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Desperately, Ashley tried to keep her legs out of the grip of the men who grabbed for them, twisting and kicking as best she could, but it was no use; broad, strong fingers wrapped themselves around her wrists and ankles, yanking them out and apart until she was painfully spread-eagled between them, her body totally exposed to whatever they might proceed to do to her. Horrified, she felt her panties ripped awy from her; then her screams of protest were momentarily muffled as her sweater was pulled up over her face, exposing her generous bust to further molestation. Still weak from the drug, she could do little but twist herself helplessly as the sweater, too, was stripped from her and she was dragged down amongst them, naked now except for her shoes and bra, her horrified eyes taking in the filthy, hairy bodies that pressed in around her. The idea that these coarse backwoodsmen were about to rape her, that she would lose her viriginity not to some handsome young lover of her own choosing, but to some gang of unwashed thugs, down in the mud of the village square... it was all too horrible, too monstrous even to fully comprehend. Surely this couldn't really be happening; it was a nightmare, a drug hallucination, anything but the truth. Surely this couldn't actually be about to happen. Not to her... But the pain and the force were as insistent as ever, as her thighs were forced apart by one man and her head and shoulders gripped by another, whose ugly, callussed hands were even now roughly squeezing and kneading her big sensitive breasts, raising red marks across her pale skin. As the first man knelt between her legs, she stared with horror at the big, erect cock he pressed to her sex, still shouting amiably to his fellows in their guttural jargon as though this was nothing mor than a joke or game to them. The size of his member horrified her; surely it wouldn't fit inside her, virgin that she was, without painfully tearing her open inside, especially as arousal and relaxation were the very furthest things from her traumatised young mind.'No...' she whispered, and then, as she felt the head of the cock touch her nether lips: 'No! NO! Please! Don't! NO!'

But nothing would prevent it. There was no savior to be sighted, no mercy to be had. There wasn't even a common language between the teenager and the Spaniards, at least not common enough to get through to one another. Though by their actions there didn't seem as if it'd matter if Ashley even could; she was still a human being, language barrier or no, and they were still obviously going to abuse her. The only questions were how thoroughly, and in how many different ways. "Todava detngala!" shouted one, a few of the men breaking from the circle to grab at the teenager's arms and legs, pulling them apart. Grubby, thick sausage link fingers grabbed at Ashley's lace white panties, jerking rather than pulling, her skirt still hiked up again and again from the struggle, tugged them down from around her hips and ass to her knees, her young crotch coming into view. He gave them a harder jerk now, uncaring, opting to tear the thin feminine fabric instead of dealing with her squirming legs. The torn cloth was discarded, tossed aside to the dirt a few feet away where one of the other villagers was quick to snatch it up, bringing it to his gray bearded face to inhale of her scent with a crooked-toothed grin. The blonde's top half wasn't faring much better, her sweater pulled up and over her head, blinding any hope of vision for a second as it wrapped around her face. The man standing at her head pulled it free of her arms, free of her face, chucking that aside as well now. "Sujtela hacia abajo!" "Haha! I' m que consigue el primer tiro!" "Mucho! Usted consigue en la lnea, estpida!" More laughing. She was something less than human to them. They joked. They jostled. The men who had ran the girl through the troth and then stripped her were the closest, and if for that reason only they had first dibs on the American girl's body. One forced her legs to a spread as he moved to kneel in the dirt between them. The other knelt at Ashley's head, pulling her head and shoulders back on his lap a bit. He gripped at her bra, pulling the front up, greedily grabbing at the white cups to pull her tits free - a freedom he quickly embraced with both palms, squeezing them with a firm chuckle, harsh breath letting out that amused little laugh. The first wasted little time in pulling his tattered old pants down, not down completely but enough to whip out a hairy set of balls with a ready, eager cock between them. His tip pressed up against Ashley's bare young sex. Was she even coherent yet? Not a one of them seemed to care, her rapists or the small, simple-minded mob.

Though often young maidens claimed, while blushing and biting their lips ever so enticingly, that Spring was their favorite season, Yvette would claim most confidently that Autumn was her most cherished time of year. Chilly days encouraged evenings spent by the fireside, curled up in close proximity whilst reading or simply conversingAutumn harvests were always quite bountiful, and produced an assortment of ingredients to further tantalize the taste buds during meals..And though the falling leaves presented yet another chore to tend to, their changes in hue to radiant golds and reds, were enough to remind Yvette of the presence of the King Not of Louis, but of God. God, from whom all blessing flowWhom she had been raised to give thanks to everyday of her life, for every morning sun and evening star, for every breath and for every kiss. Kisses, Yvette was especially fond ofParticularly, kisses from her Papa, as they had been given most frequently, and received most eagerly throughout a grand majority of her life. From a young age, she had been aware that the man she called Papa and the men she referred to as Uncles, were not truly related to her by blood. Through kindness and devotion, she had been taken in, and raised as the picturesque daughter of the former Musketeer, Aramis. A man whom she was insatiably attached too, so innocently besotted by; and though love had never known a bond such as the one formed between Yvette and her Papa, a daughter raised by a strict father willalwaysfind some way to rebel.. The blossoming teen did not break rules oftenBending them, she would say, was a far more appropriate term. In fact, the desire to bring a smile to her Papas face often clouded out choices that would lead to more serious offenses...But occasionally, such as that particular afternoon, his rules simply did not work well with her plans. She had forgotten that morning to check the spice rack before Mass, to see if she would need anything from the market while they were in town. After arriving home, she had changed from her formal dressings into a pair of Raouls old jodpurs, a white loose shirt and a pair of riding boots so she could more comfortably complete her chores around the house. By the time she returned to the kitchen to start preparing supper, it was an hour and one half before Papa would arrive homeTwo before her Uncles and cousin would arrive..Far too late to find an escort into town to fetch spices. Papa never permitted her to go into town alone. There were far too many men of questionable intentions there. Men without a strong moral compass, men without Godmen who were not her Papa. Yet, she needed those spicesIt would take close to half hour on foot to walk to town. With haste, Yvette cleaned herself up, knowing better than to go into town dressed so poorly. She choose a gown of earthen greens, so that the dust from the roads would not show up too noticeably upon her skirts. The gown was fitted tightly around her lithe frame, her young breasts nearly spilling from the top line of the bodiceHer golden cross, a most cherished gift, lay just above the swell of her breasts, so that wandering eyes would know her purity before attempting to advance. With a black hair ribbon held between her teeth, her deep golden tresses pinned loosely up in curls as she quickly dashed down the stairs from her bedroom, Yvette snatched up the auburn cloak from the rack, slipping it loosely over her shoulders before rushing from the door and down the dirt road towards town.. Time was spent wisely, well, as wisely as expected for a young lady shopping in town. With the spices, she also purchased a harvest bouquet for the table centerpiece. An arrangement of orange mums, stalks of harvest wheat and lovely white lilies, that smelled of fresh country air and would certainly brighten up the dining room. As she walked home, she found herself humming and strolling, distracted by the beauty of the French countryside, when truly she should have been sprinting back to the cottage in order to beat her Papa home. So lofty was the mind of a young maiden at times, so easily pleased by such simple pleasures. As she approached the cottage, her humming had formed into singing in such a fair and whimsical tone that had earned her pet name of Little Robin at home, and sweet seraphim in the church choir, The falling leaves drift by my window The falling leaves of red and gold I see your lips, the summer kisses The sunburned hands I used to hold, Producing a key from the pouch at her side, Yvette opened the back door of the cottage to enter into the kitchen, having not passed the stable, she did not notice her Papas mare comfortably resting in its stall, or she would have silenced her song as she laid out the spices upon the counter top. Since you went away the days grow long And soon I'll hear old winter's song But I miss you most of all, my darling When autumn leaves start to fall, With the spices laid out, the potatoes and vegetables piled to clean, and the chicken now resting in a pot of water to moisten, Yvette took up her pretty bouquet and walked into the dining room. She laid out the crimson red table cloth, setting the arrangement in the center between two candelabras. The Sunday china she had already set atop of the wine cabinet near the window, the evenings wine set in a bucket of ice to chill. Passing through the kitchen once again, the lovely young girl began unlacing her cloak, walking to the main hall of the cottage, Since you went away the days grow long And soon I'll hear old winter's song But I miss you most of all, my darling When autumn leaves start to fall.. When autumn leaves start to--- Her eyes had been half closed as she continued her song, not truly paying mind to her surroundings as she could quite skillfully navigate her way around the cottage in the dark in order to fetch a cup of water in the middle of the night..But as she opened her eyes, in the midst of the final lyric of the song, her hand raised to hang her cloak upon its hookShe stopped, her pale petal lips agape, her hazel eyes wide as she stare at the leather coat that.that wasnotsupposed to be there!

It was late in the day, late enough for the sun to hide behind the clouds on its decent to the earth, late enough to dot France's sky with oranges and yellows, with hues the most gifted of painters dreamed of plucking from the air. It was becoming late, yet at the same time still early, early for Aramis to arrive home by nearly an hour's time. Supper would not yet be ready and he could not scold his daughter for that as she would not know, she would not expect him for awhile still. And it was that surprise which he hoped for, for the light in the eyes of his lovely young fifteen year old to shine brilliantly at simply his sight. Such was an arrogant hope in a way, perhaps, thoughts of a man conceited - or perhaps a man spoiled, spoiled by a doting girl who was often pleased by the simple things. Aramis' chestnut mare slowed to a trot as he rounded the final trees on that long dirt road that led to one shorter, a minute away at this speed from the front steps of his secluded cottage in the countryside. He had lived in the city long ago in his youth and until he was a man of thirty, but there was only so much action a man could desire to see, only so much hustle. There was something to be said of a calm, peaceful life, a life of prayer and devotion. Perhaps this was where Porthos might chime in with words of his own, a disagreement, perhaps even some clever tavern limerick comparing the women of the city to those of the country. His friend could have them, have the lot, Porthos always one to see quantity before quality. And there was a secret that perhaps his friend spent too much of his time in Paris to ever find out - that though the ladies of the countryside did tend to be more innocent than their city counterparts, that did not mean they wished to stay that way. As his horse brought him in close, yards away now, Aramis dismounted with a small billow of dust as his boots hit the ground. He patted the mare in a silent thank on her strong neck and took the reins, casting a quick glance to the house as he led her over to the barn. He wondered to himself what Yvette usually did an hour before he would return home. Was she still tending to her chores in the stable? The barn perhaps? Maybe a walk in the field? It was a lovely afternoon, after all. Or would she already be bathed and changing back into her ladylike make-up and clothes while supper simmered on the stove? He would find out soon enough he supposed, bearing a quiet smile as he led his horse into the barn. He took his time in unsaddling the old girl, in setting the blanket aside and in filling a hearty helping inside her bag of oats. "I am home, my dear," he spoke out in a lofty tone, letting his voice carry when he stepped foot inside the large cottage to see she was not in immediate sight. Heavy leather boots made similarly weighted sounds against the wood floor as he took a few more steps inside, shrugging off the long brown leather coat he wore to and from when he left for the day. It was Autumn now, the days able to turn chill without warning, and as such to leave without your coat even on warm days could easily bring regret later. "Yvette?" he called out again. "Where are you?" he questioned while setting his coat upon an oak stand just inside the door. Taking a moment to sniff the air he noticed... nothing. Which meant supper wasn't started; his little girl was quite a fan of various spices, they usually filling the house when he arrived home. Still bathing then, likely, or dressing. "Yvette? Are you decent?" No response. Aramis took a few steps to the wide oaken staircase, one, two, stepping upon the third with a hand on the rail as he called again, "Yvette?" Nothing. Hm. He turned to head to the bath, stepping back down the stairs, passing by the door and down the hallw- And then Aramis stopped. He paused midstep and leaned back, a knee still in the air, something catching his eye. He took a step back, then a second, coming to stand up straight. He looked to the door. More specifically, he looked to the coat rack, to where he'd placed his not a moment before. It was there. Yvette's, however, was not. He didn't say anything. He just stared at the rack and breathed, breathed in and out through his nose.

A soft slumping sound of fabric falling to the wooden floor, as amidst the mild panic swelling beneath her bosom upon seeing her fathers coat, Yvettes slender fingers loosened its grip upon her cloak and sent it dropping to the floor at her feet. Her lips quivered slightly, drawing those soft petals inward in contemplation, as her hand still hung in the air, reaching out to that hook with nothing but air trapped between her fingersHe was home...For how long? Yvettes sweet heart was fluttering rapidly, fueled by guilt that urged her to confess...The crucifixes stared down at her imposingly with such lank accusing eyes. So easily swayed, was a girl so close to her father, when thoughts of disappointing him crossed her mind.. Well, perhaps he had just arrived homePerhaps he had not noticed that she was gone! Her frantic heart calmed slightly at the thought. If he did not ask, she need not tell. Not telling was not the same as lying after allYvette could never tell a lie to her Papa. Despite her intellect that matched his own, and her compelling charisma, she could never permit a lie to pass her lips in the presence of her Papa Leaning down, she gathered her cloak up quickly in her arms. Before hanging it in its proper place, she swiped at the dirt lacing the skirts of her lovely gown. Yvette turned to face the hall mirror, placing several pins from her hair down upon the table between a vase of lilies and a sculpture of the Virgin Mother. She placed one between her lips as she ran her fingers through her pretty curls, glancing aside for a moment towards the den..The door was slightly ajar, and Yvette well-near swallowed that hair pin...Knowing that he was in there,waiting for her. HeknewHe always knew. Loosely, she pined up a few curls back into place, tightening her ribbon so that her hair was swept up in a lovely up-do. Several ringlets left down framing her face, knowing her Papa enjoyed twirling her hair between his fingertipsJust like silk, he would always smile to herThe hair of an angel.. An angel who pinched at her cheeks in the mirror, to give herself a more radiant blush, succumbing to vanities in an attempt to sway her way back into grace. Oh how the devil tugged at her heartstrings at times, the same as with all young ladies perhaps, eager to please aloverloved oneThough, essentially those words connoted the same intimacies in most regards, when it came to the priest and his little songbird. Whilst a fathers eyes were meant to be hawk like over his daughter, Yvette was no stranger to her ownobservationswhen it came to her PapaWith a catty jealousy, she held close to his arm whenever walking in public, doting upon him at all times in a manner more proper for a wife. She tended to him with a devotion more pure and adoring than her service to the church...And when eyes of women who recalled his legends came prowling much too close Yvette, with claws bared, would chase them off in some not so subtle mannerTaking pride in seeing their eyes slightly widen, and their steps retreat whenever she would pass them soon after..Her Papa did not need themHe had her, always Even now he had her, guilty conscious and all as she opened the door to the den with an elegant smile playing upon her face. She felt her knees buckling beneath her gownOverwhelmed by his presence and the emotions he could stir about inside of her without saying a single word. As if butterflies were set loose within her stomach and were tickling her from the inside. Yvette stayed near the door for a moment, her fingers tracing upon the golden lion etched into a box atop of one of the end tables where her confessional rosary was kept. She was always punished in this room, save for the few occurrences where she took flight and was punished promptly and more severely wherever Papa managed to catch her. Usually however, it was hereOver top of the chair which her Uncle Athos had built. One that he always pointed out every week with a grin of confidence as his finest pieceAlways, her Papa would chuckle and glance her wayAlways, she would blush and focus anywhere else but that chair Hello Papa, youre home early, She curtsied respectfully, moving her hands behind her back after releasing her skirts, entwining her fingers together as she approached him. Yvette tried with utmost difficulty to focus upon him, so that her pretty hazel eyes would not wander and give her guilt away..It was Sundayhe could not be too upset with her. Especially with their guests to be arriving in a matter of hours! Supper still needed to be prepared, the table to be set, surely he would dismiss such a silly thing as retrieving spices from town without an escort! Instead of lifting her skirtsinstead of laying her lithe young body over the length of her Papas sturdy lap..Instead of making the sign of the cross, and pressing the rosary inside of that box between her palms before starting her prayers of forgivenessYvette sat down on her Papas knee, leaning up to kiss his cheek, nuzzling at the edges of his facial hair affectionately. Her hands unlaced from behind her back,and instead draped around his neck, her fingers stroking in his hair as she smiled as convincingly as she could..But again, those pretty petals trembled..Yvette could not lie to her Papa, nor keep secrets....

Periodic, youthful disobedience aside, Yvette was a good girl. She was perhaps the best daughter a man could ask, devoted to her family and to her savior, embracing life around her, listening fervently to any teachings he had to share. Aramis made sure to tell her this often, that she was the most wonderful gift he had ever received. She was adopted, but adopted in fact alone, feeling to his heart as if she were his in all other aspects that a person might. Another thing Yvette had proven good at was keeping her chores done regularly, a truth which would come to haunt her now as the freshly cleaned windows allowed her father to see her strolling the dirt road toward their home, very obviously coming from somewhere. Further inspection as she came closer to the cottage, robin's voice heralding her arrival, allowed Aramis to see somewhat the items she held as she rounded the side of the house for the kitchen entrance. The retired musketeer took slow breaths to himself as his fifteen year old daughter disappeared around the bend of the house. She'd be stepping inside in a moment. How should he handle this? Not a minute ago he was brimming with excitement, eager to surprise her. Then worry. Then relief, mixed with disappointment. She was a good girl. Yvette was a wonderful girl, just too headstrong at times. If she was guilty she would acknowledge it to her father like a scolded dog and accept her punishment, usually without too much of an issue. Usually. He turned to remove himself from the hallway. Not only headstrong, Yvette was clever too, and observant. She would catch sight of his coat. Aramis walked calmly to the adjoining room to take seat in his large, comfortable high backed dark mahogany chair, a gift from his beloved friend Athos when the man turned to a number of crafts following his retirement. Most of the room matched in palette, mahogany walls, mahogany floors, the ceiling a rich blue to match an elaborately decorated rug covering a majority of the floor. Several chairs and a couch rounded the room out as a mixture of a lounge for guests and Aramis' den, his original den given up years ago when Yvette was taken in and in need of a bedroom. Aramis took his preferred seat, the chair designed wide and strong, armless, a delicate design carved along its spindles. He stared forward at the fireplace as he heard Yvette enter through the kitchen door, a fireplace that would not be used for a few hours still when light was rare and loved ones were near. For now he simply stared as the ashes of yesterday's logs as he listened and thought. Perhaps she had gone somewhere local, one of a number of places she was allowed to on her own. Such was possible. Perhaps she had gone into the city and did indeed secure an escort, a neighbor or a friend on the way, and upon leaving the city and back to the country Yvette and her companion parted ways. This was also possible. She had a recurring habit of wandering places she oughtn't on her own, however, which often led her father to worry the worst. She was an honest girl, though. Sure lip aside. Curious spirit aside. Yvette was always honest with him, and upon seeing his coat she would know to look for him. And upon seeing him sitting in this chair she would know, know well by now that her father would hold her accountable for her actions, and hopefully she would know well enough to lower parts of her dress while raising others. She was a smart girl. Hopefully she would know to lay across her father's lap with her young, pale backside bared, accepting the punishment without needing to be told. Not that it would save her from an extra strike, but there was a degree of respect in it, in acknowledging her father's wishes, even if only as an afterthought. She would be allowed certain things. She would be allowed to whimper and even cry, as such was expected when having one's bottom thoroughly smacked. She would also be expected to grip her rosary around her fingers during the punishment whilst openly praying for forgiveness. She would not, however, be allowed to argue and take lip with her father, and if she resisted she knew full well Aramis would simply come to her. Catch her hair as she ran away, down the hallway. Pin her to the dirt floor of the barn if she got that far. Raising such a strong girl was hard sometimes, as accepting one's punishment was not always desired. It would be up to her how things played out, as the initial disobedience had been a choice of hers as well. There was always the possibility, of course, that Aramis was mistaken and she was innocent of any wrongdoings, but the priest would have to wait to see how she acted and what she said before he could know. Until then he would sit there, sit in his chair and assume, waiting patiently for the guilty party to come clean.

Small, light kisses, she placed warmly upon the curve of his cheek as her fingers gently twirled within his long, thick hair. Her Papas hair was the finest of any man, rivaled only by her Uncle DArtagnan, who spent more time on his dark tresses than he would ever admit aloudHer Uncle Porthos had locks far too long for him to keep nicely, and poor Uncle Athos was thinning recently, due to stress over Raoul serving at the front with his regimentPapas hair however, was always well keptIt smelled lightly of incense from the Cathedral, of the harvest airAnd as her small nose nuzzled tenderly against his face, she breathed in the light musk of his sweat from the days rideNo finer cologne could ever be conjured. Yvette could never understand the other young maidens in town, complaining of their attractions smelling of sweat after a days work. The scent of her Papa exuberated strengthIt was absolutely intoxicating Thick black lashes fluttered lightly, as his words and his touches lulled her out of her slight haze. A soft shade of natural blush, far more radiant than the hue brought on by small pinches, came to her face as he questioned her greeting. Oh Papa, of course not She smiled, brightly, giggling happily to the point she nearly was bouncing upon his knee in anticipation of his kisses. I was simply She pursed her lips playfully, making a dramatic expression of thought with a quirked brow and devious glimmer in her eyes, before resting her forehead against his, Commencing the start of our new Autumn greeting She happily declared, in a tone only laced with the innocence of a daughter, but secured within a purr far more enticing. As she moved her small figure closer to her Papas body, she submitted to his palm pressing against her waist, guiding her closer whilst his other hand lingered against her chin. She gazed, captivated by the light in his eyes, before relinquishing her lips quite willingly to his kisses. In the mornings, whomever woke first would come to the bed of the other, waking them most pleasantly with kisses of a similar manner. To awaken with love inspired the Holy Spirit, and soothed the heart most tenderly. At night, the candles could not be extinguished before several peaceful, loving kisses were exchanged, despite the events of the day. One could never sleep with a heavy heart, and kissing provided a most excellent remedy against any lingering ache...Though, Yvette in all honesty could not recall a day spent with ill feeling towards her Papa. In fact, she could not recall a time she ever considered herselfmad. Upset, of course, for she was a blossoming youth with a vigorous curiosity coursing through her veins, and at times she became swept up within a wave of emotion; but even so, feelings of anything but passion and admiration towards her Papa, were only but small thorns which occasionally wedged into her heart; easily removed by the softness of her Papas lips, and at times, the sharpness of his open palm Their foreheads were pressed lightly against one anothers throughout their greeting. Yvettes hands wandering down the curve of his neck, to rest upon his shoulders, gripping them fondly, bringing herself closer to a more intimate proximityAs he spoke however, her fingers seemed to loosen their hold. Her eyes, once closed to further enjoy the bliss of their embrace, now opened and cast shyly aside towards the carpet..Such kind, affectionate praise, pierced like needles against her heart. Withdrawing herself somewhat away from his toying with her curls, an act which typically she would desire to go on for hours..All young maidens adored having their hair played with after all, and Yvette would often lay her head upon her Papas lap while he combed through hersAt that moment however, those needle prickings of his blessings poured out all the guilt trapped within her heart. With a slight pout upon her lips now, the life in her eyes dimming somewhat, she bowed her head against his shoulder, pressing her face shyly to hide against the curve of his neck. Yes Papa Her confession began so easily...In the face of others, Yvette could stubbornly stand her ground in any conversation or argument and come out the victor. She had asked questions that silenced philosophers, tongue tied the greatest of linguists, and baffled many scholars at court with a wit and intellect not typically attributed to a young lady of such beauty. With great refinement, Yvette was able to use words to her advantageBut before her Papa, she regressed. Her voice softened, her mannerisms became slightly timid. Her words failed her now, and not even her truth of, But the spice rack was near emptyI could not prepare a proper Sunday supper without my spices, could hold its weight against her Papas justice. When rules were bent, it was never done with intention to misbehave. They were often encouraged by curiosity, or in the pursuit of a good deed, such as retrieving spices for a better supper, but regardless...A rule was a rule. One occasion she could recall, she had been foolishly lippy with her Papa in response to one of said rules he had quickly smited that act of rebellion with use of his belt instead of his hand Tears were already threatening to arise, clouding her vision slightly before he had even said a word. Such was his power over his little girl, his influence, his importanceBy the time I thought you would arrive home Papa, the markets would have been closed! In desperation, Yvette began kissing her Papas neck, her arms moving to drape around his shoulders as she cuddled her body against his. Lips seeking out that soft spot which caused his body to tremble whenever her lips caressed it...Perhaps it would help to restrain his mood, or else she would have to find a way to use onions in that nights dish to mask any lingering tears, should her uncles choose to arrive earlier than expected

He smelled her first before he saw her, that lovely scent only women were capable of, somewhere between flowers and Heaven. That brought a smile to the edges of Aramis' lips and calmed him some, some, finding it ever difficult to be firm with her. Still, he knew he must. He listened to the soft sounds of his daughter entering the room and, he suspected from the sound and the manners she'd been taught, curtseying in respect before she sat at his knee. That said something there, addressing his suspicions, in that Yvette did not own up to any guilt right away. The kiss to his cheek and nuzzle along his jaw encouraged that slight smile to develop more fully, Aramis leaning in to the affectionate rub, his left hand snaking around his daughter's waist to rest around the small of her back, on her opposite hip. "Excuse me," he broke the silent, warm nuzzle with a question, "but isthishow you greet your father, Yvette? On the cheek? Since when?" Such would not do. The musketeer's free hand - retiring from such a role made little difference in a man's spirit - reached to gingerly caress the teen's cheek, in an affectionate manner like she nuzzled his own. He guided Yvette's chin to a tilt as he himself leaned in to kiss, firm, sure lips pressing to the sweet young maiden's. There was no shyness in how he kissed his daughter. Out in the open perhaps, in front of her uncles or about town, or anyone who knew of their relation, if only because they would not understand. Such affection was not wrong, as love could never be - this had been as much Yvette's own feelings as they had his, she needing little convincing toward such affection with her father. It had been she that began them originally, in truth. Aramis kissed her again, slow, savoring those sweet, supple lips her maker had gifted her with, and gifted he with in turn. His fingers caressed her hip through the several layers of fabric as they kissed, parting lips between every third or fourth for the briefest of nuzzles before finding one another again. The silence in the room continued for another minute, reminding someone that they are loved taking constant precedence over all else. "I missed you too much, my dear," he began, finally breaking what between them was a proper greeting. He breathed soft, warm breath against her face; just because they were talking did not automatically mean they must be a distance away. "You have been especially good lately, working hard around our home, behaving yourself like a lady should. I notice these things." He couldn't help but smile with that. Aramis' fingers trailed the short distance from her soft cheek to a loose, curly hair, stroking it affectionately; a favorite toy. "I wanted to do something special for you as a reward, for all good girls deserve something nice once in awhile, don't you think? I could not wait to be home with you, to spend a little extra time together before your uncles arrive. As I rode home early I fancied a thought of enjoying a cup, perhaps two of the spiced cider left over from the other evening while my songbird sings to me as she cooks." More idle playing with her curls. Aramis tucked the one back behind her ear and moved on to another, an affectionate task, and as curls were often wont to do, with her slightest movement it bounced amusingly back to its loose place. "You had me worried when I first arrived home. I called everywhere and you were not here, nor was your coat. Where did you go, sweetheart? I was about to take to horse again to look when I spotted you returning home. ...Were you all by yourself?"

