Writers
of fiction are often presented with an interesting quandary. What I mean is,
they draw from life. Even the wildest fantasy comes from some intellectual root
which in turn is based on, or is an extrapolation of, something which has been
seen, felt, heard or said. But fiction is all too often decried for being
"implausible". Some claim that it is not "true to life",
whatever that means. Life, in reality, is often disconcertingly stranger than
fiction because it is less predictable. My point is that life is full of
strange, unnerving, uncanny coincidences, meetings, happenings and
conversations. Most just refuse to think about them and move on. Some
contemplate, some elaborate. The latter class of person often chooses to become
a writer, a storyteller, or simply mad. Some philosophers have sought to ban
everything which had nothing to do with the physical or natural sciences,
because writing and poetry "tell lies about the gods". They probably
do, but reveal so many more things that they may just be worth putting up with.
- The Archivist, your narrator
"E
vos etz lo meus jois primers,
E
si seretz vos lo derrers,
Tan
com la vida m'er durans."
"Reporting
in, as required, sir." Isolde announced as she stepped into Dassau's
office. The arcanoloth's desk was in its usual state of disarray. He had
ploughed through the best part of a decade's worth of statistics annuals just
as readily as he had consumed close to a decade of vintages from an extremely
rare denomination situated on a world Dassau had mentioned and Isolde long
since forgotten.
"So,
I see." Dassau replied, engrossed in mentally calculating the standard
deviation of the average age of death of human-celestial hybrids in Sigil.
"It
occurs to me, sir, that the Radiant Path has been quite active recently in a
presumed slaving ring connected to the radical atheist faction..."
"Athar."
Dassau corrected.
"I
know, sir...in any case, operatives of the Order of the Radiant Path have been
present throughout the Shattered Temple district and in the Great Bazaar. I
have documented their activities thus far, though I must take the opportunity
to draw attention to the sanitary conditions in the..."
"Eumenorrhea
- second day, if I am not mistaken." Dassau remarked. One of his favourite
mental games was keeping track of Isolde's cycle.
"Yes,
sir, but I think it's hardly relevant..."
"Nonsense,
there is no reason you should be in discomfort. Order some menial to clean it
up to sufficient standard."
Isolde
cringed, her definition of sufficient standard was simply not possible to
replicate, "I can survive, sir," she continued, with burning
irritation - she loathed it intensely when her body acted up on her in such a
way: it was morbid and utterly disgusting - "what I meant was whether you
ought to inform the Fifth or the Seventh Bureau about such activities which,
strictly speaking at least, are paramilitary in nature."
"They
have our informal authorisation. To my knowledge, that is the only compromise
by which we can keep a semblance of order in this unfortunate city.
Nevertheless, your suggestion is duly noted just as my curiosity is piqued. You
are free, no - actively encouraged - to find any incriminating information on
this Order of yours, especially with reference to malpractice. You hinted that
they may be involved in illegal displacements of goods or persons - capitalise
on that, make sure I have something suitable as a pretext to issue search and
arrest orders." Dassau's voice was more sanguine and enthusiastic than
Isolde had heard it in a long while. It appeared that her plan to co-opt the
old dog was working.
"As
you wish, sir, but, one question, how exactly do you intend to pin the
Radiant Path down?"
"I
do not recall enjoining a crusade," Dassau specified, his demonic mind
churning, "I have no target in particular, indeed, no grudge against any
given organisation. I merely believe that is in the interests of this fair city
and my good conscience to appropriately punish all malfeasance and, by
extension, those individuals and organisations that abet it."
"So,
why the Radiant Path and why the pretext of this Shattered Temple
business?" Isolde inquired, thoroughly confused.
"Isolde,
you misunderstand me. I do not seek culpability in and of itself. As far as I a
concerned, all of these organisations are equally low and worthless. Their love
of their own, risible doctrines repels me in the extreme. No, I need something.
A reason to exist after abandoning my natural, essential vocation as a
corrupter of mortals. Their demise, like the demise of any other organisation
whose doctrine I find repugnant and whose influence I find subversive, is a
benefit to Sigil and, most importantly, my dear Isolde, to me."
"But
sir, I don't think we should necessarily undermine the Order in and of..."
"Isolde,
I fear it is too late. You raised this issue for, as I have deduced long ago,
your own personal reasons. Unfortunately, such is the way of the Multiverse,
that once plans are passed on to a higher power, the supplicant has no further
control over them. You began the game, my dear Isolde, but you shall play by my
rules for my amusement."
Isolde
tensed only slightly. She could live with that. It had not been her intention
to implicate all of the Radiant Path, her issues lay with Virginia and Virginia
alone. Nevertheless, there would be no harm in indulging Dassau. After all,
although she bore the Radiant Path no particular ill will, she also had no
especial sympathy for it. Now that she thought of it, she found herself not
having any sympathy for anything. With the possible exception of her
'acquaintance', Lirai, but that was a matter of mutual benefit rather than any
active, heartfelt sentiment.
"Is
there anything further, sir?"
"Yes,
as a matter of fact, there is. I have recently read through a rather
interesting commentary on the doctrine and history of the Radiant Path. It
appears that their methods of recruitment, training and operation are not at
all dissimilar to those of other militant orders which, broadly speaking, share
moral-ethical outlooks associated with the Plane of Arborea. However, in the
appendix, I was fascinated to find a reference to a disquisition on the
recruitment aspect which, it is claimed, is striking in identifying and
cultivating merit over selection by ancestry, as has been the case in quite a
number of chivalrous orders. Of course, I dispute this comment in and of
itself, as egalitarian orders have existed and are indeed widespread, though not
necessarily in this writer's homeworld..."
"Sir,
if you don't mind..." Isolde ventured.
"Ah,
yes, the point. Well, the point is that which will kill the noble art of
conversation. My point is, as my previous professional experience has taught
me, to work through the context of your target and not against it. There is so
much to be found in reflecting on what sentients want, need and desire."
"Worthy
advice, sir."
Isolde
knew that Dassau knew. His remark about selection, recruitment and the
constitution of the Radiant Path's membership had been a subtle comment. He had
known all along and Isolde suspected that there was very little, if not nothing
at all, the arcanoloth did not know about her personal life, her history
or her mind. The 'reformed' demon's efficiency in performing a demonic job made
her wonder why he had resigned his commission, as it were, in the first place.
************
In
Sigil, it is said that there are some basic laws to the vast, quasi-infinity of
the Multiverse. Some claim there is the so-called "Rule of the
Threes", that is, all major functions and agents in the Multiverse
entertained triadic relationships: chaos, order, neutrality; body, mind, soul
and so forth. Other claimed there was a grand scheme of causality; that
everything from the Abyss to the Seven Heavens was connected with even the
slightest event in the first generating unforeseen consequences in the other.
Ithunn, however, could only conclude that the infamous and culturally
ubiquitous rule that if something could go wrong, it would, was the true root
of all the Multiverse's workings.
The
novice had complied with Inge's over-enthusiastic request and graciously
brought her flowers, escorted her from her lessons and taken her for a
recreational walk through the Temple complex. Inge had been lively and
enthusiastic throughout, clinging onto Ithunn's arm and chattering amiably
about nothing in particular. For her part, Ithunn had taken it all in good
grace; she actually enjoyed spending time with Inge, though the circumstances -
with the trainee priestess occasionally looking up at the taller girl,
expecting a kiss or some other gesture of affection - were compromising, to say
the least. Inge's wide, grey eyes, already seemingly perennially pensive,
almost sad, were positively heart-rending when she felt starved of romantic
attention and Ithunn, cursing the ease with which her emotions could be
manipulated, complied almost spontaneously with little caresses, and soft,
placatory kisses.
That
had been bad enough. Ithunn felt that every novice she knew had passed them by,
no doubt exchanging knowing smirks as soon they were beyond visual range. But
now, none other than Syf, the sun around which all of Ithunn's desire
helplessly rotated, strode down the main courtyard in front of the great Temple
gates. Ithunn felt her heart sink. There was a selfish part in her that wanted
to thrust Inge to one side and take refuge somewhere far away so that Syf would
never think that she had even contemplated the idea of replacing her idol. Of
course, that was a non-option. There was, in Ithunn's more sensitive and moral
mind - that which was almost always dominant - no reason for which Inge should
suffer for the preferences and choices of others.
"That
was a good practice session, today Ithunn." Syf commented as she crossed
Ithunn and Inge's path, "You were much more focused on your swordplay. If
you keep that up, you will almost certainly be one of the best this Order has
seen."
"Many
thanks, Syf, I am always honoured to be complimented by you." Ithunn said
hastily. Under normal circumstances she would have basked in the glow of the
paladin's praise. Now was not, however, the time to allow Syf to reflect too
much on the circumstances.
"Oh,
and who is this with you?" Syf inquired with playful curiosity,
"Aren't you going to introduce us?"
"This..."
Ithunn began heavily.
"Ingeborg,
Sister," Inge interjected enthusiastically, eager to show herself off to
Syf, "though I prefer Inge."
"Yes,
I remember...you're in the Temple's seminary, it is a pleasure to meet a future
custodian of our faith." The irony, Syf reflected, was that although many
novices training to be paladins thought the path of the priesthood to be boring
and study-intensive, it was the priestesses who were the ultimate guardians of
the secrets of the Radiant Path and who, by extension, were responsible for
administering it.
"We
were just taking the opportunity to enjoy a walk together." Inge crowed,
much to Ithunn's dismay. The novice would have objected, if she could find the
words in the nervous, convoluted sea which was her mind.
"I'm
happy for you Ithunn," Syf commented approvingly, relieved that the novice
had found someone else upon which to lavish her attention, "you make a
beautiful couple and I wish you a long and joyful time together."
Ithunn
cringed inwardly, Syf had used the formal blessing of well-wishers to a bonded
couple. Although Syf's smile was radiant in the novice's eyes, she could help
but feel something sinking in the pit of her stomach. Now she would be nothing
more than a student to Syf, a friend too, perhaps, but nothing more. But it was
the opposite that she had wanted. She loved Inge as a friend, a confidante and
even found the trainee priestess very pretty in an endearing, cute sort of way.
There was, however, no way she could fill the void that Syf would leave.
