Ragnafrost and the universe's wrath

It's been ten days. I didn't think I had gone so many without writing anything. It's amazing how much time passes without one realizing it. I've been busy losing my mind. I have yet to find a job, I'm not sure how sending out a billion applications can come back with nothing but such is life. So no job means no money and this means that Baby Grrs birthday was almost missed.

We had her birthday on Saturday. I wasn't sure how I was going to pull it off. In the end I had 25 dollars to make the entirety of her party, gifts, decorations and food included. I made her cake.

Birthday Cake by ~Katalalyn on deviantART

This cake wanted to kill me or at least try to. All the frostings and inner portions turned out fine but the cake itself was just ridiculous. I tried finding a recipe that I thought would be good but unfortunately it came out like brownies, very crumbly brownies. Now I like a good brownie now and then and this recipe would have made a very good one but brownies though cake-like in concistancy are not in fact cake. The texture is very different. Not to mention it wouldn't have held up to all the decorations that were supposed to be on it, so I just put on my big girl panties and sucked it up and went and bought a cake box mix since I was already frustrated with the three things that hadn't turned out that day. oh well

It was a good time though, we had fun and laughed and the kids played well together. 11 people isn't bad for a child's birthday party.

One problem I see is that I haven't been able to find my wallet since Friday though. Seriously have never lost my wallet before. Miss placed it, had the kids take it, but never lost it. It's distressing and annoying. I've looked everywhere I can think it might be, I even called to all the stores and two different city police offices. Such is life.

Stressing seems to be all I do lately. Like the world is just against me in every way. I must have done something or been someone terrible in a past life... like sell out my friend for 30 pieces of silver.

Mrs. rantypants

So it seems I've been in a big reviewing T.V. mood lately but oh well.

I just caught the episode of Glee I recently missed "Never Been Kissed". Every now and then when I watch a show I read some of the comments left by other viewers just for s and gs. This episode gave me a bit of a sour taste in my mouth and one of the posts from another viewer pinpointed part of what bothered me about it:

Honest curiosity- why is it okay to say that an "ugly" woman kissing a "handsome" man is gross but not okay to say that two men kissing is? Not referring to homophobia at all, just people's immediate reactions to both scenes. I'm just honestly curious, after reading a few of the comments on here about how 'gross' it was for Shue and Beiste to kiss with almost no rebuttals while all negative comments about Kurt and the other boy kissing where immediately shot down. I'm sure certain people have visceral reactions to both scenes, so what makes one okay to acknowledge and the other not? Or is it because both Kurt and the other one were 'pretty' people. Why is one disgust just 'mean' and yet the other absolutely unacceptable/makes you a hateful, evil person? And I said this is apart from considerations of ingrained hate (I myself have plenty of boy love, but for instance, I will admit to having an immediate visceral disgust for the sight and smell of fried eggs- weak comparison, but hopefully it gets my point across). Thoughts?

(I have no idea who wrote this because it was deleted yet still viewing on the site.)

Now I also have no issue with homosexuals, I have many friends who are both straight and gay, so more power to the homosexual kiss. What bothered me about this episode was a layering of underlying meanings, much like my reading too much into the LXD situation, I'm sure someone will point out I've completely missed the lines on this one as well. This is the kiss in question:

I have no issue with people kissing, large or skinny, ugly or pretty, old or young, that's just whatever. If the people or characters in question love each other then who am I to find it weird or disgusting. This is an attitude I have probably because I am a larger woman and know full well how cruel people are in judgement of people who aren't skinny. There were however a few things that bothered me about this kiss, the least of all their physical appearances. My first thought while watching this scene was that I hoped it didn't end exactly as it did.

The whole episode was a two fold story, the main one being about bullying homosexuals, and the second about treating larger people with disrespect by using that person as an image to impede sexual stimulation. The main part of the episode being focused on the former story line and not the later. That isn't to say that homosexual bullying should take a lesser seat but that this development is one that should have been explored just as heatedly. Abuse and bullying of larger people is pretty rampant and highly overlooked. Now I'm sure many of you are thinking "Well it wasn't just that she is big but also because she isn't pretty." First off that doesn't excuse it in any manner or make it any less about her weight because many people equate someone of size with ugliness. Now I'm not saying that we all have to have the same sexual appetite and I can understand someone not wanting to have sexual relations with someone of size but it's so much more then that, it's about treating someone as a human instead of less of one.

The problem I really saw is that they pushed it beyond just the characters treating another in that manner but that being a larger person she has "never been kissed". It's like saying a larger person can't find anyone else who will love them and want to be with them. This happened in the first season too, didn't it. Ken Tenaka is seen as this larger dumpy annoying fat guy. He loves Emma and promises to be good to her but of course he could never get the girl because the much better looking Will also likes her. Doesn't matter that Will is married, sad, a larger person can't even win over a married man. Now granted people who are larger tend to have a specific demographic of people who want a larger person, i.e. as a fetish, but that doesn't mean that a person who isn't skinny doesn't have just as many feelings, wants and needs as their smaller counterparts and yet in the media large people are often treated as if this isn't the case, as if all large people are dumpy, frumpy, silly or just unnecessary. There are plenty of people who are large who don't wish to be and just as many who are happy with themselves as they are. It's not hard to see why someone who is large wouldn't be discouraged though.

It's tiring how judgmental people are towards people of a larger persuasion and yet it's readily acceptable for someone to mock and torment a large person. In our society it's seen as funny when point in fact it's cruel, just as cruel as any other form of bullying. If ordering a salad there is always that "Who are you trying to impress?" look or the "Not really eating these all the time" look or the "Isn't really helping is it?" look. When ordering a steak there is always the "Figures" look. On the bus the empty seat next to a larger person is often empty, as if people think that the fat could rub off like some sort of skin disease. Someone so easily will overlook the cruel behavior of others when it's directed towards a larger person, even if that same person is the first to jump in if a comment is racial or sexist. It just doesn't seem so bad because its acceptable for people to be mean in such a way since larger people are looked down upon as lazy, choosing this for themselves.

Not everyone chooses to be large, true there are many who really don't do the right things for themselves, they over eat and never exercise and then complain when they can't move from their beds anymore. That isn't what I'm talking about, though food is tempting and often a hard drug type urge to ignore for a larger person, they are still making the choice to put the wrong foods in their mouths, in ridiculous quantities, without regard to how much physical output they are doing. What I'm talking about are the people who seriously try to lose the weight and struggle with it every day, the ones who work out and eat right and find it torturous to walk in front of the bakery in the grocery store and yet still manage to walk away. You know who you are. It's difficult, you cry and stress and starve yourself because you want to be someone other people don't look at with disgust, as if you chose this for yourself and weren't just born that way. Why do people feel they even have the right to look at someone with disgust? Do you know what that person has been through? Do you know if maybe they had a bad accident and can't use their leg very well anymore and so put on weight? Maybe they have a genetic disorder or are a diabetic. Why is it that if someone is larger they "brought it upon themselves"?

Second. Pity love is just ludicrous. No one wants to be pity kissed and that's mostly what I saw when he went in to kiss her. She spends the time ranting that she has never been kissed, "what does that say about me?", not very much actually, if you are a kind and generous and loving person and other people can't see it then shame on them and their loss. As if a pity kiss would make you feel better about yourself anyways. Oh yay, I can't get a real kiss and so when I lament about it I get one filled with pity about my sob story. Please. If she had been a thin and "pretty" woman, they would have never thrown this story line her way. Who would believe a pretty thin girl would stay single and never been kissed even into her 40s... exactly... people just wouldn't believe it but make it a larger woman who isn't conventionally beautiful and easily people stomach it. Not just stomach it but accept it as a valid notion, not even stereotyped, just as truth. Sad that people are so preoccupied by looks to notice true beauty, the kind that only comes from a good heart.

This rant seems to be going in circles and probably not really making much sense. I think in part because it's late and I'm sleepy and partly because it's hard getting down in words a way of being treated that so obviously left scars.

T.V Shows and the Legion of Extraordinary Sexism

I don't really watch much new T.V. At least I don't think I do comparatively, I have a decent list I do keep track of but it equals out to about 1 show a night, two at best, except Thursdays, because apparently everything has to happen on Thursday, not that it completely counts, I usually only watch one of the three on that night and then catch the rest on Hulu another day, usually the weekend since nothing is on then anyways.

