Dancing Assassins

Office scene!

2007-11-02T22:45:00.000+08:00

He slumped back in his chair with a sigh, left hand raising his drink to his lips, while the other fiddled with his mobile phone. Relishing the quiet of his office, Dillian was more than a little annoyed when Shane barged in without so much as knocking.

"Yea. I got your message, what happened?"

Wordlessly, Dillian navigated to the text message in question, and tossed the phone to Shane, who, after reading it, looked as if he could not decide if he wanted to be sympathetic or to burst out laughing.

He sat down across from Dillian and lit a cigarette, sliding the phone across the desk as he did so.

"So this was yesterday?"

Dillian grunted in reply.

"Tried calling or messaging her?" Shane raised an eyebrow.

"Naturally."

"Any word?"

"Nope."

"Mm...Y'know? This is totally unexpected. Who would've thought?"

"Yea. Total riot. Hilarious."

And with that sarcastic retort, Dillian swive;ed in his chair to look out the window, his back towards Shane. On the street below, people scurried for shelter as raindrops the size of dollar coins fell from the menacing clouds. Tridents of light ran along the underbellies of the mercurial clouds, followed closely by thunder.

"Like one bloody cosmic fart," Dillian mumbled darkly.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Is Steph ready or not?"

"No, duh. You know her. Hey you know what? I know this song that would be really apt for your situation now, man." Shane started humming the tune to a song about being blind-sided in a relationship.

"Look, just shut up, okay? And put out that bloody cigarette!" Snapped Dillian.

"Whoa, chill out, boss. No point blowing your top off. It ain't productive," Shane took one last drag from his cigarette and offered it to Dillian, who at this time was thumbing through the messages on his mobile phone.

"Here, you could use this. And stop reading those, before you tear everything in this studio up."

"You know I don't smoke..."

"You used to," Shane cut in. "Come on, you know it helps."

"You're not exactly helping, you know," Dillian mumbled as he shoved his mobile phone into his pocket, and reached for the proffered cigarette, which was almost down to its filter.

He drew deeply from the cigarette, feeling the familiar slow drag as the poisons slowly snaked their way through his body. He held it in, savouring the high as it came to him. Dillian looked sideways at his friend as he grimaced through a cloud of smoke.

The End? HAHAHAHAHAHA shoots self

2007-11-02T21:20:00.000+08:00

He stared back at her, eyes smoldering with desire, shap with angst, and just a hint of rage. His expression said it all. He hated her, but he also wanted her more than anything else in the world.

And her? She was the very definition of arrogance. She knew how he felt, and she cared not a whit. Taunting him, dangling him at the end of a string, but deep within, she knew she wanted him too, and was deathly afraid she'd gone too far.

The space between them was electric. It was a case of an unstoppable forace against an unmovable object. They held in their positions a moment longer, before pushing off of each other, spinning away in opposite directions. He looked back at her, still angry but slightly subdued; he was willing to compromise. She glanced coyly back at him from under long, curled lashes.

Taking their cue from the music, both moved towards each other again, crossing the dance floor with fluid strides. When they were but a few feet apart, she leapt. Her form and posture perfect, while he caught her in mid air, using her momentum to propel them into the next sequence of the dance.

Languid, almost lazy movements characterized this next phase of the dance. A vertical expression of a horizontal desire, their bodies moved as one. Their movements slowed as the music faded. The main lights came on as they entered their final pose, and the applauded, with a few giving a standing ovation.

Dillian glanced at Gwen. Sweat glistered on her exposed skin, and her face was flushed with the effort of the dance. But she was beaming, the exhilaration and energy that the dance gave her far outweighed the tiredness. It made her... Alive.

Grinning, Dillian took her hand and gave a slight push, giving her spin momentum, and at the same time providing her with support, as she moved in an 'open fan' position, one commonly used to present the couple.

Coming out of a deep bow to the audience and the judges, the couple shared another grin and proceeded off the dance floor.

"You did great," Gwen gurgled as they entered the holding area.

"No, we did great."

"That's an awefully overused cliché, Dill." Gwen said she she nudged him in the ribs.

"Whatever works, you know?" Dillian signed and moved to stand in front of her. "Gwen, I love you."

Her grin slipped, and she turned away from him, occupying herself with her makeup case on the table.

"Dill, we've been over this before. 'We' will never work. You know that."

"No, we don't know that. look at over dances. Are you trying to say that you felt nothing out on the Floor?"

"What we felt was the dance, Dill," Gwen sighed, exasperated. "You know very well what I mean. It's the dance that gives us life, that awakens us. We live when we dance. That says nothing about being life partners.

Dillian snorted, annoyed.

"It was our dances that made us feel alive. Dance gave us a direction, 'We' gave each other life," He took hold of her hand, and gave it a squeeze. "Why Aaron, Gwen? The least you could have done was to give a decent explanation, instead of sending a cheesy text message like some fifteen year old boy, and then disappearing for a quarter of a year!"

"Aaron... Understands me, Dill. He's known me longer than you, and he knows me inside out." Gwen snapped, trying to glare at Dillian but unable to keep it up for long.

"And I don't? Well, if that's the case, it certainly isn't from the lack of trying, Gwen. You say he understands you, but all he does is act like a...a...dense wooden block half the time. And when I try to...to...'understand' you, as you like to put it, you simply shut up. His questioning eyes drilled into her.

"And that's not all. What on earth drove you to do what you did? Did you think I wouldn't be willing to at least listen to you? Did you think that I would've gone berserk and wercked everything? What was it, Gwen? What, and why? If you thought that I would've been anything resembling a warmongering caveman, then lady, 'You', do not 'Understand' me."

He took a deep breath, his anger expelled after 4 months of being pent up. He was about to continue, but he felt so very tired, wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed.

Her glare had softened into furtive glances between him and her hands, which were fidgeting with her skirt.

"It's our last dance together, Dill," she said quietly, eyes watering, threatening to ruin her heavy makeup. "Please don't make this a bad memory." And with that she turned and walked quickly away.

"Don't make this a bad mem..." Dill started, but she was already gone. He stared after her, hands balled into fists, before walking away in another direction.

***

He saw her afterwards, wraped around Aaron as they headed out of the competition hall towards his car, followed by their little entourage.

He felt much like the way he did when she first sent him that text: Cut adrift, lost, shell-shocked. He glanced at her from inside the hall a few times, emotionally off-center, and unable to decide what to do next.

Aaron caught sight of him looking in their direction, and murmured something into Gwen's ear. She started, shrugged, and got into the car.

She never looked at him once.

sidenote

2007-02-25T01:30:00.000+08:00

EDIT2: added a stupid flooble for fun. lol.

EDIT: I just released 3 half-fucked drafts that I fiddled with but never got around to fleshing out and/or was too disappointed in to complete. They are below this post. read, and be amused.

this post is completely Out Of Character. this is the author speaking.

I am stuck. HAHA.

-.-"

I have no plot, I have no direction, I don't know what the story is about. All I know is what my characters are, what they do, and all i've written is how they behave when interacting with each other, mainly Gwen and Dillian. The main 'theme', so far, is... hurr geez I don't really have a theme either... I guess it's the relationship between G and D, and... G's supposed homosexuality issues. *shrug*

All the posts that are up here so far are based on actual events that I've been through. I've been blogging here, in other words, except that I translate what's happened to me into either Gwen or Dill's viewpoint.

But, like I've said, I don't have a...Direction. A fanthomable ending. I, uh, need the box to work in. Else I'll just be rambling on and on and on.

So...yea. leave a comment or something. All 2.5 of you. >.<

Taking a second plunge

2007-02-25T01:17:00.000+08:00

Drafted: 7/7/06 1.10PM Posted 2/25/07 1.14am [random self-reflective scene]

I lay awake throughout the night. Exhausted as I was, I could not sleep.

Guilt, pleasure, excitement, uncertainty and a myriad of questions bounced around in my head like a herd of stampeding elephants, threatening to knock me out with a mental concussion.

I'd always believed, always known, that I was off-center in my sexual orientation. For years I'd been engaged in fulfilling homosexual relationships,.....................

Gwen finds that she's not a lesbo thru & thru!

2007-02-25T01:15:00.000+08:00

Drafted: 5/16/06 10pm Posted: 2/25/07 1.12am [scene based on chalet. Gwen has first intimate encounter with Dillian]

The last of the dishes were finally washed and set aside. It had taken almost forever to get those of us who were not too drunk to stand to contribute to the clean-up effort.

With half of the gang high on alcohol and pretty much...........[end of draft]

Thoughts From The Back Of The Bus.