"Many
thanks, sister." Inge answered in Ithunn's stead, "Convey my
greetings to Friyya. I too wish you much happiness."
There
was a part of Ithunn that wanted to erupt, to seize and shake the delicate Inge
demanding to know when, exactly, did a little clumsy fumbling under the sheets
- so common amongst novices - constitute the official beginning of a bonded
relationship. Granted she had always been a close friend of Inge's and granted
they had, out of loneliness one night, exchanged their first kiss, but this was
taking the issue further than Ithunn could have imagined.
"Well,
I'll see you tomorrow on the training court, then. Have a nice evening."
Syf said as continued on her way.
"You...too,
Syf." Ithunn mouthed dejectedly. Inge huddled closer, her head leaning on
the novice's elegant, statuesque breasts, her shoulder-length sky-azure hair
draped over Ithunn's pristine white tunic. The trainee priestess realised that
there were no further obstacles in her goal to find her other, cosmic half. Syf
had given them their blessing and that, she thought, would close the case once
and for all.
"If
you like," Inge began, her voice typically soft and innocent, "we can
take a walk in the garden later this evening, sometimes there is so little
privacy in the dormitory..."
Ithunn
burned with hot frustration inside. Frustration at Syf for being so superficial
that she failed to realise how contrived the situation had been, frustration at
Inge who appeared to believe that all her adolescent fantasies had come true,
and frustration at herself for being totally unable to address either issue. In
short, a romantic escapade with Inge in the shade of the garden was the last
thing on her mind, "Maybe not this evening, today's training was a little
hard on me, perhaps I should rest."
"Oh,
I know Syf drives you hard, but I can at least try to make you feel
better." Inge suggested, an edge of sensuality creeping into her voice. As
expected, it was not that hint of desire which changed Ithunn's mind, but
Inge's wide-eyed, expectant gaze and her eager, innocent smile. Against those
weapons, Ithunn knew no countermeasures.
*****************
The
Great Bazaar was abuzz; both figuratively and literally for there was a
pronounced insectoid presence that day. Great mantis-like thri-kreen exchanging
sculptures of their crystallised saliva for Sigil currency, vaguely humanoid
ant-like formians protecting the precious egg sac of a bloated queen as
they made their way down the Bazaar's main promenade. All around goods and
services of every description were on sale; from magical trinkets in dusty
shops run by blue-skinned mercane, to - more human - hawkers from at
least two dozen Prime worlds selling the most prized produce of their region.
That of course, was the upmarket section of the Bazaar.
Lower
down the main promenade, closer to the Hive, Virginia's squad made its way
through ever tightening, labyrinthine mazes. With each step the buildings
became more decrepit, the wares on sale more bizarre, unsettling and downright
vile, the denizens ever shiftier and less readily identifiable. The trail of a
group of slavers was still hot; one of the Order of the Radiant Path's contacts
had been notified that some illegal transits in 'live material' had taken place
at a planar portal near the Bazaar and Syf was certain that she had caught
glimpse of what appeared to be a couple of lookouts who had, upon detecting the
presence of four paladins of the Vigilant Maiden, quickly turned to inform
their superiors.
It
was difficult to coordinate in the din of the marketplace, though Syf and
Virginia remained ever focused, peering into the crowd, squinting through
reeking smoke and low-hanging fabrics. Friyya followed behind, a little
disorientated though she was getting used to work in the less reputable parts
of Sigil, with an outwardly relaxed but ever vigilant Marséna at her side. The
Mareterran paladin operated more by intuition than by concentration, paying
only cursory attention to the art of detection and listening primarily to what
her senses told her.
"On
the left, in the side alley." Syf suggested. She had definitely detected
the movement of some beings in dark robes in the corner of her vision.
"I'll
go with Virg, take Friyya and continue down the main street. Weave left at the
next side alley and cover us." Marséna replied, her hand firmly on the
pommel of her longsword.
"Agreed."
Syf nodded, as Virginia and Friyya also made signs of agreement.
"Right,
Virg, you take point." Marséna instructed. In the open, Virginia preferred
to use a footman's lance; it gave her better reach in long, dark alleyways and
allowed her to keep opponents at a safe distance.
The
blonde paladin nodded in acknowledgement and moved forward, easing her way
through the crowd into the relative calm of the side alley. Dilapidated wood
and stone peered down on them ominously and a few equally decrepit merchants,
flogging their unsavoury wares, looked on in apprehension. The presence of
self-professed defenders of good were never welcome in those parts of Sigil
where the light could barely peer through the sunken, stooping gables of the
buildings.
"See
anything?" Marséna inquired anxiously, drawing her sword in a single,
clean motion.
"I'm
certain I saw movement, we can keep moving to the base of the alley and hope
Friyya and Syf can flank anything that's down there." Virginia noted
tensely. She readied the gleaming head of her lance so that it was
perpendicular to her body, a good two three feet in front of her. In close
quarters, she always kept her longsword in reserve, though it was always better
to press the advantage against foes with less formal weapons training, just so
they did not capitalise on the cramped environment around them for strategic
positioning.
"There!"
Marséna cried as something scampered in the shadows between two makeshift
stalls on the roadside.
Virginia
dashed forward, overturning a stall carrying bright red exotic fruit just as
she detected the figure move into the narrow entrance of a building. She
pursued, Marséna behind her, the emerging sense of tension becoming a deep,
methodical pulsation in her chest. Each breath, each movement began to fall in
synchronism with her thought and heartbeat, so she knew exactly when the
dark-robed figure would lunge forward with his cruelly curved shortsword - no
doubt coated with poison. It was easy enough for Virginia to sidestep, but it
was with the counterattack that she came into her own, exploiting the momentum
of her evasive movement to thrust back into the darkness of the hallway and
catch the figure at the juncture between the shoulder and chest. The blonde
paladin could not see the result of her strike, but could hear the blood
trickle wetly on the creaking, wooden floor and the figure slump forwards to
impale itself further on the shaft of the lance.
"One
down." Marséna commented straining her eyes in the darkness, she knew he
was dead because she could hear no breathing but her own and the familiar sound
of Virginia's.
"Was
there another?"
"Yes,
he must be further down the alley, I'm certain of it."
They
continued their descent into the bowels of where the Bazaar met the Hive. Now
the smoke had become thicker and more noxious as they approached the tanneries
and the charcoal-burners.
"Goddess,
the air is heavy!" Virginia complained. Though it was not in her character
to complain about the circumstances of her work, the odour was truly
intolerable.
"You're
such a city girl." Marséna chided playfully, hoping at least to defuse
some of the tension.
"This
is the city. In any case, I hope you don't actually find this smell
pleasant."
"No,
but you get used to it."
"Hey,
Marséna, over there, by the fortune teller's stand." Virginia warned as
the pair rushed down further into the depths of the alleyway, so much, indeed,
that they ploughed through low-hanging curtains and fabric to scramble in the
penumbra, hoping to find their quarry.
"Damn,
it's dark." Marséna commented ruefully as she cut through a low-hanging
clothesline. That did not improve her visibility, for the wreckage of ancient
buildings stood between her and the sky. Nevertheless, she sensed movement in
her proximity. Her sword at the ready she lunged forwards into the furthest
recesses of the alley, sensing the heavy breathing of another being. Now,
Marséna knew she was at a disadvantage. She could not see in the dark, whereas
many of Sigil's denizens, their nature heavily influenced by the energies of
the Lower Planes, could. But, she knew she could rely on her perception and
reflexes. It was dark, between buildings and in the cool, dank, shady air where
open sewers ran together with the outflow of butcher shops and tanneries. The
smell was overwhelming, but Marséna knew better than to the let that affect
her.
The
raven-haired paladin paused a moment to gain her bearings, before deciding that
she was not going to panic and call out to Virginia. That would merely betray
her position. She had to remain calm, composed and on guard. So when she heard the
slightest hint of breath, she knew where to move, back up and counterattack. By
the time her longsword had caught another blade, she knew that the playing
field had levelled somewhat. In the darkness, she could not see him, but she
could estimate the slaver's distance. He was almost certainly to her right and,
as Marséna rightly predicted, he could at least faintly see her because he
thrust his weapon in exactly the right place, slicing under her guard and
against her thigh.
Although
the pain was sharp, Marséna knew she could tolerate it. For a glancing blow,
the slaver had traded knowledge of his position, so the Mareterran girl knew
her current placement put her in threat range. Steadying her longsword as she
had done many times before in practice, she estimated his size, his position
and his guard, before slicing her weapon back into the darkness and sensing,
with a sigh of satisfaction, the steel finding purchase in flesh. It was almost
certainly the slaver's arm, for she heard metal drop against the cobblestones
of the alleyway and a low groan. That was her signal to bring in the finishing
blow, which she did with a wide, arching slash into the slaver's neck. Once
again, there was a dense thud as the metal of her blade sliced into fabric,
skin, flesh and bone. Marséna knew the iron smell that followed. It did not
trouble her in the least. It was the same smell she noted whenever she had cut
the throat of lambs at slaughter time in her village or cut a goose's head
clean from its neck on feast days. Nothing to be worried about, just flesh and
blood like any other animal.
"Virg,
this one's down too." Marséna called proudly. There was no reply.
"Virg?"
********************
Virginia
looked around herself, the gleaming bloodstained lance firmly in hand. It was
dark but for a lambent, green-blue glow emanating from a single sphere in the
middle of the chamber. What chamber? This Virginia did not know, though she
steeled herself against any potential threat. It was long, rectangular, and
dark except for a sphere floating as if hanging in nothingness. A sphere so
perfect, so hypnotic that the blonde paladin thought it some device of the
afterlife. Perhaps she had been backstabbed, or shot with a crossbow and now,
dead, was forced to confront the judge of all eternity.
She
took a deep breath, felt the cool room around her, the faint smell of incense
and burning lamp oil. Just moments ago she had been with Marséna, now she was
alone, covered in cold sweat, dimly illuminated only by a low, haunting light.
"Fear
not." A low, feminine voice called from the darkness and Virginia turned,
startled, to see a green-skinned humanoid woman with a perfectly hairless head
look up at her with milky, sightless eyes.
"What?"
Virginia gasped, more afraid than she would ever have admitted.