Oh how blissful were the nights spent curled within one anothers embraceHours passing in front of the fireplace, as their fingertips explored nearly- every curve and crevasse of Gods masterful craftsmanshipTheir lips caressingTheir noses nuzzling...With only the sound of the fire crackling, soft breaths and gentle laughs of delight to break the ever so comforting silenceTo gaze with such affection into one anothers eyes, was a connection that very few would ever have While Aramis had waited for years Yvette had been blessed, perhaps spoiled, with love for the majority of her lifeNot that love meant any less to the beautiful little angel of course! In fact, love had shaped her into the doting, devout songbird that her Papa cherished so dearly Love serenaded her soul at all hours, in all circumstances. Much like her Uncle Porthos,in his better moods, she held such a vivacious lust for lifeBut as the lesson was in Eden, no man nordaughtercould amount to complete perfectionEven those so painstakingly close, fell from grace at times.. And when they fellthey fell swiftly...Cascading down into turmoil with such tragic elegance, like the Morning Star from Heavens gloryBecoming far more distraught, the further from that warmth of their paradise they fellSuch was apparent, in the glimmering tears in Yvettes eyes as she felt her Papas hand curve beneath her, urging her from the comfort of his lap and the tenderness of his embrace...Her lips quivered slightly as she stubbornly kept her hands upon his chest, her fingers curling slightly as if ready to cling to him with all of her lithe might should he try to separate her from him Her head however bowed as began speaking, her hands reluctantly dropping to her lap..Pressing childishly between her knees as she allowed the softest of whimpers to escape herIn the midst of this lecture, she could still feel the warmth of heavens sun upon her faceShe could hear in the back of her mind, the commandments of Honor thy father, and the sermons addressing obedience..She should be a good girl..Papa was right, it was her responsibility to mind the house and--- What? Hazel eyes now turned up, as if he had struck her right across the faceHer eyes hardened..Her mouth slightly agape in disbelief at what he had just proposed...A maid?Had her Papa plunged a dagger into the maidens heart, her pain would have been much lessSuch a wound from such an affront, Yvette felt as if she had been turned out in the midst of a storm and told never to returnOf course, this was the dramatic jump of which young maidens often leapt to in their already emotional mindsets; maidens especially striving to such perfection as YvetteOf course Papa would never do such a thing! But for sweet Yvette, even his slightest disappointment hurled her into such a state of distressA mindset of extremities that fed like leaches off of her fear of losing his loveThe mention of bringing in a maid had fattened said leaches certainly, and as Yvette rose silently to her feet, walking quietly towards her rosary box...Images of some scantily clad harlot with tits larger than her head, teasing and tempting her Papa to the point of him ignoring her entirely, plagued the young teens heart to the point she felt near faint! Her hands trembled as she picked up the soft pinkened pearls which made up the beads of her silver chained rosaryHer heart frantically fluttering as she turned to look towards her Papas, whose eyes still remained closedFurther separating her from his heart A Maid. Her voice ached, a soft climmering of pearls rubbing together as she twisted her rosary around her nimble fingers..Her eyes casting in all different directions as she walked, trying to settle upon anything that would not spear her with such despair as viewing her Papa sitting so sternly and coldly before her.. Papa there is no need for a maid! I dont want a maid..I dont need a maid! I am perfectly capable of..of taking care of the house! Of you! She paused, close enough to him that the skirts of her gown caressed his knee. Sweet sensitive Yvette, her heart throbbing in her throat as she stood, with her rosary wrapped tourniquetly tight about her wrists, trembling like an exiled angel crawling back towards Gods throne... There was much more to do this morning before Mass than I had anticipatedI..I lost track of time and rushed out without checking the kitchen and..and..Her nails pressed harshly within her own palms, trapping the beads of her rosary, pressing the smooth side of the cross against her wrists as she fidgeted. Apprehension had drastically shifted from a punishment she would have submitted to out of soft guilt, towards some sort of malicious plan of replacement that was clearly the concoction of a spiraling emotional uproar within Yvettes precious heart. Papa it was just onceJust once! Theres no reason to allow somesome scarlet stranger into our house! You are not hers to take care of!

And tremble Aramis' body did, his daughter very much aware of the exact spot on his neck that brought him to shivers. She was such a delight, such a treat, such an angel. His eyes lulled closed for a moment as his mind searched for a way, any possible way to alter the coming events of the night, if he could somehow apologize to his friends and cancel their dinner, if he could have Yvette stoke a fire and the two of them cuddle until its final ember. It had been too long since they shared that intimacy, she kissing along his neck, his face, his lips for hours, his hands caressing her young body, though avoiding a few specific places a daughter ought not be touched. The last time was... four months ago now? Five? Perhaps he would offer it to her again tonight. Perhaps. A quiet cuddling by the fire until dawn, sleeping until near noon. A rare treat with them, rare with intent to keep it special. Though the offer would only come if supper was good and if she acted the part of a lady throughout their guests' visit. He could not cancel on his friends though, Aramis knew. It was too late, and highly improper. They would be here within hours, that much was certain. And because of that Yvette's punishment would have to be upheld. That and the truth that if he allowed her to get away with it now then his rules would mean nothing, and next time she would put on the same pouting face, nibble as the same sensitive spot, and once again hope for his mercy. Mercy came from God, not from her Papa. The priest's soft face grew stern, forced strong, forced out of the lovely haze his daughter's kisses tried so hard to lull him into. His fingers on Yvette's waist gave her hip a firm squeeze to get her attention before speaking, "Up... Up, my dear." The fingers drifted down from her waist to her bottom, slipping between she and his knee to help urge her off, much as he didn't truly desire to. "I am sorry, my darling, but you know how this must go. I do not enjoy punishing you, and I truly wish you would stop making me." Aramis' eyes were closed as he spoke. Truly the show on his face was that this hurt him too, even the words he had to speak, striking at his heart much as he would his little girl's bottom. "If the spice rack were low then you should have noticed it earlier, as the kitchen is your place. And if you had decided not to go unaccompanied and waited for me, and, like you said, the carts would be closed for the day then, then if the food were to suffer you would be faulted with it as well. In either case you have a responsibility to keep things around our home. I do not skimp when you request money for supplies, and if it's a matter of too much for you to keep track of then we can speak once more of bringing in a maid. But as it is, right now, it is important you acknowledge your failure. ...Please, do not detest me for what I must do." He urged her off a bit more firmly now. "Ever the light of my life, I came home early wishing only good, please believe me. But, enough. You have yet to begin preparing in the kitchen and I will not shorten your punishment to accommodate. If our guests must be apologized to due to a late meal it will come from your lips, and you will not spare telling them why. Go now. Up." He took in another slow, deep breath, eyes still closed. "Fetch your rosary, Yvette. Expose your lower half and take your position over this chair which you are so used to by now. Do not linger." Else leather would have to take the place of her father's palm.

Enough, Her Papas voice was soft, yet thunderous, like a great storm in Yvettes aching heartHis words sincerely pained by the events which would soon take place; a grief his young daughter always seemed to forget in the midst of her childish panic. As he spoke, she bowed her head. She did not answer his questions, as they were not meant for a vocal responseThey were for her to reflect inwardly uponRhetorical questions which would provide the choir of her punishment. Yvettes eyes focused upon the beautiful rosary trapped between her palmsThe outline of the cross now pressing against her soft skinA symbol of forgiveness... Papa always forgave her... As he reached for her hand, she did not hesitate to take his...A quiet gesture of submission, of which she gently, needily, squeezed for reassurance. She could not speak...Her words lumped shamefully within her throat as she gazed upon him, looking so drained of that vigorous light that always seemed to surround him...Indeed, this act had taken place quite often as of lateMuch more than when she was a young child. It was taking a toll on her Papa... Arguably, her curiosity had grown..Her intrigue of broadening her knowledge treading far too close to the line of mischief than was proper for a young maiden.No doubt however, the surging hormones swirling about within her heart, beneath those supple, blossoming breasts,had more than just a little to do with her somewhat moredaring, nature, as of late..Swallowing lightly, a trembling exhale escaped her lips as she felt his hand sliding up from her hip, towards the small of her back. The lightest touch that earlier just that day had been so comforting, now proved far less innocent in its intentions Yvettes gown was by no means elaborate, though quite flattering upon her slender figure. The design itself was rather simple, though nevertheless an envious piece for many of the young maidens in the countryside. The closest they would ever get to the gown of a Princess, perhapsOn Sundays, Yvette quite enjoyed fancying up for her Papa and her UnclesTo hear their praise was not feeding so much to vanity, as it was to a much more nave desire of a young girl wanting to be pretty. On occasions though, Uncle Porthos would be far too explicit in his compliments, and Papa had quite the growl to his voice when chastising him The bodice of the gown was lined with a simple trimming of golden threaded lace, hugging tightly to her breasts so that they were pressed together and upwards, resulting in a most alluring cleavage..The brocade was of a silken texture, dyed a deep hunter green which seemed to shift to a deep golden color depending upon the light. The stomacher had a lovely pattern of ivy vines and fleur-de-lis cascading across.. The sleeves ended on the curve of her elbow, lined with a gathering of lace which extended only a few inches further down her arm. Had she chosen to wear a farthingale beneath her gown, than her skirts would have no doubt flung up above her head the moment she laid across her Papas lap! However, having a severe distaste for such torturous inventions of false fashion, Yvette had worn only her petticoats that day; as well as a modest stays of course. As she laid herself over Papas lap, she pressed one palm against the floor to steady herself, placing her body in the most comfortable way permissible for such a position. Once steady, she felt him shiftThe hems of her skirts grasped, Yvette clutched tightly to her rosary. He had no need to remind her of its presence..The moment her skirts began being folded upward, Yvette had begun praying..Softly, almost inaudibly, but her lips still moved as her fingers caressed her prayer beads.. O Lord, Jesus Christ, Redeemer and Savior, forgive my sins, just as You forgave Peter's denial and those who crucified You The skirts had been laid upon her back, Papas hand now upon the band of her undergarments.. C-Count not my transgressions, but, rather, my tears of repentance. Remember not my- The first strike caused a most innocent shriek to interrupt her prayers..Her lips quivering agape for a moment, as she stammered upon her words.. Not..Not my iniquities, but, more especially, my sorrow for the offenses I have committed against You. The second strike she was somewhat more prepared for, though her toes curled within her black laced shoes, her ankles crossing over one another as she slightly wriggled upon his lap. II long to be true to Your Word, and pray that You will love me and come to make Your dwelling place within me.. The third caused Yvettes entire body to curl against her Papas legs..Her head bowed as she bit down harshly upon her lip, her knees jutting forward, nearly tucking beneath the chairHer hands, trembling, clutching the rosary upwards above her head. The tears that had threatened to spill, now flowed freely down flushed, pink cheeks..As she spoke the final verse of prayer, her quivering voice was slightly more audible I promise to give You praise and glory in love, and in service, all the days of my life

There was much more to do before Mass this morning than she had anticipated. And she had lost track of time. And she'd had to rush. And if he let her, if he allowed her sweet voice and quick wit to do so, Yvette would talk him out of things, talk him into things, and have him completely forgetting the point before a moment's time. Aramis' eyes remained closed still, breath entering through his nose, filling his lungs to be let out in a slow, heavy sigh. Did she know what she put him through, every time she fought it? Was she aware of the pains striking your child caused a father, how it hurt to hit one you cared for so? Or was she only thinking of herself at this moment, of evading a punishment that, in time, would make her a better person for it? Every blow he'd deal her would be like two to himself, both straight to his heart. One day, he hoped, she may come to understand why he must now endure it. "Enough," the priest stated plainly. Aramis' voice was not raised, but rather it was powerful, powerful as it ever was. A man of learning. A man of God. And, when necessary, a man of the blade, they like a trinity that never demanded, but rather earned respect wherever he may go; his home no less than any. "Your father cares for you deeply, Yvette. I will not ask you to calm, not with what is to come, but I will ask you to listen, for right now you waste both time and patience. ...I take no pleasure in this. In truth I take great pain, my hope for arriving home early this evening to embrace you in warmth, not to have to strike my child because she failed to sneak around behind my back." A pause. "Are you sorry?" Another, brief but meaningful. "Ask yourself why. Is it because you failed in your duty or because you were caught?" Enough stalling. Taking another deep, slow breath, a breath of courage, Aramis reached for his young daughter's hand to guide her right up against his side. She would know what was coming. She would know it well, this, he thought in disappointing reflection, an act between them too often as of late. And she would know that at this point any further argument would only make it worse. Aramis' second hand slid to his daughter's hip, to her waist, sliding around to the small of her back which he had caressed so tenderly so that morning upon waking her. Now his hand pressed to it for a different reason entirely, bare palm against her finely woven dinner dress, perhaps not as fancy an outfit as a lady of the King's court but far extravagant by a country girl's standards, urging her to lean forward, at which point she should know to take her position stretched upon his waiting lap. "I have no interest in bringing in additional help, monetarily or out of necessity. You made a very significant stink about the ladies who used to be here several years ago, and you swore to me, swore rather fervently if I remember, that you were a big girl now and could handle it all on your own. How would you ever learn to be a good wife one day, Papa, you asked, if I did not let you try?" He did not shift when she strewn out across him. He simply sat still, back straight and against the chair, though once his daughter was in place his hands shifted, his right now at the top of her back where her shoulder blades came together, open palm resting against the soft cotton of her dress, his other reaching for the hem of her skirts. "And you have done wonderfully so, Yvette. You have proven very capable, and I have enjoyed using the money saved to splurge on you as most fathers only wish they could. Yet I would be letting you down as a father if all I did was spoil you, if I never used a firm hand to remind you of the way of things." The skirts came up, one at a time, pulled over the curve of her bottom to come to rest in a bunched up pile at the small of Yvette's back. "You have your rosary, my love," he stated, hand taking hold of her soft cotton undergarment when that was all which was left, guiding it down over the curvature of her fifteen year old backside. Firm and lovely. Bare and vulnerable. "Use it to make peace." The first strike came quick, without hesitance, for give himself a moment to reconsider and he very well might. "Peace with me." A second raise of his arm, a second falling blow, open palm stinging across the same left cheek as the first. "Peace with yourself." Followed by the third, swift and unforgiving, Aramis' whole body tense. "Peace with God." Perhaps she would never know the pain which winced upon his face with every blow. Perhaps such was for the best.

I love you Yvettes body quivered as she pressed her forehead against the cold wooden floor, her hands still raised, fingers twisted tightly around the pearls of her rosaryThe prayer chain shaking slightly within her trembling hands. The words burned her truly worse than his open balm..He spoke with such a tremble to his voice. Her heart was aching, panging with such guilt and remorse nowWhat a wretched child she was, to bring her Papa such painHer lips quivering still, Yvette closed her eyes tightly as tears continued to trickle down her pretty face. Her nose was reddened from her sobs, which she had kept quite quietly for a girl of such..emotion. One would imagine she would be wailing from the way her body was squirming, but it was far easier to bite down upon ones lip than to keep their body still After such a soothing, comforting caress to her pinkened backside, the sixth strike nearly did cause a shriek to escape her lips. Harshly, she bit down further upon her lip, her body once again curling against her Papas lap as her toes curled within her shoes, her ankles crossing to try and keep herself in place but alas, for no use..She could not help but to wriggle, to squirm..Once, when she was a foolish child, she had fled from him in the midst of her punishmentHaving been young, her dress was not as weighted down by layers of silks and tulle. She had managed to reach the door, her fingertips gripping the knob and ready to pull back so she could escape down the hallsbut Papa had swiftly caught her, and perhaps the memory of that pain caused her to yelp more so than the present She could feel her Papa falter, and as she lay trembling upon his lap, breathily repeating her prayer over againShe raised a wrist to her eyes, dabbing away the tears which lingered upon her faceShe had allowed, for a moment, her guard to set downA mistake which she should not have made, for Papas punishments were never so swiftly completed. With heart racing, ringing in her ears, Yvette had not heard that threateningswishwhich would forewarn the blow that she had not been expectingHaving straightened her knees to brace herself to stand, that swift slap folded her body immediately over her Papas lap once more. Nearly dropping the rosary to the floor, the base of the cross did softly scrape against the wood..but Yvette clutched tightly, and as she fought back the urges to simply break down in sobs Such a strive proved difficult, as a sudden surge of animosity consumed her Papa. The Devil in her passing to him, perhaps for the moment being, as he seized her pretty curls in his free hand and forced her up by those lovely tresses. Yvette whimpered, drawing her breath quickly inward, hissing slightlyHer eyes blurred now with those incessant tears, Yvettes lips a reddened shade from the harsh pressing of her teeth..It was wonder she had not split them entirely from how firmly she bit down..Her pretty nails however had indeed broken the skin ever so slightly in some places upon her hands, gripping herself so tightly that her knuckles had gone shades far paler than her normal complexion. Such a sensitive beauty, delicate as a rose despite her stubborn thorns.. As he released her hair, she bent her head forward once again, forehead touching the floor slightly as she turned her face from him. Her curls cascading down from her shoulders, out of his reach, to veil her faceShould her tears trickle down to the wooden floorboards, they would be miniscule, but enough to twinkle slightly in the firelightShe lay very still across her Papas lap, as he relinquished her punishment for the time beingUsing his hands instead to soothe her, stroke her softly..It was almost unfathomable, the way the hands of a father could stir up such varied emotions in his little girlTears of shame, to a heart pattering and swooning with adorationShe did not hate him, by any means. She could never hate her PapaThough all little girls, even those most affectionately besotted by their Papas as Yvette, became upset with their Papas at times As his hands explored her body, the folds of her dress and the burning skin of her sore backside, Yvette lay very still. Her thighs quivering at times, her toes curled tightly within her laced shoesAs the moments passed in near silence, the cracklings of the fireplace was accompanied every so often by her soft weeping..Lost in her own despair, she had not noticed his sudden, rather panicked movement..She had not felt the delicate caress against her most intimate curls..She did however, shy away from the hand he placed soon after upon her shoulder. Burying her face closer against the floor, as if she could vanish or hide from him there..Her legs buckled with each strike to follow, her sobs choked back more audibly now as her entire body quivered with each blowShe could no longer contain herselfHer hands, though still with her rosary draped about her fingertips, covered her face as she sobbed against them, fingers twisting within her curls tightly. But as with all good Papas, Aramis knew when to stopA suitable punishment was not too much, nor too little..but enough to push down all of the walls a little girl could build up. Vulnerable once again, Yvette did not rise when she was permittedSeveral sharp inhales were taken as her lithe young figure sought to regain its composure. Every muscle and every curve was aching.. burning, though none more so than the young maidens heartAnother moment passed before Yvette brought one hand to her Papas right knee, keeping her other arm veiled across her face, hiding herself childishly within the crease of her elbow as she steadied herself, standing slowly as if she feared falling apart there before himHer skirts began to drop as she stood before him, but the hand which had been upon his knee moved to gather them and hold them in place, in a proper manner which would cover her more intimate places but keep her reddened bottom exposed. She did not look at him, though she longed toShe wanted to crawl back onto his lap, and hide her face against his neck for the remainder of the eveningHe would not need to speak; just hold herYet she kept a small distance from him, as she fought to still the remainder of the sobs which seized at her throat..Her hair was a slight mess now, untidy from all the twisting and tugging..Perhaps more appropriate for a woman whom has just been bedded than a young lady recently punishedThere was a glow to her skin, one encouraged by her distress, but a lovely radiance neverthelessYvette felt half her age, with her knees pressed together and her arm vainly attempting to cover her face,..She was completely unaware of how becoming she actually looked after such an ordeal

The pause Aramis' hand found between strikes had little to do with mercy toward his daughter, for her mercy would come from God, not from him, and everything to do with how much a man could endure. Be firm, he would tell himself after every sharp blow to her pale bottom, after every sharp wince that followed. It is the only way she will learn her errors and grow up into a proper lady. A fourth blow. Her high-pitched feminine shriek which filled their home, echoing off the walls, did little good for a father's heart. "I love you," he whispered, eyes closed, his voice so low that barely he could even hear it. They were for himself rather than Yvette. "I simply wish you would behave." A fifth strike, open palm coming sharp across his blossoming teen's bare backside. And blossoming she was, he thought, beautiful and growing more so. After the first few initial strikes Aramis paused in the punishment, but not to let her up. His left palm lowered again to that soon to be reddened ass, to those cheeks his hand would strike at the center of, not yet giving specific attention to either. His palm came to brush upon them, his touch gentle this time, a sharp contrast, before gliding to Yvette's left cheek, encompassing the breadth of it in an outstretched hand. He caressed it, moved in a slow circle about her skin, rubbing, almost massaging his little girl's intimate area. It was important to him, even in the depths of punishment, that she know she is loved, a young woman's heart fragile, easily shifting, yet worth the world. Firm, he thought approvingly, his hand giving her bottom a light squeeze. She would make some man very happy one day. A sixth strike, sharp and sudden. Aramis' hand released its grip on Yvette's left cheek to quickly raise up, and to twice as quick descend, sucking in a breath as he struck her. The first prayer had been a wonderful choice. She would need several more to get through this, though. A seventh blow, his hand very much concentrating on the left side of her curved skin now. An eighth, in quick succession. He took note of his daughter's squirming about, as she would, as she ever did, Aramis' right hand doing what it could to reach to her far shoulder, to hold her upper body across his lap as much as one strong hand could. She would know not to get away though. Squirm all you care, but run and Papa's belt would crack you before you even reached the door. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. The shrieks and choked tears saved her from her fourteenth, though she would not know it. The aging man's heart couldn't. He just... he couldn't, may God forgive his weak lapse. Aramis has indeed raised his arm in the air again but there it paused, breathing in and out, waiting a few seconds until Yvette's pained howls died down before another swing. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. He switched to her other cheek, to her right. Spank. Spank. Spank. Spank. The minutes passed, as slowly as they ever could. It was amazing how quick they seemed at times, though now, now it amazed him even more at just how much heartache could be fit into a single one. The tears that dotted Aramis' cheeks were silent ones, his face otherwise firm, his eyes closed, never breaking composure for fear a single crack may lose it entirely. They would be wiped away before she could ever see, the sadness trickling on his cheeks. Then, in a sudden spike of frustration, teeth clenched, his right hand moved from her shoulder to her hair, gripping full to Yvette's dark blonde curls. Aramis jerked her head back as his left hand raised up high, forcing her neck taut, forcing her throat to expose. And like that he continued her beating, fast, fast and unrelenting, each new strike coming in swift, hard tandem, allowing no reprieve. Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Another pause. Aramis' breathing came strong and deep. His grip laxed on her curls and took to stroking her instead, running fingers through her soft, very well taken care of hair. The other fell to Yvette's cheeks again, no longer lily white but a considerably brighter color; a degree of blush one rarely possessed on the cheeks on their face. Aramis did what he could, all he could, sadly, to assure her without words that she was loved. Should she come to hate him for this, for even a moment, then the shattering of his heart may prove him not as strong as he may outwardly seem. "I am sorry," he muttered, again to himself, fingers drifting from her hair back down to her dress, again to her back where his touch could caress up and down the length of her dress, from her neck down between her shoulders, down to just above her bottom and back again, tracing tender along the fabric. His other hand did what it could to soothe her backside, ever so soft, light squeezes one might receive from a lover followed by the gentle caresses of his fingers. But then he felt something, something that made him positively shiver. Yvette's more intimate blonde curls. The proof of her blossoming womanhood. Eyes closed the entire time, Aramis hadn't been thinking how close he was until he felt several loose curls from her tuft of hair against one of his digits. His heart froze. His hand instantly pulled away, a quick pang of shame washing over him. Her innocence. It was unintentional. She... she likely didn't even feel it, it was just a few hairs and not her skin. He told himself that, taking yet another deep, heavy breath, though his hand on her back had ceased its ministrations in accordance with the sudden burst of shame. A minute passed where nothing was said. Where nothing was done. Then, his mind forced to steel, his back ever straight against the chair, Aramis silently retook to his task. One hand on Yvette's far shoulder to hold her somewhat steady, the other raising and lowering in an unforgiving spank. It had been seven minutes so far, though he wasn't keeping count. It would be another four more before his little girl's thorough punishment was through. Several paced, spread out strikes would be followed by a brief reprieve followed by several more blows to her opposite cheek. When it was done, when it was finally done Aramis took in a sharper breath, eyes still closed as he spoke. "Stand up, Yvette. ...when you can." A heavy tone to match a heavy heart, eyes never once opening through the lot of it. "Your punishment is over... Please, I want you to stand up in front of my chair with your skirts still raised."