2007-02-25T01:10:00.000+08:00

Drafted: 5/10/06 11.48PM. Posted: 25/2/07 1.28AM (unedited) [probably usable, too much rambling]

Reflective scene. Note: I forsee more posts like this. It's still early in the writing process and I think I'm spending more time getting to know my characters and letting them talk to me, to us, rather than having an actual plot at the moment. I have discussed several plot possibilities with 1 or 2 of you, and I will take those suggestions into consideration. Thanks for your input. Any more suggestions please lemme know? thanks.

I found myself taking the bus home the next day. This wasn't routine, for Dillian would usually give me a lift home, since we lived so close to each other. In fact, one of my schoolmates asked if we had an argument, and hoped that our 'relationship' was 'okay'. Relationship?! Did we really look 'together'? I shrugged it off. It was another straw in the hump of a bad day that I was having. Anal lecturers, impossibly long queues during lunch hour, and the incessant stares and wolf-whistles from half-baked guys from whom sophistication was gloriously absent.

I guess it was probably a good thing that Dillian could not drive me home that day. He was Not exactly good company when one was moody. Besides, there were quite a few good looking girls on the same bus I was on. But they did not rouse my interest for long. It was one of those days, I suppose. The bus hit the expressway and started to pick up speed. I extended a hand out of the window and let it dangle there, more exhausted than I'd thought. The wind flowed past us, brushing my hands and feeling very much like the reigns of some great chariot. I felt, for a moment, like Apollo in his chariot of the sun. And I was reminded of the myth of his son perishing because of his inability to control said chariot. I wondered if Apollo ever had any daughters worth mentioning. Everything in existance was male oriented. Even the language we used leans in favor of males.

I was about to nod off when we pulled into.....................[end of draft]

Never Dance Again

2007-02-03T22:29:00.000+08:00

(auth's background note: Gwen just sneaked out of drug rehab for a coupla hours because he was uncooperative with the program. more details later.)

I glanced over at the passenger seat, hoping that Dillian recognized where we were. But he only stared out the window, bloodshot eyes looking at nothing.

Half dragging, half supporting him out of the car, I led him to the second level of the building. Leaving him propped against the wall, mumbling about 'needing a fix' and scratching furiously at his neck, I turned my back on him and fiddled with the door lock, all the while trying to swallow a huge lump in my throat.

Prodding the door open, I gently shoved him into the room. Caught by surprise, and his nervous system clogged up with all those drugs, he lost his balance and fell onto his knees. Ignoring his muttered curses, I stalked over to the light switches and waited for him to quiet down before flicking them on.

It took him a while to get used to the light, and more time after to realise what he was looking at.

Parquet flooring, lacquered and smooth, but still rough enough to provide grip; A mirror that stretched from wall to wall, floor to ceiling; and at one end of the room, set into stlyish cabinets, the sound system's control center.

It was a plain and simple room, yet it was enough to knock Dillian into a stunned silence. It was a dance studio. Our dance studio. The one that we spent so much time and effort trying to create.

Our dream, realised.

But a realised dream meant nothing if the dreamers were not around to enjoy it, and seeing the empty studio, being in it, Dillian realised all that.

He struggled to his feet, as I watched silently from my position beside the door. I know not how long we stood at our respective positions, his stare alternating between the mirror, floor and his feet; my stare centered on him.

Eventually, though, his involuntary shivers stopped, his sniffles lessened, and he stood up straighter as he took a tentative step forward. It was a wobbly step, and he nearly lost his balance, but as he recovered, he glanced back at me and gave a weak smile. He was still awfully pale, and weaker than a baby, but he was most definately feeling better than an hour ago.

He tried to pace the width of the studio, but fell, before he even got to the halfway mark. I started forward, worried that he might have injured himself, but he waved me away and tried again to stand.

Again and again, he fell back down before he even got halfway off the ground. It was no good. His legs could not support his weight, and his breathing became more laboured. Having danced with him as his partner for such a long time, I could tell that he was getting extremely fustrated, and if left alone, would push himself too far, till the time came when he just gave up.

I could not bear to watch this anymore, I brought him here in hopes of raising his sprits, reigniting his desire to recover, the flame to dance again. But all I managed to do was to raise him out of his drug induced haze, and drop him into a pit deeper than the one he was in. Some friend I was.

I rushed forward and tried to calm him down, feeling guilty at the sight of his tears. He looked at me with the visage of one who has given up all hope and spoke his first words in a month. The same words he said the last time he spoke.

" I'll never be able to dance again, Gwen. "

(auth's note: its 2 in the morning. my brain ceased to function 4 hours ago. pardon the quality of writing.)

2007-01-27T21:09:00.000+08:00

We walked.

We walked with the knowledge that each step brought us closer to the end.

I supposed I was sad to see him go. But truth be told I was too shellshocked to feel much of anything. It all seemed so simple a week ago. It did not even register an hour ago. But, as we neared the departure gates, the sudden realisation that it'll be akin to an eon before I'll see him again was like the lead ball and chain, coiled around my feet.

He felt the same way too, if the way he was squeezing my hand was of any indication, and somehow, that made me feel better. I felt that I could hide my emotions better, and put on a strong front, knowing that I was not alone in feeling this way.

One step...two...

The gates loomed in front of us like the gates to the Void. (auth's note: I actually wanted to put " like big looming thingys!" heh.)

three...four...

He came to a halt, and we glanced at each other, not quite able to hold the other's stare.

busy busy busy. will come back to finish this! i ...think.

Opening Cafe Scene

2006-05-26T22:42:00.000+08:00

This is something really rough. I wrote it down when I was bored in school. Did not really plan what was gonna happen, and I did not have time to complete it. But yea. It's the first time so far that Vince speaks.

We were walking down that old path when Abel exclaimed, "Hey, ain't that Vince?"

We all paused in our tracks as we tried to get a clear view of the person Abel was pointing at. There, sitting at our usual spot in the cafe, was indeed, Vince.

"Hey, cool! Let's go beat the shit outta him!" Dillian, of course.

-~*~-
Transitional scene where the group enters and joins Vince at the table. To be written soon.
-~*~-

There was a lull in the conversation, and everyone got to work on their drinks. Vince absentmindedly stirred the golden-yellow liquid in his glass, looking thoughtful.

I glanced up at the counter and saw Grace, the waitress, staring over at Vince, eyes like that of a child peering through a candy shop's window. She noticed me and our eyes met. We exhanged smiles, both understanding what she was mooning at.

"You know what?", Vince looked up, a small grin splitting his angular face. "I think it's totally awesome that we actually meet up and have these get togethers."

I could almost feel Dillian rolling his eyes. Vince was too cloistered, too sheltered and too outdated in his book. I rolled my own eyes at that thought. Dillian was always the most 'plugged in', in popular culture. He was always the first one to have the latest fad. The first one to sport the latest fashions. He was the one who got picked up by both guys and girls where ever he went. I personally thought he was an elitist snob who only put up with me because I was his dance partner.

Men...

Vince smiled at me as he continued speaking, as if he'd heard my thoughts.

"I mean, look at the other kids our age. Tapping away on their mobile phones all day, even when they're meeting long lost friends for the first time in ages! I just don't get how some people can go through all the trouble of organizing, say, a luch with some friends, and then spend the entire session talking on the phone with people who wern't there. It's like, 'hey, let's get together in person, so I can ignore you while you do the same to me!' "

There were a few uncomfortable shuffles at our table. We were all guilty of what Vince said. He'd always like calling us 'sheep'; or rather, 'Ardent Advocates of the All-Annihilating Athrophy - Commercialism', to be exact.

"Well," drawled Dillian, trying, as usual, to snub Vince and his '4th century mindset'. "At least some of us do get out of the house. And it's not all exactly like you've described.

"I personally think that it's much better than being cooped up al home like you," Dillian continued, "Coming out of the shade only once in a while, and even then only because the girlfriend demanded that you did so. And even then, you adhere to an unspoken, unofficial curfew of 10pm. 10pm! Good gods man, you're twenty this year, for crying out loud! Isn't it time you started, oh I don't know, living, a little?

-~*~-

And I ended the writing there. Vince's reply will be something along the lines of not having to follow the myopic dictates of society to be himself, to enjoy himself.

You could probably guess by now that he is a little against the Establishment. Oh well. Until the next post...

Prologue

2006-05-25T00:21:00.000+08:00

This would most probably be the official start of the story. The Letter post is more of like a Post-It for me, like some hastily scribbled bit of info to keep me reminded of who's who. So yea, discard that. The Letter is not going to be included anywhere in the story. Most probably.

"My name is Gwendolyn. I'm twenty one this year, I'm a dancer, and I am homosexual."