Bones

I was never an Angel fan, I was never really a die hard Buffy fan either but I love the play between these two and I know most people want them to get together and the writers seem to be playing it in that direction but I think I would be okay without that happening.

Burn Notice

Bruce Campbell. Anything with Bruce Campbell is exceedingly better than anything without Bruce Campbell. Enough said.

Castle

I never saw Firefly, didn't have cable at the time but if Nathan Fillion was as good in that as he is in this(which I heard he was) then I am sorely sad I missed it and I suppose I will just have to get the DVDs.

Community

This cast manages to keep me in stitches every week, which is hard to do with me sometimes, most comedy is very cliche and over used.

Glee

I have to admit this is more or less a guilty pleasure just for the singing, the story line is a bit eh and the characters feel pretty stereotypical but still, I like seeing them dance around and sing their brains out.

Good Eats

Alton Brown makes cooking so much more an education then a chore. I love finding out that the things he teaches end up being used in multiple applications. He teaches not how to make a dish but how to harness the knowledge to make any dish. He is my go to chef when I need a recipe. I love this show and so do my kids, its like a food rendition of Bill Nye on crack.

NCIS

Mark Harmon is undeniably sexy, his voice is amazingly soothing, and his smile could melt hearts but even though many shows are pulled through by an actors looks, he is in a league all his own because he can also act, he is believable and I love that even his subtle emotions make me want to continue watching.

Psych

The interaction between these two is ridiculous and therefore hilarious. How they ever stayed friends is really beyond me and yet it's amazing all the same. I love the fist bumping, the random outbursts, the correcting strange information. Ah the love.

Top Gear

Some say he wears silk underwear because he thinks it gives him better aerodynamics, some say his lunches are made and hand delivered by pixies, all I know is, he's called The Stig. This show is comedy at it's best, love all their challenges.

Mostly though I would rather just watch something informational, such as a cooking show, anything on the history channel or some shows on the discovery channel. However my list of shows isn't really something that stretches, it's very rare when I start a new show and stick to it, I just don't care for much of the garbage on the boobtube. This means I miss out on some references but also that I watch a lot of good old shows. Which makes Hulu so wonderful, even if they have started putting in more commercial time, because then I skip the other crap and just get to go right to my show. Now every so often I catch something scrolling by on the home page that I then take an interest to and watch to see if I like it. This happened not so recently with the LXD.

For those of you who have never seen or heard of it, The Legion of Extraordinary Dancers is a miniseries that runs in about 10 minute increments created/directed/produced by Jon M. Chu. The plot centers around two rival groups of dancers who are in a power struggle as the forces of good and evil. Pretty elementary stuff here. The main idea is that dance focuses their powers and so is how they fight. Now I have to say, I really like watching people dance. I would happily watch Dancing with the Stars if there was less drama and more dancing involved. (If I could buy a DVD of just the dance routines I would) So when I saw the previews for this show, which they really did advertise to death, I was interested to say the least. The first episode made me laugh pretty hard core, it was rather silly to be honest, the dancing seemed interjected into the story instead of the building block of it but as with most shows, I decided to give it a few more episodes before I made up my mind whether I cared to finish watching it or not, plus, it was only in 10 minute blocks. The first two were a nice display of dance skills but it was the 3rd episode that hooked me, Robot Love. The story was powerful, the lack of terrible acting due in part to poor reading of lines made it surprisingly far more interesting. It reminded me of a comic book and of movies from days long past. It told a story that was beautiful and heart wrenching and vivid all that the same time, and I hoped it would be a glimpse of what was to come. I watched to the end of the season and then promptly forgot about it. That is, until two days ago when I saw it, once again, on the home page of Hulu, scrolling by with my missed episode of Castle and Glee. I have watched what is of the second season and the mix of dance to story seems to have highly improved and that is a plus, the dancing is spectacular but I have two big issues with this show.

First off, though they talk about a range of dancing, its really hard to see it. I mean I know that in this day and age that dances like swing and waltzing are considered outdated but I think they could be used in a strong way in this show. Crime fighters often come in pairs. Batman and Robin. Michael and Kitt. Cagney and Lacey. You could have a strong partnership with two people dancing some good swing (they sort of did this in the Duet episode) using each other as both shield and weapon but there seems to be a lack of some styles in this show. There are always ways to update old dances.

Second off, the lack of female lead roles and their treatment in the series. I know that dancing, in the particular styles shown, seem to be much more male dominated but there isn't a lack of female dancers out there and yet, even in the picture above, it is clear to see that there are no female leads. The only one heavily feature being Ninjato from Duet. The Dark Nurse from Robot Love was a nice break in both the dance styles and the sex of the dancer and yet she only got a 20 second clip.

In the latest episode the four Sirens make a mockery of what women can do, I can understand to some extent that they are supposed to be seducing these men, but with the obvious difference in the way women are treated on this show, it's hard not to see that they clearly remind one of a stripper giving a lap dance instead of a talented dancer. The heroes go off in search of women and the creator of this series gives a handful of objectified women for them to drool over. Granted I do expect heroes and saviors to want and need sex, but there they are, having just been told of their grand mission to save the world and they are worried about how they aren't getting laid. Pretty sad.

To make matters worse the woman are stereotyped ridiculously. The only strikingly noticeable females have turned out to be evil, either born that way or just on that side. Seems like someone has an Eve complex. If they had chosen a female to be leader of the evil side then I could possibly see this being a good case as to why more women are on that side. Granted then it would really be a power struggle between the sexes and in the end, as we all know, evil tends to lose and therefore the creator would then be likening women to evil creatures that are bound to fail but at least in that form they would be subject to the course of a natural heroic journey cycle instead of being subjugated in the lower ranks. The only real main female being the wife of the leader of the LXD, who is apparently a weak willed princess in need of rescuing.

It's despairing how little women are thought of as being capable of being heroes, how often they are seen as temptresses and seducers and seemly void of moral values. I am no feminist but it still bothers me. Let me just say, I may not have the same upper body strength as a man standing next to me but that doesn't mean I wont run into the burning building to try and pull you out anyways. I can't say for a fact he will.

Okay, that's enough of that.

-

Nano is going no where, I haven't written in a week. I'm so uninspired this year.

I haven't worked out in two days, I just wasn't feeling up to it.

I still have yet to find a job.

Frosting and other such white things

I have a white hair. It's not my first one and definitely wont be the last one. It's strange seeing it, its so very visible against my dark color. I hadn't noticed it till last night but no one else caught it either. What surprises me the most is that it obviously grew out with no color but I hadn't seen it before. It's almost like it had color and then decided to not have color anymore. I don't mind having white in my hair, though it was literally more like a clear color then anything else, when I was younger I wanted silver hair, so I suppose this isn't really much different.

I need to make frosting today so the kids can decorate the sugar cookies we made. They decided they wanted some from all sorts of holidays since I don't have any maple leaves or cornucopias, nothing Thanksgiving like except pumpkins but I didn't want to make any of them till sometime later in this month so I can take them to my grandmothers. This is more or less test run for the frosting, I dislike really sweet frosting so I'm trying to find one that isn't so nasty to me. I suppose I should be saying icing, there is a slight difference, but whatever. Royal Icing doesn't flip my fancy any better then the ones made with confectioners sugar but I think I'm going to make an amalgam recipe.

It feels lonely in this corner of mine. I'm tired of feeling I'm doing this alone. I know I can't really expect someone else to come and fill that void, that it's up to me to do but even so, it's not fun feeling like no one else is willing to even help a bit. Sure I know there are people who are rooting for me, it just feels so distant right now. Like having someone come over that I've known for years and practically ignore me for the duration. I can understand wanting to be near someone you have feelings for and so I can understand why you would sit in my brothers room the whole time but I hope you understand how drastically you've changed our friendship. You don't want me to think that I am not important but you make me unimportant. I know you are hurting and dealing with many of the same things I am but it's frustrating watching you walk down a destructive path and having you not even hear my pleas to not do so because you are sitting behind a closed door in another part of the house. I don't really feel like I have my friend anymore, more like, just another one of his girlfriends. Soon enough we wont even talk will we.