"Fear
not, you are not dead...or at least, not quite yet." The woman commented,
sitting on an invisible stool near the glowing, pulsating sphere. She was slender,
with long, black nails, fang-like teeth, and a strangely reassuring voice.
"I
was out..."
"Not
anymore."
Virginia
then realised that she must have stepped sideways. Sideways into another
pocket dimension, like the innumerable little hiding holes in space and time
which dotted Sigil. This must be a demiplane, the abode of a strange, yet
powerful being whose very whim had brought Virginia through the fabric of
existence and time into another world.
"Why
did you bring me here?" The blonde paladin asked with trepidation. There
was little she could do against such a being, even with her weapons and her
knowledge of the arcane, some beings were simply too powerful to even
countenance a confrontation with.
"Listen
to me," the green skinned woman began as she stroked the green sphere, its
vibrations apparently sending her into some sort of trance, filling her mind
with insight which Virginia could not even imagine, "because there is
nothing that happens in this Multiverse without a reason, nothing."
Virginia
nodded and observed carefully. Her throat dry and her mind so achingly confused
that she wished she could be with one of her comrades, any one, just to have
the security of one of them supporting her in this strangest of places.
"There
shall come a time in which you shall have to choose which path is yours. And
no, young paladin, this is not the empty platitude of a fortune-teller, but the
words of a prophet. I know that now there are two in your heart, but that one
can only be loved more than the other, because that one is bound to you. She
was bound to you before you were born, so will she be bound to you in
death." The green skinned woman said this with almost ecstatic abandon, as
if she were drawing upon an otherwise hidden source of energy deep within the
glowing sphere.
"I...don't
quite know..." Virginia began, already realising the fortune teller knew
what she claimed to know.
"I
see you, I see you by the seaside in a great ocean of golden corn under a blue
sky and a burning sun." The voice replied, as if ignoring each and every
one of Virginia's comments.
"What?
Please, tell me, I don't understand."
"I
see you, under silver-green trees, where it is warm and the air is filled with
the light, salty spray of the sea. Go to it, for it calls like nothing
else."
"But
why did you bring me here to tell me...this?" Virginia asked, her
disorientation all too evident.
"Because
there are things that are known to the Multiverse and the Multiverse alone.
These are not things that mere mortal discover, they stumble upon them like a
blind woman searching for gems amidst a sea of pebbles. The Multiverse has its
reasons and I follow them and them alone."
"So
what am I to do?" Virginia asked plaintively. Though her fear was strong,
her curiosity and resolve to know were stronger still.
"Go
to the sea and see its white-blue spray crash against rocks. Go under the sun
and see its rays crash against the silver-green leaves and off the golden ears
of ripe corn. So go now, for this is not what I say, but what is."
"Madam,
please tell me..." Virginia began, before realising that she was, once
again, in the middle of the darkened street, with no sound around her but the
movements in the distance and soft breathing.
**************************
"Virg?"
Marséna called desperately into the darkness, groping blindly. She could not
even imagine it, though the thought had crept into the back of her mind.
"Marséna?"
Virginia answered, before feeling a tight, hard, hungry grip around her waist
as Marséna collapsed into her arms.
"Virg...my
treasure...child...kitten, never do that again...fuck, Virg, never
again." Marséna sobbed, almost hysterically into Virginia's arms. The
blonde paladin could feel her friend's hot, desperate tears on her neck.
"I...don't
understand." Virginia said, perplexed, as she held Marséna close to her in
the near pitch-blackness of the street, cradling the raven-haired paladin in
her arms.
"I
thought I'd lost you, then I saw you...saw you, but you seemed...different,
like I never want to see you again."
"Never
mind, never mind," Virginia said soothingly. Marséna was not the
unprofessional type, so whatever she had seen, it had been a powerful vision
indeed, something which had stripped the paladin's usual sangfroid from
her, "come on, I'm here now, pull yourself together. You don't want Friyya
to see you like this, do you?" Virginia reprimanded, half jokingly.
"I
saw, it Virg, I saw it: it was like red on black." Marséna said
enigmatically as she buried her face against Virginia's breastplate, drawing in
the aroma of her friend's body, the cool steeliness of her armour, the
sweetness of the leather beneath.
"Hush,
come on now, this isn't the time."
Marséna
snuggled closer against Virginia, seeking comfort in the familiar warmth, the
heartbeat, the soft, fragrant smell of the blonde paladin's skin.
"Hey,
come on Marséna, Syf and Friyya will be here soon...come on, we can talk about
this later."
"I
need you, Virg, I know this because I felt it like never before a few moments
ago. I need you."
"Me
too, but there's something else I must ask you."
"What?"
Marséna inquired, recovering from her outburst and settling by Virginia's side.
"Soon
we'll have two days' leave. I think I would like it if you took me to
Mareterra...you know, perhaps to visit."
"I
haven't been back in so long." Marséna sniffed, composing herself a
little.
"I
know, and I would love to go back with you. Just the two of us."
"What
about Lily?"
"Can
you get Shesayne to look after her?"
"Yeah,"
Marséna said, allowing herself a smile as she quickly ran her
leather-gauntleted hands over her cheeks, "I can do that. I'd really like
to show you my home and my village, so I suppose, there would be nothing better
than you coming with me."
"Great,
so it's a deal. But pull yourself together now, Marséna, we're still on
duty."
"Understood."
The Mareterran girl said, resuming her combat-ready guard stance.
"You
always were a cry-baby, you know." Virginia joked, patting Marséna on the
shoulder.
"Yes,
and you an icy-hearted Ortho bitch." Marséna growled playfully. She knew,
without hearing it, that Virginia was laughing silently to herself.
***********************
"Is
everything to your liking, Min?" Cirily inquired, sensing the tiefling's
discomfort. Like Elyszara, Cirily liked to entertain - especially interesting,
well-educated guests like Aerylle who always brought something new and
fascinating to the conversation. That day, just a few tolls of the Bell Tower
before the time Elyszara - reluctantly it had to be said - had agreed upon as
suitable to visit the Order of the Radiant Path in order to offer her heartfelt
apologies to the paladin Friyya, the two aasimar had decided to receive a
representative of one of the foremost recipients of their family's grants. In
her capacity as Assistant Librarian at the Library of Sensation, Aerylle was
charming in a way Cirily envied. Her newfound tiefling lover, on the other
hand, clearly felt out of place.
"Yeah...really,
it's great." Min said, sounding unconvinced. She did not like the taste of
herbal tea - too abundantly sugared and her palate responded poorly to sweet
things - and the flower-petal preserve tartlets were even worse. How anyone
could consume anything so cloying beggared belief.
"Oh,
excuse her," Aerylle interjected gracefully, leaning forward slightly in
her armchair, "she takes lunch late at work, so I suspect she may not be
very hungry." They were in the comfortable drawing room adjacent to the
great rectangular dining room of Elyszara's Sigil apartment. The airiness and
light of the room, in and of themselves, put Min in an unfamiliar environment.
"Please,
don't trouble yourself," Cirily reassured with great hospitality,
"you do us honour with your presence."
Elyszara
reclined comfortably on a red-padded divan, dressed in a functional set of
black, skin-tight leggings and a dark bustier made to simulate the effect of a
breastplate. Her definition of entertaining guests was somewhat different to
Cirily's; it was less an occasion to serve and converse and more an opportunity
to amuse herself, "So, what has been your most fascinating record to date
in the Library?" She inquired, stretching slightly on the divan, eying Min
curiously. She had seen the tiefling at that disastrous party a few nights ago,
but had not been given the chance to scrutinise her properly. Now, on further
examination, Min was certainly a fine specimen; like Syf, she had power,
dynamism and menace beneath a graceful exterior.
"Definitely
recorded testimonials from the Pillar of Skulls in the Nine Hells; some are
decidedly harrowing, but we have patrons who seek precisely that sort of
emotionally challenging experience." Aerylle said, taking a sip from her
crystal cup.
"How
awful." Cirily commented - it was always good to let a guest know that
they were being listened to.
"I'm
sure it is, but this Multiverse is full of dangerous, disturbing things,
wouldn't you agree, Min?" Elyszara inquired playfully, still taking her
time to measure the tiefling up. She brushed back some strands of corvine hair
streaked with silver and deepest blue from her delicate, elfin face.
"Sure."
Min replied curtly. She felt awkward sitting the in the chair and even more
awkward being put under the spotlight. What she really needed was a drink;
something, anything, to loosen her up.
"Come
on, you look like a woman of experience, you must have seen you share of
harrowing spectacles."
"I...guess."
Min was beginning to question the insistence with which Aerylle had encouraged
her to attend this social event. It was certainly not Min's sort of thing, nor
was it something she took particularly well to. Simply put, the tiefling had no
answer to Elyszara's question not so much because she did not know of a strand
of conversation, but because she felt ill at ease, certainly not disinhibited
enough to speak freely. Though she had always navigated the difficult social
environments of the Hive with great ease, Shesayne had always been the truly
social one out of the two. Min preferred a more enigmatic and restrained
approach.
"Well,
one easy way to find out." Elyszara continued provocatively, seizing upon
a bright pink tartlet and consuming it in one bite.
"So
what's that?" Min replied, somewhat irritated at Elyszara's insistence.
Aerylle gave her a disapproving, sideways glance: she had asked the tiefling to
hold back her sharp tongue and sharper temper.
"How
are you with daggers?"
"Throwing,
curved or punching?" Min replied instinctively, bemused at Elyszara's
question. She had not gathered from her surroundings that her host would have
any interest in weaponry, least of all the sort of arms used in darkened alleys
or under the cover of shadows.
"Any
and all, I suppose." Elyszara led on, pleased that she had caught the
tiefling's attention.
"I
can hold my own."
"Show
me." Elyszara challenged, rising to her feet.
"What?
Here?" Min inwardly thought the aasimar was joking; there was no way
Elyszara could seriously intend to match her speed or reflexes.
"Yes
and don't you think it will be a walkover." Elyszara said with defiant
playfulness as she opened two ornate, wooden boxes to reveal two identical sets
of magnificently forged, silvery daggers, wrought so that their blades almost
resembled a dragon's fang with intricate, calligraphic carvings on the flat on
the blades.
"Lys,
please, not with our guests." Cirily reprimanded, rising to her feet.
"Nonsense,
I'm a big girl, I can handle any challenge." Elyszara replied
dismissively.