That was all I intended to say when my turn came. The trick to these dreary introduction games was to indulge the host a little, give them a little of what they wanted to hear, and then drop a totally unexpected bomb on their sensibilities. Not that I really cared how they saw me, or what they’d do to me after such a revelation.

Not that I really cared about anything at all, actually.

We were sitting in a circle, as these games tended to need us to do, and I was 7 positions away from the current speaker. She was rather sweet looking, with short, wavy brown hair, and eyes that seemed to catch the light just right.

The light that shone into the room through a small window with vertical iron bars embedded into the concrete ledge that served as the lip of the window. I glanced at the window, reminded that I would not be able to simply walk away from this silly game, from this silly room, at anytime I wished.

They tried to disguise the fact as much as possible, but there was only so much they could do. And what they could not disguise, they tried to mute its obviousness. As I glanced around the room, each small reminder felt like a dull thud within my heart. Like recalling your most embarrassing moments, and feeling the urge to alternately bury your face and groan and to pound your fists into something, as if doing so would expel the burning shame you felt.

The unusually large bolt across the door, both painted an earthy brown to make you feel at home; the door itself, made of sturdy iron, ensured that nobody was going to break in anytime soon. Or break out. Fans and light fixtures were too high up on the ceiling to be of any use in any hare-brained suicide attempt.

The girl with the wavy hair had just finished, and now there were only six people before it was my turn. I wrung my hands, suddenly feeling very confined and claustrophobic. I was starting to hyperventilate, but I was doing all of this quietly, not wanting to attract any attention. 'Keep your head low,' was what some of the older girls advised us when we were in the holding room for the morning assembly.

I forced myself to calm down, taking slow and deep breaths. I clenched my fists to stop them from trembling, feeling my nails dig into flesh. The pain was a welcome change. It was something… real, something I had some measure of control over. It was comforting. But most of all, the pain brought focus.

I sighed and cast my eyes to the floor, contemplating my life thus far, wondering again where I went wrong, and when did I start down the path that lead me to this falsely cheerful room, sitting in a circle with other women dressed in the same plain white uniform, playing an introductory ice-breaker game.

I suppose you could say it started with iced tea.

Gwen does weed! Viva la bong!

2006-05-21T00:15:00.000+08:00

I was almost nodding off when I heard the distinctive growl of Dillian’s car coming around the bend. I jumped up and scrambled to hide behind a pillar where I could watch him without being noticed.

He flicked his indicator lights to the right and turned into the small street a block or two from his flat. He snarled at a cat staring at him as he was getting out of his coupe before slamming the door.

He ran eyes over its gleaming, metallic blue surface, and look that was a blend between puzzlement and amusement crossed his face. I wondered what he was thinking about.

He shuffled a couple of steps in the direction of the general store, kicking up sand in to the wind with his slightly faded sneakers. I sighed...he really needed new shoes. He glanced about before he shuffled the rest of the way to the store's entrance, as if unsure of what he wanted to do. I clenched my fists in indecision. I finally decided to stay put and to fidget, getting extremely impatient. Curse that damnable Dillian for acting so strangely and making me stalk him like this.

10 minutes later he emerged from the store, purchase in hand, and walked towards his car. I sighed again. So it was true. He was back to his old habit, and it was going to be quite the struggle to bring him back to me. To us. I was getting annoyed at the way I kept thinking of him as mine in the singular.

I was waiting for him when he emerged from his car a few minutes later. I gave him a tight smile, one that told him I knew what he bought, but I wasn't going to say or do anything. I was just... going to be there for him. He seemed slightly surprised that I was there, but said nothing, eyes glazing over the way they usually did whenever he was 'zoned out, but still functional'.

With a barely audible 'Bah', he grabbed the item and walked out towards the benches in the common landing. Fingering his purchase, he finally sighed and ripped off the wrapper and flicked the cover open.

I sat down beside him, doing nothing more than observe, for I was as far out of my element as I had ever been. I was unsure what to do, what to say. I wondered what he was thinking of me being here, beside him. I hated this feeling of helplessness, of feeling around in the dark, trying to figure out something to do to reach out to the imbecile beside me.

He sighed and took one of the contents from the item, placing it between his lips. One hand offered me the box, while the other fumbled for something in his pocket.

I took a long hard look at the 19 remaining sticks within; there was a slight pang of guilt as I took one out. I could not recall when I'd decided to smoke along with him, but there I was; cigarette in hand, waiting. A small voice inside was telling me to stop being foolish, that I'd done this before, long ago, what was difference now? The main difference, I screamed internally to myself, was that these cigarettes were mixed with no small amount of marijuana. It was a well known secret that the store Dillian went to earlier was a front for the dealers of the weed.

The area around us was deserted, and the only sound that could be heard was the flicking of a lighter. This was it. He shut his eyes and took a deep draw from the stick, holding it in, before releasing the smoke through his nose with nary a hint of discomfort. That meant that he’d been doing it before today. That meant bad news.

He looked over at me, eyes dull and half closed. No words were said, but it was rather obvious he wanted me to join him. It was the only way he’d accept me being there.

I sighed. Sometimes men and their strange need to be macho puzzled me beyond all reason. But then again, I suppose we women do the same thing for the male mental constitution as well.

I lit the cigarette and took my first puff in over 2 years. The smoke rushed into me, filling every pore in my lungs, awakening long forgotten memories of the experience.

My lungs hurt, but not in a bad way. My whole body gave a slight shudder, as if embracing an old lover after a long period of absence. I could hold my breath no more. The smoke escaping from my mouth was like that of a spastic geyser. Coughing, I opened my eyes, and almost wished I had not. Slightly dizzy, I took another draw from the cigarette. And another, and another. Each breath hurting less, and feeling more pleasurable. My senses becoming more alert, more attuned to the world around me.

Just like sex, I thought grimly.

Time lost its meaning, and I moved to cuddle beside him, feeling insanely high and unable to keep my balance. He tossed his cigarette butt -now wet- away and took my stick away from me, and began to smoke that one too, the ambers glowing into a sizzling red every time he took a long drag.

(Auth's note: considering taking out the following bit. seems a bit redundant)
After an immeasurable amount of time my senses came back to me, and I got to my feet with a slight wobble, nodding in the direction of the elevator. My head was feeling really heavy, a polar opposite of just 5 minutes ago.

With a muted curse he heaved himself off the bench and followed me into the elevator. His movements were slow and you could tell that something was 'off' about him. He was still grounded in reality, but only barely. I supposed smoking 2 sticks right off the bat like that was too much, even for him.

I sighed. Was it really worth it? Granted, it was the second-best feeling in the world, after an actual orgasm, but was it worth the trouble of weaning myself of the damned sticks? Again?

And speaking of orgasms...

Okay, this piece TOTALLY SUCKS. omg. I am so not shiok with this. but what the hell, I do need this scene as a catalyst to move the story where I want it to go. I guess I'll come back to do some re-writing of this LAAAATERRRR on. heh. okay so i did come back to fiddle with it lol.

Some of you may find this piece familiar in some way. That's because I cannibalized one of my previous pieces. lol. Oh well. Until the next post, ciao.

Scene From Somewhere Later In The Story

2006-05-07T22:22:00.000+08:00

"I don't tell anybody this, because the act of doing so is like superman willingly embracing kryptonite. I don't tell anybody this, because I'm afraid someone else does the same thing, and thiat kills my uniqueness. I don't tell anybody this, but every morning when I wake, I stare at myself in the mirror, and I feel like crying my heart out. Except, the tears don't come. They well up and gather behind I my eyes like some geyser. It almost burts, but it never does. Because I tell myself that I'm the most beautiful, the most handsome, the most desirable person in existence. I tell myself - before the tears flood - that people don't see me in that light, because they're too closed minded, too ignorant, too stupid, and that someday, when I'm gone, they'll reliase it and regret their ignorance for the rest of eternity."

He paused, probably to save himself the further embarrassment of letting me hear his voice choke. I could see the redness in his eyes. The shine of brimming tears about to flow. My stomach constricted. Why was he telling me this?

"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice trembling, "Telling myself all that, helps to stop the tears. but only for a while. Because I start questioning myself. If I'm so desirable, why do my relationships all fall apart the way they do? I think of myself as a failure. It's instinctive. It's been drilled into me ever since I was a kid. " He paused to draw in breath, and I realised I was holding mine too.

"The screamings," I ventured, "the name calling, the counters whenever you try to defend yourself. It didn't matter if you were innocent or not. Once he believed you did something, there was no convingcing him otherwise. The announcements that you were stupid and useless. The twisting of the words you used in your defence. And if you were somehow right, and he could not find anything to you did wrong, he'd dig up an old issue and start getting angry all over again. The months of silence, of ignoring you evenever you greeted him. And the sudden eruption when you stop. And the worse part is when he storms off into his room. You hear his door open, and...-"

"The seconds before the slam drag themselves into eternity. And then the door does slam shut, it feels like your world has ended, like you've been tossed into a maximun security prison."