I haven't been able to go for a run since Mom left for the month and Brewski has been off visiting, I'm hoping in this next month to get in maybe 2 days a week. I don't feel I'm getting ahead on any of this, I've been lazy about things and making excuses, it's time for that to stop. I have been doing other exercises though, my sit ups, clam shells, squats, the half ass push ups I can manage but I'm irritating myself. There are things that need to get done and there is enough time in the day to do most of them. I need to be better about not just sitting down and thinking my life away. Let's hope that even with all this scolding I can find it in myself to actually get the motivation to do it proper.

I also haven't been writing in my nano, I am far behind now, almost 10000 words or so. I have a bit more then the last time but not much:

“Oh, oh, don't cry little one. You just startled me is all.” Ammablique picked up the robe and wrapped it around herself, pushing the little girl forward and out of the wash room. She picked up the simple garment from the bedside and slipped into it, her fingers deftly finding their way around the unfamiliar clothes. She nudged the tiny girl out the door of the bedroom, smiling down at her. “So where might I find the big mean ol' master of this place?” She made a playful grimace before laughing softly.

“I am right here.” Ammablique stopped and looked down the hall, D'Inglist stood with his back to her, one hand placed on the doorknob and the other on the door, trying to close it as quietly as the door would let him. The little girl ran over to him, stopping with an exaggerated bounce on her heels. “Was Miss Ammablique being unkind to you Belladolla?” He looked down at her as she shook her head no, his expression soft and fatherly, a small smile threatening to take command of his mouth. Something about this house changed him, like he wore his disgruntled nature as a mask, or maybe this was the mask. She was unsure what to make of him. The girl skipped away merrily, stopping before the steps to turn around and wave goodbye. Ammablique waved in response, smiling at the girl as twirled away. She looked back at D'Inglist, her smile fading. “Tea is waiting in the drawing room.” He turned and descended down the stairs and she followed.

-

Dr. Murdrick shivered and rubbed his hands up and down quickly over his arms. He wasn't really cold, in fact he had been sweating pretty profusely since he had been brought there, but the goosebumps came so often they almost hurt now and he wanted, if nothing else, then to be free from that one discomfort, seeing as he would not be free from many others soon.

The door to his cell scrapped against the floor as it was opened. The tall silhouette walking into the soft light of the single candle, the shadows playing tricks with his mind, bringing out Dr. Murdrick's visitor's true likeness instead of the beautifully crafted mask he had been given for a face. He was covered in blood, his carefully crafted garments now stained with brown splatters. Dr. Murdrick turned his face away, swallowing as he did, the stench of iron filling the room.

“You sent her to D'inglist.” the voice was cold, each word stabbing at his head like a thick icicle. Dr. Murdrick's smirk was greeted with a hard backhand. His head rolled down to the middle of his chest, his cheek already swelling from the impact but he held his half smile. She had found him and he had protected her just as he knew he would. Velofice had only confirmed his greatest hope, nothing else really matter, if he was to die, at least he knew D'Inglist would be there to protect her, to keep them from getting at her. He winced as his head was pulled back by his hair, grunting slightly as he looked at the demon with his not swollen eye, Velofice's face just inches from his now, his hot breath lingering in the space between them. “How do you know D'Inglist?” Dr. Murdrick swallowed, trying not to gag from the stench coming from the demons mouth. It continually intrigued him how creatures who could so easily change into the appearance of heavenly beings could some how be so foul. He winced as his bruised cheek was pushed against, the sharp nails from his captor piercing his flesh, the warm blood running down his cheek. “I will get her and you will die.” Velofice turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door closed behind him, licking his fingers as he walked down the dark corridor.

-

“So, exactly who is your father?” the spoon swirled the steaming liquid, the half a teaspoon of sugar surely already dissolved and yet he keep his eyes on the cup as if it was the most interesting object in the room.

“My father is a famous doctor and scientist, his name is Edward Murdrick.” the spoon stopped as D'Inglist looked up, his eyes focused on the wall behind her. She watched him, he had a far off look, as if the past was a play now being performed for him. “Mr. D'Inglist?” His eyes turned to her before glancing down, a look of sadness about his features. “Mr. D'Inglist, you do my father, don't you.”

He placed the saucer and cup down on the table between them as he stood. He walked to a chocolate brown secretary desk, flipping the latch and lowering the the moveable writing tray. He removed a key from his breast pocket and unlocked a small door. He placed his back to her, blocking her view of his hands as he removed a false side, pulling out a small envelope, the wax seal broken.

“Did you already know who my father was?”

“No.”

“One doesn't just carry around a random key.”

“I didn't know but I had a feeling Miss Murdrick. I had hoped I was wrong though.” he handed over the envelope, sitting back down, his tea completely forgotten. Ammablique pulled out a small piece of paper, her fathers neat script running the length of the page.

Dear Mr D'Inglist,

I hope you are in good health and that the world, as it is has treated you well. I am not sure if you remember me but many years ago you were found half dead on my parent's farm. We nursed you back to health, you stayed with us for almost a year after as a farm hand. You taught me many great new things, including a very interesting and old song, then one day a man came and spoke with you, you informed us that night at dinner that you were leaving the next day. I was young and you were as a brother to me and so I very angrily told you to go. I have learned through the years the good you have done and I came to learn your leaving was something that you needed to do. Please forgive my childish behavior.

The day you left you gave my father a vile of holy water and my mother an amulet you said would protect her from evil. You also told them that you owed them your life and therefore if ever they needed you would come to their aid. They lived happy and long lives and never made good on this. I have no idea if you are willing to fulfill an inherited promise but if you are I would like for us to meet so we can discuss the details. I will be at the cafe La Trio at 11:00 am on this Sunday.

Sincerely,

Dr. Edward Murdrick

She stared at the page, her tears dripping onto it, making little water marks on the bottom of the page. She reread it, her brow furrowing. “Mr. D'Inglist, this letter is dated just one week before he disappeared, he was kidnapped only two days before you were to meet.”

“I had a feeling something of the sort might have happened. I had hoped to track his whereabouts but even so, I found it exceedingly hard to do that. When we met I was sitting in the tavern trying to figure out, from all the clues I had pieced together, where your actually house might be. Your father is rather ingenious to be able to hide it so well.”

“Not well enough I'm afraid, the Leaphon found it.” His look darkened momentarily, gritting his teeth unconsciously at the mention of the demons. “I'm sorry Mr. D'Inglist, did you say you were in the tavern trying to think of where we lived?”

“Yes, why?”

“Because you just looked asleep.” He laughed, a big booming noise as the look of both confusion and skepticism making her face scrunch.

“I can't think nonstop, sometimes whats needed most is a bit of rest” She turned her face away, of course he was right, she was merely thinking of her need to find her father and so had completely overlooked the needs of the man before her. “I suppose we should figure out why the Leaphon want your father, that way we can determine if he is still alive or not. Once we have that in place we can make a better plan as to what we are going to do. However, it is late and so we should retire for the evening and start fresh in the morning.” D'Inglist stood, holding out his hand to her. Ammablique looked at the letter in her hand before taking his hand and rising to her feet. He grabbed the letter from her hand and walked back to the secretary desk. Ammablique stood by the chairs, wringing her hands as she struggled to understand the change in his attitude that had just occurred.

“Then you are going to help me?”

“I would be disingenuous if I didn't. I gave my word to come when needed.” His eyes saddened as he looked over the page once more before refolding it and slipping it back into the envelope. He placed it back into the secret compartment, putting the key in his breast pocket when he was done. D'Inglist looked at the desk, as if he could see through the wood paneling to the letter held within. He sighed softly. “He wasn't the only one who felt he lost a brother that day.”

-

She ran down the hallway, her hands gripping handfuls of her skirts, stopping every so often to try one door or another. She came to the end, looking down to the left and then the right before looking back from where she came. She could see them at the end of the hallway, slowly walking towards her. She was out of breath, her chest heaving as she turned and ran down the hall to the right, wiping the strands of her loose hair as it stuck to her face. She tripped over her skirts, landing on the palm of her hands. She stared at the tile just inches from her face for a moment. She could hear their footsteps coming around the corner. Why did it feel as if she was somehow moving in slow motion, how could they be right at the corner when they had just been down the hall just seconds before. She yanked her skirts up, stumbling a few steps. A door opened as she passed it and she caught a glimpse of Belladolla's surprised and frightened gaze before the door was shut once more. She pulled on the knob, crying out in exasperation and fear as the door stubbornly stayed shut. She glanced back down the hallway, and turned in a small circle looking around, the passageway empty. She looked back at the door, trying the knob once more.