"That
is exactly the problem, Lys, I think I am still waiting for you to grow up. How
is this any different from a children's game?"
"Cirily,
my love, aren't you flattered that I am willing to go to such lengths to win
your favour?" Elyszara said with mock panache as she handed the stunned
Min a box and offered instructions on how the bout was to take place,
"We'll do it on the table, so it will also be a matter of balance. First
one to position an undisputed critical strike wins. How's that sound to
you?"
"I..."
Min began. Aerylle was already glowering at her, but there was very little she
could do now that her abilities had been called to the test. She certainly had
no intention of being caught off guard by this libertine socialite, "I
agree. So let's see this table."
"Min!"
Aerylle said menacingly between gritted teeth.
"Her
idea." The tiefling replied airily, following Elyszara into the dining
room. This would be interesting, the tiefling thought: the daggers were of fine
craftsmanship indeed, well balanced, the edges clearly sharp and intricacy of
their workmanship did nothing to reduce their obvious functionality as weapons.
"Really,
Lys, I just had the table waxed." Cirily complained as her lover leaped on
to one side with Min on the opposite end, perhaps twelve feet away.
"Oh,
just cast another cantrip and stop playing the suffering
housewife." Elyszara snapped.
Cirily
pouted and looked away to one side. Aerylle stood close by, dumbfounded at the
spectacle which was about to unfold. Sometimes she really failed to understand
Min's reasons. Did she think to impress her?
"Right,
on my signal then." Elyszara announced, sinking into a classical
two-handed style position, her guard high, legs placed one in front of the
other.
"Ready."
Min replied. The tiefling preferred a more free flowing pose, her guard running
the diagonal between her chest and lower thigh with her legs positioned further
apart. This allowed her to exploit the momentum of each movement and turn
parrying or positioning manoeuvres into potential energy for counterattacks. It
was not something she had learned formally so much as deduced over time. There
was, Min reflected, nothing quite like the school of hard knocks.
"You
think this impresses me, Lys?" Cirily called as she saw her lover sink
into her combat ready position, "Honestly, sometimes you're worse than a
boy...'oh, Lys my heroine, I'm so wet'..." She mimicked savagely.
"Cirily!"
Aerylle scolded, almost out of force of habit.
Ignoring
Cirily completely, Elyszara gave the signal with a nod of her head and lunged
forward. Min parried her first two thrusts with ease, quickly wheeling around
the aasimar, sidestepping her, and slipping behind her back, each movement
deliberately calculated to dance around the edges of the table. Elyszara, much
to Min's surprise, had already detected that tactic and adjusted to compensate,
lashing out in a wide, open arc and forcing the tiefling to ready her daggers
to parry.
The
speed with which the aasimar had reacted was not quite what Min had been
expecting. After all, Elyszara appeared to be a good for nothing spoiled brat,
but she did have natural as well as technical talent. Min was, however, certain
that no one could match her for speed so she shifted into an attacking mode,
trying to force Elyszara off the table by sheer force. The aasimar's eye was at
least as fast as the tiefling's blade, because Elyszara anticipated the low,
cutting strikes with enviable intuition and managed to sidestep back towards
the middle of the table. Min pursued, knowing that for every dodge, Elyszara
had to adjust her movements, lose time to seek balance and position and
therefore have less space to develop a counterattacking strategy. She knew that
the best technique would be to keep the aasimar constantly moving before
hooking in an unpredictable attack which would throw her once and for all
That
was easier said than done. Elyszara managed to weave skilfully through round
after round of seemingly random high and low, undulating and jabbing attacks.
Though this promptness of reaction frustrated Min, she knew that Elyszara would
have to come up with a counterattacking strategy soon because she could not
hope to match her on physical stamina As predicted, the aasimar began to tire,
her breath shortening with each succession of parried blows, so that she
finally readied her last gambit. Feinting to the left and shifting the dagger
in her right hand for a - hopefully - unexpected downwards strike on Min's
thigh, Elyszara realised too late that she had concentrated too much on the
tiefling's weapons and not the rest of her body. Min, quite simply, kicked
Elyszara's foot from under her, sending the surprised aasimar tumbling down on
the floor.
Min
was upon her like a pouncing hunting cat, her daggers planted in the
immaculately waxed wooden floor on each side of Elyszara's shoulders,
"Nice try, my sweet girl, but it takes more than a little training."
Min admonished, smiling as she planted a kiss on the pale skin of Elyszara's
forehead. For her part, the aasimar was treated to a mesmerising view of Min's
perfectly firm, beautifully feminine rounded breasts and taut, flat belly.
"Since
you won, I think you get to steal a kiss." Elyszara said huskily, her
indigo-painted lips curling into a rich, sensual smile. It was as if she did
not care for the presence of Aerylle or Cirily in the room.
Min
was sorely tempted. Under different circumstances, Elyszara was the sort
of girl she would have spent whole days making love to, only sitting back
against the headboard of the bed to eat, drink, exchange their most passionate
fantasies before sinking onto sheets and acting them out. Most importantly,
Elyszara was probably the playful type who entered into a tryst only for what
it was worth and not what it had been forced to signify. Nevertheless, she felt
strangely constrained with Aerylle now peering down on them with curious, if
slightly disapproving, concern.
"Maybe
another time." Min concluded with another one of her ambiguous, enigmatic
smiles, before rising to her feet. Elyszara remained on the floor a few more
moments; her pelvis and lower back still smarted a little from the fall.
"Serves
you right." Cirily said in annoyance as Elyszara slowly, painfully picked
herself up.
"Come
on, Cirily, it was worth it: I made a friend...right?"
"You
could say that." Min said wryly, taking a long hard look at Elyszara in
order to fully appreciate the almost otherworldly grace of the aasimar's limbs,
the slender, appealing roundness of her hips and bottom.
"Your
movements are beautiful," Elyszara complimented, "you don't only
fight with skill, you fight with intelligence."
"Yeah,
I learned fast."
"In
the Hive?" Elyszara asked curiously, tilting her head to one side as
Aerylle and Cirily looked on, intrigued despite themselves. Aerylle in
particular had not heard much of Min's past aside from her dryly cynical assessments
of life in Sigil's well-worn quarters and her amorous exploits.
Min
nodded. There was no way to tell that particular story, she could only allude
to generalisations and leave her audience partially satisfied. To fully
understand as she and Shesayne did, one had to have walked the same streets and
breathed the same air.
************************
They
had drawn the red curtains again, so the tiny, cramped room was flooded in a
faint, deep crimson light which, at the very edges of the walls faded into the
darkness of the corners. Min preferred it that way; it made sleeping easier and
life more private. In that sense, they were lucky enough to have their own
room, for privacy was at a premium in the Hive.
Shesayne
was still a little under shock as she sat sullenly on the bed they shared,
staring at the featureless wall, watching red light creep across it in narrow
bands. There was no room for her to pace nervously, so Min sat listlessly by
the side of the bed, her hands clasping the old sheets. She could hear Shesayne
breathe, she could almost hear the petite half-elf think, contemplate the day,
imagine the future and despair. In that moment, though, all Min could do was
wait for Shesayne to say something; the very fact that she had to wait for her friend
to open her mouth was proof enough that nothing would be the same again.
"I
don't think I've ever had such a long, strange day." Shesayne said
quietly, without her usual exuberance. She still wore - somewhat to her
discomfort - the matching white lace skirt and corset she had used to
impersonate a respectable lady earlier that day; that was, of course, before
the incident. Unlike Min, who seemed indifferent to killing - provided,
Shesayne hoped, it was in self defence - the half elf had been profoundly
struck by what she had done. She had never thought herself capable of taking the
life of another; the inherent respect for all living things in her elven
ancestry must have had something to do with that. Now she felt neither angry,
frightened or depressed, just confused. Life itself had this fragility which
she had never even considered.
Min
sat pensively a moment before mustering an answer, "Nah, you're right,
I've thought 'bout it too. I don't think I can keep this up myself. Sodding
Hardheads at Civic Security will get us one day if something else doesn't. What
I'm thinking now is what exactly are we going to do for food and kip?"
"I
don't think my mother will have us here much longer. I think...she thinks I'm
the biggest fuckup imaginable."
"Besides
me, that is." Min said dryly.
Shesayne
allowed herself a little ironic laugh. That was more than enough to raise Min's
spirits, "D'you know, I heard that they're actually using people
with...uh, talents like ours nowadays. Dig stuff out of the ground, clear out
dead temples and the houses of fucked up old magicians who've departed to
higher planes...something like that." The tiefling tried, at least, to
float the idea.
"Yeah,
but why would they take us?" Shesayne asked sceptically reclining slightly
on the pillow she had propped up against the wall so she could turn her vivid
blue eyes to contemplate the ceiling.
"No
harm in trying." Min said as she made herself more comfortable on the bed,
leaning back against the wall at the side of the bed and taking Shesayne's
athletically slender legs in her lap, "I never thought I'd see you wear
stockings." Min teased, eager to change the subject just for a little
while, as she ran her hands curiously down the white silk fabric on the
half-elf's thigh.
"I
hate, loathe and detest the damn things, but a disguise is a disguise."
Shesayne said, relaxing under Min's touch.
"D'you
want me to make you feel better?" Min asked softly.
"Hmm...that
always sounds like a good proposition," Shesayne replied seductively as
Min pounced on top of her, tiefling's burning lips against her own almost
before she realised it, "but admit it, the thought of fucking a high-up
girl makes you all hot and wet."
"Maybe
a little," Min conceded with a barely veiled smile as she felt Shesayne's
fingers run loving down the flat, tautly muscular expanse of her belly,
"but I don't think any excite me as much you."
"You
clever little bitch," Shesayne joked, sliding her hands over the
magnificent curve of Min's bottom, "that's exactly the same line you used
to get me to let you lick me out in the store-room behind the schoolhouse."
"Well
if it ain't broke..." Min said lasciviously as she sank back hungrily onto
Shesayne's mouth, her tongue passionate and burning against the half-elf's.
"I
can't believe we stuck around that place for so long;" Shesayne said
bitterly between kisses, "six fucking semesters to learn nothing."
"Only
'cause your mother insisted." Min replied, shifting slightly to run her
tongue down the length of Shesayne's sensitive ear.