"For life. Yes."

He stared at me for a while before continuing. His watery eyes boring into me like I was some intruder on his moment of self-gloryfying pity. How dare I have similar experiences as him.

"And so I force all those emotions into a small unused corner of my heart, and I encase them within a cavern of the coldest ice. So cold that it burns. And in the void that is left, I try to fill it up with positive emotions: love; happiness. Stuff they taught us during therapy. It's all bullshit. They are the mercutios that jest at woundless scars. Nothing works, ever. Nothing, except telling myself that I'm..."

"God."

"...Yeah." He looked at me again, the tears flowing freely from both our eyes. "Yeah."

I picked up a pebble and tossed it with a frustrated grunt into the water. The ripples raditated out from where the pebble entered, disturbing the tranquility of the pond. It was as if I'd destroyed the equilibrium of the world. Upset Ying and Yang. The fish certainly seemed to think so, crowding at the other end of the pond , as far away from the evil pebble thrower as possible.

And at the very center of the ripples was a small patch of calm water, almost like a void. A calm center when the rest of the world is in upheaveal. I wished I could have been that center.

We sat there by the pond, side by side, for the next few hours. Neither of us saying anything. Neither of us wanted to. Besides, there was nothing to say. I watched as the sun set behind the trees with practiced bravado, seemingly all-knowing. Dillian directed his gaze towards the ground, fiddling with a twig he'd plucked from somewhere. He sighed alot. It was as if that was the only way he could breathe. I wished he'd stop doing that.

It reminded me of my father during the periods of silence when you were simply waiting for him to explode, and there's nothing you can do. He sighed alot during those times. It's like being stuck in a well at the foot of an awakening volcano. There's no way out of the well and it was only a matter of time before the volcano erupted, sending its lava flowing down and into the well, slowly boiling the water as it burned and...

You get the picture.

The street lamps flickered on along the path behind us, attracting moths and other insects. I sighed and turned to look at him. He was still fiddling with a twig, his eyes glazed and staring at some point in space.

He was actually wuite attractive, if one thought about it. I wondered why I never noticed it before. My eyes traced the outline of his side profile, harshly lit by the glow of the street lamps. Forehead, nose, cheekbones... lips.

I shook myself at that line of thought, slightly amused. This was probably where (according to depictions of teenagers by popular culture), after having shared our hearts' deepest secrets, we elope in the moonlight. I wouldn't put it past Dillian to actually sit there, pretending to be the brooding protaganist of his story, waiting for me to finally cave in and grab him by the collar and drag him in for a kiss.

MEN! He probably engineered the whole setup, this whole conversation, in an attempt to get into my pants!

I calmed my self, seeing no productive outcome in being angry, besides, I couldn't even prove anything. He may have been sincere when he said that he needed to talk. Fine. I'd give him the benifit of the doubt.

He looked up, probably alerted to my fidgiting. I froze as his brown eyes -dull from the emotional toll of our conversation- searched for mine. We locked gazes for a few seconds before he adverted his to the ground, then looking back up at me, as if asking for permission to even look at me. Oh how my heart fluttered, he was so adorable! I blinked rapidly, absolutely horrified at what I was thinking. What kind of evil hex did he cast on me to make me all muddled like that? The nerve!

We were both staring at each other, blinking and looking like total idiots. And just before it got awkward, he asked,

"You all right?" His bass voice -still caked with emotion and slightly rough from not speaking for so long- reached out and flowed around me. He never had any proper vocal training, and as such, his voice tended to run amok on the octave scale. Yet another adorable quirk that hinted at vulnerablity. I was flooded with protective emotion for this person in front of me. I was so close to breaking out into childish giggles. I was feeling guilty for even looking at a guy in this light. I was tempted to kiss him. I was disappointed that he'd only said 3 words...

I was going to strangle him for making me feel this way.

"Uh...Gwen?" He probed again, this time more in control of his voice. But it was no less intense, the way the air seemed to viabrate with the power of his untamed vocals. And I was being drawn into his eyes. It was like being sucked into a dying tornado, and being held suspended in its heart. You know full well that when the tornado dies, the vortex will cease to exist, and you'd plummet to your death. But you want to linger, because the view is too damned beautiful.

Then he looked away, searching for something on the ground, and I felt plummeting back to earth.

He reached out and poked me in the shin with the twig.

"Hey, Gwen."

"WHAT?!" I yelled, absolutely enraged that he broke the spell. And even more angry at the fact that he'd casted one in the first place. Damned ninny should have just leaned forward and... "Uh, sorry. You know what? I think we should leave. It's getting dark and our training session starts in about an hour anyway."

I chewed my lip and hoped he did not notice.

"Hur... Yea. Yea, lets... Do that. Okay. The car's that way. Let's go?"

No you idiot, just shut up and kiss me. This is the ONLY time you'll be able to without losing your life. " Yea. Get on with it already."

And so we left the park, with him leading the way, and me entertaining alternate fantasies of kissing him and slapping the daylights out of him.

this scene is to be slotted into a later part of the story.

Letters To The Edge ( An Introduction )

2006-05-05T20:27:00.000+08:00

To: You.

How've you been, then? It's been six months and we've haven't had a single letter from you. You avoiding us or something? Heh. I’m sorry. I did not mean it in an accusing way. These things just don’t sound right when we write them down. Strange.

Well, the gang met up today. You remember them? There used to be five of us. There was Abel, Vincent, Dillian, me. You. But then you left. You just up and disappeared. And all we had for an explanation was a damned 2 page letter for the bunch of us. Your mother did not help things one bit, being as vague as she was. 1 week. 2. And then you sent us a letter from the other side of the world. From the other side of the world. I still cannot believe how you could just leave like that without even telling us. Without telling me.

Maybe things were a little rough between us after our break up, but at the very least I would have thought that we were friends.

Sigh. Never mind. We all got over the initial shock, and settled back into routine after you called Vince to let him… us… know what happened and that you were alright. To be honest, I'm kinda hurt that you did not call me instead. I mean, sure, you and Vince were once a couple for almost 2 years, but… So were we! And although we only lasted as long as we did, I'm sure it was something more intense, and more special than what you had with Vince. I just don’t see why you'd have to go and call him, of all people, we all know what kind of a person he… I'm sorry. I'm getting a little carried away.

I probably should not talk about that anymore. We all know how worked up I get over the subject of Vince.

As I was saying, the gang met up today. Everyone's the same. Nobody's changed much. I mean, how much can happen to you when you’re stuck in a dump like this place? The subject of you came up. We were all wondering if you were still holding up.

Abel's still doing swordsmanship training. Says his instructor will be introducing him to using two swords soon. Naturally he could not stop talking about that. Heh. Ah Abel. Always the naive idealist. I tell you he’s going to get himself hurt one day. Can you believe that he likes me? Sigh.

Your wonderful ex-boyfriend is still with Helen. They have their arguments, as usual. You know how he is. I find it extremely hard to understand how you managed to put up with him for 2 years. Bah. Oh, his animation project is just about done. We hope that it’ll work out; will keep you updated on that.

Dillian. Ever the womanizer. Nothing new to report here. His latest 'relationship' crashed and burned in record time. As if that would ever be a surprise. I'm sure I'll get a huge kick out of seeing Abel's reaction when he finally realizes that Dillian has been in love with him for the past 5 years. Oh my. What a show that would be.

And me? I'm still dancing. I've lost a bit of the inspiration ever since you left (Yes I'm still angry at you). But I’m doing okay. I have a competition in about 2 months' time. It would be really nice if you could watch me dance on that day. You do know how I love it when you look at me with those sparkling greens of yours. Sigh, but I suppose you won't be showing up, as usual.

You were always so busy, even when we were together. It's always your friends first; your classmates first; Vincent first. It was not me you first turned to for comfort when that incident with your leg happened. Hell, you never looked at me at all. You simply shut me out whenever I wanted to be there for you. Yes I know I was more than a little clingy back then, but we were sorting it out weren't we?

Argh. Fine, be that way. Stay where you are over on the other side of the world! I love you, I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else, ever, but damned will I be if I let you keep me dangling, mangling my heart in the process!

I will end here before I burst into a fit and tear this letter up and end up having to write another one. The gang sends its regards, and tell you to take care of yourself. And I apologize for the crumples at the bottom of the letter. You know how I tend to ball up my fists whenever I’m agitated. And you know FULLY WELL how you do that to me.

Even though you’re all the way on the other side of the world.