Thalgar ran the sharpening stone along the edge of his weapon, sparks falling to the ground from the large double bladed axe. The weapon was already plenty sharp of course, he kept his weapon well prepared for the battle at all times. A warrior is only as good as his weapon and Thalgar was a very good warrior. Muscles bulged underneath his armor, his powerful build obvious even underneath the metal rings of his chainmail. In the heat sweat glistened across his dark green skin, cutting throgh the layers of road dust that constantly filled the air in the grasslands town. Yellow eyes watched the tavern arond him even as his hands worked, keeping an eye on the activity around him even in this semipeaceful setting. Even the top of his body was warlike, shore of hair in order to stop it from interfearing with him in battle. His constant gaze stopped as the elf woman walked in, staring at her as she moved over to the bounty board. She moved with a graceful step, the weapons and her movements declaring her as a rogue. Many orcs looked down on Blood Elves, seeing them as new allies that could not yet be trusted, and weak ones at that. Relying on guile and and magic instead of strength but Thalgar could see the use of them. Yes they did not possess the strength of an orc but he had seen a fireball boil the skin from a man, the posioned dagger slide into the heart. They may not have much honor but they were effective on the battle field. And even though they didn't have the tusks of an orc woman their was something enjoyable about they finally shaped bodies. The heavily muscled orc pushed his seat back, the chair groaning as he released it from his wieght. He shouldered his large axe, slinging the shield andsmaller axe that served as his secondary weapons onto his back as well before he moved across the tavern. The crowds parting around him as his large shoulder pushed through the other patrons, like a ship parting the waves. "The bounty is for pirates. In particular their captain." Thalgar growled to the female elf, his deep voice speaking in the language common to all of the Horde.

WoW: The Internal Quests. Vatia sat on the edge of the Goblin Zeppelin as she watched the tower of Orgrimmar grow closer. She had left her home in Eversong Woods to find her fortune in the world. Well really she just wanted someone to teach her about adventuring. Back home every able bodied adventure was off experiencing new things seeing new sights so no one wanted to help a young Blood Elf Rogue learn the ropes. After many failed attempts to work alone (with more than enough times of awakening in the local grave yard) she decided to search out someone to work with. But no one wanted to work with her so she left Silvermoon and tried her luck in Tirisfal Glades. But her hatred of Scourge made it hard to work with the Forsaken even thou they were supposed to be allies, Vatia had seen what the Scourge had done to her people and want nothing of them. So now she was off to Durtar and try to find a partner there. As the Zeppelin pulled up to the tower Vatia reach down and picked up her pack. The heat and humidity were already making her pale golden skin sweet which made her long blonde hair stick to her face. As she was bending over Vatia long ears picked up laughter from behind her. Looking around she saw a Tauren and a Troll looking at her with smug smiles on their faces. Vatia straightened up quickly and started to say something to them for laughing at her. But their eyes still looked behind her. Turning her head Vatia looked to see what they were looking at. Her glowing green eyes widen as she saw that her cape had fell away from her back letting the two males see the curvy of her ass under her tight leather pants. She turned away as she felt her face blush, they werent making fun of her they were admiring her body. Vatia smiled to herself as she remembered the way her fellow Blood Elves had scoffed at the thought of other Horde members ogling Blood elf women. She didnt see anything wrong with it and had been curious about the males of the Taurens, Trolls, Orcs, and even the funny little Goblins. Vatia lifted her pack and walked toward the ramp. She glanced at the Troll and Tauren and saw they were still smiling at her. She smiled shyly back then headed down the ramp and the short distance to the gates of Orgrimmar. Walking into to Orgrimmar for the first time was amazing. The sights and sounds that greeted her made her mouth drop open in surprise. Never had she seen so many different beings in one place. There were vendor shouting to buy the goods. Warriors heading off to the north. Adventures riding in and out. She even saw a few females inviting the men to fellow them to their rooms. Oh, right she remembered what they were. Vatia looked around and saw a guard standing watch by the entrance. She had to shout to ask him were she could find work. He gave her a lopsided grin and asked how much. Vatia looked puzzled at him then glowing green widened and she shook her head make her blonde hair stick more to her pale golden face. She explained what she was looking for and felt sorry as the guard looked at her chest fallen. He pointed her to a tavern close by. Vatia walked into the tavern and was greeted with suspicious eyes and a few admiring ones. She looked around and saw many male and female patrons; some drinking, some talking, and some watching a Troll woman in the corner slowly undressing to the music a Goblin played beside her. Vatia felt jealous as she saw the Troll woman take her top off and noticed her breast were much larger then her. Shaking her head she walked over to where a wooden broad was stuck to the wall. Yellowed pieces of paper were tacked to it. Reaching up she brushed long strains of blonde hair from her face as she looked over the papers. Great they were all in Orcish. Why hadnt she learned to read Orcish without help? Because her people thought it was beneath them. Vatia reach back into one of her pouches and pulled out a small book. At least she could translate the writing with this. Opening it she looked from the first letter then down at the book. She thumbed thru four pages until she found it. This is going to take forever. She said.

"So a skinny little thing like you is going to go after the pirates hunh? You sure you can do it by yourself?" The large orcs arms crossed across his chest, his thick shoulders squaring up even more with the simple movement. Muscles moving and bulging with the movement. Of course he knew that just because a blood elf was skinny didn't mean much, their small bodies holding more muscle than would be beleiveable. Still while there was grace and experience to her, obvious in her movements, it still spoke to inexperience. The potential was there but the practice hadn't brought it all out yet. "I was thinking about going for the bounty myself, though there isn't any reason that we can't work together. After all the bounty is the same no matter how many of us end up killing him. Besides it doesn't hurt to have some company." The orc couldn't help but having his eyes go up and down her body. After all even if she didn't mean to do it, she had gone from something that covered all over her body to showing quite a lot of flawless smooth skin. Suprising considering her profession. "Yeah it tends to be hot around here. Though you tend to get used to the feeling. So what do you say. Want to team up for this one?" Thalgar cocked his head to the side, looking back into the the elf woman's eyes.

Vatia was so intent on the paper she was trying to translate that she hadnt heard someone step up behind her. She jumped and almost dropped her book as she heard a deep voice start speaking to her. She turned quickly to see who it was her hand going to the hilt of her dagger. A orc. She could feel his rumbling voice in her chest as he finished his statement. Oh, thats what it says. Um reads. She winced at how dumb she must sound and turned back to the paper. Sounds like something I could do. Her hand pulled away from her dagger and reached up with her slender hand and pulled the bounty paper down. Vatia turned to look at the Orc again. As she did she smelled the pungent odor coming off his body. She hadnt spent much time around Orcs and never really smelled one so it was a surprise when his musky odor hit her nose. But unlike her fellow Blood Elves, Vatia tried her best not to show her displeasure or surprise. Besides she didnt want to offend him. With a little cough she looked up into his yellow eyes for he was a bit taller than she was. Her glowing green eyes then took in the rest off his features. Dark green skin wet with sweet and covered with dust from. She could see his chainmail strain to hold in his bulging muscles of his chest. A confident looking face with a bald head and two tusk showing on either side of his mouth. A large double bladed axe at his back. Vatia forgot about his smell as she drew in a breath. Despite herself she found him somewhat attractive. She was surprised at how she felt as she looked him over. She blinked her glowing green eyes as she tried to remember what he said. Oh, are you going for this um bounty. As she talked unconsciously Vatia reached up and pushed back her clock from her slender shoulders. Her dark leather vest came down just above her belly button and two straps held it over her pale golden shoulders. The low cut in front showing off her small but nice sweet covered cleavage. Is it always this hot here?

Thalgar grinned as he watched the blood elf woman start to become more and more nervous just by standing in her presence. he coudl hear every gulp that she made, and noticed everytime she stumbled over her own words, knowing exactly where those nervious tics came from. He had met a few blood elves before, mostly a arrogant and snobbish race but a few of the woman seemed to notice the other males in the Horde quite a lot. Their own men were just as feminine as the woman, skninny thigns too and they weren't used the the raw feel of masculinity that the other Horde races had. "I understand what you are saying." The orc responded, noticing how she covered herself back up, the blush spreading across her body, including all the way down her neck to her breasts before the cloak fell back into place. He could tell he was having an effect on her and he hadto wonder how much experience she had with males of any race to being with. "I'm Thalgar. It is good to meet you." The orc's own hand came forward, the massive hand covering the smaller elves hand on its own. It just seemed to emphasize the difference between the two of them, his hands dwarfing her just as his body did. "Do you have everythign that you will need or do you need to pick anythgn else up before we go?" The orc kept her hand in his own, the small and silken smooth skin feeling good versus his own rougher skin.

Vatia frowned at the orc. She wasnt skinny, slender maybe but not skinny. She couldnt understand why it bothered her. But he was right about one thing, she couldnt do it by herself. Not unless she want to wake up in the local grave yard over and over again. Her frown vanished as she saw his dark green muscular arm bulge when he crossed his arms. She gulped at the sight of those large muscles at work. She had a feeling that this orc wasnt the brute savage that her people believed his race to be. She listened to what he said next and almost said yes before he finished. Yes, your company would be good. I mean company as in more then one trying it alone. Not that your company would be bad. Just mmm. Im not skinny. Her face felt a bit hotter as she slightly blushed from making such a dumb remake. She then caught his yellow eyes moving over her from top to bottom. Vatia looked down and saw that her leather vest was showing off her small but nice looking cleavage. She felt her blush deepen as her pale golden face became hotter. She quickly and a little clumsily pulled her clock back over her slender shoulders. Then with a weak smile she looked back at the orc in front of her. Oh, it does! Well good. Ive heard that when you get more into the interior that the humidity drops some but the air is drier. Which would be the same as the humidity dropping. Why do I sound like such a dullard now? She thought as she looked back at the paper in her hand. She looked back up into the orcs eyes. That sounds like a good idea to me. Vatia held out her empty hand toward the orc. Im Vatia.

Thalgar knew what kind of effect that he was having on the Blood Elf. He wasn't skilled in the ways of women, the ways of battle taking over instead but he certainyl knew a few things. Orcs tended to be a bit more direct in their romance as well but he could see the heat rising through her body as she blushed. Could feel the fact that she wasn't dropping his hand even though they had been touching for longer than normal now. He could even follow the line of sweat as he slipped down her thin neck and slid between her breasts before it disappeared from view. "Well what ever you were looking for little rogue I think we can get it." Thalgar grinned, his teeth and tusks obvious with his wide grin. He adjusted the straps to his pack and made sure that his weapons would draw easily from their sheaths. He carried plenty of them but it was hard to know which one he would need at any time. "No point waiting if you got everything. My mount is outside so you can just collect yours then we can ride." The large orc turned away from Vatia and walked out of the inn. The exit to the great orc city wasn't very far away from the inn so it was a quick walk outside of the city. And there was his mount, a large silver gray wolf standing beside the hitching post outside. As soon as Thalgar stepped out the wolf threw its head back, the reins slipping from the post and the large animal walked over, butting its head against the orcs chest. "Vatia this is Thress."

Vatia looked at the orcs smile and realized what it may have meant. It wasnt the arrogant smile of someone who looked down on her. No it was interest in her. Could he find her attractive? The thought of that would make other Blood elves cringe with disgust but Vatia found it exciting. Maybe they could Vatia gulped again. Hello Thalgar. Nice to meet you too. Vatia looked down and saw her slender hand was engulfed in his larger hand. The contrast of their skins, pale golden to dark green, fascinated her. The skin on her hand tingled from the way his rough skin moved over her silky smooth skin. She wondered what it would feel like to have those rough hands touching other places on her body. Her face became hot again at the thought. She didnt even try to pull her slender hand out of his large one. Part of her didnt want to. His hand felt strong and warm wrapped around hers. And she didnt mind that he smelled of traveling. As she watched him a small bead of sweet ran down her neck and in between her small breast. No I just got here from the Zepplen a little while ago. I havent even found a place to stay. She nervously wiggled two fingers from her other hand to show some one walking. Straight here. Looking for you. She closed her glowing green eyes as she stuttered. Looking for work, that was what I was doing. She reached up and ran her fingers through her blonde hair. As her fingers touched her long ears she realized how hot they felt. Great her blushing was spreading. Vatia pulled her hand back down and smiled at Thalgar again. I um shouldnt need anything before we go. She winced a bit as she tried to hide the fact that she didnt know if she did or not. As she watched him a small bead of sweet ran down her neck and in between her small breast.

Vatia smiled shyly back at the orc. She was a bit surprised to see his tusks but his smile may her feel not as intimidated. She reluctantly released his big strong hand taking one last long look at the contrast between pale golden skin and dark green skin. Vatia watched as he worked on the straps of his pack. She had never seen so many weapons before or so many muscles. Taking a cue from her new companion she checked her own equipment. Dagger, short sword, poison pouch, vanishing dust, and back pack. Yep she was ready. Vatia turned and started following Thalger out of the inn. She looked up at the stage the troll women was on and was a bit surprised to see a dark skinned human girl dancing in her spot. Her black hair spun around her as she danced seductively from the crowd that cheered louder as they watched her undress to the goblins music. Vatia noticed the slave chain around the human girls wrist and nodded to herself. She had heard that the Horde on this side of the ocean captured others for slaves. At least this one was pretty for a human. Vatia shook her head and walked out of the inn. As she walked behind Thalger, Vatia couldnt help but notice how big the orcs shoulders were. The bulging muscles of the back of his legs and arms. She was so wrapped up in looking at him that she didnt realize that they were outside until she felt the hot sun on her long ears. Vatia looked in front of Thalger to see where they were going and saw a hitching post. She grimaced as she remembered that he had said something about a mount. Vatia had never liked the riding birds of her people. They were a bit to high strung and temperamental for her liking. She watched as the silver gray wolf walked up to Thalger and butt its head against his chest. Vatia gave the wolf a seat smile. Hello Thress. Then she looked up at Thalger. Can I pet it?

Instructor Trepe, or Quistis, simply sat and graded the papers turned in by her class earlier in the day. Seifer, her most obnoxius and trouble-making student, had been caught tormenting the new transfer. Now she was stuck baby-sitting the little punk as requested by Headmaster Cid. She respected the headmaster enough to not refuse his requests. Both times he chucked the balls of wadded paper, she simply lifted her grade book to let them bounce off to the desk or floor. She lowered the book the second time, glaring at him from behind the lenses of her glasses. His attitude and actions were beginning to irritate her, not to mention the way he spoke to her.No onetalked down to her the way Seifer did. So what if she was only a year older than most her students. So what if she was an eighteen-year-old instructor. That didn't give this little shit any reason to be treating her this way. Though Seifer had always had problems with authority figures, he always seemed to take his hate out on her. Talking to her like some stuck-up bitch who thrived on making him suffer. Hah!This was the last place she wanted to be. However, as a instructor - whether rookie or not - she had to fufill her dutiess and administer his month of detention as punishment. Her eyes slid to the clock and inwardly she groaned.Fourty-five minutes?It had only been fourty-five minutes and already she was beginning to become pissed at the young gunblade user. How was she going to do this for a month? Quistis turned her eyes back to Seifer as he began to try and talk his way out of detention. She knew better than to believe his words. He was more than likely lying just to get out of here. "You're not going anywhere. You were given a punishment for your despicable treatment of one of our students. As your instructor, I will make sure the punishment is administered," she replied simply, marking something down in her open grade book. She didn't even bother to look up at him as she spoke. No doubt, given the burning hole she felt, he was glowering at her like a caged beast. Simply continued marking her papers, for the most part doing her best to ignore him.

"Shut up." Ignoring him. Grading tests? He'd give her something to grade... Smirking, or rather sneering to himself, Seifer tore a sheet of paper from his notebook and crumpled it up into a ball. The makeshift projectile left his hand, in search of the teacher. "...Isaaaiid...shut up," Seifer repeated, though Quistis, or 'Ms.Trepe' as the pompous bitch preferred, hadn't even said anything. It was fun to taunt her though, to poke and prod and see how close he could get her to losing it before she took a breath. She'd just been up there, keeping to herself. Keeping him here, when there was no goddamn reason to be. So he and his 'welcoming committee' had taken it upon themselves to show that new girl around Balamb. So they'd convinced her that the boys locker room was really the girls locker room. So they'd tricked her into going inside and undressing just in time for the period to end, and in time for about fifteen sweaty guys to come in after practice, seeing her with who knows how little on. And so, when she cried for directions to the headmaster's office, they instead gave her directions to the training grounds. ...So what? It wasn't Seifer's fault she couldn't take a joke. Or take one of the T-Rexaurs by herself. What a kid. Yet he was getting shafted for it, and got nailed with a month of detention. How many days had it been now? ...forty-three minutes? Well,fuck. Seifer tore and rolled up another paper ball into a gloved hand. To this one he added something a little extra, a wad of phlegm, tossing it halfway across the room in hopes for Quistis' head. The foot on his desk, his chair on a tilt, helped with the arc of his throw. Snickering to himself, Seifer called out, "How 'bout you just let me the hell outta here? You hate me, and I sure as hell ain't a fan'a yours, blondie." The pompous bitch. She was like what, a year older than him? She wasn't some 'adult', at least not in the sense that it took to run a classroom. No one respected her. Maybe if he was a female he'd be able to blow the headmaster to get a promotion too. "Unless you're some masochistic cunt who gets off on me calling you names and throwing things at your head when I'm bored, and trust me, this ain't the most exciting thing I've ever had to be a part of, you can let me just leave now and we'll both be happy." "Look, I'll even lay low for awhile." A lie. "No one even has to know I'm out. I'll go catch a flick, or sit in my dorm and read some gunblade magazine or somethin'." Or find that brunette bitch and torment her further for not being able to take a joke in the first place. "How 'bout we just call things where they are? I mean, shit. Feels like a month already tome..."

Ooooh,he was pushing buttons indeed. He knew damn well he was. She could hear beneath the nasty tone of his voice that he was amused by his instigating words. He wanted her to snap at him. He was testing her patience and her patiencewasbeing tested. Sorely so. Don't let it get to you, she reminded herself, though that sentiment was short lived. When he insinuated that she got where she was by sucking cock and spreading her legs, her fingers tightened so hard on her pencil, that it snapped in two. Her head lifted long enough for her to send the little shit a glare, handing reaching to take another pencil from her desk. "Say what you want, I won't matter. Doesn't change the fact that I'myourinstructor. Doesn't change the fact I passed the SeeD test at 15, two whole yearsbeforeyou - wait, you haven't even passed it yet, so it's two years and counting." The words were all said calmly, though she meant to insult him as he had insulted her. "I got to where I am by hard work and dedication, not spreading my legs like a common whore. Not that you know what hard work or dedication is like," she mused as she lowered her eyes back to the grade book. Marking something here or there. Fifty-two minutes now. Was it going to be this way the entire month? God, she hoped not. Quistis would end up killing him where he sat, if it was. She could not take a month of him insulting her, questioning her chasity(or lack there of), and the like. It was pissing her off. She was ever the cool, frigid bitch, or cunt as he liked to call her. She wasn't about to lose her license over someone like him.

"Cuuuuuuunnnnttttt," he called out, palms cupping either side of his mouth as if he were calling to someone across a field, and with an extra emphasis on the 't'. Would that get her attention? After a moment Seifer smirked, smirked openly, brazenly challenging her authority. And then he shrugged. And then he cocked his head to a side with the confidence that made him so likeable, and began to speak with the bluntness that had earned him the admiration of his peers. Some of them anyway. Some of them were babies, or punks, and didn't matter much in the longrun. "Hey, you know why people don't like you,Ms.Trepe?" Oh, that pronunciation had something to it alright. Something nasty. Something just begging her to bite, to show that he was getting to her. "It's because you're a bitch. No, really, follow me on this one." The smirk widened. Fine. She could keep her head down, grade her papers, or at least be pretending to. He knew she was listening. "What are you, like ten, eleven months ahead of me? That's not even a full year. And here I am, head of my class when it comes to field exams, ace'n any challenge Garden puts me up against, and yet you're two steps up the ladder ahead of me. People see that, you know. They resent that. They resent the fact that you're a chick, not 'cause you're a chick that's in charge, but 'cause you probably got those two promotions while on your knees." And there it was. That would get a rise. Snap a pencil, cause a vicious glare. Something. And like a viper with the scent of blood, Seifer continued, all of this just a game to him, a relief of boredom. "Look, it ain't nothin' personal. I don't like you, but that's beside the point. People talk. They say you probably blew old man Cid a few times to get where you are, and you know what? People resent that. Especially guys like myself who bust their ass and carry the rest of 'em out in the field, yet I gotta sit here and put up with you? What the fuck kind of relevancy does all your paperwork have when I'm the one makin' things happen? See, if you can give good head,Ms.Trepe, or if you got a nice tight little twat, then more power to ya. Just don't be all high and mighty about your job, out to make my day shit just 'cause you can." Seifer cast a quick glance to the clock. Fourty-eight minutes. That means another fourty-two of this, of her. Of just them. And then another day of it, every day, for the next goddamn month. This was going to get the rise he sought because it had to. Tick. Tick. Tick. The second hand was beyond irritating. One of them had to snap. One of them had to, if only for something to do.

As far as Quistis had been concerned, the conversation had been over at the point. She didn't listen to him, didn't even acknowledge that he was speaking to her. What was the point? All he was doing was trying to make her snap at him, to make her lose the cool she was well known for. She didn't even look up when she heard his boots padding across the floor. He didn't give her a choice in ignoring him any longer as he placed himself on her desk and grabbed her chin,makingher look at him.Arrogant ass. He deserved to be shoved out on his ass.Hah!See how far he made it without thosepapershe spoke so bitterly of. She simply stared at him as he spoke, giving no hint of emotion as he forced her to look into his eyes. When he let go, she stood, palms on the desk. "I'm not apologizing to you," she said calmly. "You are arrogant. Selfish. And cruel. All these years you've been held back is because of those things. Sure, your paper scores suck, but you can't just get anything you want by force. It takes brainsandbrawns. Every respectable SeeD knows that." Her eyes were narrowed as she spoke to him. Hoping the words hit home. No way in hell was she going to apologize to him. "Now get off my desk and get back to your seat."