"Yeah,
and see where that got us...Min and Shesayne, ladies of breeding and
education." The half-elf said, reprising her carefully-enunciated
affectation of a bourgeois accent.
"Hey,
y'know Shesayne," Min began playfully, "it kind of turns me on when
you do that..."
"Oh
all's good and well, 'cause I know just the thing then." Shesayne said
quickly, pressing an finger against Min's lips, "You stay here." The
half-elf said as she slid out from under Min and rose to her feet.
Shesayne
moved to the centre of the room, directly in front of Min and struck a pose of
bemused perplexity, "Oh my oh my, I think I was supposed to take the road
to the left, what ever shall I do now?" She said resuming her affected
propriety.
Min
giggled knowingly; Shesayne was certainly never boring. Springing to her feet,
Min moved up behind Shesayne who pretended to ignore her, "Couldn't help
but overhear your distress miss," the tiefling started, her tone low and
sultry as she whispered into the black-haired half-elf's ear, "could be
that you need a tout, someone to guide you 'round."
"Oh,
Madam, you frightened me, why your help would be most appreciated."
Shesayne's white corset, Min noted, was extremely flattering to the half-elf
round breasts which, in reality, where more than adequate in size for her small
frame.
"'Course,
miss, my services come at a price." Min continued, sliding a hand against
the swell of Shesayne's skirt.
"Oh,
well, money is no object, you know." Shesayne replied haughtily. Min had
to agree that it had been an inspired idea to have Shesayne act as the public
front of their thieving activities: the girl was a natural actress, who could
easily slide into a variety of roles.
"Honestly,
miss, I wasn't thinking of jink..." The tiefling's hand slipped up Shesayne's
thigh, fingertips gliding over the silk and under the skirt, up to the juncture
between the thighs. Silk undergarments too, Min noted - Shesayne had the act
down to a tee; with, of course, the involuntary contribution of the tailor's
shop.
"Oh
really, how crude!" Shesayne protested; her theatrics were in order, but
Min was happy to smile conspiratorially to herself when she sensed the dampness
in her friend's undergarment.
"C'mon,
miss, it's only a small price to pay." Min's lips were kissing the breath
out of Shesayne's as the hand up the half-elf's skirt pressed firmly against
the moistened sex through the delectable sensation of the damp silk.
"As
you wish...I yield." Shesayne said breathlessly, heat stirring in her
loins and between her temples. Min's hands were expert, agile fingers undoing
the corset in firm, careful tugs, each successive round of laces coming undone
to finally allow Shesayne's marvellous breasts, slightly tan like the rest of
the half-elf's smooth skin, to spring forth. Her dark pink nipples, like ripe
raspberries for the plucking, were achingly hard, so sensitive to the agonising
brushing of the lacy garment against them as it came undone.
Min
remained behind Shesayne, her hand still searching teasingly against the fabric
of the half-elf's undergarments. Shesayne squirmed in the tiefling's arms,
feeling the building tension swamp the wet juncture between her thighs, each
movement complicated by the sliding of silk against hot, wanton flesh. Min
gently cast the corset aside and began kissing down the curve of Shesayne's
neck, her deep-red fingernails brushing with sharp little touches across the
half-elf's skin which had seemingly become hyper-sensitive with desire.
Trailing her tongue down lower, Min adjusted herself so she could crouch in
front of her lover, just low enough take an enticing nipple between her lips,
her tongue lapping hungrily against the engorged bud.
The
raven-haired half-elf moaned, softly, leaning back against the wall of the
cramped room, surrendering herself to Min's familiar touch. Min kissed lower
down, brushing her lips against the rounded swell of Shesayne's breasts, before
running a trail of hot, wet kisses down the girl's taut abdomen until she
reached the frilly, lacy waist of the skirt. Hooking her dextrous hands under
the folds of the garment, Min seized the edges of Shesayne's slip and began to
pull it down at an agonisingly slow pace.
"Oh,
Madam, I think it would be indecent in public like this." Shesayne
protested breathlessly, still immersed in her role.
"Don't
worry miss, I don't think you'd want to leave it on...y'know, soaked as it is
it mightn't be too comfortable." Shesayne gritted her teeth as Min pulled
the sodden undergarment down to her ankles so she could step out of it. The
half-elf's heart hammered in her chest, the dense, sultry eroticism of Min's
movements, gestures and voice was like a sensory assault on her. Min lunged
under the skirt, her lush, deep-red lips now pressed against Shesayne's
blooming, pink sex, the tiefling's mouth worked with passionate abandon,
eagerly lapping at the lust-swollen folds, happily collecting the salty-sweet
moisture therein.
Shesayne
leaned back and spread her thighs further to give Min the fullest access
possible. The tiefling kept her pressed against the wall, hands raised to
stroke Shesayne's lean flanks and firm, buoyant breasts, her tongue busy at
work coaxing the silky folds of the half-elf's sex open. Shesayne's sharp,
high-pitched little cries began to fill the air as Min's hungry, passionate
lapping increased in tempo and precision, closing in ever more on the swollen
little bud between the hairless lips of her sex. Min knew of no greater
pleasure than plunging into the delicately aromatic depths of Shesayne's sex,
to nestle her head in the firm, welcoming nook between her lover's thighs; the
girl was a beautiful synthesis of the two strands of her ancestry. Delicate,
soft and floral like an elf, but with the wiry yet feminine athleticism Min
more often found in humans.
Clasping
Min's soft, ember-red strands of her in her fingers, Shesayne drew her lover in
closer, beginning to thrust her pelvis with burning, passionate determination
against the tiefling's invading tongue. She could feel Min deep within her core
now, lapping at her innermost folds, lips locked, as if in a passionate kiss,
with the folds of her sex. It was almost as if she could sense the tiefling's
smouldering eyes, bright like two coals, scrutinising the wet feast before them
in the dark, silken recesses of her skirt. Min knew exactly how to tease; how
to scrape her fingernail deliciously under the tip of Shesayne's nipple,
drawing out a renewed yelp of pleasure and surprise or how use the very tip of
her tongue navigate the innermost folds of the half-elf's sex and to graze,
ever so gently, against the tiny hard bud which had long since slipped its hood
and now stood out stiff, as if begging for attention.
Min
was all to keen to take her time and lavish her petite lover with all the
attention she deserved as she slowly built up to the final push that would send
Shesayne spiralling into her abyss of pleasure. It was, of course, Min's
responsibility to remain calm and calculating, Shesayne, however, had already
lost herself in the throes of passion. All she knew was the undulating movement
of her hips, wantonly presenting her juicing sex to Min's attentions, and the
pulsations in her chest and in her loins. As she felt the electric spasms of
her climax overtake her, Shesayne realised that her mother was, in all
probability, home, but she did not care. She allowed herself each and every
sharp, passionate gasp as she felt the waves of her peak wash over her,
flooding her belly and spine with hot, tension releasing pleasure.
The
tiefling rose, quickly running a hand over her sultry lips to brush away excess
moisture, before leaning in to kiss Shesayne and appreciate the last ragged
breaths of the half-elf's orgasm, "I always leave the customer satisfied,
miss." Min commented sensually as she kissed down her half-elven lover's
neck. She wanted to be close to the girl's chest, just to feel the wild,
primordial beating of her heart.
"Yeah..."
Shesayne replied, lost in the spontaneity of what had, ironically, originally
begun as an act, "But it's my turn now. Sit back on the bed, I want to
make this extra-special for you." The half-elf ordered passionately.
Min
complied, hastily pulling off her top, boots and leggings, her eyes never once
leaving Shesayne. She usually preferred taking the lead when making love, but,
then again, living with Shesayne she had to be flexible. As the tiefling
settled back against the pillow, legs spread to reveal the crimson lips of her
sex, already permeated with the nectar of her passion, Shesayne rummaged
through a ramshackle drawer of the tiny bedside table and withdrew a dark blue
vial.
"Well,
well, it looks like sweet little Shesayne always knows what mood I'm in. So,
where are you going to go this time?" Min sighed contentedly as she spread
her thighs further, absentmindedly running a hand down the graceful swell of
her own breasts, relishing the sharp sensation of the contact between
fingernails and engorged, deep-flame red nipples.
"I
still have to decide, but since it's my choice and my turn, I think I'll just
take my time." Shesayne taunted as she poured the clear, oily contents of
the vial onto the palm of her left hand and then spread it carefully on her
right. Min could only bit her lip in anticipation, the tangy-spicy cinnamon
scent of her sex filling the air just as the reddened light passing through the
curtains appeared to emphasise the rich, red tinge of her skin.
"You
ready?" Shesayne asked softly.
"Never
been more ready in my life." Min replied with a wolfish grin as her
half-elven lover moved on top her lips locking passionately once again.
Shesayne's
lubricated right hand slid down the taller girl's belly, before gently teasing
the sparse red curls on the tiefling's sex. The half-elf's movements were slow,
sensuous and deliberate, as if she were deliberately decreasing her naturally
hyperactive rhythm of life just to savour every single moment of intimacy with
Min. Their kissing became more passionate as Min began to undulate her body
against Shesayne, feeling the delightful sensation of her nipples brushing
against the soft, yielding flesh of her lover's breasts. It was then that
Shesayne decided it was time.
The
half-elven girl slipped two fingers into the velvety, crimson folds of Min's
sex, eliciting a sharp gasp from the tiefling. Silencing Min with a passionate,
breathless kiss, Shesayne began to use her fingers to coax the canal into
relaxation, gently spreading the sodden, swollen flesh apart. Her penetration
was effortless even as she inserted a third finger. The lubricant she had
applied had been concocted to maximise the sensitivity of the skin and flesh
onto which it was applied, so it was not long before Min, despite all her
efforts at dignified restraint, surrendered to low, lusty moans. Shesayne
allowed Min to revel in her own passion, her lips now focused on the tiefling's
exposed throat.
A
fourth finger was added so that Shesayne's hand was bunched up in the steaming,
welcoming recesses of Min's sex, her thumb still idly stroking the tiefling's
inflamed clitoris. Shesayne allowed Min time to adjust and relax, her kisses
between her lover's throat and shoulder becoming almost soothing as she disengaged
her thumb from the girl's engorged little bud and gently brought it to join the
other fingers in the depths of Min's canal. The tiefling drew a sharp intake of
air as Shesayne worked herself in, worming in a half-inch at the time, pausing
to allow Min to take enjoy the full pleasure of the penetration.