Do take care, and please write us soon.

From: A damned fool who's still madly in love with you.
- Gwen.
05/05/2006

P.S: Happy 365 days ago. You do remember what happened on this day, right?

visit www.spiffmeister.blogspot.com for the author's comments.

lol.

2005 page 1

2005-11-10T08:27:00.000+08:00

There was a loud bang at the door, followed by a muffled curse. Silence, and then the jingling of keys, muted as it were, should you happen to be listening to keys jingling from behind an inch-think wooden door.

The smooth grating of the metal key into the metal tumbler of the lock in the inch-think wooden door could be heard from within the house. But there was no one in the house to hear it, not even animals, unless you count Benji the stuffed sparrow.

Benji was a present 10 years ago from old Uncle Stuart, who used to love to hunt innocent animals in far off continents. His nephew (who was trying his best to open the door) thought he would still enjoy the occasional hunt, if he was not too busy lying in his coffin six feet under the ground over at the church across the street.

The lock slammed, and the door was flung open, as if the person who did it was in a great haste. Benji stared at the door from his perch in the corridor of the apartment. It was a good perch, for it afforded Benji a view of almost every corner of the apartment, save the room that was behind it. Were Benji still alive, it would have been curious as to what the room behind him was. In fact, it would have simply turned around and looked in.

But then again, if it could have done that, Benji was sure it would have simply opted to fly out of this dusty apartment and try to find some way back to its nest. Its mate was waiting for it, you know. The pair was busy building their nest, when some inconsiderate Human (Uncle Stuart, Benji believed), shot a tranquillizer dart into its hide. Benji fell asleep with dreams of having a dozen little sparrows with its mate.

But those dreams were not to be. Now Benji's body was stuck up on the wall of a corridor, its wings, head, and beak covered in a thin layer of dust.

The Human stumbled into the house, arms laden with bags from the local super mart. With a sigh that indicated that this Human was not having a good day, and that if anything else went wrong, he would scream, much like a girl would; only manlier.

Nudging the door close with his bottom (the Human always thought his bottom was too scrawny), the Human shuffled the five feet that separated him from the kitchen. Once there, he set the bags on the floor before shuffling back to the door and closing it.

Somewhat calmed, the Human set about unpacking the things from the bags into the cupboards in the kitchen, humming a chirpy tune.

The chirpy tune died a few minutes later, when the Human, whose name was Dean, by the way, stood up and surveyed his surroundings.

If he was whistling, the note that he'd be whistling would be a monotonic 'B Minor'.

The area in front of the front door, where he kept a shoe cupboard, was littered with shoes, flip-flops, sandals, and other footwear that he'd left lying around. Less than two feet from the mess was his six-foot long fish tank. Interestingly enough, the tank held no fish. In fact it did not even hold any water at the moment. What it did hold, however, was sand. Five full kilos of it. The tank sprang a leak the year previous, and Dean could not be bothered to fix it.

The living room and dining area were fairly clean, based on the fact that he hardly spent any time there at all.

The kitchen was another story. Dirty dishes lay in the sink, piles of laundry lay stacked up in front of the washing machine, the wok and pots sat on the stove, in a bad need of a wash.

Dean sighed and threw his hands in the air. He decided that he'd hire a part-time domestic helper to clean up this mess. With that settled, he trudged off towards his room, wanting a bath.

Five minutes later, lying in a tub full of warm water and foamy bubbles, Dean sighed (again) and contemplated his life thus far.

He had it pretty good, compared to other people his age. At a score and two years old (that's twenty-two), he had his own five-room apartment on the east side of sunny (and sometimes wet) Singapore, for which he did not have to pay a single cent, for it was fully paid for already. He had his own car; a snazzy Ferrari Enzo, freshly minted. And he had a steady stream of cash with…

The Adventures of Gwen!

2005-02-22T16:17:00.002+08:00

The water bomb hit the hood of the car a full second after the egg did, and the ensuring curses from the car’s owner –a full thirteen stories below them– sent the two girls into peals of laughter.

“Heh, I told you the egg would hit first. You owe me two bucks.”

“Of course it hit first, you nitwit, you tossed the damned thing out before I even got ready.”

“Eh, nobody said life was fair, now pay up.”

“Fine.” Gwendolyn dug into her pockets and dug out a fist-full of coins. She stared at the pile as if counting, before shoving the whole lot down Stacy’s pants.

“Hey! Bitch!”

“Hey, nobody said life was fair. Let’s eat,” Gwen took another peek at the car owner downstairs, but he and his car was gone. “Eh, car wash dude is gone”

“I’m not surprised,” There was the clinking of coins hitting the floor at Stacy took off her pants to empty it out of whatever coins were left. “Get me chicken rice.”

“Oh, nice try, but you’ll never seduce me with that trick, Stace,” Gwen giggled as she skipped out the door of Stacy’s bedroom. “Chicken it is, then.”

Stacy sighed when she heard the front door close. Loudly. Muttering to herself about how she was going to bed Gwen someday, she flicked on the power switch and watched as her monitor slowly came to life.

“Faster, lah, stoopid machine!”

***

Gwen shifted her weight from foot to foot; impatient as the elevator took it’s time…elevating… to her floor. Her hand phone started to vibrate from within her pocket. It was a text message from Vincent. She grinned to herself. What perfect timing. She twirled her thumbs before typing out her reply in a flurry and punching the ‘send’ button. And just at that moment the elevator doors give off its annoying beep and opened.

Everything’s working like clockwork. Must be my lucky day. Should I try to buy Toto? I’m sure Vince can spare a few dollars change.

The elevator doors opened again on the seventh floor, and Gwen headed towards one end of the HDB block. She’d only met this Vincent at his place once before, but the route to his unit was easy to remember. Besides, He lived six stories directly below Stacy. She giggled again. If only they knew.

Gwen reached his front door and started pounding on it.

“Hoi! Vince! Open up! Before your ugly blue door gets smashed in!” There was a yell from within that sounded more like a squeak, and sounds of unsteady hands fumbling to get a key into a lock.

“Are you crazy, woman? Wa lau, if my neighbors hear that they’ll think you were some loan shark leh. I got a bloody reputation to keep you know?”

“Which reputation? The one where you sleep with sixteen year old girls?”

“Shut up! Besides, it’s legal, what. And you’re not sixteen, so what’re you complaining about?”

“I’m not complaining about anything. I’m just in a good mood today. So are you going to let me in, not? Or are we going to do it here?”

“Err, Gwen, are you ok? We can always put this off until another time…Ok, ok, Stop staring at me like that.”

Gwen stepped inside the door and made a bee-line for Vincent’s bedroom. The latter was left standing at the front door muttering to himself about how sometimes, getting laid was just not worth it.

Stepping into his bedroom, he found Gwen already half naked and in his bed.

“Gee Gwen, I didn’t know you were so eager to see me… What’s going on man?”

“Nothing, it’s just your lucky day. I’m in a really good mood today.”

“Ho? I guess we should make full use of it then!” And with that, the both of them disappeared under the sheets and the only thing a casual observer would have heard was the constant rhythmic creaking of Vincent’s wooden bed frame.

***

Over an hour and score minutes later, that same casual observer would have heard groans and squeals of the couple within the room. That, and the ringing of Gwen’s hand phone.

“Oh shit, it’s Stacey!” Gwen shoved Vincent unceremoniously off her and scrambled across the bed to get to her jeans.

“Who’s Stacey?”

“My best friend…Now shh! Stacey? Hey! Erm, no, I’m still wandering around Jurong Central…”

“Ah, best friend, you think she would–”

“She’s a lesbian, now Shh! So sorry Stacey honey, I’ll be back as fast as I can, ya? Ok, Bye!” Gwen tossed her hand phone aside and brushed a lock of shoulder length hair out of her face. Hair that was dyed brown, with streaks of white, as is the current fashion.

“Wow, that was close. I was supposed to go get lunch for the both of us…”

“…And instead you came here to me? Gwen I’m honored!”

“Don’t flatter yourself, lah. Anyway, I got to go le. Can you drive me to get some grub?”

“Grub?”

“Food!”

“Oh, Ok, no problem.”

Tendrils of Promise

2005-01-13T18:16:00.000+08:00

This is completely unrelated to the other works of mine...just blogging this piecea shiat that came into me head

********************************

He never intended to do it...But alas, even the strong willed have momentarily laspes...

On sudden impulse, he flicked his indicator lights to the right and turned into the small street several blocks from his flat. He noticed a cat staring at him as he was getting out of his coupe. Snarling back at the scruffy animal, he slammed the door in the hope of scaring it away.