O-ho!And there it was. He'd gotten a rise. A few rises it seemed, and back to back, each of them like sweet candy. What to do now? Things were escalating. Escalating, by his hand. Interesting. Entertaining. He'd been in this position a thousand times before. One of them would back down, acknowledging the other as the alpha, and then Seifer would smirk in relishment of his victory. That's how it went. That's how this would go. So, he just had to take things to the next step. Whatever that was. He'd wing it. Seifer stood from his seat with her comments, slowly, deliberately slow, narrowing his eyes on his teacher. On his jailer. What the hell was he going to do? Take a breath. A deep one. Keep his back straight, his eyes on her. The dissatisfied glare was often enough, didn't need anything with it, not initially. That gave him time to think. He stood from his desk and shuffled aside, out of the way of the seat, eyes on Instructor Trepe. "Cunt," Seifer repeated as he approached her desk, a saunter to his step, long grey coat swaying slightly with the movement of booted feet. Was it loud enough to be heard? Maybe. It just kind of came out, but it fit. Fit her well. "I'm gonna say something,Ms.Trepe, and I'm gonna say it once. ...I'll say it once because I don't like having to repeat myself," he said as he reached her desk, bringing a leg up to sit upon the edge. "And I'll say it once because I'm the type of person that demandsrespect." With that Seifer reached forward a gloved palm, cupping Quistis' chin and cheeks within his fingers. He turned her head to him, away from her goddamn papers, away from whatever else a frightened doe might look at to forget about the wolf. He made sure she looked at him as he spoke. "That's twoand counting because despite how great I am at the field exams, I still got bitches like you holdin' me back, demanding I meet some certain bullshit criteria on paper... Wellfuckyour papers, you whore! You know what they mean in the field? Nothing!" He released her face from his grip, though remained intimidatingly close, literally half-sitting on the side of her desk. Right on top of the pile of papers she was correcting. "Apologize."

He was pushing it too far now. She knew that, but didn't let it show as he stood so close that his hot breath fell across the skin of her neck and shifted the strands of her blonde hair.Apologize? Hah! Not for the same shit he pulled daily. Hell no.A supressed shudder. Another glare. Her hands fisted on her desk. And then he had the nerve to caress her ass, as if he had some right to her. Angrily, she smacked his hand off of her shapely behind with a - "Don't touch me." She stood straight, refusing to let the arrogant bastard intimidate her. "For the last time, I'm not apologizing to you. Especially not for the same shit you pull on medaily," she said as she stepped back from him. "Force isn't going to get you anywhere in this world and the sooner you realize that, the better. Especially if becoming a SeeD is what you want." Her eyes narrowed at him from behind the lenses of her glasses. She tucked her hair behind an ear and then stubbornly crossed her arms across her ample breasts. "I am your instructor, Seifer. You are my student. Now, get back to your seat," she told him. If he didn't listen and continued this assualt - if that is what you could call it - on her, she would have no choice but to report him to Headmaster Cid. Which would ultimately result in suspension, or him continuing his detention under a different instructor. When he made no move as of yet, she glared harder. "Back. To. Your. Seat."

Where was this going? Where was it going... He didn't know. In too deep to back down. In too deep to write it off. Oh boy. What a bitch this one was, just couldn't accept defeat, could she? "No," he said simply, slamming a gloved palm down onto the desk just inches from her hand. He did stand though, despite his adamant declination as to otherwise. Seifer stood but didn't return to his seat. Rather, he moved to stand close to Quistis. Beside her. Right beside her. Intimidatingly close, making sure his hot breath could be felt upon the skin of her soft feminine neck. "You'd be surprised how much you can get... by force. And I'm not going anywhere, Ms.Trepe, until I have that apology from you." Ms.Trepe. Ever the arrogant bastard, Seifer smirked, knowing how every time he spoke her name in such a way it must come across as nothing short of a viper. Stinging, and establishing himself further. "Name-calling... Insulting my scores..." Seifer hooked her chair with a corner of his foot, taking advantage of her already standing, and kicked it aside. The chair skidded back a few feet before toppling over an end. "Apologize." A stray hand wandered upon the curve of the half-bent instructor's rump, giving it a slow, gentle caress. "We don't have to spend the next month arguing, you know..." When was the last time they'd been this close? "Wecould try to get along."

The slap surprised her. Completely stunned and surprised her. Her head snapped to the side as the pain exploded in the left hand side of her face. The force of it caused her glasses to fall to the ground. She didn't get much time to dwell on it as his hands shoved her back. She stumbled and then glowered, but before she could do anything, he had ahold of her. Gritting her teeth as he grabbed a fistful of her hair, pain reeling as he shoved her towards the desk. Quistis was a fighter too, she wasn't about to let him get his way. This waswayover doing it. Hehadto know that. The mature teen didn't have nearly as much strength as Seifer however, so, even though she squirmed and did her best to free herself, she still ended up with her body bent across her desk. Her throbbing cheek pressed against the wood. Her hands gripped the edge of the desk, nails digging in angrily. Her eyes widened as he pressed his crotch against her ass, held tightly in the tight confines of her peach skirt. Her breasts were being pushed into the desk as he pressed harder down on her. Despite his grip and her strength, she did her best to push back against him. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? This iswayout of line, Seifer! Let me up now!" she snapped, angry, even as pain registered from the way he was pinning her. "Let go, damnit! I have no reason to apologize! Get off of me this instant!"

Back. To. Your. S- Slap! It was he who slapped her, Seifer who slapped Quistis. She wanted to be the one in charge?Shewanted to be the alpha here, so much so that she wasn't going to step down? Then he'd demasculate her. It was done in an instant. It was done without thinking, and once it was done Seifer continued onward, quickly onward, winging it, as pissed with her pompous ass as she may have been with him. After he slapped her, slapped those glasses right off her snotty face, Seifer shoved her backward. Then he took a step toward her before Quistis could reel very far, all of it within a very brief moment, grabbing a fistful of blonde hair and jerking her back toward him, toward the desk. Shifting, Seifer placed his other hand back on her shoulder and forced his teacher forward, placing pressure on her shoulder until she was forced to bend over it completely, cheek upon wood. And then he moved to stand beside her. And then he was pressed up against her, full crotch against the firm ass held tight in her peach skirt, hard chest against her back, pinning her down. So fast. Such a bitch. She deserved it. She deserved... deserved... whatever came of this. He didn't goddamn know. "Apologize," he repeated, pinning Quistis down against her own desk with his body weight, "or I'm gonna make you wish you had."

This was way past anything she had expected Seifer to do. Even with his history of cruelty, she never thought he'd resort to this. His hot breath fell against her ear, his favorite word to call her -cunt- invading her senses.God. She hated that word. It was demeaning. Uncalled for. Seifer was just somekidwith superiority issues. His touch on her skin made her shudder. Not with pleasure.Never that. More with disgust and repulsion. Thenerveof him. Her nails dug deeper into the wood. As much as she wanted to throw him off of her, she could not. Seiferdidhave the strength he often boasted about. His hand in her hair, the other on her shoulder, kept her effectively pinned to the hard wood of her desk. Her breathing was fast and quick, almost panicked now, with the ridge of his erection pressing against her firm ass. Dear god, not this. Anything but this. His hand was sliding down now. Going beneath the confines of her peach skirt. Treading upon ground that had not been touched by anyone other than herself. Too wrapped up in being a child prodigy, too busy with studies; she had never sought attentions of the sexual sort. Not when she could take care of the urges on her own. Now, here was a student, forcing his attentions to her most intimate area. When his gloved hand touched her, she immediately squirmed. Trying to get him off her. "You wouldn't stop, even if I apologized. So why should I?" she snapped out. God, she just wanted him off her. "Get off me! You will get expelled for this! Is it worth it? You won't gain anything from this, Seifer.Not a damn thing." She wasn't about to let him think he was gaining anything from this...this...whatever this was that he was doing. He wanted to put her in her place? Demean her? Disgrace her? Well, she wasn't going to make it an easy victory, if a victory at all.

"No." Simple. Firm. "I'm tired of your fucking attitude,Ms.Trepe.I'm tired of you thinking you're some fuckingboss." One hand pressed to her right shoulder, sliding gradually to her upper back, keeping Quistis pinned in that bent over position. The other was on the side of her head, his palm on her cheek and jaw and his fingers lacing into tightly pulled blonde hair. Too far now. Seifer kept his hand pressed against the side of her face, keeping Quistis' opposite cheek pinned against the desk as he wondered what the hell they -he- were going to do next. Though, before he could dwell on the thought for long his body was quick to step up, quick to answer that for him. She must have felt it. She must have realized what was next about the same time that he did, with him pressed up behind her, with her struggling back. With her firm ass held within that peach skirt pressing back against his crotch, trying to get away. Igniting it. Exciting it. And by the time he realized just how he was pressing back it was already too late. He was aroused. Hard. Pressing his thick dick against her ass and thinking about the few layers of clothing that kept them separate. And once that train of thought began, there was nothing else his mind was able to think of. "Time someone put you in your place... I think..." he said with a wry smirk, letting the hand slide from Quistis' upper back around to her ribs, then to her front, just beneath her breasts to rub an open palm across her belly. He made sure to keep his weight against her back and his hand on her face as the other lingered on her abdomen for a bit, on her flat stomach, violating her person with his touch. Her soft, feminine person, despite how much she tried to be a hard ass. Seifer took a slow, deep breath, inhaling with his face inches from Quistis' ear, letting her hear, letting herfeelhis breath. "Cunt," he whispered, that hand leaving her belly, gloved fingers sliding down the front of her skirt. "Feel free to apologize," he continued in a heavy, breathy tone, his palm sliding deep enough to cup her crotch in his palm, to rub at the soft warmth of her vaginal lips through her panties, "any time now..."

This whole encounter was beginning to look a lot worse than she had imagined. Quistis had figured that Seifer was human enough to come to his senses and stop what he was doing before it was too late. However, given the words he spewed to her now, that looked as if it wasn't going to happen. In fact, he seemed more determined now, than before, to continue upon this course of action. Now was when she was beginning to see that there was no way out for her. Sure, she could fight him off, or try, but Seifer was a great deal stronger than she. More than likely, he would still get what he wanted from her, she would just have more damage to her if she chose to fight back. As he expected, it was the sound of her zipper than made the fear blossom within her breast and spread along every nerve in her body. By some miracle she managed to keep from shaking as he pulled her skirt down over the nice curve of her bottom. His hand went back to caress the ever growing moistness between her thighs, despite her mental screaming denial of any pleasure her body may be feeling from his touch. His following words, however...caused her to physically quake. He was right; Quistis had always been awkward around the male sex, never got much time to date - more like no time - with everyone fawning over her as a prodigy. Though she did not want this, her body had long been starved for a touch such as this. It was in all human's nature to procreate; if they didn't know it, their body did. Quistis gulped, loudly, and decided she may as well go for the lesser of two evils. Having her virginity taken would hurt, no doubt about that, especially with Seifer taking it this way, but to have him fuck her ass, that was out of the question. "N-no! Please don't, not my ass, please. I'l do whatever you want," she pleaded. It seemed that, at last, her pride and stubborn streak had ended. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she repeated it, trying not to shake as she was molested and pressed down into the hard exterior of the desk. Despite her denial of it, her pussy reacted to his touch and began to grow a slight damp to his touch. She barely managed to hold tears back, as well as the urge to strike out at him, though she was physically unable to do so. Her chest heaved as panic began to settle in some. "Please, believe me, I'm sorry!" she pleaded outloud, desperate to get him to believe her. If he didn't, it meant the worst for her. "I'm sorry!"

"I'malreadygetting something from this," he said with snickering laughter, laughter that came with hot breath right upon her ear. "You don't see it, do you? How fucking terrified you are. Things start to go bad and here you are, fucking powerless to stop it... and people are supposed to follow you?" He pressed down on the side of Quistis' face, adding insult to insult, reinforcing an already total dominance. "You're not a leader. It's that type of weakness that gets people killed,Ms.Trepe." Through the whole speech Seifer's other hand had remained shoved beneath Quistis' peach skirt, cupping her crotch through her panties, massaging her hot vaginal lips within his palm. Fucking lovely. His hand left her now, though, but didn't stray far, moving to the zipper of her skirt to pull that metal gate down its jagged teeth. "And at this point I bet you I'm expelled no matter what, isn't that right? Tch. Just as you say apologizing ain't gonna get you anything, me stoppin' now won't amount to much either. So I might as well enjoy humiliating you while I can." Had Quistis not given in to her fear yet, the sound of her zipper running down its jagged-toothed track surely would have to strike a chord. Seifer grinned to the sound. He pulled her skirt down, down over the hump of her ass, but left it still hugging her thighs rather than pulling it all the way down. There was something psychological about it, a notion that she didn't have to be naked to be vulnerable - if he could fuck with her in the longterm, and not just here and now, things were just that much sweeter. Seifer brought his hand up to his mouth, gripping the gloved fingertips between his teeth to then pull the hand free. He took the glove and dropped it uncaringly on the desk, delving his hand back between his teacher's thighs, around her waist and down from the front. Quickly he retook her pussy lips back into his palm, massaging her through the thin cotton of her panties. "I'll tell you what though, I'm gonna make you a deal, Ms.Trepe. You want a reason to apologize? Here we go." The grin widened. Every word Seifer spoke was barely an inch from her ear, his hot breath tickling upon her skin, "You've got two very appealing holes back here, bitch, so much so that I can't seem to decide which one I want... Up your ass would probably hurt a bit, wouldn't it? In your twat though... You're probably a virgin, aren't you? Fucking stuck up and uptight, it's no wonder. It's obvious no one ever fucked you good. Mmm. Apologize to me for being such an asshole and I'll let you choose which I take. Make it convincing, and maybe I'll even lube it up some instead of just takin' you raw."

Scarecrow... scary-eyed Joe.. scaring all of the birds away.... Johnathon Crane had been watching, and he had slipped out of the bar very quickly to watch Ivy moving down the street now. He knew her, and was for some reason the only person who every got away with calling her "Pam" or "Pammy", short for Pamela from her days before she became Poison Ivy. It was something strange, but he did not abuse the privilege by doing it in front of others. He had helped her with some of her toxins, but one he had not asked permission about had a very bizarre side effect on him and he had not meant for it to happen. It was only after he learned she had been killed that he found that the adrenaline in his blood activated the side effect... or perhaps he should say side effects. He had always been lanky and gangly, and it made him unattractive to women.. but something happened. All of his years exposed to natrual chemicals and extracts, combined with his exposure to Ivy in the times he helped her had caused it. his body went from gangly and awkward to lithely muscular like some of the dancers he admired. He was tone but not bulging, and his bones were now reinforced at the joints for greater strength and grace of movement. It also had caused growth, putting him at least another two inches taller than her, making his height slightly more than half a foot over her. The growth also was in his manhood, a growth spurt that his years of introversion had suppressed and was awakened at his rage at her death. His assistants, both male and female, stayed at arms length while his anger and transformation lasted. His anger merely subsided, but the "improvements" to his body made him not unrecognizable, rather it gave the appearance that he actually filled out his own body and made him much more like a real man. When one of Ivy's henchmen who had guessed at Crane's desire for his "employer' called him, he had to come and see for himself. He had taken the time to snag a stash of gems for himself from where he guessed that the Fat Fowl hid them, all of them totally stolen and nothing the Bird would dare write on an insurance claim. They would need a lot of funds to get revenge. As he followed his Ivy, he wanted to help her. He suspected who had killed her, as only three of the villains in Gotham had stayed behind at the meeting and all were mad enough to try it. He moved with a surprising amount of grace as she moved to the park. He and she had a bond, something that set the both of them apart from the rest of them. He watched closer, having been able in the months to learn better skill and hiding and following. When she was where he knew she would go, he came out of hiding, his costume fedora on his head. "Pam... I want to help you." Her green eyes.. her reddish hair that almost looked auburn... her lovely supple and tone skin... he wanted her already, but he had the discipline not to act yet.. not till she saw how she made him better and more useful to her as more than just help.

I didn't fake my death. Someone killed me. But you should know I don't stay dead for long sweetie. It seemed that the song playing was absolutely perfect for her mindset right about now, the Iceberg Lounge full of precious members of the Penguin's 'army', penguins waddling around and causing a general discomfort for those who actually wanted to go out on the dance floor and dance. Thankfully, the penguins were smart enough to stay out of the way and avoid such a place at all times. They knew better; Because in Ivy's point of perspective, she WOULD step on one of them. Taking a soft drink of the alcoholic beverage, the cool taste slipped down her throat, licking her full lips gently to settle in the sweet taste, her periphials catching a man watching her. Evidently, she was catching attention without very much of an attempt to try. Her thick locks of red tucked away in a fedora, the woman's sunglasses covered a majority of her face, because believe it or not, it was hip to wear sunglasses inside; That was not her reason of course, but it didn't give her any odd stares. She could hear Oswald laughing only a few booths away from the bar, knowing he was enjoying the business that was coming in thanks to all these people in his club tonight. " She be like 'I be, I be, I be, on that money shit.' " Smiling softly at this lyric of the song, her eyes looked up from behind the sunglasses, one of the numerous icebergs shooting from the ceiling containing exactly what she needed. Oswald thought he was clever, hm? The heels of her shoes clicking softly as she stood up from her place at the bar, her eyes then focused on the man not so far from her, and whom had been giving her the eyes for some time. Her soft lips curling into a smile, the woman leaned forward and let her lips part softly, "Not in your life." With her words, her fingers gripped his face gently watching his eyes bulge slightly before rolling back into his head. Evidently, she still had it; Although she had to put a bit of force into it, and she could feel the something of a strain in it, she knew she still had it. Having only been alive for less than a day, and already she was planning things like the true woman she was, her mind working around just who in the world had taken the time to try and off her, however there was nothing like going off one by one and finding who did it. She knew it wasn't that wretched Bat. Although he was a hero, he was more fond of having her tossed into that worthless Asylum, and considerably, she hadn't done anything bad before she died. The man falling to the ground, unheard to those in the lounge as she moved through the people on the dance floor, looking up only once to find vines slipping through the cracks in the ice above them; Thieving woman, she was. She might as well get herself a little money in this as well, hm? Black and white vertical striped suit pants over her lower half, a black suit jacket was loose on her upper half, giving the person in front of her an occasional peek to see that she was wearing nothing but a dark green silky bra that had taken the dare to hold her at least D cup. A smirk on her lips as she moved through the dancing people and around the pain in her arse penguins, a flower was pulled from her pocket, full in blossom as she stopped in front of one of the Penguin's actual human guards, tossing the flower into the Penguin's drink. Her lips pressing against the man's, her hand gripped his jawline, smirking into the kiss that was evidently unexpected, the woman pulled away, her back to the table as the guard dropped to the ground, "What in the he-" "Find who killed me Oswald. Or you're next on my kiss and kill list." She spoke, pulling the hat off her head and letting her hair fall, tossing the hat back and shifting through the crowd as he sent his penguins in an angry search for her. "FIND her!" But surprisingly, he wouldn't find her. He, nor his worthless penguins would. Faithfully, Ivy had made her way calmly out of the club and disappeared within the park, the flower she had left only blooming at this time of year in a certain place in the park; However, she knew for a fact that Oswald didn't know that.

He smiled, a bit of wicked pleasure in both his eyes and lips as he suddenly moved his hands to her waist and kissed her very wantonly, pressing his lap up against her as he did. She did not know the half of what was now different about him, and when her kiss did not make him sick, it may dawn on her some of the changes that had happened to him. He had been waiting far too long for this, and now that she was initiating something, he was going to really enjoy things as they progress. He was already starting to feel himself swell in his jeans, and as he moved, he was shifting and using his hands on her waist to hold her in place as he pined her to the bench. His voice was deeper than before, husky with want as he kept looking into her eyes and spoke. "It is more than what I have been eating, Red... it is also what our chemical collaborations have done to me as well. I want you to trust me, and in order to do that, you are going to have to accept my having total control of this body starting tonight. I do not expect you to do that without my showing you what you will get out of it... So you better unzip me and see what I have for you." He moved his hands down to her very ample breasts, squeezing and kneading them with his hands. He waited for her to do as he told her to, his new-found assertiveness caused both by his hands on her luscious globes and by the fourteen by five inch tree trunk of a cock he wanted to use on her now. He had never been circumcised, so that would be an added primal cherry on the cake of his Domination of her starting tonight.

Of course she could hear someone moving behind her, however she knew for a fact that it damn sure wasn't any one of the Penguin's henchmen. They would be running, or waddling for better terms. Licking her lips softly, the female moved further into the park, the trails that were often less traveled by nervous Gothamites not ready to get snatched up as they so worriedly feared; Please. Ivy had better things to be doing. Smiling softly as a large, and by large the flower's size was at least half of Ivy, was in full bloom and holding all the contents of the safe that had been hidden above them in the icebergs, looking between a set of pink flowers and giggling softly. She knew whoever it was behind her had seen such a thing, however if she felt any threat, she wouldn't mind taking the chance of him not making his way out of the park tonight. When the man finally spoke, her eyes did not bother to turn and look at him, though the sound of a petname rang out in her head, knowing only a select few bothered to know her actual name. Harvey Dent, Harley Quinn, who only got away with calling her 'Pam - Pam' or 'Red', and then there was. . "Jonny Crane~" It broke the tension of her plants, though that didn't mean they weren't all a bit still on edge as far as making sure their Ivy stayed safe; No need to have her out and about roaming with someone who quite possibly could've killed her. Despite knowing that he probably hadn't been the cause of her death, her head turned to look over her shoulder, a soft smile falling onto her full lips when she reminded herself that he wanted to help her. Turning her body completely, no matter which angle you looked at the newly revived woman, she was still dangerously sexy. Her bare stomach and upper torso exposed for him, leaning back against a tree for a moment, the female's back arched and her head tilted softly to the side, "You want to help me Jonny Crane?" Lips forming into a soft smile, the female moved quickly, a park bench having been uprooted and moved behind him, she pushed him gently into sitting before straddling his lap carefully. Her fingers trailing along invisible lines of his shirt before gripping his collar gently, giving it a forceful tug as she loomed over him, a blank expression on her pretty face. Making a mental note to keep in her head that he wasn't exactly the Johnathan Crane he used to be, perhaps this was something he would be telling her now upon his visit, her breasts pressing against his chest as she asked with her eyes staring into his, "You want to help me Jonny Crane? I do recall it being the other way around," She spoke thoughtfully, tapping her lips softly as her rear planted itself firmly in his lap, tapping her lips again as her arms rested comfortably on his shoulders, "You've gotten mighty big though Jonny. What have you been eating?" She murmured, her green eyes staring at him with a hint of curiosity residing behind them.

When she released his cock from his boxers, it was what he he felt she would enjoy seeing. His cock was very large, the fourteen inches of length with a few veins and arteries slightly raised on the flesh of it. His uncircumcised head was clean, and he continued to knead and squeeze her tits very possessively as he let her get a very good look at its enormous size. After several minutes, he explained with a lustful intensity in his tone. 'Somehow, Pame, all the experiments that I did for you and with you, has cause a very surprising side effect of a belated growth spurt. As you can see, my lovely Rose Red, that has given this Bee a very ample stinger to use on your flower..." He knew that his words sounded corny, but the truth was he really did love her, and even when he was going to give her what she needed, he was going to be sappy at times. Now, though, he wanted to fuck her, and he wanted her to surrender herself to him. He moved to use his hands to pull her a little by her breasts, making her head move closer to his cock with expectation in his look at her.

There was a twinge of surprise shooting through her body when his newly muscled hands gripped at her hips and his lips pressed firmly against her own, within this sort of kiss, there was the general type of way that the woman would kill someone. Pushing back against his lips and forcing her hips down against him, she noticed that his skin was not beginning to change beneath her and nothing at all seemed to be wrong with him; She knew she hadn't lost her touch, but rather there was something going on inside that new body of his. Whatever it was though? She found herself enjoying it, particularly when she felt something stir within his jeans when she let him shift her body with her back against the bench, looking up at him now with a flicker in her green eyes once his lips pulled away from hers. Raising a brow slightly as he began to speak and state that he wanted her to trust him, there was obviously a catch to it and she took note of that when he spoke that she was going to have to accept him having control of her body. Starting tonight. Her brow still raised until he stated that he was going to show her what she would get out of it, demanding that she unzip his jeans just to see what was waiting for her. Her lips curled into a soft smile, "A treat?" She asked, her hands sliding down his body as her leg raised carefully between his legs, her thigh moving across the bulge in his pants, groaning out softly when he gripped her breasts and began to rub them. Feeling the bulge within his pants though, the woman found her hands sliding down to greet the zipper and button of his jeans, getting them both undone and pulling his pants down gently as she felt his heavy cock press against her hand. "Well well Jonny Crane. You've gotten to be mighty big." She moaned out, licking her lips with a bit of excitement as her hands rose up again and tug down the material of his boxers, feeling his cock beg for the release.