The
ember-haired tiefling bucked her hips slightly, her hungry sex finally
swallowing Shesayne's slender, delicate hand to the wrist. Her pleasure was
indescribable, it exploded before her like a curtain of white, blinding light
and, as she twisted her fingers cruelly into the tiefling's sex, Shesayne knew
that Min was caught in an instant of pure, molten pleasure. For her part, Min
almost felt as though she were about to choke, each intake of air in her lungs
in no way sufficient to fuel the blazing flames of pleasure in her loins. When
the pad of Shesayne's thumb found her most sensitive spot hidden deep in her
sex and pressed, Min abandoned herself to the sharp, jarringly intense spasms
of her climax, her sex clenching savagely around the half-elven girl's hand.
"Fuck!
Shesayne..." Min gasped, her words almost inchoate as the great knot of
tension in her loins was suddenly released in a stream of ecstatic
contractions.
Shesayne
eased her hand out of Min's still contracting sex, feeling the velvety walls
close around her exiting fingers, "It didn't hurt too much, did it?"
The half-elf inquired, concerned for a moment that she may have been too
vigorous. Min's lower planar - some would insensitively say demonic - ancestry
granted her some added flexibility, but Shesayne was always careful to ensure
that particular procedure was always executed as carefully as possible.
"Nah,
it never does." Min said almost dreamily, taking Shesayne into her arms.
"Hey,
Min..."
"What?"
"Could
you help me get out of this skirt and stockings, I look fucking
ridiculous."
"Sure...sure."
The tiefling replied, smiling as broadly as she would allow herself, as she
untied the complex laces of the skirt and carefully peeled down and set aside
the silken hose.
"Careful
with those, they were sodding hard and a pain to steal."
"So
we are going back to thieving?" Min inquired, planting a long,
playful lick on Shesayne's big toe.
The
half-elf squirmed slightly at the tickling sensation, "No...I mean, I
don't know - haven't a clue. We could think about, other options...I
mean...." She paused for a moment.
"You
mean what?" Min said, leaning forward to draw Shesayne into her arms,
sensing the girl's unease.
"I
was thinking that...it's no big deal in the end, if you don't want to do it, I
can do it for the both of us...really...you wouldn't have to do anything, just
look out for me, y'know, select the..."
"I'm
sick of this discussion, Shesayne, there's no way I'd do that...I'd fucking
kill anyone who put a hand on you like that." Though she knew Shesayne to
have a strong character, there was a hint of deep vulnerability in her. Now
cradled in the tiefling's arms, she looked strangely small and wounded. That, in
itself, was enough to irritate Min - they had fought together throughout
childhood and adolescence to try to ensure that life - as they understood it -
never overwhelmed them. Sometimes life was difficult, Min reflected, but never
desperate - never that desperate.
"So
what then?" Shesayne said anxiously, drawing closer to Min for warmth.
"We
can go to this place tomorrow. Show 'em what we can do and if they tell us to
sod off, we leave - no harm done."
"Min,
we know absolutely nothing and nothing at all about magical items, spelunking
or whatever. Why in the Nine Hells would they hire us?"
"'Cause
we're cheap and eager to learn; we've got the speed and the quick thinking, I'm
sure they'll like that." Min reassured.
The
door to the bedroom suddenly sprung open, creaking at the hinges.
"Oh,
fuck, Alaia, in Sigil we knock!" Shesayne shouted, springing to a
kneeling position and seizing a pillow to cover herself. Min remained defiantly
naked, it was not the first time Shesayne's mother caught them - far from it,
it was almost as if she took pleasure in confirming her daughter's depravity.
"Is
that any way to speak to your mother?" Shesayne's mother looked tired. Min
always thought of her as rather pretty, in an aloof, elven sort of way and
Shesayne quite obviously took a lot after her, but Sigil had apparently sapped
much of her will to live, a decline which had worsened markedly over time.
"What
do you want?" Shesayne snarled. Min lay back in the bed and decided to let
them quarrel, as she always did, there had never been any point in interfering.
"I
cannot allow you to stay anymore. You are an utter disgrace and you have
brought me nothing but worries. You refuse to study, refuse to work or dedicate
yourself to a craft, refuse to find a decent elven..."
"They
don't fuck halfbreeds Alaia, get it? But you do, don't you? That's why
you're here, still all alone, you'll always be the slut who had to go fuck a
human!" Shesayne's eyes were vivid with resentful fury.
"If
you knew..." Shesayne's mother began mournfully. It truly pained her to
hear her daughter speak in such a manner, not least to her own mother.
"Yeah,
you told me a countless thousand of times, and I still don't fucking feel sorry
for you."
"Shesayne,
easy..." Min interjected, although her policy was one of non-interference,
the scene had become one of hysteria as opposed to rightful indignation.
"Look
at yourself, my daughter, a tiefling has to tell you to hold your temper. Ethai
tuun ahmeily..."
"I
don't speak Elven." Shesayne interrupted brusquely, clutching her pillow
with hot, angry violence. Min knew that to be a lie, though they seldom talked
about it. Shesayne was actually fairly proficient in the language but generally
refused to speak or give sign that she understood it.
Shesayne's
mother shook her head sadly, her cause was lost, "It pains me, my
daughter, but I would like you to leave by next daybreak. I can only hope we
meet in happier times." With that, she turned and left.
"How
much do we have in the stash?" Shesayne asked after ascertaining that her
mother had left.
"Four,
maybe five hundred."
"That
little?"
"Don't
worry, it'll last a while if we go stay at Khaida's, she'll cut us a deal on a
room."
"Right,"
Shesayne said, a little spark of her normal, determinate self resurfacing,
"so how do we get to this retrievals place?"
*******************
Elyszara
drew a deep breath as she waited outside the side chapel in the great Temple of
the Vigilant Maiden. The class of novices Friyya taught had yet to disperse and
time seemed to drag on. Upon reflection, she still had the opportunity to
leave, though Cirily would no doubt find out and come up with yet another means
of chastisement. Although it was large, sleeping on the divan for three
consecutive days could take its toll and no amount of seductive play on
Elyszara's part could make Cirily change her mind. If there was one thing the
aasimar was good at was firmness of convictions and that included punishment.
In reality, Elyszara thought, Cirily would probably make a good mother.
The
Temple was cool, its stone and marble structure conveying an elegant, but solid
beauty. Although the columns were, in Elyszara's view, a little overwrought,
the Temple itself seemed to breathe an effortless, minimalist dignity. Hearing
stirrings in the side chapel, Elyszara steeled herself, reclining on the side
wall to let the novices walk out. She could have approached this matter more
directly, but on second thought, the more responsible side of her - that side
which she had very often neglected - told her that she had caused Syf far too
much embarrassment already. It would have been inhumane to drag her for a
formal meeting - a surreptitious apology to Friyya would be all that was
required and that would be the end of the story. Or so Elyszara hoped. In
retrospect, it had probably been a bad idea to provoke anyone with good
proficiency in the longsword.
A
wave of white-clad novices passed Elyszara by, most immediately setting out
back to their daily chores, even as one remained to steal a curious glimpse at
the aasimar. Elyszara could not help but smile enigmatically in return and the
novice, a charming girl in the aasimar's eyes blushed visibly, averting her
deep, green eyes.
"Have
a good lesson?" Elyszara called, nodding her head in greeting.
"Yes,
thank you," Ithunn replied, somewhat perplexed at the strange woman,
fascinating, fae-like woman who looked like something she had seen in a
storybook, "Friyya always explains things quite clearly. She knows how to
communicate with the novices." Although it was only a minor doctrinal
lesson on the rules of propriety, Friyya's course was one of Ithunn's
favourites, certainly less dense than her other courses. Of course, this
assessment was contingent on Ithunn not thinking too hard about how Syf was,
and since the recent, infamous incident with Inge, would probably always be
Friyya's.
"Sounds
great...say, what are you doing after..." Elyszara almost had to bite her
tongue to contain herself - force of habit, "sorry, nevermind. Anyway, I
must be holding you up. So it was nice meeting you, have a nice day."
"Nice
to meet you too, my name is Ithunn and if you want, you can always find me here
or near the armoury." The novice replied as she turned to leave; good
fencers were normally quite perceptive.
"Elyszara..."
The aasimar specified almost out of instinct, she really had to begin to
control herself. But, in a sense, it had been inevitable. Ithunn had
viscerally, deep down in her subconscious, reminded her of Virginia when she
was still a novice and when they had met in Arborea. The happiness of that
moment had never quite slipped from Elyszara's mind.
"See
you then, Lady Elyszara." Ithunn called out as she made her way down the
Temple's nave. She did not quite know whether that was a promise or a
platitude.
Deciding
to sideline the matter - hopefully once and for all - Elyszara turned and
entered the side chapel. Friyya was gathering up a couple of leather-bound
books, preparing to leave.
"Uh,
milday Friyya..." Elyszara began tentatively.
"What
can I do for you?" The paladin interjected, not coldly, but simply
matter-of-factly.
"I
think I owe you an explanation. What I mean is, there is something I ought
to..."
"You
need to apologise?" Friyya again interrupted, turning to face the aasimar,
"Your lover sent you, didn't she?"
"How
do you..."
"She
is a good person, she has a conscience and cares very much for individuals
besides herself." Friyya replied tersely, standing impatiently in front of
Elyszara, her eyes, as blue as a glacial river seemed to sear into the
aasimar's.
"I
can understand your distress, milady Friyya, but if you would give me the
opportunity to speak, I would be grateful." Elyszara said apologetically.
"Go
on."
"You
and I clearly have different takes on this. But what I do know now, just as I
knew it then, was that this would probably cause you and Syf both much pain. So
I apologise both for my intemperance and my stupidity. Never for a moment did I
intend to replace you in Syf's heart, it was just a silly little dalliance. Of course...that
doesn't, uh...excuse me, but please understand that there was no malice."
Elyszara, who had never been one for lessons in humility, found herself quite
irked at her own grovelling.
"Do
you hate yourself?" Friyya asked suddenly.
"What?"