He glanced back at the door, running his eyes over its gleaming, metallic blue surface. The damned vehicle cost him a bomb and he was not about to have it scratched by his stupidity only 2 months into the purchase.

He shuffled a couple of steps in the direction of the general store, kicking up sand in to the wind with his slightly faded sneakers. He sighed...he really needed new shoes. Humming a nervous tune, he shuffled the rest of the way to the store's entrance, as if unsure of what he wanted to do...

3 mintues later he was back in the car, his purchase in the passenger seat. 15 mintues after that he was back in his house, contemplating if he should go ahead with what he had planned to do.

With a barely audible 'Bah' he grabbed the item and walked out into the common landing. He lived on the 13th floor and decied to walk back down to the first to get his mail. Fingering his purchase, he finally sighed and ripped off the wrapper and flicked the cover open.

Taking a long hard look at the 20 sticks within, there was a slight pang of guit as he took one out with his lips. A small voice inside was telling him to stop being foolish, he'd done this before, what difference now?

He'd reached the stairwell, and the only sound that could be heard was the flicking of a lighter. This was it. He shut his eyes and took a deep draw from the stick.

His lungs hurt, but not in a bad way. His whole body gave a slight shudder, as if embracing an old lover after a long period of absence. He could hold his breath no more. The smoke escaping from his mouth was like that of a spastic gesyer. Coughing, he opened his eyes, and almost wished he had not. Slightly dizzy, he took another draw from the cigarette. And another, and another. Each breath hurting less, and feeling more pleasureable.

Just like sex, he thought grimly.

Time lost its meaning, and he sank down onto the stairs, feeling insanely high and unable to keep his balance. He tossed the cigarette butt -now wet- away. After an immeasurable amount of time his senses came back to him, and he was surprised to find himself on the 4th floor. Getting to his feet with a slight wobble, he continued his way down the stairs...

With a muted curse he slammed the mail box shut, and looked for a place to sit. His head was feeling really heavy, a polar opposite of 5 mintues ago.

He sighed. Was it really worth it? Granted, it was the second-best feeling in the world, after an actual orgasm, but was it worth the trouble of weaning himself of the damned sticks? Again?

He shrugged the thoughts away, and shuffled his way into the elevator, it was getting late, and his girlfriend would kill him if she found out.

His fingers twitched towards the box as the elevator doors closed...

2004-11-18T22:00:00.000+08:00

He came back to the waking world at the sound of a soft scraping. Resisting the urge to open his eyes, Inodhill sent his senses out, trying to deem if the source of the scraping sound was a threat. To the casual, or even attentive, observer, he would look as if he was still sleeping. But he was mentally wide awake, controlling his breathing, letting his chest rise and fall in the pattern of sleep. A very valuable skill, that. He’d been able to glean much information several times before in that fashion.

Several moments later Inodhill sighed and turned to face the source of the scraping noise.

“Stupid cat…”

The said animal raised its head and stared at Inodhill quizzically before shaking down its brown fur and returning to its meal of dead crow.

Inodhill looked about and saw that the sun was just about to rise from behind the forest, the green hell that was his home. Akanista was a forest nation of sorts, with most of its land mass covered by tropical greenery. Besides the monastery hiring out its agents on a contract basis, the nation also serves as a stop-over port along one of the major sea-trade routes of the world. As a result, there were many port towns along its coastline, although if one was looking for variety, one would be sorely disappointed.

Chapter One - ii)some dinky title...

2004-11-16T08:07:00.000+08:00

Inodhill crept silently along the rooftops of Kakuo later that night, his cloak wrapped around lean five and a half feet frame, buffering him from the chilly sea breeze while distorting his shadows and even making him seem like one.

He had no particular destination in mind. He just needed to prowl, to expand pent up frustration. He need to… stretch. After about two hours of stalking nothing but shadowy mists, Inodhill finally tired and slumped against a chimney that was not puffing out smoke. It was a damp and chilly night, but he needed no warmth. Sighing, he shut his eyes, hiding their blue shine from the world.

He had a lot of things running through his mind. He missed Avenda terribly. It would be three months tomorrow since he saw her. It was hard for him to admit, but he was having difficulty keeping his emotions in check. He never intended to get together with Avenda. It was all accidental. Her partner fell when he was discovered during an assassination attempt, and she was trying to cope with her loss. Along came Inodhill, offering a shoulder to a friend in need. But what started as a friendly consoling session rapidly became a night of passionate bed-creaking, and they’d been together since.

In truth, Inodhill was not prepared for the many things he saw when he came out of the monastery in Akanista for the first time. An orphan, he was chosen to be brought into the monastery of the dark lord Khaine by his mortal representatives. After five years of training in the various disciplines of Khaine under the watchful eyes of the masters and mistresses of the monastery, he was deemed worthy to be initiated into the Drikung order; the path of assassins; one of the highest honors attainable by those who serve Khaine. Now aged twenty, Inodhill had recently completed his training, and was given the code name ‘Purple Asp’. The colors represent which master or mistress he was under, in this case, mistress Kimianne, and the animal was just a moniker thrown in to confuse any who might be listening in.

The Drikung order was started by the dark lord as a personal bodyguard for his representatives on earth, the Matriarchs of Akanista. For who better to guard against an assassination attempt then an assassin himself? Bound by a blood oath to serve Khaine’s representatives, they were the perfect bodyguard. Rarely seen and spoke about only in whispers, they were also used to conduct assassinations of high ranking, or high profile people in any nation. Regular assassinations, however, were delegated to the ‘rank and file’ assassins. These were members of Akanista’s populace that joined the monastery by design. These ‘contract assassinations’ were what brought in the gold for the monastery.

Inodhill remembered the first time he did high level sentry duty. High level literary meant being high up in the canopies of trees. For the monastery, like most of Akanista’s towns and buildings, were partly built into the trees themselves. Looking down, the monastery looked like a wooden orb with four tentacles reaching out into the darkness. The assassins were all housed in the right most ‘tentacle’. The other three wings held trainees of other disciplines; Poison/Antidote, Spying/Information Gathering, and the last ‘tentacle’ housed Khaine’s chosen, wielders of his magical energy who devoted their time researching into new ways to aid the other three schools.

No name has ever been given to those of the last tentacle. Simply called the monks of Khaine, they were shrouded in such secrecy that it sort of became taboo to even discuss them. Latest rumors seem to indicate a new deadly weapon that could kill from a distance equal to that of a longbow, and twice as simple to use. Other sources suggested that these weapons used metal balls as projectiles.

The masters and mistresses of the monastery were assigned members from each of the three schools. Some of these groups were small and mobile, with up to six or eight members. Others were larger, with members trained to operate for months in another nation under assumed identities, tracking their marks till the most opportune moment to eliminate them. Inodhill was part of the later, and his group usually handled the delicate assassinations of those whose deaths were demanded by Khaine. Targets included deserters –much like Corvhale this afternoon –, and priests of other gods who he decided were getting too powerful for his liking.

Inodhill let out a deep sigh at that thought. Corvhale fit those two descriptions perfectly. Once a master at the monastery and Inodhill’s trainer for a period, Corvhale apparently found a way to break the blood oath and flee the forest. Inodhill had wanted to ask Corvhale about that secret, but he dared not. For Khaine was ever watching, ever present. Everything he knew revolved around Khaine’s word. He wanted to live another life. But he was powerless.

In an uncharacteristic drop in his guard, Inodhill started to drift off to sleep, leaning against a chimney.

2004-11-11T19:03:00.000+08:00

“Our mark?”

“Another priest, this one in Tzaran.”

“Time frame?”

“The usual, two to three months.”

“Why you?” Kohan’s eyes widened at that question, a look of incredulous shock crossed his face.

“What do you mean, ‘why me’? Because I’m the best damned scout Khaine has in his service, that’s why!”

“Precisely so. Kim… Mistress Kimianne rarely sends you along on assassinations, you’re usually out by then. Where’s Malachi?

“Did you not know? He fell… Apparently some winged human did him in…”

“Winged human? A Sorcerer’s minion?”

“Ah…I…I don’t know?”

“The best…Right…” Kohan raised his hands in defeat, and trailed behind Inodhill for the rest of the walk to the supply/prep room. Inodhill was surprisingly quick-witted today. But it did not come as too much of a surprise to Kohan. A trip to a tavern –or the local canteen in the absence of one –, some strong drink, and a lass on your lap were more then enough to make a man re-vitalized again. And what was that expression the Karadians like to say? ‘As right as rain’?

But the lass on Inodhill’s lap last night was no ordinary tavern wench, it was his love and partner, Avenda. Now that was quite a potent mix. Even Kohan understood the power of love, albeit vaguely.