Crane smiled wickedly, wanting that very thing but first he was going to make it very plain that though he wanted her, it would be on his own terms. He squeezed her lovely tits, twisting a bit to make her sit up as he kept his eyes focused on hers. There was an intense fire in them, a lust not just for having her body but also controlling it. He moved her onto her hands and knees, making her face him if he could. As he was doing so, he explained this first action. "While that love twat of yours may be wet, my Lovely Pame Ivy... my cock is quite dry. I do not want to hurt you more than needed... so you are going to use your mouth to get my cock wet and ready for you." He tightened his hands on her breasts, threatening to start using his new found strength to milk them by force if he had to.

Well well. She hadn't even been alive for a full day and she had a cock in her hands, a rather large one at that, her lips still in a grinning state as she felt it throb within her hand, judging by his eyes, his intentions for this very point in time were clear in his eyes. Her soft moans falling from her lips with each squeeze and motion he made against her full breasts, she could feel his fingertips dig into her skin lightly, looking up at him as her eyes began to fill with their own lust. He was evidently out to make her hot for him, out to make her want him in the way that he had evidently been longing for her to, and she knew just as well as he did that she wouldn't surrender herself entirely to him, though for this point in time, she might just find herself doing such a thing. Bare stomach beneath him, all he had to do now was pull her pants and panties clean off her body, looking up at him again with half lidded eyes, her arms folded over her head lightly before murmuring, "Then pollenate my flower Jonny Crane."

He groaned from the attentions her tongue was giving his cock, and he did not hide he was liking it as he should. He moved one of his hands to her lovely red hair, seeing that she was having streaks of anger as he was pressing his advantage with her. He was in control, even though she had yet to acknowledge it verbally as he saw the look in her eyes. He was not going to destroy her, rather offer her what she had not yet had in life till now. He pressed the head of his cock against her lips, making them grow wide. "You are not human really any more than I am any more, Pame. I have seen you do things with your body that defy logic, and you used your mouth to do things that make this possible. I know you are going to be a bit bratty, so let me tell you I know how much you want me too. I can smell the pheromones you are putting out, and you are already telling your plants to back off. Now suck my cock so that I can give you the pounding fuck of your life among other things!"

She could tell by the mixture of emotions in his voice that he was not only serious about his lust for her, but about all the emotions in his system in regards to her, looking over his face again when he squeezed her breasts and raised her body. She wasn't sure to be angry with him or to be turned on, though once he settled her between his legs, her face only a few short inches from his cock. She couldn't believe how big he was, knowing he probably wasn't anywhere near this size before her death, she licked her lips softly and let her tongue teasingly move up one of the exposed veins before looking up at him. "You want me to suck your cock hm?" She asked, voice still teasing as they both knew inwardly that it would take a lot in Pamela Isley to be able to completely surrender herself to him, although she couldn't say in her mind that she minded sucking him off. "You want me to put all of this in my mouth?" She murmured, eyes looking up and into his as her tongue gave him another playful lick.

The fireworks never came. The appearance of the beast was heralded by a much subtler display, as the leaves on the floor of the temple suddenly dry and turn red in appearance. The forest went still, and the immediate surrounding is noticably changing, like the season is suddenly turning into autumn, preparing for the coming of the one summon beast that has power over the forests. He is a primordial creature of unlimited power and lust. The autumn king, people call him. First the leaves swirl and form a small vortex, and in the middle of it, a supremely commanding figure with a masculine body so flawlessly shaped, it would seem like he was carved from polished wood stood. Long red mane of wild hair crowned his features, as does two seemingly unbreakable antlers. He smirked at the girl in front of him right now, recognizing her as his summoner. Yet unlike other beasts, this one isnt a mindless drone. He has been known as a lustfull beast, taking and ravaging his female summoners throughout history. In fact, many would be summoners seek him out for this very reason. Afterall, what woman can resist the temptation of riding a veritable god? "Whats your name..Female?" He asked with deep rumbling voice. Eyes shamelessly undressing her in his mind, as large hands, twice the size of Aeris's own began carressing her sides.

"Why do these holy places always have to seem so creepy?" Aerith asked the cool, dank air of the cave. It didn't answer, not that she'd been expecting much. Sighing, she went to rub her arms, wishing that her short red jacket reached to cover their entirety. For that matter, she wished that she was certain that her materia wouldn't have any adverse effects to the cave's natural defenses. casting fire sounded like quite a good idea at this point. The girl hefted her staff, using it to walk over the various rocks and crannies. Her rough brown boots made the going easier at least, and she'd unbuttoned her ankle-length dress just enough to allow freedom of movement. Still, it wasn't as easy as she would have liked. Especially without Cloud here,she thought to herself, frowning at a wall. She'd thought she'd finally been ready for him, back at the Golden Saucer. She'd put on a sexy pair of underwear that she'd blushingly purchased at a store, and then nearly jumped Cloud after her date. Instead of ravishing her, however, he seemed unable to do much of anything. He hadn't even seemed to really care that she'd gone through the effort. They certainly hadn't consummated anything. "I can worry about that later," muttered Aerith. She tucked a loose strand of brown hair behind an ear, and stepped through another doorway. There, resting on a pedestal, was what they'd traveled all this way to find: summoning materia. The girl grinned, hurrying over to snatch it and apply it to her arm guard. Once it was in place, she immediately summoned the creature, stepping back to watch the fireworks.

"I am the Autumn King.." Came his whispers, thick with lust and clear desire for her body. He wrapped two powerfull arms around her waist, making sure she cant get away. Of course from his experience, no women has EVER wanted to get away from him. Though it is barely noticable, the air was filling up with powerfull pheromones. The king is indeed the ultimate paragon of manliness, in an animalistic kind of way, a perfect mate for any woman (Or women) one would say, and right now he wants Aeris. He WILL get Aeris. In any way he want, as long as he wants, as hard as he wants. With a swift movement he dragged her over to a nearby altar, laying her down on her back. Here in this spot, the king drove many women insane with the extreme pleasure overload he blessed them with. A growl and a quick bite took the top part of her blouse off. "You're mine!" He roared, his now rock hard member coming into view. It was perfectly huge, thick and full of veins, making Clouds puny member look like a childs toy.

The appearance of the creature surprised Aerith. So very appealing, so very handsome and strong. What kind of monster was this? Some kind of beast of the forest? did he perhaps attack his prey with leaves? It would be interesting to see how this creature fought against the monsters that assailed Aerith's group. For now, though, she felt his hands on her sides, and she couldn't help but wonder why the creature would touch her already. It seemed odd that a summon would initiate contact, particularly one so familiar. She hesitantly moved his hands away, taking a step back and drawing herself up, hands clutching her staff. "I am Aerith Gainsborough," she informed him, nodding. "And what is your name, great king of the forest?' Best to flatter and appease him, for now. Earning the trust of such a creature would be much preferred to simply commanding a mindless drone in battle. Besides, there was something innately appealing about the creature, with its well designed form. Almost as if someone had created something as a testament to manhood.

"The Autumn King," repeated Aeris. She eyed him again, noting his skin tone, his muscles, his very disposition. Yes, the name certainly suited this display of manliness. Odd, but she could feel her body tensing, a tightness forming between her legs and around her chest, almost like when she'd prepared herself for Cloud. But why would she be feeling that here, now, before this creature? Was it releasing something? before Aeris could think too much on the matter, she was dragged to a nearby altar. The haze from the pheromones confused her at first, and the girl blinked in surprise at the overlarge summon. Soon though, she felt the top section of her blouse being removed, displaying the pink lace bra beneath. The creature was... he was stripping her. but she had summoned him! Worse, why was she feeling flushed from it...? "I'm not--!" she began, but cut off short as she saw his member. The thing was huge, inhumanly so. Its thickness was twice that of Cloud's and it stood out like a baton, nearly begging for attention. The flower girl swallowed hard, shook her head, and levered herself upright, glaring at the monster. "You just can't," she licked her lips, "take me like this! I summoned you! And, and..." He was absurdly large, and godly handsome...

The blondes eyes opened to reveal a bright shade of green when she felt his lips against her own. He was late again and sometimes she didnt understand the logic of setting an alarm clock if you werent going to get up for it. As he left she slowly sat up in the creamy sea of satin that was their love nest. Felicia had been dating Tony going on three months now, probably her longest and most successful relationship with one of the most successful men in New York. Rolling out of bed she headed to the shower to prepare for her day. Thats when she realized she was naked. Just what exactly did we do last night? A soft smile graced her fine features as she tip toed across the marble floor and turned on the shower. A thick spray of steam water would soon relax the muscles in her body. Sometimes she believed Tonys sheets were to soft. It had been like this for several weeks. She would come over and spend Friday nights with him and they would dine and drink from the comfort of his home. Felicia believed Tony was an excessive drinker though he didnt think so. Maybe one day she could persuade him not to drink so much. Hoping in the shower she washed all the impurities off her body and thought on today and last night. A blush crept onto her cheeks. Tony was quite a lover, hell he had practice in it and so did she. Honestly she didnt think he and her would of lasted this long, but there was something about him besides the obvious that held her to him. Probably the same thing that made her mother detests him. She wasnt sure it was love, but it was definitely a strong attraction. Soon afterward she hopped out the shower and got dressed. A black blouse, white skirt and red heels grabbing her purse she was off. Tony wasnt the only one who would be making headlines today. ~~~ Mj was at the local theater rehearsing for tonights show. All sorts of emotions had been eating at her all day. Her thoughts jumped from one thing to another. First Peter, than the show, back to the night when Spiderman had saved her life for like the fifth time in the past two months back to Peter and so on. "Mj" She didn't know what was going on with as of late. Well not just lately he seemed so out of it. When she tried to tell him something his head would be up in the clouds. When she tried to surprise him he would smile, but his smile seemed sad. She didn't even know it was possible smile sadly. Ever since Uncle Ben died she figured a piece of Peter had gone with him and who could blame him. They were so close and yet Peter and her seemed to be growing further apart. "Mj" To be honest she spent more time with Aunt May than Peter. Late nights of studying and sometime her could back completely worn out from studying if that's what he was really doing. She shook her head. Of course Peter would never step out on her and she knew that, but sometimes she felt so frustrated and it hurt. Whatever he was feeling he should know by now that he could tell her anything. "MJ!!" Yelled her partner. The Red head snapped back into reality. "Oh sorry!" She said continuing to rehearse. Wondering if he had called her.

The man always woke up late and got to a late start everyday. He had turned his alarm off three different times. Finally, on the fourth try, he managed to get out and let out a sigh. His head was pounding and he soon realized that he shouldn't have had those few last shots. Wiping his eyes and putting some gel in his hair, he moved to put on his business suit. A phone call from Pepper, telling him everything was in order, and a nice breakfast of whiskey and eggs, he was off. Moving quickly back upstairs, he took another look at himself in the mirror and smiled. "Damn, I look good." Looking at the clock, he was already late, though he ran the damn business, so he was allowed to be late. At least, that was his thoughts. Moving back to the girl in the bed, he kissed her on the cheek and sighed. "I gotta go babe." He said to the blonde, brushing her hair out of her face and planting another kiss on her lips. "I'll be back tonight." He said as he covered her back up and moved downstairs, getting into the limo, and going to Stark Industries, for another day of work. . It was another day of school for Peter Parker. He sighed as he sat in class and took notes for his test that next day. Of course, he thought about MJ, but he had other things to worry about that day. He made it pretty much through the day without anyone talking to him or touching him, and he moved toward the pay phone, sighing as he input his dollar and dialing MJ's number. After getting her message system, he let out a sigh. "Hey, MJ, it's Peter." He started, with a pause. He didn't know how to break it to her, so his voice was very shaky. "Look, I can't go to your show tonight." He said with another sigh. "I will still pick you up after, I just. . . I'm busy alright. Love you. Peter." He said finally as he hung up. With another sigh, he punched his locker. This relationship with Mary Jane was slipping through his fingers. He hated to do these things to her, but most of the time he had no choice. It wasn't as though he was cheating on her or doing anything along those lines, but he just didn't have the time. What between being Spiderman, to studying, to hanging out with MJ, one of those things had to take the back seat. . .

She landed with even grace on the stone blocks above the city heights. The wind blowing in her silver locks there was but one way to truly live and jumping from roof to roof was definitely a highlight . It had become like her own addiction. The freedom. The will to do what she wanted. Felicia was a good girl, but sometimes her old wounds would reopen and she would find herself collecting some precious artifacts, taking priceless jewels and sometimes defacing some of the worlds most expensive art. It was the cat in her. The city was busy and thriving. People going on about their lives. Sirens in the distance alerted her to action. With her grapple she quickly made her way towards the scene. A building had caught on fire and as usual the news crew were there with the story along with a crowd of people forming on the street. " It's never dull in N.Y." Resting her hand on hips that's when she heard screams coming from where the smoke was perforating. Quickly she dug her claws into the side of the building and scaled up. Slipping inside the smoke was dark and just as it was thick. "Where are you!" She shouted. Focusing her senses. She spotted two small children under the table. Quickly she made her way over. Neither were hurt, but if they didn't get out of here soon none of them would have a happy ending. "Don't be afraid. I'm here to help. Hold on to me and close your eyes." She said as the two children nodded she held both in her arms and scaled out the window people watching in awe and pointing. All she could think about was how long it would take to wash the smoke from her hair and that the kids were safe ~~~ She had received several messages in her voicemail ,both from friends and family. When she heard the message left by Peter she became upset and just wanted to find him and hit him over the head with a science book. The thought made her laugh since he would most definitely let her do it. "I really wanted you to be here tiger.." Hanging up the phone. She wished the best of luck to everyone for tonight before leaving and heading to next class. Not that she felt like going to it. She planned on clearing her mind of Peter for tonight and wouldn't let him get to her. No more excuses or apologies. Mary Jane Watson would get her answers sooner or very soon.

As he reached the building, he greeted the employees. Just greeting them, with a simple "Hello" seemed to brighten everyone's day up. As he got to his office, he grabbed a stack of papers from the secretary outside and sat at his desk, looking over them. He shuffled through stacks and stacks, crumpling some up to be put into the garbage, and later to be destroyed, or pulling out a sharpie and correcting the plans and making adjustments. Right now, his biggest priority was to build Spider-man a suit that was designed and made by Stark Industries. A win - win for both. Spidey got top of the line gear, and Stark Industries had their name plastered all over the crime fighter. With a sigh, he leaned back into his chair and enjoyed a whiskey on the rocks. Who said he drank too much? "I know, I know!" "Well?" "No, Fuck you! You are fired!" The man yelled as he slammed the receiver down on the base. Why was it so hard to get any work down around here? What, with the damned board, and the crime he had to fight, as Iron Man, there was no room to get anything done. He wondered if Felicia would be mad that he was Iron Man, he also wondered, what she had to hide from him. . . The kid walked through the school, snapping pictures of the decorations for the dance that was planned for a week from that Saturday. For sure, he would take MJ out to this dance, and they would have a great time. A chance to rekindle their flame, a chance to. . "Parker!" The big brute Flash Dennison shouted as he was dozing off. "Yeah Flash?" He asked him with a smile. Seemed the football player wanted his picture taken with some of the cheerleaders next to the decorations. He happily took the pictures, sense it meant him not getting shoved into a locker that day. As he trudged off, shaking his head, thinking about MJ, he looked at the T.V, where a local news reporter was standing in front of a large apartment building. The building had black smoke billowing from it, and it was plainly visible that there were people stuck inside. With a sigh, Peter put his camera in his locker, and slinked off to the bathroom. . .

Once the kiddies were returned safely to their families she was off. No time for idle chit chat. Felicia loved the spot light , but The cat wasn't a fan. She had made it a good several blocks before landing on the open patio of her apartment. Sliding the glass door closed she peeled off her mask when a letter caught her attention. She looked around quickly. Someone had been in her home. She sensed noone, but still remained cautious. Picking up the folded piece of paper she read it before her eyes widened in shock. "My father...he's alive." She noticed the signature of the one and only notorious Kingpin at the bottom. She had become quite annoyed. She didn't bother on changing clothes. Anything involving Wilson Fisk was hardly worth the trouble. Quickly she took out of her apartment heading to Kingpins headquarters. ~~~ "Good luck tonight MJ!" Yelled Sue her classmate. "Thanks!" Shouting and waving back as she quickly made her down the steps out onto the sidewalk. MJ had been working a part time job so that she could save up to get her own place. She worked as waitress at one the busiest bars this side of the avenue. She had gotten the night off since her boss was a nice man who did support her acting career. Unlike some people. she noticed a group of people were crowded around electronic store tv displays. The channel all showed the news live. Zz..A fire had broke out in City Avenue Condominium earlier this afternoon leaving two children trapped on one of the higher floors. Miraculously is wasn't Spiderman that came to the rescue but a white haired woman in what appears to be black leather. Zz

Our friendly neighborhood Spider-man could not believe what he saw. He hung upside down from an adjacent building and watched the Black Cat herself, do his job. On one hand, it felt good not being the only crime fighter, citizen saving, righteous member of society, on the other hand, it washisjob. With a sigh, he decided only one person was going to get the credit for the job, and that person would be the Cat this time. Taking a few snapshots of her moving in and out of the building flawlessly, like some kind of eerie dance, or some kind of weird ritual, he decided he just better go. He only had to make one more stop, and that was to his boss, Jonah Jameson, to drop off the photos and get the money that would be made from thje photos. Sure, she would be the headline, but if he could take Jameson's mind off of Spider-man for at least one day, it was a win in his book. Tony Stark sighed as he downed his third whiskey on the rocks of the evening. Looking outside, he decided it was best that it was time to go, leaving his beloved building in the capable hands of his security staff. Moving quickly, he elected to stop and have another drink, before entering his limo and be driven home. A quick stop to the liquor store, and he was ready to go.

Soon enough the door opened to his office. Two of his finest guards walked in. "Sir, the Cat is here" He spoke holding his weapon in his hands. Two more men came in escorting Felicia. "Let go of me" She snapped, pulling her arm away from her captor. "Kingpin, I don't have time for games. "She tossed the letter on his desk in front of him. "Next time you send your men to my house I swear your going to have to start thinking about new security" However something did bring her here. She wanted to get down to the business of the matter. "What do you want?" She glared through her mask at him. "Spiderman? That can't be." MJ looked on with the rest of the viewers. The Web slinger did have a fan club, but there were people who weren't to fond of him either. "He finally went rogue...the bug" "Oh no not Spiderman it can' be!" Her blue orbs watched the news intently as shouts and comments were being made. Making her way through the crowd Mj rushed home. She other things to worry about, like tonights performance. That would hopefully wash over anyway.

The cue ball known as Kingpin was just waiting for the Cat's arrival, pacing, listening to classical music, and watching her father struggle as he "conducted" the orchestra with his fingers. The man in chains muttered something about "not getting away with this," the usual thing that most captives say, yet he didn't care. His dull threat fell on deaf ears. As he moved toward the window, he picked up his phone, dialed some numbers and listened to the ringing. The ringing stopped and all he heard was silence. "It is time." He spoke and hung the phone up promptly, looking outside, and enjoying the view that he got from his penthouse atop some building. This was going to be a beautiful evening. Spider man srung around the city, and after awhile, decided that it was time to call it a night and for the first time in about three weeks, he was able to enjoy dinner with his Aunt May. It was nice, though he did miss being out tonight. Something soon caught his ear. "Breaking News: Spider man goes beserk while someone else saves his city." The ticker at the bottom of the screen repeated the words over and over, and Peter moved to turn the T.V up. The correspondent on the screen was in mid sentence. "I stand before you, inside the First Bank of New York, Spiderman is wreaking havok, taking hostages and demanding money. His motives, unknown, but nonetheless, eye witness reports confirm that it is in fact Spider man."

Was she scared? Maybe. Was she ready? Most definitely. They had spent to much time here. This place. This hell for mutants. Tired wasn't even the word for it. She was done with this place and the sooner they escaped from here the better. Jean barely remembered home. Going to school or out on a date. All the things that made life worth living had been taken from her, all except for him. The wild man who took her heart. "I'm ready James." Around her neck was power disruptor. Telepaths were considered to be one of the most dangerous types of mutants. Jean was a level 4 according to the data her captors had collected on her when she first came to this place. She remembered the experiments, the tests and procedures they preform on her. She truly hated this place. " Remember once you take out the satellite tower. I'll be able to use my powers freely." She said before brushing her lips against his. Kissing him softly it reminded her of why she was doing this why ever mutant deserved this right to be free. Instead of locked up like some animal. She had no special uniform. Just the once piece hospital blue outfit with her number encoded on the sleeve. Unlike Howlett she was to under go some severe tests experiments.

There's an island that's populated with mutants. The Government sent them there a long time ago to keep them in check and restrained. No one was allowed to leave, yet they were given near unlimited access on where they wanted to go on this island. It wasn't your small, desert thing either. No, it was pretty damn big and more than enough room to keep accepting new residents. Of course it was hard to make sure they had every single one of them here. It was impossible, actually, there were still news bulletins describing of small mutant attacks. They were quickly captured however, thrown on a boat and dumped on this craphole. James Howlett was a Canadian soldier that had once been part of a mutant program to create the perfect soldier. They called it Weapon X, and it brought him great pain. He escaped, and for a while was forced to remain on the run while the Canadian Government chased after him. They took away his memories, gave him false ones, played with his life and now he has to give a second thought to anything that comes in to his mind. Is it his, or just another staged image? Tonight is the first of the big offensives. James wants off this island, and he's not the only one. It's a special occasion, so what better way to celebrate than to climb in to the old uniform that he regularly wore back on the mainland? Of course, the mask wasn't needed -- but except for that, Wolverine was back in the blue-and-yellow of the old days. Standing beside him is the woman he loves. Without her, he would have fallen apart. He would have remained a wild beast, slowly devolving in to something fit only to roam around the jungles of this world. Her name was Jean. If hecould-- he would die for her. The derelict parking lot shudders, the broken glass of the scrapped cars tinkle and metal shakes. A pair of hulking Sentinels are approaching. Wolverine's gloved hands stroke his partner's arms, their mouths are inches apart. "You ready Jean?"

For a moment she felt stuck, but her feet were moving as fast as they could. She touched the collar around her neck. If only she could take this thing off! She remembered what he said about not looking back. Keep going all the way till she reached the tower. The tower was they key to their freedom. Once they destroyed it all the main defenses would be down, including the radio signaling that controlled this contraption around her neck. The ground from under her shook. A bright light flashed overhead as she blocked its piercing gaze with her hand. The second sentinel had her in it's sights. One massive hand as large as two story house descended upon her. Frightened wasn't the word. The mechanical behemoths were what mutants anguished about. She ran. Up in front of her were the electrical wires that blocked off anyone from entering and anyone from leaving. She looked for anything that could help. The Sentinel prepared to grab her again, but it's target was to close the wires. Jean ran along the electrical wall until she could reach the tower. The Sentinel following in her wake she searched for any sign of James. Without incident she began to climb the ladder of the 80 foot tower. This was her only chance. Her last chance.

The Researchers on the island had attempted to keep everyone's mutation under control, but there were a few that had tricked the system, kept below the radar, roamed free. James was one of them. With every attempt to capture him, he was always one step ahead. But Jean wasn't so lucky. They did terrible things to her. The nightmares she must have were things even Wolverine wouldn't be able to handle. But he promised her every day that he'd rescue her from them, that he'd always be here for her. But every time he told her that, they would always probe further in to her mind. Once more, he touched her lips. The soft kiss was like a fuel to him, it spurred him on, kept him fighting. The first Sentinel came in to view, closely followed by its identical brother. James knew this would be tricky, he had to get up to their heads. That's where he could inflict the most damage. The searchlights looked down from the mechanial monsters, identifying the pair of mutants below them. "Keep moving!" He shouted to her, pulling away and growling up towards the robots. A heavy foot rose, and slammed down on to where James once stood. But he was quick on his feet, and the mutant had begun to climb.