"Do
you hate yourself so much that you cannot accept that you are enough to fill
another or that another is enough to fill you? When you tell me it was but a
dalliance, you are telling me that you view yourself as incapable of making
others love you...as if your affection had no lasting effect."
"But
why would Syf take one thing to be another?" Elyszara asked, not quite
sure where Friyya intended to go with her line of argument.
"Because,
you have your good qualities as well. When you want, you can be witty, charming
and loving. And you and I both know that you are very beautiful. My point is
that you have great gifts and so this situation is a twofold shame because, as
far as I'm concerned you cheapened yourself with Syf and, by unfortunate
extension, with me."
Elyszara
looked down on the stone flagstones of the chapel dejectedly. There was so much
she would have wanted to explain to Friyya, but then there were some things she
could not even confess to Cirily, though she had suspicion that she knew
already without being told, let alone a virtual stranger,
"Sometimes," the aasimar began tentatively, trying to translate her
troubled thoughts into audible words, "I feel this emptiness in my
conscience, so sometimes my selfish, shameless side slips in and I can't control
it. It seizes control of me."
"We
all hurt." Friyya replied tersely, "But you have been fortunate all
your life, you have never wanted for anything, you have a devoted lover and,
from what I understand, a very doting mother. You, of all people, the daughter
of celestial being should know the importance of dealing fairly and ethically
with your emotions."
"Sorry."
Was all that Elyszara could conjure up. She just wanted the lecture to end, to
sink into the earth and never be seen for a thousand revolutions of Sigil's
wheel.
"You
have already apologised and I have already accepted your apology, so let us be
at peace." Friyya said calmly.
"Understood."
"Elyszara,
please, don't misunderstand me. I have no intention of lecturing you. We are
all flesh and blood and live with the consequences of our - often foolish -
choices. Now come, if you have time, I would like to offer you a cup of tea,
you are technically my guest here, after all."
"That
would be lovely." Elyszara said, perking up a little in response to
Friyya's softening approach.
As
they proceeded into the communal dining hall, Friyya decided to be civil and
put the incident behind her. So they spoke of nothing in particular - an art in
which Elyszara shone. The whole incident had, however, opened up another, more
secret and personal, debate in Friyya, something that had been haunting her for
quite some time. Every, of course, was inter-connected and no one event was
free from the distant causal effects of another. That was one of main theories
to explain the vastness and order of the Multiverse and one which still left
Friyya perplexed and fascinated. So she tried to remember that time when the
sensation had first started.
***********
"This
is awful." Friyya moaned. It was only going to be thirty days
before their Consecration ceremony and she had, of all things, been assigned
with Marséna to undertake a survival exercise on a Prime world. Friyya was
certain that the assignment of her partner had been Isobel's doing, the
Vice-Commander's sadistic streak when it came to her knew no bounds. Now she
was immersed in almost pitch blackness, under the pouring, freezing and almost
torrential rain in a world she had never seen in an area she had never even imagined
the gods and goddesses could have bothered to create.
"Stop
whining," Marséna said tensely - Friyya may have been a pain, but she did
have something of a point, "just help me with the tent." The
Mareterran girl could not help but notice that she must have gotten the worst
possible pick of a world merely because she was partnered with Friyya; Isobel
did not care who suffered alongside Friyya, as long as she suffered.
"I
can't see the blasted thing, and I can't feel my fingers." Friyya
whimpered, groping the in the near darkness, her frozen hands only illuminated
by a single, magically levitating mote of light.
"You're
useless." Marséna snapped. She was certainly not used to these
temperatures and could only wish to once again see the bright, hot sun of her
native land, but under the circumstances it was her duty - or so she understood
- to stretch her capabilities to the fullest. How they would get through the
night was another matter. Although they had been fortunate enough to find a
relatively sheltered rock outcropping in the wood into which they had been
gated via planar portal, the wind was cutting and lashed the droplets of rain
into their faces.
"I
hate you," Friyya said desperately, "you have no compassion."
Her fingers fumbled once again with the fabric of the tent, letting it slip
into the muddy ground.
"You
stupid bitch!" Marséna snarled, pushing Friyya aside. If you want
something done properly, she thought, always do it yourself.
"How
dare you address me that way, peasant, I thought you would have been at home in
the mud." Friyya sniped viciously.
Marséna
reluctantly swallowed the urge to wring Friyya's neck and ignored her. There
was no way the tent was going to find purchase in the muddy ground - it was far
too wet and the wind far too insistent. She could not even hear herself think;
all she could hear was the howling of the wind, the moaning of the trees and,
most distracting of all, Friyya's petulant whining. Marséna decided to give it
one last try by planting the central wooden support into a patch of earth she
hoped would be more resilient. It wasn't and the wet wood slipped from her
hands, sliding down to one side of the outcrop.
"I
give up." Marséna said darkly. They would simply have to sit it out; wait
till after noontide the next day and hope for a planar gate out.
"What
do you mean you give up?" Friyya shouted, almost hysterically, "Do
something!" The wind had saturated her long auburn hair and it clung to
her pale face in long, kelp-like strands.
"Why
me?" Marséna replied defiantly.
"I
don't know...you're...good with these things."
"And
what exactly, may I ask, are you good with?"
"How
did you do in your last exam?" Friyya said snidely.
"Whatever,
great...you'll make a wonderful priestess, no doubt, so why don't you stop
playing the paladin? You're not a child anymore and this isn't a game of 'let's
pretend'."
"What,
and give you the satisfaction?"
"Nevermind,"
Marséna said, keen to interrupt the bickering for a moment, "did you bring
any extra supplies, we finished the ones they gave us at lunch."
"No,
but I do have two hundred Sigil marks."
Marséna
took a long, hard stare at Friyya. It was a look of utter, dumbfounded
confusion, "What the fuck for?"
"You
should really hold your tongue, it's unbecoming of a lady, let alone a
paladin."
"No,
really, what for?" Marséna felt the rage she had repressed rising back
into her throat.
"Well,
my mother always used to say to carry some spare change around, there is no
situation you can't buy your way out of, to paraphrase one of her
lectures."
"What
do you expect us to do with that over here? Look, just wait here like a good
little girl while the adults look for something to improvise a shelter
from." Marséna had taken quite enough of Friyya's farcical behaviour. She
rose to her feet and looked around, her eyes lashed mercilessly by the flailing
droplets. She took a few steps forwards, away from the outcropping and towards
a particularly dense cluster of trees she had seen in the distance. Her tunic
and cloak were utterly soaked, but there was no point in sitting down and
resigning herself to her fate.
It
was then that she spied something in the corner of her eye.
"Friyya,
how many enchanted motes of light did we bring with us?" Marséna called
back into the night.
"One,
why?" Came the faint reply.
"Get
up here, now! Bring our packs." Marséna ordered as she began to approach
the gleam she had detected in the darkness. Friyya followed breathlessly close
behind, her footsteps heavy and sloshing in the waterlogged mud.
"What...oh....is
that...." Friyya began. It must have been a mirage.
"Yes,"
Marséna said with barely contained satisfaction, "I believe, my sweet
Friyya, that to be an inn."
They
ran towards the light in almost frantic anticipation, approaching a low, warmly
lit wooden structure placed just behind a wall of trees so that it was not
immediately visible to those off the trail.
"Do
you reckon we can pay with your money?" Marséna asked, concerned that they
may have built up their hopes only to see them frustrated.
"Well...gold
is gold, right? They can weigh it if they want."
"I
never thought you could be so useful." Marséna said with a smile she hoped
was veiled by the night.
Slowing
down to a more leisurely jog as they approached the large, simply carved wooden
entrance to the inn, Marséna and Friyya thought they had found the realm of the
Vigilant Maiden herself as they stepped inside. An enchanted fire that gave no
smoke burned in a blazing pit at the centre of a moderately busy dining room,
lighting the wooden furnishings and hunting ornaments hung on the wall with a
dim, fiery glow.
Although
neither of the two spoke any of the languages of that particular Prime world, which
its natives called Toril, Friyya's eager gesticulation pointing to her coin
purse and simulating the motion of one falling to sleep soon got them an
appropriately cosy room with a tub of steaming hot water near a pleasantly warm
fireplace.
Though
the room was spartan, it was well-maintained and beautifully appointed with
rich wooden walls and flooring and an overstuffed bed with pristine linen
sheets.
"Bed's
mine." Friyya called in a airy tone as they entered the room. She
undressed almost desperately, stripping off her wet cloak, tunic and boots and
thrusting her hands into the steaming water of the pewter tub.
"What?"
Marséna protested, all too eager to pull of her own clothes and cast them aside
with visceral relief.
"And
who, pray tell, is paying for the room?" Friyya taunted.
"You
would have me sleep on the floor, you heartless bitch?"
"The
bedrolls are still dry, our packs are waterproof if I'm not mistaken. You can
curl up next to the fire like the big, dark cat you are while your mistress
takes her well deserved rest." Friyya continued with glee as she climbed
directly into the bath. The metal tub clearly possessed some sort of minor
enchantment to keep the water warm throughout the night.
"Salopa."
Marséna growled between gritted teeth as she retrieved the bedroll from her
pack and draped a white bathing shawl around her shoulders.
"What
was that?" Friyya was, in reality, too absorbed in the comforting warmth
of the bath to care too much for whatever Marséna had said. If that was the
Mareterran's little satisfaction, so be it.
Taking
a seat on the corner of the bed - and ruefully noting its heavenly, buoyant
softness - Marséna waited for Friyya to finish bathing. It was bad enough that
she was being effectively treated as the auburn-haired novice's scullery maid,
but the indignity of having to use the same bathwater as well was almost
inconceivable.
"What
are you looking at?" Friyya inquired, cocking her head slightly to look at
Marséna. The warm glow of the fireplace was flattering on the Mareterran
novice's sun-kissed, olive skin, illuminating the wonderful curves of her full,
perfectly proportioned breasts, of flared hips that ran directly into firm,
athletic thighs.
"Don't
flatter yourself." Marséna said dismissively. Friyya, however, even in
Marséna's sceptical eyes, had good reason to flatter herself: unblemished skin
like milk, a perfect, sculptural frame complemented by the firmness granted by
the demanding physical training of a novice paladin, and auburn hair which was
like a cascade of autumn-golden apples.