“Where do you think you are trying to run off to now?” The quiet voice whispered into her ear, her hair tickling her cheek as she shivered, as if ice had been run down her spin. She swallowed, closing her eyes, her lip quivering as she tried to keep the tears from flowing. She was roughly turned around, the jostling forcing her to open her eyes.

He was exceedingly good looking, he long blondish brown hair, each strand lovingly caressing his face. His mouth was a perfect mixture of plump softness and shape but it was his eyes which bothered her the most. One could melt into his eyes if they weren't so cold. Dead and icy and full of menace, his stare bore into her, forcing her to look away from him. When D'Inglist had looked at her much in the same manner earlier she had felt fear but this, she dreaded not just looking at him but also his continued examination of herself. His eyes hurt, a look that literally brought her pain, and yet, it was as if she was compelled by some unknown force to repeatedly try to make contact with them. He smiled and leaned towards her, her whole body cringing away from him as he did.

“You don't feel much like talking?” She pressed herself against the door as her tears began to flowing down her cheeks, she couldn't tell if it was the fear or the newly rising anger that brought them on. “Look at me.” she turned her eyes to him, gazing at him from the corner of her eye. “I said look at me!” He grabbed her face roughly, turning it towards him. She closed her eyes, trying to pull her face from out of his grip. He held her face even tightly, knowing soon enough he would hear the cracking of her jaw bone. She winced, whimpering softly.

She fell back, the door behind her opening suddenly. She felt the strong arms holding her up, her head slightly disoriented from falling back. Her cheeks burned as her fresh cuts began to bleed. He pushed her onto to her feet and away from him, closing the door behind him as he stepped into the hallway. She watched the door feeling utterly helpless. A small hand slipped into hers and she looked down at the frightened child standing next to her in suck obviously pained tears. She squeezed Belladolla's hand, her gaze never leaving the door.

Connectivity

So one day, randomly, I happened to be trying to make my craptastical computer function to click on the box to type. As it happened I accidentally hit the stats tab, I'm not usually one to care about such things. People will read if they want to read and they wont if they don't, it's pretty simple. I try not worry about it because I know some part of me, the part that isn't readily visible will creep up and soon I will start wondering how many per day or week or month. I am only human and so my narcissistic side, though maybe less then some, is still there,yet I see no need to feed it. However since I was already there, I figured I would at least look around, curiosity can be a real pain and deadly to cats. I found that my sister hadn't been reading, which didn't surprise me or hurt in any way, she and I are close enough that she doesn't really need the help of a blog to know how I'm doing, she just has to ask, I will readily tell her and I know she has a good deal on her plate without worrying about my problems. It was however amusing when I told her I knew she hadn't been reading:

CSI: i read it!

Me: I know you do

Me: I can tell

Me: it gives me a heads up on who reads from what countries

Me: so I had known you hadnt read it before

Me: since spain never popped up

CSI: oh that's kind of freaky

Me: hahahaha

Me: I found out my husband was cheating when he was in afghanistan

Me: you think I cant find out if my sister is or isnt reading my blog?

Now funny as that is, it also made me go back and look at the stats just to see who else had been reading. Looking at all the countries that popped up from around the world makes me feel connected and less alone then I had been feeling lately. Who do I know in Denmark? Just figured out who was in Japan. Spain is pretty obvious. Then there is the UK. Okay, even scattered we still keep in relatively contact. There is someone out there, someone I've never met who is thinking "I know exactly what she means" and someone else who is thinking "Why am I still reading this drivel?" Something about that is compelling, it makes me want to look through the screen and ask why one would bother? It forces me to examine myself, to see if I am the person I want to be, if I am letting other things get the better of me or if I am just using those things as an excuse. Is it strange that I feel I might disappoint someone, even if it's someone I don't know? The point of this blog has become muddled, I created it to dictate my journey to trying to get into the military but it doesn't even seem to be about anything close to that anymore. Have I lost my drive entirely or has life just gotten in the way? I'm not sure I even know the answer to that question. I want to be in the military, I can see myself happily waking up every morning to go to pt and then putting on a uniform I would be proud to wear, so why am I holding myself back from being the person willing to try to get there? I didn't want to work out last night, I did anyways and once I was done I felt good and when I woke I felt even better. I sleep better after exercising, I have more energy and I eat better and yet right now I just wish to curl into a ball and weep. I haven't really cried, not long, not hard, or maybe just not enough. Can one really even cry away ten years? I don't want to be the type of person who wallows in a life over instead of being the type that steps forth into a new beginning. I keep saying I need a vacation but from what? How does one really take a vacation from life and then want to step back into it. I know everyone feels this way at some point but can't I just catch a break? It feels like I'm always having to work ten times harder for anything in life. Most days I don't mind, it makes me a stronger person but some days, specially ones where I'm sitting alone on a weekday night, I can't help but wonder why I was dealt such a rotten hand. Not a genius, not pretty, not thin, not rich, nothing put together. Just one of those things would make it easier, having none of them seems to make it exceedingly hard. Let's hope when my time comes it comes in fast and hard and over-abundantly and hopefully not right when the world is coming to an end, though you know, that would just figure.

We had a group

Now it's gone. Moved to all corners of the world, splintered to pieces and lost to timezones, for now. I miss them. I miss being around people who aren't different just because someone else is around, who don't change who they are because their boyfriend is in the room or because the group has decided to do something they don't like. I even liked the moodiness of someone pouting because they were bored. In the end, it helped us know one another better and appreciate the things we found. I'm so tired of people who are fake and two-faced. I miss my sister. I miss the British Twins, The Mezikin, The Coder, The Shoulder, I miss being with people who I can laugh with even as we do nothing and I miss someone not feeling the need to say they are something and then be something else. COME BACK MY LOVERLIES, COME BACK TO ME.

I hope to work out tonight, sometime in the next hour or so, but the chillins aren't asleep and they whine if I'm downstairs too long.

Here is more of the NaNo for your enjoyment... or annoyance... whichever.

They stood, eyes locked in a silent battle understandable by only the two of them. The demon broke the stare, grimacing in disgust at the two wounded demons standing before him, he looked back at D'Inglist and slowly smirked, causing his sharp teeth to bare. D'Inglist watched him down the sights of his gun, the demons smirk unimpressive.

“You haven't changed at all D'Inglist, still just as ridiculous as ever. Do you really think you can take all seven of us?” His smirk widened as the two wounded Leaphon in front of him turned to him, a look of horror on their faces. He grabbed each of them with one hand, smashing their two faces into one another, their blood splattering all over his own. The two bodies went limp, loud shrieks shattered the glasses behind Polk, who didn't even flinch as the shards sliced through his cheek, the bodies exploding into ash. The demon brushed the ash off himself before turning to face Polk, his eyes glimmering with hatred, his hands sarcastically clapping. “So battle worn you didn't even flinch. I'm impressed, human.”

“You haven't changed either Velofice. It's still surprising that even with all your violent tendencies you are still someone's lackey.” Velofice's face darkened at D'Inglist's taunt, even as he took pleasure from licking the blood from his lips.

Polk glanced at the girl crouched to his right, the bits of glass making her hair sparkle. She was trembling and whimpering but she was alertly watching the action, he had seen trained soldiers act less bravely around the Leaphon. He was impressed but knew it was time she went down the stairs.

“Girl, go keep the young ones calm.” Ammablique turned slowly to the man now standing above her. His eyes were focused on D'Inglist's back,.

“Won't you come?” His eyes saddened for a second before the resolve returned.

“I'm going to stay up here and help D'Inglist as much as I can.” She looked down the dark hole at her feet, the small frightened faces of the children peering up at her. She nodded and pulled at her skirts, hooking her foot on the first rung.

“Good luck.”

“Thank you kindly dear, I will need it, I'm sure.” Polk waited till she was standing on the floor and then grabbed the lantern from the bar top and lowered it down to her, he closed the door just as a match flared. He turned back to the room, pulling a short sword from behind the counter, pouring a small amount of liquid like he had a moment ago before smashing the vile on top of the trap door.

“What a brave little human.” The rest of the Leaphon cackled at Velofice's mocking tone.