As the first sentinel went down the tower shook again. She held on for her life. Looking back in time to James running towards the second sentinel just to be kicked back across the lot she screamed. "James!". The wind had begun to pick up as lose strands of her bright red hair flailed wildly from the ponytail it had been in. Looking beyond the tower she could see it. Yes! The shore it was their only chance. Take down the tower, open the gates and make it towards the boat! It was upon her now, never knowing how to stop or how to give in. It's massive hand reaching for her. James could hear her scream. It had her now in it's large iron grasp. She struggled to free herself as the mass of metal and wiring circled her. Those piercing yellow eyes staring as if looking right into her. If she managed to get out of it's grasp, the next thing she would have to worry about is the shear drop from it's hand and she hardly thought she'd survive that. "Let me go!" She shouted. She didn't want to go back. Not to this prison. Back to the labs, the tests and experiments. She couldn't! She would rather die than to be probed over and over again. Jean, can you move this object with your mind, Jean? Can you? Move the object with your mind and we'll let you go. What am I thinking? I know you can read my thoughts, Jean. Tell me what is in my head and we'll stop hurting you...promise A fire flickered in the corner of her eyes, but only for a moment. The metal collar around her neck began to vibrate and then it unlocked. The sentinel was making it way back across the lot. She felt like her energy had been returned her. Clearing her mind she began to concentrate on what to do next. "I said let me go.." Sending a telekinetic blast to the sentinels head it caused the behemoth to stagger. She sent another one and another one. Then soon it came crashing . Releasing it it's group on her Jean jumped!

The Wolverine's claws pierced through the skin of his knuckles, a moment of pain. The adamantium poked through the metal of the robot, allowing him to ascend upwards with apparent ease. It didn't help that the machine was moving around alot, but there was no way that James was letting go. Up and up -- he was now climbing up its back and close to its head. The other Sentinel was chasing after Jean, and he just hoped she was OK. Damn it, he should have told her to stay far away from here tonight! Its neck. The wires were already poking out, but the head was where it was all at. By now, the Sentinel was shaking about as if attempting to throw Wolverine off. But it was no use. And by the time James reached the metal skull, it was useless. His claws scraped and scratched away, creating an opening which allowed him to gain access to the large circuit board and controls. Sparks went everywhere. Again - and - again! The Sentinel went crazy, it lost its footing, the CPU was damaged beyond repair! CRASH! The robot fell to the ground, and it echoed throughout the island. A Sentinel was down. Mutants were fighting back. James had held on and survived the fall, looking over towards where Jean was climbing the ladder. The Sentinel wanted to avenge its brother, and James wasn't going to let it. Sprinting. Running. Dashing towards the last one -- But it got him. A lucky kick of its large foot sent the Canadian flying. No! It was going to get Jean!

The ground began to close in. It was coming so quick so fast. How could of she braced herself! Jean closed her eyes hoping that it would be quick end or by some miracle she could stop herself. Umph! She fell into his arms almost to afraid to open her eyes, but when she did she smiled. "James..." She was almost o happy to see him. He had saved her! Wrapping her arms around his neck she kissed him. Her lips pressing firmly against his. She had owed so much to him. It was a cry of laughter that slipped from her lips. " What would I do without you.." She said. Her hand cupping his cheek. She took off the collar and threw it to the ground . Jean was glad to be rid of that thing and she hoped it would be the last time that she would wear it. The ground from under them began to shake and quiver. Jeans green orbs looked up to the tower. The defenses were still up as she pointed skyward. Sentinels were approaching, but all had flew directly over them. She could begin to think what had become of the others who were trying to escape. As much as she wanted to play hero they would have to make it to that boat if they wanted any chance of avenging their comrades.

It took James a few moments to get his bearings back. The Sentinel had kicked him pretty far, and it just so happened he hit against something hard to stop him. His back was in pain, but that problem soon disappeared. His attention was back on to Jean, who had been caught by the robot! "Jean!" Again, he quickened his stride. But he was too far away -- it all happened too fast for him to react any quicker. Something was hitting the Sentinel's head. Was that -- Jean? Her powers... what was happening to her? The robot began to look as if its legs were going to fall beneath it, and his thinking was correct. It began to stumble, stutter backwards, and then fell. With Jean still in its clutches! She was at too great a height to survive the drop. Logan had to get there before she hit the ground. Run. Run, James. Run! He was so close. And as the shadow below her began to grow, James dived with his hands out for her...

Maybe it was because he had been bred and born there, but there was something about Miami that really made Brian Moser feel alive. He typically hated mess, couldn't stand clutter; by all rights, the sticky, damp air and the number of slick, sweaty human bodies that typically populated the place should have disgusted him. Instead, he had had a tight, knotted feeling of anticipation during the entire drive back to Florida from New York. He felt like he was on his way to finish some important business. He felt like he was on his wayhome. Not that 'home' had ever held any sort of tangible meaning for him. Brian had spent so much time institutionalized when he wasn't being juggled around in foster houses. 'Going home' had only ever meant 'going back to his room,' the standard 11x15 foot room with concrete walls and bunkbeds. No, this was different. This wasn't home because of the location, but it was home because he was on his way to see his last living family member again. Dexter understood what he was, because Dexter was the same. Slightly misguided, but Brian was willing to help him work past that. He had never met anyone before whounderstood,who was as intelligent as he was. As clever. Asperfect,ignoring the minor 'conscience' hiccup. Brian needed him like an addict needed heroin. He had seen what Dexter was, what he had the potential to become, and he was hooked. It was more than just errant desire; it was visceral. He had no reason to stay in New York. Staying away was safe, and it was lonely, and Brian cared little for the former and even less for the latter. Besides, Dexter had so much to learn, and who better to teach him than his loving brother Biney? Rita was a real hitch in his plan. Dexter thought he cared about her, and Brian had a problem wrapping his mind around that. She was a vapid blonde, too concerned with material things. Doormats and nutricious breakfasts for her children, cuddling up to Dexter on the couch after a long day smiling at strangers at the hotel. He didn't understand why Dexter didn't use her and throw her away. She was a good alibi, at least. She made pretty arm candy, and for a pretty convincing Normal Life cover, but every time he toyed with her picture, all he could think was how pretty she would look with a knife at her throat. And with that, it had been easy for Brian to break into her home. Late at night with a ski mask, he rattled the front door loudly before smashing one of the windows, careful not to leave any fingerprints or to actually disturb anything else, but it was with such obvious clumsiness that he couldn't imagine the woman actually believing that it was a serious attempt to get into her home unnoticed. He tossed a knife onto the kitchen floor, before ducking back out of the window when he heard Rita's voice floating down the hallway in a too-loud whisper in an attempt to reassure her frightened children. With a roll of his eyes, Brian trotted down the street, yanking off the mask and tugging on a pair of headphones. He looked like some yuppie going for a midnight jog, not a convicted serial killer, and that was the way he wanted it to remain for now. Rita heard the commotion in the kitchen, standing up even as her hand groped blindly for her phone. Leaning down, she slid the baseball bat from beneath her bed, hefting it onto her shoulder as she stepped out into the hallway. She could see Astor and Cody crowding the doorway to their bedroom, Astor's arms wrapped around her brother in a protective hug. "Shhh," Rita said, before she crept slowly into the kitchen. Glass from a broken window, and a knife on the floor, but nothing seemed to be gone, and it was quiet. She peeked around the kitchen, before glancing into the living room, and then finally - in a rush - ushering her kids out to the car. Shakily, and still in her nightgown, she called 911 and explained the situation, and was pulling into the parking lot of Dexter's apartment complex right as she started dialing his number. "Dexter," she said a bit shakily, "Someone tried to break into our house, I've called the cops, but how do you feel about a sleepover tonight, please say yes because I'm actually pulling into a parking space right now," she finished in a rush.

The air was close, hot and sticky that unforgiving October night; it was a Thursday, and the beaches were littered with sweating, lively bodies. At sunset, couples would walk along the sand and shyly hold hands, but it seemed that when dark fell in Miami, the predator came out in everyone who inhaled the night air. Dexter Morgan felt it too, but he was different from them; certainly, he engaged in intense, sweaty nights the way anyone else did, but his company tended to be a little different. And much quieter. Eventually. Tonight, he was enjoying the company of Wilbur Fator, a member of Miami's Elite - he was a man originally from the South, borne of a well-off family and carefully groomed; Dexter always appreciated when people were immaculate. Fator liked to spend his mornings on the golf course, his afternoons on the porch with his pretty wife drinking Mojitos, and his evenings in small dark basements where he paid a human trafficker to bring him a fresh young Cuban boy every month. Fator liked them young, dark, and pretty, and enjoyed taking his time with them - Dexter had seen the videos; for a man from the South, Fator wasn't terribly discreet. It would be awful if his wife saw the videos. Presently, Dexter was on board his little luxury - his beloved boat, Slice of Life; he wasn't a sailor by any means, but Dexter's foster father Harry Morgan had instilled a love of the water in him at an early age. He'd been coming out to Bay Harbour since he was three, and he couldn't bring himself to stay away from the spot - he supposed it was some sort of sentimentality, but he wasn't sure how that sort of thing applied to him. He whistled a sprightly tune as he idled the boat, and then turned off the engine; he was several miles out on the water, comfortably out of view of anyone - most people avoided the water at night, unless they were up on the beach. The darkness scared them. Dexter liked it; it was quiet. He turned to face Wilbur Fator; he was a big, well-built man, so Dexter had needed to use several hefty bags for all the pieces - he couldn't remember which bag he'd put the head in, but it didn't really matter. Dexter wasn't one for keeping trophies, at least, not the kind that some of them liked to take - he was satisfied with his blood slides, a tiny piece of memorabilia from each monster that had kept him company on these late night trips. With practised ease, he hauled each hefty bag over the side of the boat and watched as they were swallowed up by the black, shifting water; he always weighed them down with rocks from the harbour - it was a rookie mistake to think the body would keep itself down. Even the dead had gas, and it tended to make them bouyant, and when that happened, curious boaters and fishermen couldn't help but peer in, wondering what they might find like a toy in a cracker jack box, only instead of a cheeky slide whistle, it was a dismembered hand. Fun for girls and boys. Satisfied that there were no bits of Mr. Fator trying to stick around a little longer, Dexter started the engine again; he would have enough time to get home, catch a few hours of sleep, and be ready for work. Work. Unlike many Miami residents, Dexter Morgan liked his job working for the Miami Dade Police Department, he wasn't a cop like his currently damaged foster sister Deb - he was a lab rat, a forensics guy. It kept him low-key, kept the attention away from him. Or at least, he'd thought it did, up until recently. Things had gotten unexpectedly complicated when Dexter had discovered he had a brother, one from a life he could barely remember. It had been the life where he'd been Dexter Moser, and his mother had been Laura Moser, and life had been beautiful and perfect up until the day he watched her get torn to messy, wet shreds by a chainsaw. It had changed something in him, maybe killed something in him - he still wasn't sure exactly what it was that was missing, but his brother Brian was missing it too. They were two of a kind, and Brian had known it long before Dexter - he'd been old enough to keep the memories that Dexter had lost, and as such, he'd been subject to the whims of various foster homes, halfway houses, and orphanages while Dexter had been eagerly adopted by the cop who had worked the crime scene. It was somehow unfair; somewhere along the line, the decision had been made that Dexter could be saved, and Brian couldn't. Dexter got a relatively normal childhood after that, save for the awkward teenage years where other boys were chasing girls, and all he could think about was what his classmates would look like in pieces. But Harry Morgan had straightened that out; there were rules to abide by. It was what kept Dexter from being like all the others, rather than just being a monster, he was a choosy monster. He only allowed other monsters to accompany him on nights like these. Funny that Harry never mentioned he'd had a brother. But Brian had never forgotten, and had decided one day that he couldn't go without his baby brother anymore, and he'd been overjoyed to discover that Dexter was - just like him. So overjoyed that he'd done everything in his power to get close to him, teasing him with the jigsaw puzzles made of dead, frozen hookers. Breaking into his home and playfully leaving him clues. Dating his sister, Deb. Trying to kill her. Trying to get him to help. He'd even set her up the way Dexter liked it; unconscious, strapped to the table, an electric saw at the ready. It had been an interesting reunion. He'd had Brian in his grasp after he'd made a second attempt on Deb's life, he'd had him hanging by his ankles, strapped down in his own home, prepped for the kill. He'd put him out so he wouldn't have to feel any pain - but then Brian had opened his eyes. The rules said that he should have killed Brian when he'd had the chance, but he couldn't do it, and he couldn't kill Deb either - he kind of liked her. He'd let him go. He'd let Brian go, and told him to go away, to get far away from Miami and never come back, because then he really would have to kill him. He told himself that he would. And now he knew for a fact that he had been lying; the certainty was gone, leaving dearly devoted Dexter disoriented in the dark. What had once been a clearly paved path edged with rules and boundaries that kept him from ever crossing The Line had suddenly transformed into an endless, misty field filled with the sort of temptations that his Dark Passenger just loved. It was all because he had broken the Code that Harry had laid down for him - all because he had let Brian live. And then in an act of outrageous stupidity, he had even agreed to visit his brother in New York, like friendly relatives getting together for a holiday. Dexter had assured himself he was only going so Brian wouldn't come to Miami that was too risky, he might get himself killed. Or or he might be a danger to others. Something like that. He had brought a knife with him when he had gone to visit; at one point he had even steeled himself to use it while he stood opposite to Brian in his little kitchen in the ill-gained New York apartment but he hadn't done it. In fact, he'd pretty much done the opposite of killing him, he'd done things with Brian, things that he was sure were very, very wrong for people who weren't like him. For one, he had shared a kill with him: a middle-aged blonde - guilty of poisoning her three husbands - had been strapped to a polished, clean steel table in some old abandoned warehouse down a backalley in the worst part of the city. She had been there for hours, held down by the clear saran wrap that Dexter had always favoured, mouth duct taped and a folder full of evidence beside her for Dexter to sort through. It was all Brian's doing - it had been very thoughtful of him. The memory of it all still made Dexter shudder, because Brian had watched him the entire time - hadn't taken his eyes off of him once, in fact - and if he thought about it, he could remember the bizarre sensation, the strange thought that his brother's eyes were burning into him and leaving a mark somewhere inside. And afterwards, they hadn't even had a chance to clean up, they hadn't even made it through the parking lot when Brian had pounced on him; they'd struggled and torn at eachother, eventually they even managed to get back into the apartment just before the aggressive pawing had stopped being enough for either of them. Hands and knees had been replaced by tongue and teeth and nails, they hadn't even closed the door behind them before they were all over eachother. It was wrong, it was so, so very wrong. Harry would have disapproved. Harry would have also disapproved of what he had done to Brian on the couch later on that evening - Dexter had never used his mouth like that before, but it had been worth it to see the wild expression on Brian's face. Rubbing at his hair with gloved hands, Dexter stared out at the water and listened to it lap against the sides of the boat; the moon was three-quarters full that night, and the sight of it provided a cold, clean comfort. In that moment, in the middle of the bay, an oddly introspective Dexter was struck by the strange and empty sensation of loneliness - it was followed quickly by a fiery trail up his spine when he thought about Brian's eyes. The way he looked at him. Theunderstanding. But Dexter knew that he couldn't think about it anymore; he had to limit those thoughts because they led to terrible things, the kind of thoughts that threatened to pull him overboard and plunge him into waters that he would never escape from. Waters where his Passenger was at the top of the food chain, and the world was subject to his whim. It couldn't happen. He bid farewell to Wilbur Fator and quietly left his quiet little world behind, hid the blood slide behind the air conditioner, and retired to his bedroom; as he got under the covers and stared up at the dark ceiling, it occurred to him that monsters didn't get happy endings - all they got were precious, sparing moments of freedom. And he had never felt more free than in the moment where his hand had touched Brian's to accept his knife.

Angel was pretty good at his little routine by then. Wake up (in an empty bed), brush his teeth (spitting in a vaguely disgusting sink), get dressed (in clothes that were perpetually just slightly wrinkled), grab a bagel (strawberry cream cheese, one of life's little blessings) and go to work. And that was what he did, except he'd taken a page from Dexter's book that morning and stopped by the local Krispy Kreme to pick up two dozen that he had paraded around the station, winning looks and nods of approval from his coworkers. Sometimes life was terribly cliche, and one just had to embrace it. He had saved the last one for Dexter, however, and cut his friend off at the door to work with the nearly-empty box. "For you, my friend," he crowed, before passing the box off to him, whistling a jaunty tune as he headed back to his desk. Not that he had a lot to be happy about these days, but hey! He still had his little girl, and a good job, and maybe he wasn't in a perfect place socially, but at least he wasn't dead. Or dating a serial killer. Poor Deb. He sat down, flipping through a few pages before a long shadow fell across his desk, and he glanced up with a squint to see Masouka leaning down. The Asian man was either terribly concerned or terribly amused; given his personality and ability to find humor in some of the darkest places, it was almost impossible to tell. "So did you hear?" he chirped, glancing back at Dexter as he spoke, before straightening up and folding his arms behind his head. "Did I hear what?" Angel asked in a deadpan, quirking an eyebrow. Masouka shook his head, and his expression was obviously concern now, even if he did sort of have the same expression a rubber-necker passing by a severe automobile accident did. "Morgan the sister called in this morning at like, seven. Dead catnailed to her door,dude, it was sick." Angel straighted up immediately, but Masouka cut him off. "Team's already out there on it, dude. But can you imagine? I think it's just some sick kid, but you never know when it comes to psycho killers."

Normally Dexter slept like the dead - empty, dreamless rest that served only the purpose that physiology had meant for it, but on that particular night, dark images had managed to slink into his head and take up residence. It was familiar, if only because it was similar to the only other dream he'd ever had; he was strapped to a surgical steel table - except, this time it was as though he had somehow stepped outside of his own body and was looking down on himself. The version of him on the table was wearing khakis, an obnoxiously yellow tropical shirt, and a lab coat. Stranger still, he could see a distinct look of horror on his own face, the appearance of - was that fear? Yes, it must be; Dexter had never known that look for himself, but had seen it on so many others that he had no choice but to recognize it. He looked away from the Victim-Dexter and looked down at his own hands; he clenched his fingers, and the tight leather gloves made a comforting squeaking noise. A glance to the right, and there was an array of tools for him, shimmering silvers and gleaming grays, all so perfectly sharp and clean that he reached for the nearest one and held it up to the light to watch it refract. He saw his own reflection in the knife; yes, it was definitely still him. He turned his eyes back to his - victim - and Harry Morgan was staring back at him now, strapped to the table and looking grim. He opened his mouth, and rang. Dexter sat up in bed like Bela Lugosi and stared at the wall for a long moment before he realized he was hearing his phone; he lifted it off the cradle, mind still misty from sleep and confusion, and raised the phone to his ear. "Dexter" His mind managed to work out that he was hearing Rita, and a glance at the alarm clock told him it was two in the morning. "Someone tried to break into our house, I've called the cops, but how do you feel about a sleepover tonight? Please say yes, because I'm actually pulling into a parking space right now." Dexter was silent for a long moment as the breathy, hurried words slowly curled their way through the fog, and he finally managed to answer with, "Uh. Yeah." And by the time he reached the door, having yanked on a t-shirt and shorts, he was clear-headed enough to remember that he should pull her into his arms, because that was what worried boyfriends did. Rita clenched her little hands into the material of his shirt so hard that her knuckles buried into his ribcage with surprising strength while Cody and Astor slipped inside, characteristically stoic and silent. The two made a bee-line for his couch, "Hey," Dexter said, looking over his shoulder while Rita did her best not to show fear in front of her kids, "You guys are already breaking the rules by being up this late." Cody and Astor stared at him in morose silence, too injured by a traumatic childhood to hear the playfulness in his voice - or maybe he just didn't sound playful. Maybe he sounded like a psychopath, he wasn't sure. "So how about some ice cream?" he asked, and he watched the two slowly exchange glances; their little features didn't move, but they still managed to communicate. "Do you have the green kind?" Astor asked, the spokesperson for their little team while Cody continued to stare unblinkingly. "I have the green kind," Dexter confirmed, drawing Rita into the condo and closing the door behind her, bolting it shut, and moving towards the kitchen. "I'm so sorry to do this to you, Dex, it's just that I didn't know where else -" Rita began, still clinging to his side. "I'm just glad you're safe." Dexter replied; he was getting good at this kind of thing and wanted a Tony Award. Or maybe a little golden knife, because if it was a stage show, he was sure he would make the cut. He also needed to stop making puns. Rita glanced down and finally recognized her iron grip; she released him then, and backed herself to the counter, leaning back and gripping the edge of it instead; she was still in her nightgown, robes hanging off her shoulders, barefoot and blonde hair dishevelled. Though she was quaking and appeared as though she hadn't slept for a week, Dexter somehow found he liked the way she looked right then. He decided not to inspect the thought any further. Pulling a block of unopened pistachio ice cream from the freezer, he doled it out into two bowls and handed them to a blank-faced Cody and Astor before returning to Rita; he found her digging into the carton with a fork. "I have spoons." Dexter said, mildly interested in the way she had set upon the dessert like an animal; she looked up at him then, the fork hanging out of her mouth. There was a long moment of silence, during which Dexter began to suspect he had done something wrong and that Rita was about to attack him with the silverware, but then she was suddenly weeping tears and pistachio onto his chest and leaving him just a little more confused about the entire world. Cody and Astor didn't have time for the sugar rush to set in before they toppled over onto the couch, while Rita sobbed into his arms for another half an hour; he put her to bed and laid beside her because she told him it would make her feel safe. "You always make me feel safe." Rita said just before she fell asleep, confirming for Dexter that the existence of sensible people was pure mythology. He managed to nod off for another two hours before he had to get up for work; he told Rita she could stay as long as she wanted to, told her everything would be okay, and left for the lab, desperate for a day filled with blood stains.

Masouka and Angel exchanged glances when Doakes came storming from around the corner to Dexter's little area. "Weird guy," Vince muttered, and Angel lifted an eyebrow. "You'd better be talking about Doakes," he said with a slight smirk, words playful, but it was obvious that he was worried about something. Deb, most likely; not that they had ever been best friends, but she was a good girl, he knew, and they did work together. He had always felt a sort of brotherly affection for Deb. She was kind of abrasive, but good-hearted, and that meant a lot to guy like Angel. Masouka knew she was sharp, but also just thought she was hot. "Well," Vince said, backing up, "gonna get to work, I guess. See you around lunch," he called, then backed away, heading away. Deb sat on the edge of a bed in a hotel room, playing with her phone. Her first instinct, of course, had been to call Dexter and demand his help, but he'd done so much for her since the whole ordeal with Rudy. Brian, she reminded herself with a shake of her head, before she dialed her foster brother's phone number, holding it up to her ear. She was a big girl. She'd take care of herself... and surely that moron wasn't stupid enough to come back and try to kill her a second time. But she knew the mentality behind a lot of these guys. They wouldn't stop until they'd finished what they started. "So Dexter," she blurted into the phone, hurriedly, "you don't think it's him, do you? I mean, that's a pretty fucking retarded thing to do. He KNOWS that I'm a cop." And then the first email in Dexter's inbox was dated about ten minutes before he arrived at work, from an anonymous address with the subject YOU JUST NEED TO CHILL OUT. Hey pal, It's been a while since we've gone out. I think we could both use a pizza and bowling night. Invite your girl, because I'm bringing one along, too. She's a bit nasty, but hopefully you'll get along fine. Let me know if you're interested. I'll be waiting.