"Oh,
flatter myself?" Friyya began, resuming her taunting tone as she splashed
some warm water over her perfectly rounded breasts, "You know, I saw you
that time with your hands under the sheets and between your thighs...Goddess
knows how many times you did it when I was asleep."
Marséna
hoped it was dark enough in the room that Friyya could not see her blush,
"I don't know what you're talking about." She mumbled hastily.
"You
know, sometimes it's tiring to have so many lusting after you. They fail to
appreciate my other talents."
"Like
what?" Marséna said sarcastically.
"You
know...grace, charm, intelligence, good conversation and the rest of it."
"Friyya,
I hope you realise that when people at the Order think about you, they are
normally see themselves on top of you rather than having an intellectual debate
with you."
"Some
are just weak minded." Friyya said rising from the tub, the water falling
off her pearly skin like rain. Seizing a bathing shawl by the fireplace, she
stepped out of the tub and began to dry her shoulders and hair, "You can
use the tub if you want." She added, almost as an afterthought.
Marséna
swallowed a curse so vile she surprised even herself. Muttering angrily to
herself, she tentatively knelt by the side of the bathtub and tested the water.
Friyya finished drying herself off and sat by the side of the bed, a contraband
portable mirror in hand as she began to clean her teeth with a detergent pick. She
settled for nothing less than a perfect, pearlescent smile. In the corner of
her eye, though, she spied the harmonious, feminine curves of Marséna's sublime
bottom as the Mareterran girl knelt by the tub.
"Why
are we always quarrelling, Marséna?" Friyya asked suddenly, still
concentrating on her handheld mirror.
"Good
question." Came the cool reply as Marséna finally decided to step into the
tub for at least a quick soak.
"I
mean, who started it? It seems to me that we've worked each other into a vicious
circle." Satisfied with her handiwork, Friyya put away the detergent stick
and retrieved her hairbrush.
"I
think you did when you insisted on bringing up my...emotional response to being
away from home the first few nights in the dormitory." Although Friyya had
enjoyed it first, the warm water was indisputably relaxing.
"But
that was just teasing..."
"And
when you claimed that I wet the bed."
"Yes,
alright, but each time you sent me to the infirmary during practice...and what
about the time you said that Isobel hated me because I slept with her
lover?" Friyya replied indignantly.
"Yeah,
I may have gone overboard sometimes, but you know I have something of a
temper." Marséna said, the bath was putting her in a better mood.
"But
it's not just that." Friyya said, her tone more conciliatory, "I also
think about those times you were kind to me, despite everything, so kind, in
fact, that you made me feel terrible."
"Don't
mention it."
"I
remember that time, not too long ago when my cycle hurt so much I thought it
was going to kill me. It was late at night and you must have seen that I wasn't
in my bed, so you found me doubled over in the bathing chamber. I begged you
not to tell anyone, because I hated myself then...I didn't want to appear weak,
because, you know, that's what they say behind my back - that I am weakling.
Then and there, I thought you were going to mock me, but you took me in your
arms and brought me to the kitchen and I told you we would get in trouble if
they caught us there after curfew. But you didn't care and you made me that
tisane of yours to drink...to soothe my womb." Friyya had set aside her
mirror to look Marséna straight in the eye.
"I
guess even the daughter of peasants can be of use." Marséna said with
irony, even though she was smiling.
"You
don't think this is cheating, though," Friyya said, suddenly changing the
subject, "I mean, staying at an inn when we should be engaged in a
survival exercise."
"In
my part of the Multiverse we have a saying that if the eye doesn't see, the
heart isn't troubled." Marséna preferred to leave the doctrinaire
interpretations of the Vigilant Maiden's ethos to Syf and Virginia, she was,
first and foremost, a pragmatist and Friyya...well, Friyya was just Friyya, for
better and for worse.
"If
you want, Marséna, we can share the bed, we shared a room for so long, it
really doesn't matter." Friyya conceded, almost despite herself.
"How
generous of you." Marséna said wryly.
"No,
it's a pleasure. Now come here and let me dry your hair." Friyya invited.
Somewhat
surprised at the novice's change in mood, Marséna made herself comfortable by
Friyya's side as the auburn-haired girl positioned herself behind and began
massaging the Mareterran's scalp and long, coal-black tresses with the bathing
shawl.
"You
know, Marséna," Friyya said as she admired the iodine-tan hue of her
friend's skin, "I was actually flattered, in a sense, that you thought of
me in that way...you know, that night when I saw you..."
"Yes,
yes," Marséna interjected quickly, "but most of the dormitory must
have at one stage or another."
"But
it's special that you find me beautiful. Because, and I think I'll only say
this once, I admire you...you're like Syf in so many ways." Friyya paused
briefly, setting aside the bathing shawl and placing her slender hands on
Marséna's shoulders.
"Thanks,
I don't think I could ever imagine our little foursome without you
anyway."
"Marséna,"
Friyya began softly, her heartbeat accelerating a notch, "I think I'm
about to do something I may regret..."
"Kiss
me."
"The
romantic thing, for future reference," Friyya said as Marséna tilted her
head to one side to greet the auburn-haired novice's sensual, moist lips with
her own, "is to wait for me to finish."
Friyya
kissed passionately, seeking fulfilment in the sensual, sultry warmth of
Marséna's lips. The Mareterran girl was soon upon her, thrusting Friyya down
onto the bed and renewing the kiss with burning fervour, exploring the that
mouth she had so longed to consume. Friyya's hands instinctively gripped
Marséna's bottom, slender, white fingers running down the bronzed curves,
gliding over the tight valley between the perfect, feminine buttocks.
"You
like it, don't you." Marséna teased between kisses as she ran her hands
under Friyya's breasts, feeling their firm softness before grazing the taut,
cherry-red peaks of the girl's nipples.
Friyya
moaned softly, only to be suffocated once more in the smouldering, lusty
embrace of Marséna's full lips, "You're beautiful, all of you is."
Were the only words she could let slip as her hands continued to travel aimlessly
between the taut musculature of Marséna's thighs and the delicious, inviting
swell of her bottom.
"Don't
worry, you'll get to know it much better." Marséna said huskily,
her kisses trailing down lower. The Mareterran girl ran her tongue up the
gentle curve of Friyya's breasts before taking a stiff, achingly hot nipple
between her lips and applying a lovingly gentle, sucking pressure. Friyya
squirmed, Marséna appeared to her as raw sensuality; tanned skin glowing in the
firelight, full breasts swaying with each movement, their cafe-au-lait nipples
hard and eager under her fingers. Friyya drew in her breath as Marséna moved
down, her long raven-black tresses trailing down, almost tickling the
auburn-haired girl's pale skin. By the time Marséna lay poised between her
thighs, breath hot on the dark blonde curls atop her sex, Friyya cared for
nothing but complete surrender to the expert, playful tongue she knew would
soon part the lips of her sex to find the treasures nestled within.
"Marséna..."
Friyya sighed, eyes closed, bucking her hips upwards a little to invite the
novice's attentions. There was no response. "Marséna?" Friyya looked
up to see the Mareterran girl looking down at her with deep, sad, brown eyes.
"I...simply
don't know."
"Marséna,
what's wrong? We can do it any way you like it," Friyya said, concerned
that she may have been too demanding or abrupt, "if you prefer it like
this..."
"No."
Marséna interjected, grabbing hold of Friyya's shoulder as the auburn-haired
girl tried to roll over onto her belly, "I won't be your plaything."
"Marséna,
sweetest, please, it's just a peace offering now that we have some time to
ourselves."
"You
forget Syf and Virg and so it's just as I thought, you will always think of
yourself as the axis around which the Multiverse has to spin. You think you can
have your fun far from your responsibilities, forget about it and revert
naturally back to being a bitch tomorrow morning?" Marséna said softly,
dismounting from the bed.
"Oh..."
If she had to be perfectly honest with herself, the thought had slipped from
her mind for the briefest instant. It was not that she was in love with or even
infatuated with Marséna - to be sure, she felt deep affection for her, but her
attempts at intimacy had been based on pure curiosity. Upon more rational
analysis, that was the problem.
"Nevermind,
it would be best if we went to sleep. We started something stupid and now we
should just forget about it" With that Marséna unfurled her bedroll on the
floor and slipped under its rough covers. It was, she reflected, always better
than staying outside. At least they had shelter and the fire was invitingly
warm.
"No,
it's my fault...but please, don't be silly, come to bed."
"You
wanted it, you have it." Came the cold reply. Marséna, too, was somewhat
disappointed with herself, but at least she had kept the bulk of her desire in.
Friyya had objectively offered her the culmination of her guilty little
fantasy, but it would have been something she would have hated herself for, especially
when she returned to Virginia. Now her only imperative was to sleep and forget
the evening had ever happened.
There
was silence in the room for long, almost agonising moments. As the last hours
of the night approached, the fire was dimmed from some central source, so that
the hearth now framed only glowing embers, whose radiating heat kept the room
more than comfortable. Marséna could only stare into their deep redness and try
to read rhyme and reason in their glow, in the tiny sparks which occasionally
sprung from their surface. She curled into the bedroll, almost defensively,
trying to understand whether there was any sense at all in sentiment or desire,
or whether they were just cruel contrivances inflicted by divinities to torment
mortals.
Suddenly,
the bedroll stirred behind Marséna and she felt warmth and breath behind her.
"What
are you doing here? I already said no."
"That's
not the only thing we can do." Friyya said softly, her voice trembling.
"Go
to bed."
"I'm
not moving." Friyya said resolutely, draping an arm around Marséna's
waist, taking her time to feel the gentle rising and falling of the Mareterran
girl's firm belly in rhythm with her breathing. Marséna could only nod
wordlessly - very much touched by the gesture -
and clutch Friyya's hand in hers.
"I
wish...I wish you had done this sooner. I always wanted to be liked by
you." Marséna confessed, feeling Friyya's warm, naked body press against
her back, the girl's breath soothing on her hair and shoulders.
"You
always were." Friyya only hoped that Marséna did not see her tears of
regret that she had ruined the evening and missed so many opportunities to show
her friend how she really felt.
"You
do know that tomorrow, we'll be at each other's throats again, right?"
Marséna warned, half-jokingly.
"One
step at the time, Marséna, one step at the time."