The room settled into an eerie quiet. Each side sizing up the other, waiting for the one person who would leap forward first. It was imperceptible, the movements of all, happening in the same moment, Velofice stepped back into the shadows of the doorway as the other demons swarmed forward. D'Inglist fired, hitting the demon first in line as Polk jumped once more over the bar, the short sword spraying the liquid over his shoulder and face. Polk hit the ground and ran towards the others ducking under bar stools and tables that flew dangerously close to him. D'Inglist was already fighting hand to hand with a second Leaphon. Polk jumped from the seat of a chair near him, landing agilely on the table next to it before launching into the fray his sword deftly slicing off the head of a Leaphon to the left of him. The shrieks were drowned out by the noise of the fight already raging at hand. The ash exploded about him and he stepped through it, his sword just barely blocking the next attack.

D'Inglist slammed his fist into the face of the demon he was sparing, the bones beneath his hand cracking and smashing inward. The demon stumbled back, his hands covering his face. D'Inglist fired a round into the demons chest, turning as he did to kick back another demon at his side, blocking a third's hand with his own. Between the two he had killed and the one that Polk had already taken out, that left four remaining that they knew of, including Velofice, unless he had abandoned his men.

The five of them side stepped and twisted in a brutally graceful dance, each one grunting from landed blows or over exertion of their individual strength. Polk leaned back on a table top, holding back the demon's blows with the flat of his blade. D'Inglist whistled softly and tossed his gun to the side, Polk caught it with his left hand and put it to the demon's rib, firing off the round at an angle, the round exiting at the demons shoulder. The ash poured over him as he laid back on the table, the squeals from the now deceased demons dying away. Polk sighed heavily before sitting up and tossing the gun back.

“I'm too old for this shit.”

“You know, before, your age was relatively young.”

“It's hard to believe that, no matter how many times you say it. I can't believe he said that was an old piece of junk, it fires beautifully.” Polk dusted himself off and stood up, his face bleeding from a scratch he hadn't noticed till just then. D'Inglist turned a slow circle, his gun held in a ready position. “I cant believe he called that old junk when this sword is probably twice as old as that.” Polk chuckled softly as he wiped the blade on his pants. D'Inglist looked at his friend, lowering his gun slightly. He took a few steps towards Polk before the turning, the dust showering him. He fired a few rounds, each one missing as the target flew past him in a blur.

Polk grunted as his body flew backwards, the sudden stop in midair over the bar knocking the last bit of air from his lungs. His head bobbed slightly, his eyes searching the bar he now hung over, his arm extended farther then his shoulder should be able to allow.

“How's that shoulder, huh?” Polk could smell the vile stench that came from the mouth of the demon now holding him up and he wrenched, pain shooting through his arm and shoulder as his body lurched. His head fell forward, the laughter loudly ringing in his ears. D'Inglist squinted at Velofice, his face twisted with rage. The demon laughed again, pulling on the old man's arm, the loud popping noise of a shoulder dislocating only bring on another fit of laughter. “His arm does look oh so tasty, don't you think, D'Inglist?” Velofice placed his hand on his victims shoulder and hissed, bring it away, his hand burned from the contact with the other mans skin. He looked at his hand, this old man, even as he was half dead was somehow mocking him. He snarled and pulled at the arm in his grasp, the flesh and bone giving way at the joint of the elbow. The wet ripping sound filled the room, the pain bringing Polk out of his comatose state, his agonizing screams filled the room. Velofice let the old man drop to the bar top with a thud, the grotesquely damaged arm hanging limp from the mans torso, his body slumped to the side, his blood spraying everywhere. D'Inglist watched as if the body dropped in slow motion, firing off a single round as Velofice flew from the room, nicking the demon, dust, debris and blood swirling after him as their paths crossed, D'Inglist making his way to his wounded friend.

The noises above quieted, she smiled wearily at the others crowded behind her. Others had also grabbed some forms of weapon, a small boy held a piece of metal pipe, one of the bar patrons had a stool in his hands but she had one that was clearly more revered then theirs and so they stood behind her in the hopes that if all else failed they could depend on her to fight for them. The door creaked slowly open and she wiped her face with her free hand, swallowing slowly before shivering slightly. She waiting, the knife held out in front of her in her shaking hand.

“You wouldn't kill anything holding the knife like that.” She relaxed slightly, her hand dropping just a tiny bit before she pointed it back up. This man had been nothing close to kind to her before and she wasn't about to go trusting him any time soon. He watched her, her face lit by the lantern held up by the little boy next to her, her face a strange mask of shadows and smiled, she had more guts then he had initially assumed, it took a lot to continue to hold a knife to a man who had so easily caused her faint earlier. He turned and climbed back up the steep stairs to the tavern above. The children pushed past her and followed him up. She dropped her hand and stood in the dark for a moment before ascending the stairs, she blinked her eyes adjusting to the light in the room. She coughed, the smell of blood and dust filled the air, the sudden wave of nausea hitting her. D'Inglist knelt in a corner, his back to her.

“Ah my old friend, what am I going to do with you?” Polk coughed, blood running down his chin, his body was beat.

“End it, I'm okay with this being over.” D'Inglist looked down at the weak smile his old friend was giving him, this wasn't how this man should have to go. She walked into his peripheral vision and he clenched his jaw slightly. He snatched at her arm, pulling her towards him.

Ammablique yanked at her arm, her face frozen in shock and fear. His grip was unbreakable and each yank made her forearm throb with pain, his fingers biting into her flesh as he tightened it. She struggled with him, her feet sliding on the floor as she continued to fight. She slipped and fell, tears streaming down her cheeks as she resigned herself to whatever fate she would have. She watched him move his hand gently over the wounds of the man crumpled on the ground before them, the blood slowly coming to a stop as his flesh rebuilt to a stump at the end of his arm. Her eyes widened as the soft gargles quieted to a slow rhythmic breathing. D'Inglist released her and gingerly picked up the man from the floor, stepping over broken tables and turned over chairs as he made his way towards the hole in the wall Velofice had left in his wake.

“Where are you going?” Only the crunching of his boots answered her. “Wait, I asked where you are going.”

“Somewhere safe.” He didn't stop. She scrambled to her feet and ran after him.

“What about me?” she fell inline with him, his large quick stride keeping her jogging.

“What about you.”

“We hadn't finished discussing things.”

“What's there to discuss.”

“You were asking me about my father, how I knew that song, how I knew you.”

“So you were just being coy.” She looked away from him and sighed, she really hadn't been trying to be coy, he scared her, in a way that even the Leaphon didn't seem to manage, there was something about him that made her cringe with terror and yet, after all that, she didn't seem to distrust him, though she couldn't explain why that was.

“I wasn't being coy. I really do need your help.”

“I wasn't offering it.”

“I know, I can pay you.”

“So now you think I'm just a gun for hire?”

“No, my father said that if anything happened I should seek out a man named D'Inglist, that D'Inglist would help me. I'm not sure why he thought you would so readily do that but I know nothing comes for free and so I am willing to pay you. I don't have access to my fathers accounts but I have one of my own with a decent sum, you may have it all.”

“All your money, that's a pretty steep price to pay.” He turned into a dark alley and she stopped short, watching his back slowly recede into the shadows. She squinted and leaned forward, trying to see through the black to the man she had been next to. She ran through the alley, trying to catch up with him, her eyes having trouble adjusting to the dim light. She bumped into his him and fell back, his stance unbroken even by her knocking into him. He reached out and steadied her.

D'Inglist stood at the end of the alleyway, watching the slow procession as it passed them by, the ghostly figures drifting almost listlessly. She looked around his large shoulder into the street before them and then curiously up at him. Why was he just standing there, the street was empty.

“Are we going..” he clamped his hand down over her mouth, her teeth knocking against one another as he did so. She whimpered and struggled for a second before relaxing slightly. He watched as the parade of death passed on by relieved that her noises hadn't perked their interest. He removed his hand from her face and walked into the street, keeping to the very edge of it as they made their way up a small incline. She struggled to keep up with him, her heavy skirt and dainty boots making his pace almost impossible to keep. They walked in silence, their breathing the only noise shared between them, she a steady huff, his a quiet calm. He walked up 6 blocks and then crossed the street to the right. He stopped just inside another alley and put the man in his arms gently down, resting his back against the side of the wall and then crouched.

D'Inglist grunted softly as he pulled at a large metal grating at his feet, a soft scraping noise filling the alley. Ammablique looked around, back into the street and down the alley as best as her eyes could manage, trying to see if the noise had brought out onlookers.