Stepping into the station, Dexter was tense; just the way Batista did, Dexter had an established routine that he had followed religiously for years, and the appearance of Rita very early that morning had shaken it. Grateful that his face always obeyed his command, he still managed to wear an expression of slightly vapid friendliness; the upside to feeling nothing was that facial expressions also meant nothing to him - they were purely for show. Of course, Dexter was convinced that he wasn't the only one who did it; with a donut box held in his hands, Dexter watched Batista whistle his way over to his desk, a prime example of human beings putting on a show. He was pretty sure that was why he liked Batista - and Vince, for that matter. They both pretended. Initially Dexter considered heading straight for his lab - the temptation to get to his clean, dark little fishbowl was strong - but Masouka's sideways glance had him furrowing his eyebrows questioningly until he elaborated. Dead cat. Deb's door. Somehow, he was going to be blamed for this, Dexter decided as he stupidly continued to hold onto the donut box and stare off into space because the Passenger was slowly raking its nails down his spine and leaving trails of cold. Then itpurred. "Ain't that right?" Masouka asked, and stared at him, "Dex?" "Huh?" Dexter asked. "Psycho killers?" Masouka elaborated. "Q'uest que c'est?" Dexter tried, and Vince gave him one of those funny, crooked stares that he did sometimes. "Cute." Vince said flatly, "You didn't hear about it?" "No." Dexter said, and Vince shrugged his face. "Don't worry," Vince said, patting him on the back in a way that was almost consoling, "I'm sure you will." "Yeah." Dexter said, reduced to monosyllables before he dragged himself off to his lab, oblivious to both Angel and Vince staring after him. Rita's place had been broken into around two in the morning and Deb's door had been decorated at seven - Miami had one of the highest crime rates in the world and the incidents were very different, but Dexter couldn't ignore the call of the Passenger. And anyone with a dark enough mind would recognize they were both connected to him. Stepping into his lab, Dexter stopped in the doorway because a pair of eyes were staring at him through the darkness; anyone else wouldn't have seen him in the absolute shadow of the room, but Dexter's finely honed night vision had him meeting the eyes unflinchingly. Slowly, he reached out and flicked on the light, "Good morning Sergeant," Dexter said cheerfully, and extended the box to him, "Donut?" Doakes continued to glower at him, and for an instant Dexter thought he might swat the box away and lunge at his throat; instead, he disregarded it. It was somewhat dissappointing. "I hear your girl called in this morning." Doakes said. "Word gets around." Dexter said, setting the box onto a filing cabinet and turning to his desk; he moved to roll out his chair, but Doakes set a foot against it to stop him. "And your sister called in an hour ago." Of course Doakes would have noticed. "Yeah, I just heard about it." Dexter said, "Was about to call her." "There was a cat nailed to her door." Doakes added, even though he had to be aware that Dexter knew that detail already, "What do you think about that? Do you think it's funny?" "I guess I'd have to know the breed before I could really get the punchline." Dexter admitted, and he watched Doakes' face twist angrily; the Sergeant had never hidden his aggression, and especially not towards Dexter who had, for some reason, set Doakes off from their very first encounter. There was an unholy hatred that radiated from Doakes, as though he was constantly in search of a reason - anything that would allow him to break someone's neck. "Listen you fuckin' psycho," Doakes said, because he was always subtle with his opinions, "If I find out you had anything to do with this shit, I will fuck you up." "Right." Dexter said, dismissive, "Okay." Doakes continued to stare, but his expression had changed into something strange, so Dexter raised his eyebrows and added: "Got it." Before the Sergeant stormed out of the lab, slamming the door so hard that the hinges rattled. For a long moment Dexter stood there watching the door, and then slowly looked down to his hand; he realized then why Doakes had given him that look - at some point during their discussion, he had begun to play with his keychain, and had been toying with the little decapitated barbie head that hung from it.

There was something about Dexter that always seemed to soothe Deb. Maybe it was the fact that he was so earnest, or that she trusted him more than anyone else in the entire world. He was family, afterall. If there was one person in the world that she could trust not to lie to her, Deb knew for certain that it was Dexter. "Yeah," she agreed after a long moment, flopping backwards onto the bed and looking at the door to the hotel room. It was locked sturdily, and she felt safer there than she did anywhere else, if she wanted to be perfectly honest. "Well, bro," she said finally into the phone, "I think I'm going to get some sleep. Kinda.. shocked after this morning, you know." Deb hung up, then, and watched bad porn on demand for the rest of the morning, just for something to laugh at. Brian was also at a hotel, though a good twenty miles away from where Deb was currently holed up. He had been swimming already, had jumped into the pool almost immediately after doing the funny little deed with the cat, and he felt like a predator as he waited for Dexter to email him back. His brother rarely disappointed him. Felines? Tried bleach? Brian felt his own Dark Passenger coiling in him, excited, like a snake ready to strike, but he embraced the feeling instead of hiding it away. It was in his nose and throat, behind his eyes, swelling in his stomach and chest, and it made him feelalive. My dates are always the best. I've got a big surprise in store for her, too.. I wish you'd be there to see it. And he wanted to see Dexter, wanted to touch his face with his fingertips, take his hand and draw him away into a room with a nubile young woman on display, ready to be sliced like ham - but that, for the moment, was just a dream he would have to keep nursing.

The doll's head stared at him and Dexter stared back; for a long moment he stayed like that, watching the little plastic face as though he expected it to bring up an interesting subject, but neither of them seemed to be able to find a topic they both liked. He had no way of proving any of it, he knew, but the consistent and rhythmic unfurling of the Passenger's claws was telling Dexter that there was another monster nearby, but this one was so much more fun than any of the others had been. It was him - it had to be, because the agonizing little curl of heat in the very base of his spine had only ever been caused by one person. Dexter was wrenched from his thoughts by the phone, and for the second time that day he heard the sound of panic. "Deb," Dexter said, eyeing the flashing indication at the right corner of his laptop, the one telling him he had new e-mails. YOU JUST NEED TO CHILL OUT. The heat spread suddenly up to his neck, and Dexter shuddered bodily and had to restart, "Deb," he tried again, hovering his cursor over the message subject, like a child savouring the moment before tearing into a Christmas present, "If he was in the city, do you think he'd spend his time nailing Mr. Fluffy to doorframes?" He opened the e-mail and nearly hissed, but managed to stop himself. "You've been in the papers a lot lately," Dexter continued, as soothing as he could manage to be while the Passenger was rearing up inside of him, demanding a chance to play, "You probably just got hit by someone with a sick sense of humour." He held the phone up between his jaw and shoulder; he set his fingers onto the keyboard and they began to move of their own accord: I don't think she'll be up for a double date, but I'm sure you two will find something cool to do. Any idea on what cleaning product removes felines? Just wondering.

When an answer didn't come almost immediately, Brian had the sinking feeling that one wasn't going to come at all. He had been afraid of that - he knew his brother well enough to realize that Dexter was still struggling with what he really was, what They Really Were. And it had taken Brian a while to get that. He couldn't comprehend that someone was able to live with that sort of beast inside of him without embracing it. Brian had long since given up suppressing the Passenger and had become it; he looked with its eyes, spoke with its tongue. His fingers were its fingers, and the pain they wrought together wasn't destruction, but creation. Art. He was wiping something ugly from the world, and smearing something beautiful in its place. He was not simply its vessel. They were symbiotes, and to have that ripped away from him... Brian would have felt like a naked invalid, missing chunks of his soul. Not a perfect metaphor, since he didn't quite believe in the human soul, but it would do him well enough. And as much as he wanted to, Brian knew he couldn't pick up where he had left off. He could barely afford to live in Miami as it was; it had been a while, but people - the right people - would recognize him in a crowd. He couldn't draw attention to himself, and he couldn't start killing and leaving bits of hookers around, either. He was finished with that game, and he wanted the city to think he was gone somewhere, living in a Mexican village until the law forgot about him. Hiding in plain sight had always been his game. Dexter's game, too, from the looks of it, but Dexter was hiding for all the wrong reasons, and all the wrong ways. He had grownattachedto his flimsy second life, far too attached, and Brian would have to do something about it. But in due time. He was hungry, but it was early, and he had his plans: he'd wait until night fell, find a pretty young thing at the local bar, and take her back to Rita's. That needy, incessant woman had to have fled to Dexter's for at least a day or two (not that he wouldn't double-check first, it wouldn't do to bring someone back to an already occupied house), he'd clean his date and the kitchen, and dump her into whatever river he could find. Clumsily, of course. He didn't want the police to realize that he was a pro at the game, just some clumsy half-wit who'd gotten a little stab-happy. He sat on the edge of the bed, satisfied at his plans, before scooting back atop the sheets and flipping the television onto some inane nature channel. Brian kept remembering when he'd caught an episode of America's Most Wanted a month or so back withhisface plastered across the screen. He felt rather like a celebrity, actually, and they had called him 'handsome' and 'devilishly charming.' Smugly, he settled back onto the sheets and went to sleep.

Shocked, that was the word she had used - but over the years, Dexter had become fluent in Deb and knew that she had actually panicked; she had been scared that the Ice Truck Killer was back in the city to finish the job. And, of course, it wasn't such an unlikely assumption - it seemed that Deb's instincts were improving these days, or maybe it was just pure paranoia, but whatever it was, she was getting better at seeing the patterns that monsters followed, and it had begun to translate to her job. Dexter liked Deb; she was one in a tiny group that he could say that about - he liked Deb very much and wanted to see her advance in the ranks the way she deserved to, but at the same time he found himself considering what it would mean if she becametoogood. How long would it be, after all, before she began to see some of those dark traits in him? He knocked those thoughts away; it was something he would have to deal with when the time came, and these days he had no doubts that it would. Dexter spent some time working on slides, inspecting them through the microscope and measuring bloodstains and impact spatters with a single-minded interest; he allowed himself to be pulled into a dark and familiar little world made of blood and messy, graceless strikes and slices from amateurs, rookies who wouldn't make it to their next kill because they had been too careless with their first one. That was the price one paid for being untidy. Of course, the Ice Truck Killer had never been untidy - no, Brian had always been very careful, hadn't he? Cheeky, but everything had been thought out, carefully planned, cut clean and precise and placed so intentionally that the obsession behind it had sent chills through Dexter the first time he had seen his brother's work. He had known from the very start that it was a message forhimhe just hadn't understood why at the time. Suddenly struck by the need to do so, he looked into his e-mails again and found a response. He could imagine what Brian would have in store for his current paramour; a cold room, flashing metal, sharp edges and maybe a little nailpolish. He was sure that a date with Brian was a thing to be admired, and the thought of watching his brother do his work - no, he couldn't do that, after all, Brian didn't follow the rules. Brian didn't have a code - and that made him subject to Dexter's, didn't it? Dexter realized he was gripping the edge of the desk in a white-knuckled hold, and he slowly released it, letting out the breath he hadn't known he had been holding in. For a moment, he closed his eyes and thought it over. Then, opening his eyes again, he deleted the e-mail and turned back to his work.

As much as Brian desperately wanted to be near Dexter, he knew better. More than anything, he wanted to be camped outside the police station,watching.But he had waited before, and now it was a more dangerous game than before. Too many people recognized him, especially near the police station, for him to be safe at all. It wasn't the kind of desire that could be slaked with something like a photograph. Brian was sentimental, but an odd sort. He wanted to watch Dexter sleep again. 'Of course, if I'm not very careful,' he thought as his date crumpled to the floor in Rita's kitchen, and he tilted his head to stare at the odd angle of her broken neck, 'I won't get that chance.' And then he cleaned her up, tidied the kitchen. Not the best job. Not even a particularly satisfying job, but she'd been a slut who wasn't even worth his time. He supposed it fit that she didn't really get it, but he was stillstarving. He flipped open the phone he'd gotten from her hip pocket before he had dumped her into the river, shouldering the door to his hotel room open as he began typing a text message to Dexter's number Normally Brian liked to work with more finesse than this, but times were tight and desperate. Besides, Dexter already knew the game, knew what he wanted. What was the point of another facade? You missed a real treat tonight.

Dexter had spent the day trying not to think about how there would be police in his south beach condo, sitting down to talk to Rita about what had happened, eyeing the place the way that cops always did, because they were looking for things out of place - it was their job, it was second nature, but in his mind's eye, he saw them approaching his air conditioner, or thinking it sounded a little strange. He shook his head; he wasn't usually given to flights of fancy, but it had become more recent as of late - since New York, in fact. No, since before that. Since meeting Brian, back when he was calling himself 'Rudy' and dating Deb, that was when it had started, when he had started dreaming and getting nightmares - some part of him had known the truth, but it hadn't been a conscious part, which left Dexter questioning what else his subconscious could be hiding from him. How much more, after all, could there be? The hours went by in a whirl of blood and paperwork, and Dexter made a point of avoiding Doakes - who had been sniffing far too close lately - for the rest of his shift. It proved to be difficult, because it seemed the Sergeant was making a point of appearing wherever he was these days, usually remaining silent and just staring at him with the same look that had long ago told Dexter that the bigger man had a few skeletons in his closet too - though there probably weren't as many, and they likely weren't wrapped up quite as neatly as his were. Dexter made sure to keep that in mind; if Doakes became a problem, he would want - Blood. Blood. Stalk him, hunt him down, cut his neck and watch him bleed. - leverage. He pressed his palm against his eye like a man fighting an oncoming headache, but it was the Passenger he was pushing back - the Passenger, who had suddenly just climbed up his throat and told him things, right while he was sitting at his desk at work. Instead of the usual quiet hisses and gentle goading, his darkness had just lunged at him like a crazed animal, the way it had done when he and Brian had been in the same room together. Take him cut him he's nothing but if you do it you can make him something, he'll have meaning again not another worthless human stain, he can be - Suddenly flushed, Dexter eyed the clock; he had always been precise with his work schedule, never late, never leaving early, never taking days off - but he had broken that last rule for Brian, and suddenly he was going to be breaking another - because right then, he felt like a schoolboy who had suddenly been caught in class with an unfortunate adolescent problem in his cargos. He had to leave; he needed to get out of there. For the first time in all of his years working for the Miami department, Dexter Morgan the fastidious lab rat clocked out an hour early, having hastily packed his equipment and paperwork, and left the building in enough of a hurry that Angel and Masuoka exchanged glances from across the station.

Dexter had never been easily shaken; maybe that's what was what troubled her so much about his expression. Something seemed off, and that was unusual for him. She sighed and passed him the glass of water, concern on her face as she crooked her brow and studied his face. Or maybe she was just reading too deeply into things again. She'd always done that, even if she had only recently began to voice those concerns. It had never occurred to her until after Paul had - been killed (the thought still jilted her a little bit, even if she was reluctant to admit it) how well she fit the 'battered wife' stereotype. Oh well. That's not who she was anymore. She had moved on... and she had a good man to show for it. Rita pressed her hand briefly to the side of Dexter's face, running her thumb across a line of the sweat, before she pointed to his couch and headed hastily for the air conditioner to turn it on a bit higher. "Sit, would you? I'll get dinner started.. I was going to take the kids home tonight, the police didn't find anything this morning, we can't hide forever, but maybe it's a good thing we're still here." Not that she was in a hurry to move in with Dexter. She wanted to take it slow with him, and she was. And as empowered as she was - mother of two with a job, she still enjoyed making dinner for her man. Not that Dexter's kitchen was overflowing with groceries, but there was enough for some soup, and she'd go out to pick up a salad while it was cooking. Mother of two with a job, but not a great job. She had learned to feed a family on a budget, but none of them were going hungry. "Dex, just sit down and I'll get you something to eat.. the kids are at a friend's house, I figured you didn't want them running around here, and the peace and quiet has been nice.. we'll talk in a minute, okay?" She braced her hands on his shoulders, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek, before leaving him with the water. And Brian was left in his room, staring at the phone. He'd known this time that he wasn't going to get an answer, but he knew Dexter; if his brother was being this callous, then he was bothered. Mission accomplished. If he could only figure out how to achieve therestof his goals.

The outside air didn't help; it was too hot and too close to provide any actual relief and all Dexter could think to do was sit in his car with his head pressed against the steering wheel, enclosed in the sweltering heat of a vehicle that had been sitting directly in the Miami sun for hours, feeling his own sweat running down the back of his neck like a warmer version of his Passenger's nails. Normally his darkness was more controlled than that - it usually came in gradual waves, a slow crescendo that gave him time to think, time to plan and predict and find the right target. The last time the Passenger had been so impulsive had been back when he was a teenager, after he had been shoved around on the school ground and had gone back to the baseball diamond with a butterfly knife in his hand - he hadn't been doing it for revenge, not really. Back then, his darkness had been lurking around him and standing over him, casting a cold shadow that had made it impossible for him to focus - the boy who had bullied him had been an excellent scapegoat for the Passenger, it had reasoned that anyone who beat up other kids surely deserved the punishment. The truth was that Dexter had only gone to the field because he had thought it would make the Passenger quiet, that maybe if he just followed its desires that one time, with something other than a dog or a deer, it would stop waking him up at night and whispering things that made him shudder. Something buzzed against his thigh and Dexter didn't even bother sitting up; he drew his cell phone out of his pocket and looked at it through the gaps in the steering wheel: Unknown number. A text message. You missed a real treat tonight. Dexter had to shut his eyes for a moment, clenching them closed before opening them again to stare at the message, and he let out a small groan; frustration welled up inside of the Passenger, and as a result, inside of him as well. They had missed an opportunity, a chance to release some of the darkness - even worse, a chance to work beside Brian again. He shook his head and brought a hand up to his forehead, bringing it slowly down his face to wipe away sweat that had moved into his eyes. No,he reminded himself,that isn't how it works. Somehow it had slipped his mind, if only for an instant, that there were rules - he couldn't have just gone off with Brian anyways, because whoever his playmate had been that evening, there was a good chance she didn't fit the requirements of the Code. Brian did, however. But he didn't like the thought of Brian on a cold steel table, strapped down and prepared for the kill - in fact, he was one of the few Dexter could say that for. He wanted Brian beside him, wanted his brother to work with him - if only he could convince him, if he could just teach him the Code, make him realize that structure would keep him alive and out of the blood slide collection, then maybe - maybe he could - - what was hethinking? Dexter sat up, rested his head back against the seat, and blinked hard at the windshield; no, he had to be sensible about this. He had to just think about the code, remember the rules - he couldn't afford to let himself forget, or things would becomeproblematic. Of course, they were quickly becoming that way already, because the feeling of the Passenger's frustration wasn't dissappearing, and he knew it wouldn't until he took care of it - even though his last kill hadn't even been two days ago. He would just have to research a little faster than usual, then - with Rita and the kids in the house, he couldn't let his blood lusting friend get too out of control. He knew he wouldn't hurt them, of course, but - they might see it, especially Cody. He couldn't let that happen. Dexter moved to start up his car, but something in his side-view mirror caught his eye; Doakes again, sitting in his silver Taurus two spaces away - staring at him. He couldn't be certain how long the Sergeant had been watching him, but he was sweating and flushed and the sunny disposition that he normally accosted the bigger man with was absent - he had been caught, he knew he had been, but the Sergeant wouldn't know what he had been seeing. Just that something wasn't right. Perhaps Dexter could blame it on a fever during his shift on Monday. He turned his head and looked down the line and met Doakes' eyes directly; neither of them blinked, and though Doakes glared all of his hatred at him, there was a measure of puzzlement there, too - some vicious interest in the cop that had him furrowing his eyebrows just a little. Slowly, Dexter allowed a smile to curve his mouth because it brought an ugly scowl to Doakes' face that even now, when it was just the two of them, he was keeping up appearances. With a friendly wave goodbye, Dexter started up his car and pulled out of the parking lot, heading for his condo. The inside was blissfully cool in comparison, enough that Dexter briefly closed his eyes and stood by the doorway to just feel it - his eyes snapped open just in time to find Rita in front of him. Oh. Right. She stepped forward and put her arms around him in what would have been a hug, if she hadn't backed up only moments later, "You're soaking wet," she said, astonished; she looked up at his face then, "Dex, your face is red - are you alright?" "It's a little hot out." Dexter admitted, but it didn't remove the expression of worry from her face - instead, it grew, and she made a beeline for the kitchen, digging in and pouring him a glass of ice water. In that instant, Dexter felt a brief but intense appreciation for the tiny blonde, but he wished that the glass had been big enough for him to stuff his head into, because he wasn't sure any amount of ice would be enough to quell the burn he was feeling.

Brian was a man who worked with plans - who had worked with plans his entire life. At the institution he laid careful ones, all in his head, of course; he couldn't leave any sort of paper trail. It was too dangerous, and besides, he had noreasonto when he could hold it all in his head. Every action he made was the chance to get some sort of a response, an opportunity to get closer to what he needed. Of course, he had made too many mistakes when he was young. On his way to becoming a sociopath, he said. Antisocial personality disorder. He was the Boy Without a Conscience, tossed from home to home to institution to home, but he was okay with that for a while. It kept things fresh, original. It wasn't until he was well into adolescence that the full repercussions of being branded with that title might mean. People would judge. Become suspicious. There was no way to clean his record at that point, so he worked at becoming better, cleaning up, and planned his moves for the future. Different names. Different identities. It was the ultimate anonymity, wasn't it? With enough careful talking and research andwork, he could become anyone in the world that he wanted to be. So, understandably, when Brian's plans failed to pan out, he became frustrated. He needed more of a response from Dexter. Heneededhis brother to want this as much as he did, but he was resisting every step of the way. Not that there wasn't a thrill in this. Challenge was what excited him, got him up in the mornings, but he was impatient. He had waited too long for this, had gotten such a taste of it in New York... he closed his eyes, remembering Dexter's face. The couch. Dexter was in. Would be in. Brian just had to coax it out of him. But what could he do? Another attack on Dexter's family.. he just wasn't ready for that. He couldn't imagine it would be met with anything other than a jab of a needle to the throat, and it just wasn't what Brian was ready for. Stopping by the apartment was risky, he knew that, especially with Rita's car in the parking lot, but it was pushing three AM and he had few other choices. He slipped an envelope beneath the door, sealed and lettered with Dexter's name on the front in slanted, masculine handwriting; it contained a message that simply saidYou can't run from the past forever. We need to talk. I'll be at home. The police had long since stopped keeping surveillance on the old Moser home. Stupid to return there, maybe, but it was the place that contained the only real -good- memories that he had, and besides, it was mostly boarded up now, most of the windows shattered from where neighborhood kids had started tossing rocks at them. Not a place to live anymore, but a place to sit in the kitchen and reflect. He had no idea if Dexter would take this bait, either, but damnit all, he had to get his plan back on tracksomehow.

Dexter didn't protest; Rita's hands felt cool in comparison to the furnace that his skin had become and he dragged himself to the couch, silently obeying the command of the tiny blonde; it occurred to him that he must look like a mess right then - he never got like this, he had always been collected at the worst of times, didn't lose his temper, didn't lash out. Well, not in ways she hadseen. The incident with Paul, he'd maybe acted a bit - rashly. Maybe slamming a cast iron frying pan into his skull hadn't been the best response, and maybe dragging his body to his car and wiping the blood up with his sock hadn't been a great way to follow it up, either, but really, it had all turned out for the best anyways. But this was strange behaviour for him; he knew he looked ill, tense. He would need to make up an excuse, but he couldn't use work as the reason, couldn't let Rita think stress was getting to him. Of course, he couldn't tell her it was because his estranged serial killer brother was trying to seduce him with a trail of dead bodies, either. We'll talk in a minute, she had said. Dexter didn't like those words because it meant he would need to think fast, to come up with something reasonable quickly, but his brain wasn't working the way he wanted it to, it just kept crawling back to the brief stay in New York and the way Brian's eyes flashed in the dark. Dexter barely suppressed another shudder; he really was a mess, and Rita's kiss was still burning on his cheek while the Passenger's voice whispered in his ear. He couldn't even turn to his blood slides for comfort, not with Rita there - it was a side of him he could never let her see. But then, he remembered, Rita had looked into his darkness before - she just hadn't realized what she was seeing. The first time it had happened, she had called him passionate, wild; he hadn't bothered to tell her that she had actually been experiencing what homicide would feel like if it was translated to sex. The Passenger needed something. Anything. Dexter rose from the couch and moved around it in one fluid motion, stopping for a moment with his hand resting on the back of it, eyes on Rita, chin tilted down slightly; he watched her for a long moment, moving through the kitchen, pale and small. When she finally looked at him, she did a double-take, gave him one of those nervous white smiles and tucked a bit of blonde hair back behind her ear, "Dex?" She asked. He said nothing; he simply began to slink towards her in a way that had her gaping at him. The soup didn't get made, but the ingredients wound up strewn around the pristine kitchen as poor Rita was mauled through the entire condo, and some time later while they laid on the bed in a sweaty heap, she observed that very occasionally he was like an animal. With no witty response available, all Dexter managed to do was give a half-hearted growl that left Rita clutching her sides in laughter.

It was the dusty couch in the house that Brian had retreated to while waiting for Dexter. It was certainly a scene out of a shitty goth movie: he lay on the cushions in the dark, his arms folded lazily across his stomach as he stared at the ceiling. His face was slack, almost drowsy. Occasionally a car would putter by, and dim lights would arc across the ceilings and walls from the headlights through the dirty window panes. Dexter had to answer. He had tried and tried, pushed as much as far as he felt he could, safely. Was it too late? Had it been too long? Brian's eyes focused on the ceiling before he shut them and inhaled a low breath. For some inexplicable reason, gooseflesh crawled across his arms. He wasn't used to feeling panic. Dread. But since his birth in the shipping container, he had never thought that he would be denied by the one thing in the world that meant anything to him. His eyes popped open. Dexterwouldanswer. There was no other possible option. He was the only other person who understood the craving, had felt the urges. Brian had seen it in his eyes, even when Dexter was playing faithful and loving boyfriend. It was a facade, and a damn good one, but that didn't make it any less fake. And he had seen it again when they were in New York, sharing a kill, working in perfect tandem. But he was alone now, wasn't he? This was supposed to be the future he was working toward, but at the most crucial moment, it had broken, taken the wrong track. Then he heard Dexter's car and he sat up quickly, feeling himself relax. No. This was right. This was better. Thingswouldgo according to plan, and hastily Brian stood up, moving to silently tread to the door, frozen and silent save for the sounds of his own breathing. He chuckled humorlessly, leaning forward as he reached for the doorknob. That was Dexter's car. He will be standing there. And he was. Immediately, Brian surged forward, wrapping his arms tightly around his younger brother and pressing his face into the side of his neck, letting out a low groan. "Thank God," he said quietly. "I was afraid that you were going to stand me up."