Kohan seldom had the trouble of figuring out moral dilemmas. To him, the word of Khaine was law, and everything else came second. When he received his orders today, however, he was slightly troubled. He had never performed a mission quite like this before.

But two things held his resolve in check. One was his oath to serve Khaine, and the other was the promises made by Kimianne. Ah sweet Kimi, the glorious glow of Khaine’s dagger would pale beside her.

Kohan blanched at that blasphemous thought, worried that Khaine himself was listening in. He continued his walk a few moments later when he realized he was still alive, and that Inodhill was tapping his feet irritably.

“Alright alright, keep your pantaloons on…”

***

Several vine crossings later, they arrived at the supply/prep room. They would have to prepare gear that would last them several months. They were to travel to another country several leagues north from Akanista for the assassination. Most of the things they will need were to be gotten on location, the only things they would be getting from this room were their weapons and several enchanted items, if they had any.

The Calm

2004-11-10T09:50:00.000+08:00

She liked having him in her bed. It made her feel safe and loved, emotions very rare in their world. There were lovers, yes, but who knew when they would next see each other? The life of an assassin is not an easy one, but it was all she, all they, knew. And they knew to take comfort and solace in whatever peace they found.

She giggled as he looked into her eyes and spoke her name. She could feel his love for her, as strong and as endless as the cosmos.

“Yes?” she yearned to know what he would say. Silently she berated herself. She was like some child who knew not her limits.

“Let’s leave. Let’s leave all this behind. Escape to someplace else. Start another life…”

“’Whatever are you talking about? You should know better then to say such things aloud. Especially here, in the Monastery!”

“I care not. Arrangements have been made. ‘Shiko and her gang will help get us out. It IS possible to leave.”

“Say no so, my love. Inclined I am to believe you, even if it involves that half-breed wench ‘Shiko. But the very idea you are suggesting… It is suicide!” Her breathing started to hasten. Countless emotions filled and drained her in that one instant.

“Avenda…calm down, you’re starting to speak funny again.”

After A Storm...

2004-11-08T23:09:00.000+08:00

It was a week before he could sit upright, even with the aid of mighty healing magic. It was a month before he could walk. And he walked now, to the edge of the floating plains, and cast his gaze down to the mortal world before him. A delicate flower blossomed at the very edge, and to even hazard attempt to retrieve it would mean certain doom for one of his physical state.

But Inodhill did not care about the flower. He did not care for anything at all, in fact. He was numb to the world. What was the use of his continued existence in this world? The metal shot should have pierced his chest but a few inches higher, and he would not have to suffer this torment. He felt her hand go limp in his, he felt her death. Then he felt nothing.

Inodhill felt his chest wound. Where the metal bullet had hit him. Even through the bandages he could feel the long sinuous line where they had sewed him up. He felt a wave of immense grief well up inside him. He wanted to scream, to let out a long, soul-cleansing scream. But he could not. He could scarce breathe without pain, let alone scream. He fell to the grass in a heap, precariously close to the edge of the floating plain. His walking stick rolled off the edge and fell, silently down to earth, but Inodhill paid it no heed, for he was buried deep within his own grief, weeping silently.

“It would not do to see you plummet to your death so soon after our healers have patched you up so nicely. It would be an insult to their craft.” The unmistakably melodious voice of Nadeshiko brought Inodhill back to the present. And to the fact that he was kneeling at the edge of a floating plain of land miles from the surface he knew so well.

“What exactly are you, ‘shiko? And where are we?” Inodhill did not bother looking over his shoulder.

“Me? Humph. I’d think you’ve guessed that by now. I am Seraphin. And this,” she waved her hand in a general circle, “Is our home, the Floating Plains of Alderon”

“Heh, well I guess that particular myth is true then, the Seraphin Guardians from Alderon, sent to the mortal world to guard the 49 Seals…” Inodhill turned round then, grimacing as sharp pain shot up his spine, “What next? You going to tell me that our gods are simply another race of mortals who have found the secret of immortality?”

Nadeshiko simply smiled at the mortal assassin. Inodhill’s cynic smirk slowly dissolved in to a stunned, slack-jawed look.

“No…” But before Inodhill could continue, Nadeshiko placed her fingers to his lips, a gesture for silence. Leaning in close, she spoke in a soft whisper.

“It does not matter if your gods were mere mortal sorcerers who chanced upon the secret to immortality and unspeakable power. Knowing that fact does not change anything, does it?”

“So what, in the bloody hells are you trying to say woman?!?” Inodhill started to yell, frustrated at her cryptic roundabout talk. But he fell to the grass gasping before he could even get a syllable out.

Nadeshiko was hovering at Inodhill’s side in an instant, her gossamer wings beating too rapidly for the eye to see.

The Seraphin were a paradox. They were of human build and appearance, but they had these wings on their back that looked like that of dragonflies. The wings were slightly longer than an arm’s length, yet they could beat at an impossibly fast rate, producing effortless lift.

OOC: okay. I’m loosing it…I cant write anymore. I gotta sleep. Dance lessons tomorow

Chapter One - i) Departures And Arrivals

2004-11-07T11:00:00.000+08:00

Inodhill could not honestly blame him. After all, it was not everyday that your own shadow stalked you; so when Corvhale thought he saw a Drikung assassin behind him, it was only natural that he should panic. Besides, he had a real reason to.

Scrambling out from the shadow of the alley he was walking through, Corvhale tripped on an uneven flagstone and fell onto the gritty main street of the dock town of Kakuo. Muttering to himself, Corvhale brushed as mud off himself as was possible and continued his hurried shuffle to his house, blinking the slight drizzle out of his eyes in the process.

Trying his hardest not to seem too conspicuous, Corvhale slipped into his house, a quiet two storey wooden building off in a corner, beside the lonely warehouses. Once the door was safely shut behind him, Corvhale breathed a huge sigh of relief. With his fear nagging at him he gritted his teeth and pushed off from the door. If that was really a Drikung assassin, he would not be far behind. He was about to head up the stairs when he let out a squeal as a hand grabbed him.

“I’ve always wondered how you people managed to even move in all that clothes. What’s your secret, Merchant? You have plenty, do you not?” The voice was soft, yet sharp; and the words drawn out, reminding Corvhale of a snake hissing.

Corvhale turned, haltingly, towards the speaker, his words stuck in his throat. He broke into sweat, even though it was a rather cold day. The figure was standing in front of the window beside the door, his cloaked form silhouetted against the light from the setting sun.

Corvhale was about to speak, to say something, when he felt a sharp pain in his side, the stranger had stabbed him! And he had not even seen him move!

“Save it, merchant, I’m not in the mood for conversations. You made me wait in this sty of a house while you took your time stumbling the long way across the docks.” The shadowy figure was leaning in, whispering. This close, Corvhale could make out the stranger’s familiar features.

“Y-Y-You! Listen to m-me. T-There is a way out, fr-fr-from all of this! The All-”

“Be quiet, you stammer enough when uninjured. And besides, why, even for all the gold in the world, should I even listen to you?” At that, the stranger drew back and turned to look out the window.

“Th-the All-” Corvhale was cut off again as the stranger spun on him in anger.

“Quiet! ‘Th-Th-Th!’ What? Are you a snake now? You turned your back on your god in favour for the jealous One-God? The Allfather is dead! The Children killed him!”

Corvhale sputtered, he could feel his life draining out of him, but he tried one last time to save the student he once loved as his own son.

“Allfather…Alive! Deceiver was th-the one…killed!” Corvhale drew in a shuddering breath. He was succeeding. He could see a slight slump in the assassin’s posture.

“Truly? Perhaps, but you know us Corvhale, our lives are given to Khaine. So it makes no difference, does it?” The assassin turned to look at the fat merchant again. But he was unmoving, not even breathing. The assassin frowned and stroked the pommel jewel of his dagger sheathed at his belt. After a moment, the assassin was seeing things in the infrared spectrum, and he saw the merchant’s body rapidly cooling, a sign of death.

The hilt had the carving of an asp coiled round it, with its head biting a ruby. Unknown to any outside the Drikung order, this enchanted ruby granted its user vision in any spectrum he wished, amongst other abilities that might come in useful to those in the assassination business.

Sighing, the assassin retrieved his katar and cleaned the blood on one of the merchant’s many layers of clothing. It was a curious looking dagger that was actually made of three blades folded into one. When the middle crossbar was squeezed, the blades would open up, much like a pair of scissors.

Returning the katar to its sheath on his left arm, the assassin then turned to leave. As he reached the door he turned and tossed a gold coin in the general direction of the dead merchant. The coin bore the symbol of the Drikung, the royal assassins. So when the body was found later, people would know that this murder was ordered by the royal family.