“No one is going to be out at this time of night.” She looked down at the man, he was propping the grate up with a small brick. He stood and looked at her before waving his hand out towards it. “Ladies first.” Her frightened face switched between him and the grate before shaking an unsteady no. She took a step back and he grabbed at her, pulling her towards it. “Get in already.” He shoved her roughly in the direction of the opening, she slowly crouched to her knees as he lifted the grate higher for her to enter. She found footing on a small rung ladder.

Ammablique climbed down, jumping the last foot from the ladder to the ground, hitting the water below with a splash. She covered her mouth and nose with the back of her hand, the smell making her eyes water. The grate falling into place startled her and she looked around, her soft sobs echoing off the walls. She closed her eyes. This was hopeless she had just followed him wherever he had told her to go and now what was she to do? The soft splash next to her brought her back to reality and she stood as still as she could manage, her hands trembling even as she clenched them. A soft scratching sound followed by a burst of light greeted her and D'Inglist was standing next to her, Polk looking like a baby in his arms. She followed the small ball of light as he turned and began to walk forward. He lead on a long winding path through the sewer. Left, right, right, past five openings, left, past two more openings, her head was spinning, she was trying to remember all the turns they were taking but he was going so fast now that she was running to keep up. She could tell he was trying to keep her lost. Left, straight three, right, straight two. She was usually very good at remember things, she rarely got lost but it was dark and he was moving swiftly but more then that, her head felt muddled, as if there was something else keeping her from remembering quite so well. Right, straight three, left, left, straight three, right. He stopped in front of a large metal door, Ammablique coming to a halt behind him.

D'Inglist made a sign across the center of the door, lines emerging in the solid material as if he had scrapped the surface of it when his hand had passed over it. He placed his hand over the symbol a soft green glow radiating from his hand outwards, filling the lines, the symbol disappearing with the sot click of the doors lock. He pushed it forward with his foot, the door easily swinging open for him. He turned and scooted in sideways, careful not to bump the man in his arms. She walked through the door into a dimly light passage way. The floor was of faded brick, worn in its own right, but a distinctly more stable and decorate walkway then the rotting planks in the sewer system. The walls were plastered with sconces every couple of feet. He turned to the right and began to walked down the passage way, the tiny flames in the small sconces flaring as he passed each one, the corridor slowly filling with light. Ammablique followed at his heels, her hands running across the plaster wall, it had been a long time since she had seen such fine work. Most buildings were in a sorry state, rotting and decaying from lack of care.

He opened a door at the end in much the same manner as the one before it and they entered into a large richly furnished stone and tile mudroom. He gently put Polk down on the long couch and began pulling at his cloak. The dried blood flaked onto the floor and he tossed it to the side, removing his boots before undoing his belt.

“Wait a minute sir, you aren't thinking of taking off your clothes with me in here, are you?” he turned to the woman behind him, his hands still working at his belt. “Please sir, I must protest, I am a lady and I would like to assume you are a gentleman.”

“Assuming isn't really the best course of action.” her face flushed a bright red and she mumbled with the rest of her protests. He grabbed a long robe off of a hook and tossed it to her, the robe smacking her in the face. She ripped it off her head, her flush no longer just from bashfulness. He was bending down to pick up Polk from the couch once more, already changed into a dry set of clothes, his other set already hanging on a hook on the wall. “Put that on when you are done changing.” She looked at the robe incredulously,

“You want me to walk around his house in just my underthings? Are you mad? Do you think I'm so shameful?”

“There are no lady clothes for to you change into, they aren't items I keep readily at hand. So you can either change into the robe or leave.” he paused for a moment at the door and looked back at her. “Or you can walk around naked, it's your choice.”

Ammablique growled and threw the robe in the direction he had been moments before, the heavy fabric making it halfway there before fluttering to the ground. “Brute, what sort of manners are those. I would have never expected you to have a lady friend.” She huffed softly, the dirty water from her clothes making soft pinging noises as it dripped onto the floor. She weighed her choices, looking from one end of the lavish room to the other, one door led back to the sewer and out into the world to try and figure this all out on her own, the other lead to god knows what and a man who was so obviously barbaric. She held her face in her hands and sat down, sobbing softly, she needed help, there was no denying that, she needed someone who could face the demons and she had been all over the countryside trying to find this particular one. Her father had sent her to him, something he would not have done lightly, and yet she couldn't see how this man was going to help her in any way. Ammablique wiped the tears from her eyes and began to undo her bodice, she would just have to have faith in her father's decision, she really didn't have much of a choice, there wasn't really anyone else to turn to.

D'Inglist carefully redressed Polk in clean clothes before putting him into the bed in one of his many guest rooms. He threw Polk's old clothes into the fire pit and light a blaze under them. He walked from the room, closing the door quietly and then waving his hand over it. He walked down the stairs into the foyer, making his way into the kitchen. He grabbed a kettle and filled it with water, placing it over a burner before walking back into the foyer. He sighed and walked back to the mudroom door, standing before it, his jaw clenching and unclenching in annoyance as he opened it.

Ammablique shrieked and pulled her bodice up to cover her body. “What are you doing in here?” D'Inglist closed the door most of the way and faced into the foyer.

“I thought you decided to leave, I was going to re-charm the door.” She turned and looked at the door behind her. It was closed now, though she had never heard it shut.

“Well I haven't, lady clothes just take time to remove, I will be out in a moment, will you please leave.” The door clicked shut and she continued removing her clothes, though more slowly and cautiously then before. D'Inglist walked back to the kitchen, the kettle making a soft whistling noise to greet him. He pulled it from the burner at the same time as he grabbed a small pouch from the cabinet, placing both on the counter next to him before retrieving three small cups.

Ammablique held the robe tightly, pushing at the swinging door to the kitchen, peeking around it at the man standing at the far side. He turned and spooned from a small pouch some dried leaves, dropping them into a small tea pot before pouring in a good measure of hot water. He glanced up at her before placing the pouch on the counter, picking up the cups and pot and slowly placing them on a tray. She stepped into the kitchen, staring at him quietly, watching him work.

“I have already instructed Tamia to run a bath for you. You may bathe before or after we speak but you should not remain cold.”

“What about you, aren't you cold?”

“I don't understand you at all, Miss Ammablique, do you really think worrying about anyone other then yourself should be your top priority right now?” She sighed and looked at the floor, his rebuke held more truth then she cared to address.

“I can't help it Mr. D'Inglist, it is just who I am, which I believe is also how you are.” he raised a brow but continued to prep the tray without looking back up at her.

“Is it now?” his tone was mockingly playful and she breathed out, making soft noises with her mouth while considering her answer. He picked up the tray and she followed him from the room as he ascended the stairs.

“Not many would risk themselves for a group of children and a few adults. If you didn't care about others, you would not have done what you did in the tavern.” He pushed on a door with his hip and walked in, placing the tray on the bedside table, the man in the bed looking far older then the years he had spoken of earlier. D'Inglist poured the man a cup of tea and sat on the edge of the bed, lifting the mans body up gently before bringing the tea cup to his lips. Polk woke, groggy and disoriented, taking a few sips before turning his head away. D'Inglist placed the cup's saucer on the table before placing the cup down as well. He picked up the tray and walked from the room, waiting patiently for Ammablique to leave the room before swiping his hand over the door once more. He walked down the hallway to another room, pushing open another door and waiting for her to enter the room.

“You have your own private bath, it is in the wash room just past that door.” he nodded in the direction on the other side of the large four poster bed. “When you are done, there will be clothes on your bed waiting for you. Nothing as delicate as what you were wearing, but more appropriate then what you are wearing now. If you need help bathing I can send in Tamia, if not, I shall see you in the drawing room when you are done, we will have our tea there.” She looked at him and then the room, then back at him. “Well?”

“Well?”

“Do you need helping undressing and bathing?”

“Oh, no, I have done all that since I was a child.”

“Then I will see you in the drawing room.” The door closed with a soft click. He seemed so different here, as if his whole manner had changed from the moment he had walked out of the mudroom. She took the small step up to the bed and pressed her hands against the silk duvet on top. She ran her hand lightly over the fabric to the wood, following the curve of the dark reddish wood till she was on the other side of the bed her back to the wash room.

