unify and destroy the country. Unluckily for them, the Kostroman peasantry had surged up and was fighting back openly in the streets. It was like his past was playing itself over again before his eyes. There were factions, there was fighting and again he was caught in the middle, left to decide the country’s fate, except this time there was no Shyla, there was Eriale. He opened the door to his sitting room, where he found her standing at the window, watching the servant children play in the yard. The sound of children’s laughter always brought a smile to his face, but recently, as he fought against his insanity, it unnerved him, reminding him how innocent they were and how soon they would be damaged. It also reminded him painfully of Amara, his baby, his only child, her whereabouts, still unknown to him. He fell into a chair close to Eriale, his hands coming up to sooth the ache he felt in his head, when she spoke of something so close to his heart that he twitched as if it inflicted pain. Two different marriages, two opposites in women, same discussion… Did you ever want children? He was at first taken aback by her words. Eriale had always been a woman much more interested in the act of love, not its repercussions. Lasher’s vivid green eyes flickered open and stared at the woman before her. She might not know how he’d been struggling to keep himself from insanity this day or any of the others, and he was sure he’d been hiding it well. He’d sneak off into the night and have it out with himself so as not to harm any one else. He’d committed a few murders for the resistance’s cause, but really they’d been for himself, ending the lives of those men in which he believed he could see Vlad and his torturers. Sometimes…since Karash…I wonder what I will have when I survive you, when I watch you age, when I almost lost you. Sometimes I wonder. His face contorted in pain at the words and he covered it with his hands, then took a deep breath and stood up, moving behind her and wrapping his arms around her. He would play the part of the strong man, the rock for her to brace herself again. He could not do it for Shyla, never could he have, but this time around he would try…for Eriale. Secretly, he knew he’d never been the strong one in his past relationship, is it truly the past then? He rested his head on Eriale’s right shoulder and he sighed. “I’ve wanted children for twenty years, ever since my first marriage. But Shyla could not have children, believe me, it was not for lack of trying.” His voice fell silent as his own words scratched at the old wounds. “We stopped trying after a few years, with no results, perhaps that is another reason why we are not together any longer. Perhaps that is why she gave me Amara when she died. Amara, she is not my flesh, but she is my child and I have loved her and loved being her father more than any words can express.” He paused again, looking at the younglings playing in the flowers. “I would have children with you, if that is your greatest desire, my love. But I fear its fruitlessness. I love our marriage, as it is now, childless, but I fear our marriage in the future, still childless, after trying. I do not want to see you experience that pain, I have seen it, and as much as it killed me, it ruined Shyla.” He sighed again, and kissed Eriale’s cheek. “But I am different now, and you are not Shyla. If you want to have a baby…then I will do all in my power to make that happen. I know that I have gotten older, and that I probably will die before you. I would give you my child, so that you are not alone.” |
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| Nameless | Nov 19 2009, 02:26 AM Post #3 |
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Femme Fatale
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She looked at him, obliquely from the corner of her eye, her face still and inscrutable. She paused there a second longer after he finished before again returning her attention back out the window. The children that had been playing had left now, along with their guardians. Scanning the view from the balcony she noted two gulls were fighting on the neighbours roof, scuttling across the terracotta tiles. Their sharp cries seemed to nullify the silence between them, at least for a while, and Eriale quietly rooted for the grey gull, before both took flight. She leaned heavily on the railing, feeling the wrought metal bite into her skin through the leather of her gauntlets. She was conscious of her body; it was an attempt to disguise the tension across her shoulders with an easy stretch against the railing. ‘I was only wondering on the subject.’ She returned coolly, ‘Nothing more.’ The tone was low and, though not sharp, was decisively abrupt enough to end the conversation – at least on her behalf. Her whole body seemed to follow the cool direction of her voice, the smooth, controlled alto, shutting down her response to the conversation, settling back into the metal railing. ‘I am used to being alone. This, with you – if I live as long as I think I should – is only a brief interlude isn’t it?’ She didn’t need a child. It was an odd topic for her. Sex and – the consequence of it being – pregnancy were not things she talked about. Her mother had never talked of it with her and, again, neither had Maelvrick. By the time she had discovered her own sexuality she found it difficult to express as anything more than a physical contest. The few times it had been otherwise, more tender and loving, the memory left her exposed and vulnerable. Children, she decided, would be a hindrance. Pregnancy already definitely was proven to be alternate to her lifestyle and profession, one unwitting miscarriage had demonstrated that and – well – the whole topic should be left alone. ‘How are you feeling?’ It was a sudden turn of conversation, and it a definite steer away from the past discourse. She had to remember, Lasher was unlike her, he had not grown up with as much psychological abuse, he would not have the same plasticity because – well, as for that – he had more emotion. She lifted one finger and twirled it through the fiery red locks that now, having gained length, hung down her neck. She fiddled with them idly, half-mentally noting that they were requiring a trim which would give her something new to do. ‘I cannot decide if I like it here or not.’ Eriale turned around and faced him, ‘I don’t know what I’m thinking anymore.’ |
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Lasher Tadros
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Nov 19 2009, 01:18 PM Post #4 |