Standing in front of the house he came out of, Inodhill took in a deep breath of the sea air. And instantly regretted it. So-called ‘fresh’ fish were being unloaded from a ship docked not a score meters from where he was.

His mood now permanently spoiled for the rest of the day, Inodhill drew the hood of his cloak over his head in a huff. There was nothing to see anyway, the whole of the docks was a picture of gloom and grudging acceptance of the way things in life was.

Sighing, Inodhill turned down an alley and disappeared.

***

His contact was over an hour late. As usual. Sitting in a corner booth nursing a mug of warm mead, Inodhill hardly spared a glance as Kohan burst in the inn’s door. Loud and boisterous, you could hear him from over a mile away, but he could be silent when he needed to. Always the performer, he’d timed his entrance with the thunder outside, so in effect, he stepped into the common room with a loud ‘Boom’.

“Humph, some audience you are” Kohan muttered to no one in general. Glancing around, Kohan saw nothing but the usual characters you would find in a tavern set beside a harbor. Half-drunk sailors having a fist fight after months at sea; serving wenches bringing food and drink to sober customers while neatly stepping just out of reach of groping hands; ‘Companions’ from the nearby whorehouse reliving customers of their heavy purses. And the smell of wild pig roasted on a split above the fireplace at the back wall.

After several moments of searching, Kohan finally caught sight of Inodhill and picked his way across the floor, snatching a pitcher of ale from the tray of a passing wench. He countered her glare with a couple of silver coins tossed her way.

“Do you always have to choose the dinkest corner of every inn, tavern, or bar you go to?”

Inodhill eyed Kohan’s face over the rim of his mug, not too sure what to make of that question. Kohan’s grey eyes were wandering all over the room, resting occasionally on particularly well endowed bosoms. Plain featured, with a well disguised charismatic streak in him, he was a good information gatherer, for firstly, he did not stand out in anyone’s memories, and secondly, he had a way of making women talk…And it did not involve gold. Well, not much anyway.

“I sit where I very well choose, what use is free will if we do not use it?” “Heh, what use is your life if you abuse that free will?” Kohan chuckled and waved for Inodhill to be silent. Stroking his own dagger’s hilt and pommel jewel, Kohan murmured and incantation; it took a moment for Inodhill to realize what he had done. Kohan had conjured an orb of privacy around the two of them. That ment that no one outside the orb could hear what was being said inside. But the orb worked both ways, preventing those inside from hearing anything else, other then themselves.

“It is done?” Kohan leaned in close, eyes belying the calm set of his visage.

“Of course it is done, since when have you started asking redundant questions?” Inodhill was slightly annoyed at that question, for a reason he knew not. Kohan had every right to question him on the status of the target. Perhaps it was the manner in which the question was put across, implying that Inodhill was but a dog with its leash tightly held by the matriarchs of Akanista.

Kohan leaned back, obviously relieved. “You do know that the priests of the Allfather would have gained considerable might if they had managed to grouped together and rebuilt the Altar.”

“I care not for the doings of preists of other gods.” Inodhill leaned against the wall and set his soft leather boots on the table, right hand fingering a dart tucked under his tunic.

“Speak you truly? Oho, Your sudden change in posture suggests otherwise, and the fact that your latest mark was once a Drikung makes no difference to you? He was a master too, your master, no less.” Kohan was leaning across the table; his eyes that of a predator waiting for its prey to make a mistake.

Like I said, never predictable, never constant. Dangerous. Inodhill chose his words carefully, you never knew when any of the Mistresses would be listening in on the conversation with the aid of magic.

“I kill who I must, when I must. I am bound by the blood oath demanded by Khaine at the Altar.” Kohan’s piercing grays widened at Inodhill’s formal tone, then narrowed into a glare.

"Even Avenda? The whole monastery knows of you two, Inodhill, don’t feign innocence.”

Inodhill was mildly surprised at that statement. He knew that the whole cadre of assassins would find out eventually, but not this quickly. Once again, he’d underestimated the power of gossip aided by female enthusiasm. Women…He could scarce keep his forthcoming sigh in check.

A wave of sound flowed in between them. The daggers had useful enchantments, to be sure, but they lacked the power required to sustain them over long periods of time.

“Well?” Kohan was tapping his pewter cup somewhat impatiently.

“Even Avenda, But rest assured, she would not betray Matriarch Lucille, may she live forever.”

“You seem awfully quick to come to her un-called for defense…”

“I tire of this Kohan. You know full well where our loyalties lie, mine and Avenda’s, and you know too, that we are unable to betray our mistresses, even if we wanted to. Now state the details of my next mission and be gone!” Inodhill was still in his lounged position, his hands were still relaxed, there was no indication that he was about to strike, but those who knew him were wise enough not to try their luck.

“Very well, Purple Asp,” Kohan grinned, using Inodhill’s code name, “Your next mission should be easy enough for you. Mistress Kimianne likens it to plucking berries. ” He paused, and started his infernal tapping again. Inodhill was about to toss his mug of mead in his face when he noted a particular rhythm to the tapping. It was a code. Kohan began to speak again.

“Return to the monastery within 2 weeks,” Do not return so soon."You are free to do as you please till then. But you know the rules.”It is a trap. Meet me in two nights. Edge of forest.

It had been sometime since Inodhill had the occasion to use this code, so it took him a little while to decipher the code while listening to Kohan’s spoken instructions. Inodhill blinked. A trap? What in Khaine’s unholy spit is Kohan talking about? Inodhill sighed and double tapped the table. An affirmative sign.

Kohan gave a ghost of a smile and rose from his seat. He had not gone two steps when a serving wench intercepted him with a coy brush of his arm. It was the same wench he’d tossed the coins at. And she was looking decidedly friendlier.

Inodhill could not help but shake his head at the sight. Kohan exchanged a few sentences with the wench, mostly promises of passion, and looked back at Inodhill, thinking to show off his new catch of the night, but Inodhill had already left, unseen, unheard. Kohan snorted and headed for the rooms on the second level, arm around the girl.

ii) To Catch A Snake

2004-11-03T17:52:00.000+08:00

Inodhill crept along the rooftops of Kakuo; long after the sun had dipped beneath the sea. His cloak wrapped around him like an unholy aura, distorting his form, blending him in with the shadows. Inodhill quite liked the cloak. It was comfortable and had plenty of pockets. He was really particular whenever it came to sorting his assassin’s gear. Made of enchanted materials, it adapted to the atmospheric temperature, thus it kept the heat in when the weather was cold or wet, and kept the heat out when it was hot and humid.

He’d been presently surprised when Mistress Kimianne had presented him with the cloak, along with the enchanted dagger. It was said that only those who had gained the favor of Khaine or one of his representatives here on earth could properly use these items to their fullest effect.

It was highly unlikely that he’d gained the favor of Khaine; those of the monastery who had any rank worth mentioning would know of it. And so would the Matriarch herself. So it had to be one of his representatives then. That would mean the Matriarch Lucille, or several of the Mistresses in the monastery. Rarely had Khaine granted favor to a male.

Inodhill brushed aside those thoughts. His function in his society was to serve his queen, and through her, his god, not to ponder or question the status quo. Perhaps that was what made him so dissatisfied with his lot in life. He was an orphan. Every other Drikung was also an orphan. He’d displayed impressive dexterous abilities as a child.

Tic Tock.

2004-10-31T23:22:00.000+08:00

Its almost time.

in half an hour the ding will ding and the words will flow. and its only now that i realise that my storyline is similar to a damned cartoon.

sigh

HELL NO!

2004-10-30T00:16:00.001+08:00

Imma gonna change the WHOLE DAMN thing!

Its no longer gonna be bout dudes from a dance club...well, characters will still be based on them, but the setting will be a fantasy one.

I'm finally returning home to my genre.

FANTASY

heehee... WOO!

main character, name still undecided, has his parents killed. sent to train as a royal assassin. finish training, he goes on missions, etc etc, one of the royal members takes an interest in him, and wants him for herself, but main character has a girlfriend already, so royal member attempts to kill her...

thats the basic plot.

base outline

2004-10-29T20:38:00.000+08:00

Yup... its gonna be like what I said, centered around the members of a dance club.

but with a funky and not so believable twist, it involves other dimensions and the flow of time in general...

STILL not decided on the main characters, most prob four of them...each using the 3rd person limited narrative. And there will be love involved, but it wont be a major part of the story...

and that's bout all i got right now

Finally

2004-10-21T23:35:00.000+08:00

Just so happened that I wanted to sit down after my exams to try my hand at writing a short story...

And by golly, this glorious thing, this NaNoBlogMo comes up on the dashboard. Well, gonna try and get my outlines and stuff straightened out by November...

*pops fingers* En Guard!