“Cants I help ye miss?” Ammablique swung around to face the voice that had entreated her. A petite dark skinned woman with working clothes made of fine clothes stood behind her. Her eyes were whitened, even to the pupil and yet she stared in Ammablique's direction as if she truly saw her.

“I was just admiring the furniture.” Ammablique's voice quivered and she swallowed trying to push her fright away.

“Ye needst not be 'fraid of me, child. I not harm ya.” Ammablique nodded slowly before shaking her head at the absurdity of nodding to a blind woman.

“I'm alright, thank you, I can do it on my own.”

“If ye needst any, jus ring ze bell.” the woman pointed to the bell on the table next to the armoire before leaving the room. Ammablique pulled the robe from her shoulders and undid her corsets lacing, laying the piece over a chair to the side. She pulled her bloomers off and wrapped herself in the robe once more before walking into the wash room.

The room was larger then she expected it to be, a huge laying bath free stood in the middle of it, a plush seat and grooming table to one side. She walked to the bath, letting the robe drop to the floor in stepped in, the hot water making her cold flesh sting as her temperature rose. She sank down, the water sploshing around her and sighed. She had been going from town to town for almost two months yet, it had been almost a week since she had submerged herself in warm water. She breathed in deep, the perfume oils in the water filling her nose with the scents of rosemary and lavender. She sighed and slid under the water, her eyes closed, letting out a few small bubbles from her mouth. She laid there, her long hair floating around her face in tiny tendrils, holding her breath, letting the bath sooth her. The world around her quieted, the water drowning out sound with silence. She stayed until her lungs hurt and she had to sit up, the water sploshed and she pulled her wet hair back from her face before sinking back under the water. The water was hot, almost too hot and yet the skin on her arm started to prickle. She slowly opened her eyes, the dark figure standing over the edge of the tub startled as she sat up and out of the water, instinctively covering herself.

“Sorry miss.” the dirty face of the small girl looked just as frightened as she felt. “I didn't mean to startle you, miss. I was told to come up and see if you needed anything and I saw you under the water and thought maybe you had hurt yourself while getting in.” the tiny streaks running down her cheeks cleared away the dust and grime from her face.

Nano nano

I did a post and accidentally deleted part of it. I'm tired. It's been a long day of dealing with SES and turning in applications, which seems to be an never ending flood, and will be done again tomorrow.

I was right about it being terribly hard to get back into working out. I did 20 table side push ups, 20 sit up, 40 clam shells and 10 squats. My abs were burning, it's not even half as much as I was doing and I didn't get to run either. I feel utterly lame.

Oh well. Anyways been working on my NaNo. Here is part of it, enjoy, I haven't done any editing, so feel free to let me know of mistakes or parts that don't make any sense for whatever reason.