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Air Order Captain
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Her quickness away from the subject hurt his heart. He dropped his arms and crossed them over his chest. Defiantly away from her and holding his hurt, madness crept into the wounded heart to protect him from hurting any longer. Her words, all of them, gnawed at what was left of his sanity. He turned away from her, leaving his back to her. "Of course, this is nothing but sex. And as you say, only fleeting." If he could have smoothed the hurt out of his voice he would have, but it was still there, like neon. He wanted children. He'd always wanted children, even when he had found out that Shyla could not have children he'd wanted them. It was his cure, his own father had told him that his evil would burn out in the presence of children. Amara was his child and wasn't at the same time. She was everything that he'd wanted in a daughter and every time he looked at her his heart had swelled with pride and then shrunk with sadness at knowing though she called him papa, he was not and never would be. Extensions of himself, people that would love him blindly and forgive him anything. He could start over, love them and not have to play the dangerous game of cruelty and lust. Lasher sighed and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead to fight off the dizziness he felt. "I'm mad, how well can I be any day. I sense myself, my thoughts, then lose them. It is always the same." Her final words irked him. He turned to face her, eyebrows narrowed with stereotypical Kostroman anger. But his voice was as even as he could make it. Fighting with her now, after what he'd spoken and what she'd answered would only push him over the edge of his thinly reigned madness and what he did he would not be responsible for. "If you hate it so much then leave because if you don't know what you are thinking you can be damned sure I haven't a clue, woman." There was a knock at the door behind them, a servant called them to dinner. He ignored it and stared at her. She was lovely in a way that was uniquely her own. Her hair had grown longer and he liked it, but knew she would cut it, in spite of him. When she'd spoken of being alone, of children her form had seemed softer to him, more feminine, attractive, but now that she stood, once again defensive of a pride and heart that had been wounded too much in her childhood, he hated her. She was sharp, abrupt, cold. The idea of this woman, leaving him, not wanting his children and hating his home was just enough to snap the beaten man and she would see it in his eyes. They brightened, crazed and he lifted his hand as if to slap her, but clenched his fist before he could. "Our marriage means nothing to you and it is not even real in Kostroman law, so you are free to leave me. Only, don't return because I have only what little of my sanity that is left and if you should crush my heart and try to return to it..." He shook his head. "I will kill you, no matter how strong and agile or magical or more powerful than me you think you are. Nothing will stop me from ending you. I thought we understood one another, I thought that I could love you and you could try to love me. Because I don't care if you're unhappy, I need..." He shook his head and the devil in him smiled. "Shyla." With that, he reached out to her hand, ripped the emerald ring from her finger and left the room. |
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| Nameless | Nov 19 2009, 04:20 PM Post #5 |
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Femme Fatale
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‘I miscarried a child Lasher.’ It came out sharper than she had intended and, surprisingly, she regretted it. Too much wasteful force behind the blow she knew was a wild pressure point. She had expected the outburst. The Gods only knew that Lasher required constant love and comfort in this time and she had known, eventually, that she could not have been so constant. It was not her nature. Of course the man in the first mistake had turned on her for her impatience, for one minor revelation of the damaged character behind it he had turned against her completely. Perhaps years ago, when she had believed that she had might have posed as a companion beyond Shyla, rather then being the distraction that passed the time in their separation. ‘I was forty years old – just after our very first affair – when I did that wonderful disappearing act as Air Lieutenant that Kinara was so furious about.’ That thought, Kinara in a rage, brought a nostalgic smile to her lips, ‘I had done a desert crossing with minimal food and water and by the time I’d finished I was in so much pain. It hurt so much. I didn’t even know I’d been pregnant until a midwife informed me, it was only first trimester.’ ‘I guess you could argue I’d fucked a few other men. I was young, I’d only just discovered sex and how it felt. When the pain of it all passed I thought nothing of it, and chose to never speak of it.’ Eriale turned to face him, folding both her hands, ring missing on the finger across her stomach. He had left the room now, and though she was talking into the emptiness, she talked on. It was a sense of visceral pain, but it sufficed. ‘I hate the bitterness in you the most. Because you’re not the only person that suffers in the world but you also have so many people who love you, you have all the love and their patience – you had all mine and, even more that you had my loyalty -- and you give nothing back.’ ‘It makes me sad, Lasher.’ The Erinyes turned and grabbed her things, as they were few and light and (just in case of emergencies like these), always contained. She felt suddenly old and tired, too sick of the games and the abuse. She was, in terms of her race, young enough to find something else more than rage, hate and anger. ‘I am sorry you are hurting.’ She shouldered the bag, ‘I know it’s the reason you strike out and do the same, that’s in your name isn’t it? Lasher – you always lash out and have to hurt…I never thought of that.’ She exited the room and moved down the stairs, the voice raised to a tone loud enough to resonate through the natural acoustics of the manor. ‘Let no one say you never had my loyalty or my love, but you ended this marriage.’ She opened the front door, ‘And I will love you in my own manner, with my own prerogative.’ She closed the door with a quiet click behind her. |
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8:53 PM Nov 26