He sat in the corner.
She walked past the miss-matched tables that gave the impression of a poor antique shop rather then a tavern. She stopped on the other side of a rusted metal table and watched him. His arms were folded over his chest as it rose and fell and in a slow and steady rhythm, his feet, crossed and propped up on a nearby stool. She bent down, squinting slightly, trying to see through the darkness that enveloped him. His war battered leather top hat hid his face from view, only his rough unshaven chin was visible. She stood there watching him, her face slowly twisting into an expression of amazement and curiosity. He was fast asleep, even though this tavern was barely occupied there was always the chance one of them might come in, one of them one wouldn't wish to meet, a living nightmare. She looked around, balancing slowly from the ball of one heel to the other.
"Done staring?" the malice in the deep gritty voice startled her and she turned back to the man she had been watching only moments before. He hadn't moved from his position, his chin was still rested on his chest, his arms still crossed, his legs still comfortably rested and yet the atmosphere around him had changed, as if electricity had swarmed to the corner in the seconds she had looked away. She could see him almost perfectly, though her eyes had not changed, but as if an inner light bathed him, making him visible. "Well?" She coughed into the back of her hand nervously, she had come here, it would be silly to back down now.
"Are you D'Inglist?" She could feel his gaze sizing her up, her own eyes searching for any area that did not meet his.
"If I am?" She wrung her hands a few times before straightening her back and looking at him in the eyes.
"The question was are you him, not what would happen if you are." The stool screeched across the floor as he pulled his boots off of it to lean forward and glare at her. She took a step back, all the hairs on the back of her neck standing up.
"You are disturbing my nap."
"Clearly" Her voice wavered slightly and she coughed again, trying to regain her courage with the very motion. His laugh boomed throughout the tavern, causing all the patrons to stare in their direction.
"You are trying so hard to seem less scared then you actually are. I hope you understand how extremely funny that makes you seem, miss."
"Ammablique."
"What?"
"My name is Ammablique." She nodded her head slightly in the formal manner and held out her hand informally. He stared at her hand with a raised brow.
"That is an unusual name."
"It was once very popular or so my father has said."
"Maybe three hundred years ago."
"You would know, yes?" He kicked the stool past her and stood, towering over her, his lips twisted into a snarl as he glared down at her. She cowered, her eyes closed, half expecting him to slap her.
"Who the hell are you and why are you speaking to me?" His voice was barely above a whisper and yet the intensity of it made her quake. She could feel his eyes boring into her, and she desperately wished she could run away but her feet wouldn't move. Nor would her tongue, it felt heavy, swollen in her mouth, and her throat was dry as if she were made of sand and the rains had finally come to an end.
"Um." her lips trembled and she shivered, cold seeping into her bones even as sweat beaded on her forehead.
"Who?" he didn't even sound human. She flinched, the primal snarl of words feeling like the slap he had never given. She stared at the floor, each heave intensifying the burning sensation that was slowly creeping into her chest, like breathing in fire with every gasp, it was as if standing in front of one of the demonic horde. "Who are you?" He stared down at her, she was no more then 25, and yet how she had managed to live that long still astounded him. Most men and women were dead by the age of 15 in this place, only the very battle worn managed to survive and yet this woman standing in front of him exuded a sort of daintiness no longer found in this area, the sort of daintiness reserved only for very the elite, which he found didn't help with the lifespan much. He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and shook her slightly. “Answer the Goddamn question woman.” He felt her body go limp as she fainted and held her up by her shoulders. He sighed heavily and turned to the bartender. “cheapest room.”
“Up the stairs, first on the left.” The bartender didn't even look up from the glass in his hand, wiping the interior of the glass with the mostly dirty rag. D'Inglist hoped Polk didn't give so little care to all customers taking an innocent girl up the stairs after a dead faint, he could easily be taking her there to rape her and he hadn't done so much as bat an eye, though it was only because they had known each other so long that Polk had remained so quiet on the whole deal, he still felt it was something he should have to ask him about later.
He slung her over his shoulder, grabbed his gun belt and stomped up the stairs to the room. He laid her down on the bed and placed his belt on the floor before sitting down in the wing back chair facing it. He needed to get his anger under control or she might never wake, he knew how overpowering he could be to pure humans but she had caught him completely by surprise, something which hadn't happened in years. She groaned softly in her sleep as he sat there, almost perfectly still, his cheek resting on his fist, watching her, trying to figure out how she knew both his name and his relative age.
Three hours had passed and she had still yet to wake but he sat, perfectly still, as if a statue erected in the chair, only his eyes changing position, scanning the room slowly as he wrestled with his mired of thoughts.
She stirred on the bed but he remained seated. She opened her eyes and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling over head. She rubbed her eyes with her hand and slowly raised herself onto her elbow. Her forehead ached, the power hangover making her ears pound painfully.
“You ready to answer the question now?” She groaned, her face scrunched up as she began to slowly blink, trying to look through the dark in the direction of the voice.
“You will have to remind me of the question, my head is in incredible pain and I cannot seem to recall it.” He raised a brow, her formal way of speaking was rarely taught even to the elites.
“Who are you and why are you asking about me.” Every word he spoke slammed into her, making her head swell with pain. She brought her hand to her forehead and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. She sucked in air between her gritted teeth, making a soft hissing sound before exhaling with a grunt.
He stood slowly, the whole of the room seeming to creak with his very moment as he walked to the side of the bed. Her brow furrowed as she tried to recall who the person near her was, her head hurt just from the movement and she closed her eyes tightly. She held them closed, a flash of a memory of the tavern playing on the back of her lids. Her eyes flew open and she scooted back on the bed, all her earlier fear returning. The hand on her forehead chilled her to her core, even though it was warm and soft. She blinked furiously at the tears that were threatening to fall and swallowed slowly.
“If you are going to kill me, could you at least do it quickly.” the laugh that greeted her sounded warm instead of menacing and she smiled weakly.
“I didn't realize that someone in your position really had the right to request anything.” her smiled faded and she shrank away from the hand on her forehead.
“I would really hold still if I were you. If I had wanted to do anything with you, I could have done it already, many times over.” She looked at him, worry filling her charcoal colored eyes, his hand pressing to her forehead once again.
“What does that mean?” He shook his head, he hoped her lack of ability to understand was a side effect of her fainting and being disoriented instead of an overabundance of naivety, then her having lived this long would be incredulous.
“It means you have been asleep for three hours and had I wanted to do anything to you I could have done it and be on my way a very long time ago.” The pain in her head felt like tiny spidery fingers webbed out over her head, she could feel them slowly receding, being pulled forward and out. She sighed with relief as the last of it diminished. She watched him open and close his hand slowly as if it were stiff.
“What did you just do?” She touched her forehead with her fingertips where his hand had been only moments before. She jumped as his face was instantly in front of her own, his eyes dark and menacing.
“Do you think you have the right to ask questions of me?” She blinked, dumbfounded, he was still standing to the side of the bed, he didn't look as if he had moved. She looked down at her hands and began singing softly to herself.
"Sometimes, I feel the fear of uncertainty stinging clear. And I can't help but ask myself how much I let the fear. Take the wheel and steer. It's driven me before. And it seems to have a vague, haunting mass appeal. But lately I'm beginning to find that I. Should be the one behind the wheel.” her voice was soft and it shook with fear but she continued, as if singing somehow cleared her thoughts and pushed away her fear, her tantra of choice worried him and he sat back down in the chair.
“Where did you learn that song?” her voice died away and she looked at him for a moment before quickly looking away. “Christ woman, I have to repeat every damn question I ask you. Are you that deaf.”
“My father...”
“What?”
“My father taught me the song, he has sang it for me since I was very little.” The man sat forward, his face pained with worry. He knew that song, it was an old one, one not many people would know, he knew of four people who would have known that song, two of which could no longer sing it in this world.
“Who was your father?”
“Is.”
“Excuse me? Are you correcting me?” his annoyance was easily visible and she smiled weakly once more.
“I'm just saying, he isn't dead, or at least I don't think he is dead, not yet anyways.” His eyes deadened, as if the light in them had seeped away with her words.
“Why don't you stop trying to be coy and just answer the initial question.” His voice was as dead as his eyes and she looked around the room trying to think of any way she could distract him enough that she could leave, coming here had been a mistake, she wasn't sure what her father had been thinking. This man was evil, how could he have expected her to trust him.
He sighed heavily, women were such a pain, it was smart of her not to answer him, not to trust him, but it just made it more difficult for him. He clenched and unclenched his jaw trying to think of the best way to make her answer the questions he had posed.
He almost missed the unmistakable soft crackle of the fireball, his mind distracted by the situation already at hand. He leapt from the chair, wrapping his coat around her as the wall to the left exploded with furious intensity. He glanced out the new hole in the wall, the dust and smoke screening most of the world outside, but he caught a glimpse of four of them. He picked her up from the bed effortlessly, even her slight weight seeming almost like air to him and bound off the bed, towards the door of the room, kicking through it and running down the hall to the stairs. He hoped the patrons downstairs had been left alone and were at this moment fleeing, he did not know if he could protect them all in such a cramped space against what was at least four Leaphon. He jumped down the last half of the stairs, landing gracefully at the base of the steps and scanned the area. Two more Leaphon were downstairs, the patrons were cowered in the corner and the two were playing an old hand game to see who would win the right to pick the first victim. He knew exactly who they were fighting over, the bartender, the old goat had taken many Leaphon down and the smell of death and war had lingered on his flesh, he smelled delightful to them and D'Inglist knew that even if one of them got him there would be at least one more victim chosen. There had only been six people in the bar when he had com in, including himself, but now there were twelve people standing in the corner, most of which were under the age of 10. He sighed, the children always ran towards the adults in hopes that they would help protect them, it was more likely that an adult would barter with a Leaphon for his or her life by giving the child over instead, Leaphon loved the flesh of children, it was a sweeter more tender meat. D'Inglist was only slightly comforted by the fact that Polk had taken a stance in front of the others. He was a good warrior, he had fought for many years against the Leaphon but he was older now
“Hahaha Lardiz I won, which means, I get to eat the old man who has killed so many of our own. His flesh wont be as sweet but the victory over him with more then make up for it.” Lardiz growled at his companion and turned to a small girl to his right. Her face was dirty and full of fear and she looked as if she had peed herself just moments before, she would be more then enough to ease his bitterness at losing.
His blood sprayed all over the children quivering in front of him, a large hole where his forehead and right eye had been. Lardiz blinked a few times before squealing in pain, his hand held over the part of his face that was now missing.
“I wouldn't be so quick to assume you will have either of them.” D'Inglist put the woman in his arms down on her feet, his other arm raised and holding an old smoking Taurus Raging Bull. He watched the second Leaphon turn around and charge at him. He fired again, the bullet tearing at the flesh on the demons shoulder, the momentum knock the demon off course. “Polk, the cellar.” The older man nodded his head and ran towards the bar, his hip sliding across the smooth top surface as he vaulted over it with ease. A loud click was followed by an even louder bang as the trap door slammed into the floor. D'Inglist shoved the woman roughly towards the bar. “In!” The group of children stood staring at him, the blood running down their faces and soaking their clothes. “Unless you want to die.” D'Inglist turned and faced the two crumpled demons, they were wounded but not dead and he knew that sooner rather than later they would regain their senses enough to fight, no need having people getting in the way of that.
The group of people scrambled, trying to get onto the other side of the bar counter as fast as possible and yet it seemed as if they we going far too slowly. Polk stood there silently, helping the little ones down with one hand while his other held a long jagged edge knife. Ammablique stood next to the doorway, letting the younger children go in before her.
“Will he be okay?” Polk glanced to her and then back in the opposite direction, trying to keep an eye out for any more Leaphon that might come through the door, he knew, from far too much experience that they hunted in packs.
“If there is anyone that would be it, it would be him.” He reached down and pulled out a small bottle, no bigger then his hand, and the clear liquid slosh around inside.
“What's that?”
“The best protection I can give, now get in.” He tilted his head towards the opening of the trap door. Ammablique looked between the door and the man before her.
“What about you?”
“What about me.”
“Aren't you going to come in?”
“No.” D'Inglist clenched his jaw, stubborn old brute.
“You know damn well you will just be in my way.”
“I'm forty-seven years old. I should have been dead a long time ago by all accounts.”
“No need to push your luck today.” D'Inglist looked over his shoulder, his features softer then Ammablique had ever seen them, even when he slept he looked like hardened stone and yet right now, she could see the look of a man who was desperately trying to hold onto the last bit of his own personal history. This man whom her father said had lived many lifetimes over, how many of his friends and loved ones had he seen murdered, how many had been lost on the way to being great, how many had he grieved for. She looked down at her hands and then off to the side. Didn't make him any less of an ass though.
“If not today, then tomorrow, or the next day.”
“Then live till then.”
The two demons, both severely wounded were now standing, not even ten feet from D'Inglist, their eyes glowing with a bitter hatred.
“You will pay for this.” Lardiz hissed through a mouth that twitched with each word, part of his face slumping off his twisted skeletal frame. The demons body emitted a soft red light, the edges of his wound concentrating the light, his face looking like it had been burned away and his flesh, at the edges, turned to glowing coal. Lardiz hissed again, clinging to his face once more, the agony of the new pain feeding to the previous one. The second demon watched, the clear horror of understanding twisting his features with fear.
“Sanctified bullets?” the laughter that rang out from behind D'Inglist was dark and foreboding, filled with anger and malice and made Ammablique's head throb. “D'Inglist. Fancy meeting you here. I see you've met Lardiz, or really, he met the end of your ancient piece of junk.” The two wounded demons took a few shuffled steps backwards letting the new Leaphon through as he flipped his hand nonchalantly in the direction of the weapon now pointed towards his chest.
“Not really a piece of junk if it can still do that.” D'Inglist nodded towards Lardiz, who now stood quietly, the blood from his wound slowly pooling on the floor, the viscous liquid making a sickeningly sticky sound as gravity pulled it to the ground.