For the second time that week, Dexter dreamt; he dreamt of sharp and flashing silver and glittering liquid crimson, he dreamt of cold stainless steel pressed against the bare skin of his back, dreamt that he couldn't lift his arms away from the slanted table he had been strapped to. The room he was in was cold and his breath came out in rolls of fog; he couldn't move his head to look around, but only a few feet away from him, he could see buckets of unclotted blood, each carefully labelled with a name. The fifth one was empty. And then there were clever hands and dark eyes, a low voice in his ear and teeth on his skin, nails on his chest and a knife against his throat, the feeling of damp breath against his face, and the murmur of 'brother' that somehow made his teeth ache. Dexter woke up with sweat on his temples and the taste of iron on his tongue, naked and tangled in the sheets; beside him, Rita lay asleep and undisturbed by his twisting. He peered to his right and the clock blinked 2:00 a.m. at him; he had to rub his eyes to relieve them of the burn that made him feel as though he had laid with them open for hours - and maybe he had, he knew for a fact that he had done stranger things - before rising from the bed, unable to sleep any longer. Stalking across the living room, Dexter's thoughts were still muddled with sleep and hazy from the memory of his dreams, but the Passenger was wide awake, alive with the clarity of a true predator - and the predator was hissing things, low murmurs, but not it's usual ones. No, the Passenger was telling him something. Something was wrong. No, something was - different. Just like before, Dexter's first thought was to check the refrigerator. He wasn't sure if he was dissappointed or not when he didn't find anything - but the Passenger had nothing to say. He was just about to check behind the air conditioner, just in case, but then he caught sight of something sticking out beneath his front door - an envelope. You can't run from the past forever. We need to talk. I'll be at home. Everything Harry had taught him told him to wait, told him to plan, told him to be careful. Told him tokill Brian Dexter ended up sitting on the couch with the letter clutched in his hands, barely resisting the bizarre urge to smell the paper, as though he might be able to find some trace of Brian on its fibres, might be able tofeelhim through the neatly scrawled lettering. The damned heat was moving up his spine again, crawling through him and over his limbs, making his head swim. Brian had come to his apartment again, while he was asleep - whileshewas asleep. And only days before, he had broken a window in Rita's house, nailed a dead cat to Deb's door - they weren't warnings, but they werereminders. Brian was playing. But the game was becoming darker. Rita was still asleep and smiling when Dexter was pulling on his clothes, still lost in sweet dreams while he slung his bag over his shoulder and tugged on the tight leather gloves, flexing them and revelling in their familiarity. When he got in his car, it was the Passenger behind the wheel, hungry and apprehensive, leading him forward. This was reckless. This was stupid. He hadn't planned anything, he was going in blind and the knives, hefty bags, and saran wrap he was armed with seemed suddenly meaningless in the face of what he was telling himself hehad to do, just as he had told himself before. Just the way he had meant to do it in Brian's economy freezer, when he'd had him strapped down and prepped for the kill, just the way he had gone to New York planning to do it, too. He had to do it, he reminded himself. The Code demanded it, and he had already broken it too many times, had already betrayed everything that Harry had taught him, had let Brian continue on, let him kill more. And for what? Dexter flexed his fingers in the leather and told himself that this couldn't go on. He moved silently through the grass of the old Moser home and up the steps to the front door, intent on moving as efficiently as possible, but when his hand touched the old metal railing, he froze. Suddenly it was summer and she was in white, bare foot and blowing bubbles on the front steps; the cotton of her dress felt cool against his cheek, where he was resting his head on her leg, watching the soap float through the air. He prodded a bubble with one tiny finger, and Biney watched him intently, smiling. Dexter pulled away from the railing as though he had been burnt by it, staggering back to stare at it, looking at the front yard again, just the way he had done the first time he had set foot on the Moser residence. No.he told himself, hands going to the door, turning the handle, an action that seemed to take more effort and co-ordination than it should have,Focus. The inside of the home was sparsely furnished, dark, but Dexter's well-trained night vision allowed him to move through it - but his finely honed predatorial skills seemed to be rapidly giving way to memories as he found himself stopping in rooms, staring at points on the wall or the floor - -remembering. He didn't have an answer while he was in the car, no way to know why he had broken the Code, but as he stood in the home that he had spent his short childhood in, it came to him. For freedom, the Passenger reminded him hungrily,To be whole.

That brief moment that Dexter froze while Brian held him made the struggle, the fight to get him there worth it. The warmth of the other man's body against his own - the fact it was his little brother's, little Dexter's, the boy he had promised his mom he would protect. Of course, 'protect' meant something a lot different now than it did when they were small children. No more scraped knees and bee stings. Brian would protect Dexter from himself. From the stupid Code that he followed so diligently. That was no way for someone likethemto live. It was beneath the both of them. He felt him start to shift away, but he didn't release him then, instead exhaling a reluctant, acknowledging sigh. Dex just wasn't ready. No matter how much hewantedhim to be ready, it would take a little time. And then Dexter made the blow to his kidney and Brian let out a muffled yell, releasing him and stumbling back. His eyes were wide as he stared at Dexter, his expression like a child whose feelings had been hurt, but he forced himself to relax, and when he smiled, it was toothy, weirdly white in the dark room. "You're wearing your gloves," he said softly, catching his breath as he held his side, before he paced to the couch and took a seat. "You at least owe your big brother a cup of coffee before you take him out back and kill him, you know. It's not my fault you never answered any of my calls." So he had to convince Dexter, or die. He folded his hands into his lap and quirked an eyebrow at him. "Shut the door behind you, would you? And wipe your feet."

Dexter had allowed himself to be distracted when he should have been vigilant, and he might have paid for his inattentiveness if things had gone differently. Of course, he hadexpectedBrian to be there, had expected that he would have to confront him - he had even expected that he might be ambushed by his bigger brother, because really, it was whathewould have done if the roles had been reversed. He had expected everything except for what happened. Brian appeared in front of him, having thrown the door out of the way with such intensity that it bounced back against the wall; Dexter's head snapped up, every muscle tensing in preparation for a fight, but what came was somehow the worst thing that could have happened. Instead of attacking like the predator he was, Brian strolled forward and wrapped his wiry arms around him, tugging him in and pressing his face into his throat; Dexter could feel his eyelashes against his adam's apple. There was no fight. He was being held. He was being pulled into strong, warm arms, and held close to someone just like him, someone whoknew, whounderstood- a monster just like him. And it felt good. Dexter wasn't sure where it came from, but he found himself saying: "No." A strange ache opened up in Dexter's chest, his hands sliding up to Brian's slim waist, gloved fingers curling against a narrow ribcage and he began to push, just a little; he could feel Brian's muscles shifting under his palms, even through the leather, and suddenly the feeling of the other man's body against his own felt like too much - he didn't know why. All he knew was that he had to get it away from him, or something inside of him was going to break. He moved his hands to Brian's upper arms instead, trying to minimize contact, trying to pull away, but Brian was strong for how thin he was, "No." Dexter repeated hoarsely, and his movements were suddenly more violent, like a startled animal, a wolf caught in a steel trap as he shoved Brian hard, bringing a knee up in a kidney shot.

The perplexed expression on Dexter's face meant a lot to Brian at that moment. It meant that he hadn't made any real decisions yet - perhaps he had decided, but he hadn'tdecided,not with conviction real enough to storm in there and take him out. It pleased him, but he didn't want to admit that much. Instead, he just watched Dexter with a muted smile as he moved to the couch and took a seat, before he leaned slightly to the side and, very lightly, rested his hand on his younger brother's wrist. "Yeah, I know. She told me once," he mused, and then realized that perhaps Deb wasn't the best person to be talking about at the moment if he wanted to keep Dexter from killing him. He squeezed his wrist and then let go, leaned back a little on the couch and let his eyes cut briefly across the room. "Kind of like old times, isn't it?" he murmured, finally looking back at Dexter. "If we could just reassemble mom we could have a nice little reunion by candlelight." His tone was light, ire, and he had to shake his head to get rid of the mental image of his mother, lifeless and stitched up like Sally on the love seat. Food. He didn't have any food. (He wasn't sure why he always wanted to feed Dexter, but the impulse was there. Something about wanting to make sure that he ate right between vivisections.) "There's some beer in the kitchen," he ventured finally, and idly the hand that was on Dexter's wrist pulled back to rub at his side where the knee had collided, and without segue he finished, "And what's it going to take to keep you from killing me? I'm willing to change, Dex. I'm trying."

He watched intently as Brian stumbled back - the strike was satisfying on two levels; the first was the one that had been groomed by Harry Morgan, the one that told him bad people should be punished, and it was his job to do it. The remaining delight came from the Passenger, who had been craving any sort of contact with Brian, and seemed to relish the idea of scrapping with him again - though, it was the one time his darkness didn't approve of killing someone; the Passenger wanted to have Brian around. Wanted tokeephim - however that would have to happen. You could just take the troublesome pieces off and keep the rest. Dexter's eyes fell down to his own hands, to the skin-tight gloves that clung to his fingers, and his eyes moved back up as his brother offered a lightning fast smile that made him feel hungry. Dexter stood in place, fingers clenching and unclenching rhythmically, craving contact and a throat to squeeze, shoulders hunched, eyes boring into Brian - everything about him right then told the dark tale of a predator looking for a fight - - but then Brian spoke again, and a perplexed expression crawled across Dexter's features. It was almost with disbelief that he watched Brian move across the room and slink down onto the couch, like a lazing cat. For a long moment, Dexter continued to stare at Brian, and as his brother watched him and remained seated so casually, Dexter couldn't help suddenly feeling stupid, and some part of him wanted to go back out the door, get in his car, and go back to bed. He couldn't help wondering if that was a normal reaction to family. Maybe. Regardless, he found himself numbly moving back to the door and closing it. As an after-thought, he locked it, and the sound of the bolt sliding seemed to echo through an otherwise silent home. As he turned and moved towards the couch, he found himself suddenly hyper-aware of the world around him, and he stood in front of Brian, staring down at him as he sat primly, expression shifting between the predatorial one, and something puzzled. For a long moment, there was complete silence, and then words slipped from Dexter before he could really think about them, even though they came out deadpan: "Deb always wanted a cat." he said.

Brian had only ever been drunk by himself. He wasn't willing to put himself in a position so vulnerable around anyone else, though he was good at pretending. It wasn't hard - weave and slur enough and people would titter behind their hands that he had had a few too many. A normal man, part of good society. He didn't understand how Dexter wore it like skin instead of the mask that it was. "Then I'm willing to adapt," Brian said, and his expression was sharp, serious. It had somehow moved away from the game that he hoped that it would be, but he had anticipated that. New York had been uneven ground. Dexter had nothing to lose there, but Miami? He was surrounded by things that he thought he loved, thought he cared about. If only Brian could prove otherwise. If only, if only. "Everything I've done, Dexter," Brian said finally, words deliberate, "I did for you. That game that we played, the Ice Truck Killer... you enjoyed it, because I knew that you would. I got the wrong impression, brother. I misinterpreted. I thought I was doing what you wanted me to do." And he held his hands up then, hands pale, palms out in a show of peace, deference to Dexter. "But I'm willing to do what it takes to - to coexist. I'm not going to pretend that I like Harry -" that son of a bitch "-but it's not exactly like I had the chance, is it?" A slightly bitter tone tinted his words there. He had been too old. Unsalvagable. "I'm throat up here, Dexter. What else do you want me to do?"

Dexter stared down at the hand on his wrist like it was something bizarre and foreign, the look of puzzlement remaining firmly in place, even as he looked to his brother's face again, staring at him intently. Eventually, he took a step back - he wavered a little on the spot, gloved fingers flexing and clenching and wiggling at his sides as though he didn't know what to do with them, like an over-energetic kid with nowhere to go. "I don't really remember old times," Dexter said, and then his brow furrowed as he thought about the images that had come to him in his exploration of the home, so he added, "Much." Dexter was lingering; he loomed, he took a few unsettled steps back and forth, pacing a small trail along the floorboards but never coming to close or straying too far from Brian, watching him the entire time, never looking away. Part of him had difficulty believing Brian was there, in front of him, even though all signs pointed to it being true; his eyes followed Brian's hand to his side, observing him massage the spot where Dexter had landed a firm strike. Strange that Brian was showing discomfort - especially around another predator. The offer of beer was tempting, if only because it was something to do with his hands - and besides that, Rita had got him to like the foul stuff, feeding it to him in the ultimate display of a domestic life, handing him a cold beer when he came to her home after a long day of work, sitting down on the couch with him, putting a slender little arm around his shoulders and kissing him on the cheek. Sometimes she gave him a lot of them; there were times he lost count of how many he'd had, but it inevitably ended with him doing things to Rita that he sometimes had trouble remembering, all he knew was that when he woke up in the morning with a foggy head, she always looked pleased with him. Beer was magical. Maybe it was the thought of Rita that made Dexter's eyes flash the way they did, but regardless of what thought had spurred it, his expression was suddenly more predatorial than ever. "We don't change." Dexter said roughly, "We just adapt."

"I knew about you," Brian said softly, and he straightened up a little bit, took a tiny step toward Dexter. His face was soft now, eyes searching, but his expression was one of sincere, heartbreaking honesty. "I never forgot about you. Holding you in the cargo van. When they took you away from me, I didn't know what I was going to do. I had promise that I would keep you safe, and I couldn't even keep that promise to mom." Another tiny step forward - small, ever small, because he didn't want to risk another shot to the kidneys. More importantly, he didn't want to scare Dexter away. "From the moment I got out, all I wanted to do was find you." He spoke with fervor then, and his own hands clenched unconsciously at his sides. For just a bare moment, he shut his eyes and shuddered a little, forcing himself to calm down. "..but I've told you all this before, haven't I?" A little shakily, he raked his fingers through his hair. It was a bizarre feeling for him to be on unsteady ground. From the moment he had been birthed from the shipping container, he had decided to make the worldhis,to be in control of his environment. He had never realized that the people around him would be so easy to manipulate. Then again, when your feelings normally only ran as deeply as 'hunger' and 'boredom,' it was easy to see what made people tick, how to twist them around and between his fingers. But here.. here was pushed into the bizarro world where Dexter still existed, and despite their separation, was stilljust like him.Seeing Dexter face to face excited him in ways he had only been excited a handful of times in his life before, and that utter happiness cracked his face in a jagged sort of smile normally only reserved for anxious children Christmas morning. "I never..neverforgot you," he finished.

Dexter was still watching Brian, but his focus seemed somehow sharper; Brian was trying to reason with him. Trying to negotiate. But he knew his brother wasn't really negotiatingfor his life- that sort of thing was below Brian, he would never beg or plea for the sake of his life. He would, however, try to convince someone for other reasons - and Dexter was painfully aware that Brian wanted to workwith him. The purpose behind all of it - the Ice Truck Killer, dating Deb, and the disguise he wore to do it all, it had all been for the end game, for the moment where they were together, face-to-face, masks removed. "I didn't even know you existed." Dexter said. Yet there he was - sitting in front of him, slouching against the couch, the very picture of everything that wasright, the embodiment of the only honesty that Dexter could ever know, because so much of his life had been masks and feigned interest, and Brian was just - - Brian. Just like him. Whatdidhe want Brian to do? Join him? Fall in line, abandon the freedom and come with him, follow - The code. Fuck the code. Fuck the crime lab and fuck morals and standards and ethics, fuck all of those stupid faces you have to make so people think you're not dead inside and fuck Harry Morgan and his fucking rules and you know what, fuck bowling shoes, too. Dexter was speechless. The Passenger was acting like a three year old.

The muscles on Brian's face relaxed, the smile going slack as Dexter stepped closer, and out of habit he grew tense while sinewy arms locked at his sides. He stared at Dexter, cocking his own head just a few degrees to the side as he studied the lines of his brother's face, and suddenly he was able to see with a startling clarity. Dexter, the idea of Dexter, often had him in a haze. Someone so perfect despite the imperfections - someone who understood, but hadn't been wasted the way that he had been by the vivid memories of it. Brian's eyelids lowered slightly, though his body was still tensed, coiled, like a snake ready to strike, even as his eyes cut down to Dexter's chest, mesmerized by the way it swelled with each breath. As if also struck by the memory of heartbeats, Brian lifted his hand suddenly fingers curled slightly as he pressed it hard against the shirt of Dexter's chest, pitching forward very slightly. He watched his hand for a moment, then looked back up at Dexter, eyes narrowed, as if he were daring him to move away from that. Dexter was warm. It was not an unpleasant sensation.

As Brian rose and began to approach him with slow, cautious steps, Dexter suddenly felt as though he was standing at the edge of a vast chasm, and with every step that his brother took towards him, a little more of the solid ground beneath him crumbled away. He could only stare at Brian, head tilted down very slightly, peering at him as he recounted their horrors - and these days, Dexter could remember it in vivid detail, if he dared to think about it. The cargo container; the darkness, the heat and the smell of rot and decay, the sticky feeling of inches of blood up around their hands and their knees, coagulating slowly over the course of the days they were in there. Brian had refused to let go of him, holding him tight, clinging to him, keeping him close; more than anything, he remembered his brother's heart beat, the steady rhythm of it in the silence of the container - it was the only reassurance in the endless dark, with the dead faces staring at them. With mom's head so close by, her pretty face frozen in perpetual horror, eyes wide and blank, with that broad slice across her cheek. She hadn't looked quite like mom anymore. He watched Brian intently, shoulders hunched like an animal preparing to fight back; he watched, he waited. He watched as Brian's hand's twitched; he watched him run his fingers back through his hair. He watched the smile, which suddenly seemed so brittle. Three year old Dexter Moser had been too young and too traumatized to remember much of anything; he had suffered the ghost effects of what had happened, never knowing why he was the way he was, but mercifully not remembering the details. But Brian - he had remembered it all, lived it from day to day of his miserable, short childhood going through one foster home after another, too troubled, his story too complicated for anyone to know how to help him at the time. And through all of it, Biney hadn't forgotten him - had sought him out. Like the heartbeat in the darkness. Dexter wasn't sure when it happened, but he found himself suddenly close to Brian, stepping in, closing the space between them, standing so near that he could feel his brother's body heat, so close that their chests were nearly touching, his head cocked just slightly to the side, eyes roaming over a face that was close enough that he could count eyelashes. He didn't touch; he looked, he ghosted close, muscles still tense with some unreleased energy, a predator exploring.

It wasn't in Brian's nature to yield. He did not go belly up, he didn't show his throat - so when Dexter shoved him back, his first reaction was to pounce, bite, kill. Self-imposed restraint left him almost breathless, though, as he threw his own shoulders back and stared at Dexter with an angry challenge on his face. He rose, nearly brought to a boil before Dexter spoke, and again he was winded, the anger in bubbling in his throat giving way to a gasp of a laugh. He leaned forward, tucking his chin down, and his expression was approving. "Alright," Brian said finally, and he leaned back to slide his hands into his pockets. The moment was over; he wouldn't touch him again tonight, wouldn't push him again. He'd made leeway - at least enough that he believed Dexter wanted to kill with him, not killhim.He had seen the look on his brother's face and recognized it, and he wasn't afraid. Just excited. He turned from him then, sitting back onto the couch and turning to stretch out, and as hard as his own heart was pumping blood in his chest, the look Brian gave Dexter was a look of almost drowsy satisfaction. "I'll be here with bells on," he murmured with a lopsided smile, folding his arms behind his head and getting comfortable, apparently settling for sleep. "And if you'll do me a favor, Dex.. don't let anyone know that I'm in town? I'm here on private business." He cut his eyes from Dexter to the door, his position giving him a perfect vantage point for seeing both it and out the shaded windows. Tomorrow night. The idea of getting to kill with Dexter again made him shiver.

It was a simple motion, the hand that rose with great care to settle onto his shoulder; he could feel his own heart thudding against his chest wall and he knew Brian was feeling it too - like he had followed Dexter's thoughts, he was also thinking about the heartbeat. He was thinking about the crate where they had been left like animals, left to die. And something had died in them that day; they just never got to know exactly what it was. They had entered it as normal children, scared for their lives, screaming for their mother, mourning and sobbing and wailing at her violent end as it happened right in front of them. And then they had left the crate at something else entirely. Still physically children, but with something torn out of them, left inside the crate with all of the blood and the bits and pieces of people. Brian said that was the day they had been born. Dexter felt it was when he had been killed - and turned into the thing he was now. He looked up and found Brian's eyes narrowed in something like an aggressive challenge; Brian's darkness communicated with Dexter's on a level that he couldn't understand, but without knowing why he was doing it, Dexter suddenly swatted Brian's hand away from his chest, causing them to fall against eachother, bumping chest-to-chest before Dexter gave Brian a hard shove backwards. He stalked towards his brother again, slow and predatorial - but then he stopped himself. He stood in place then, motionless, but still watching Brian, "I want you to come with me." Dexter said hoarsely, "Tomorrow night. We'll meet here. I need you to help me bag some garbage."

Meg: The bar, 'Rapture': Inside, the place was lit by glow-globes and hanging lanterns, each private booth and dining table surrounded by fluttering drapes of white silk, magnifying the lamplight, creating a creamy, flowing texture like vellum. The twitching brazier light cast a crimson, almost hellish illumination of the pitch-black floor below, creating the eerie sensation of falling through space... At a corner table, a pale, long-fingered hand curled around the stem of a wineglass, bringing it up to ruby-red lips~ As she set it back on the glossy black table, Meg *stretched* languorously, displaying the curvaceous tightness of her silky crimson cheongsam; Beneath the long, trailing hem, her coltish legs whispered as the lovely redhead crossed them, enticing flashes of creamy thigh flickering through teasing gaps~! There was a gentlescrapeof fabric, inaudible as Meg leaned back in her chair with a sigh, the charms that lined her bound hair clinking against her hairpins, in a gentle surussation; Appearing, all the world, to be thoroughly *bored*~ Idly, her fingers drummed a gentle tattoo on the obsidian surface of the table; A distinctive code that meant 'Target in *sight*.' Now, seduction's a complex thing- Too little, and the target doesn't even *know* he's being, well, targeted- Too much, too soon, and it's all-too-clear that *something* is wrong...It takes an exquisite balance between subterfuge and interest, the gentle pressure of one's attention to oh-so-*carefully* draw the eye...Meg, however, was *incredibly* good at it. Right now, though, the lovely redhead's nostrils wrinkled, just a little, as she considered the greasy-looking man she was *supposed* to be putting the moves on; A burly middle-ager, slowly letting himself going to seed-Nother type.Notat all~ *Why* aren't there any *handsome* targets?she pondered, glancing briefly skyward as she slid her chair back- Steeling herself for what came next! It was simple enough- Just get the absolutely grotendous guy away from his buddies...And Jo would take care of the rest, the way she *always* did! "We're ready whenever you are, Meg,"Sei's voice crackled, as if the woman herself was whispering in Meg's ears- Indeed, the complex charms strung in her ponytail concealed a fairly sophisticated audio suite, keyed to both transmit *and* receive...The wonders of miniaturization! "Copy that~" Meg murmured, her voice low, lilting...The legs of her chair scraping against the tiles as she stood... A girl *alone* in this bar, the favorite watering-hole of the criminal underworld, was rare enough- An absolutely *lovely* one even more so! It wasn't a surprise that Tanaka's head turned as she drifted past- She could *feel* his gaze lingering on her, then her back, as she took a slow, indirect route to the bar...Taking care to brush one silky hip against him as she moved past! A quick, heartfelt, if a trifle slurred, "Oh, I'm *so* sorry!" parting her full lips, clearly the worse for drink- With the delicate, mincing grace of a woman who wasn't *quite* drunk enough yet, Meg crossed to the dance floor; She'd had his attention, after all, his eyes roving over her lissome form as she swayed in time to the music, seemingly *entirely* entranced by the barely-legal beauty before him~

It was time for the operation to begin. For weeks, Bai Lan had been tracking a man they suspected of having information on RAPT that could prove useful in the near future. Sei was tasked with getting that information, and if at all possible, capturing the man. It was quite possible that he had even more information that he could give up after some. . .thorough persuasion. Their task was quite simple - the man had been tracked to a bar near the river front. Meg would be used as a decoy, to seduce and ultimately disable the man quietly. Jo was on standby, and would be awaiting the go-ahead to spring into action and create a disturbance so that the man could be extracted and they could leave. She sat with Amy in the red sports car she used to move around when she did not want to be noticed, as a giant blue trailer would have been a dead giveaway that something was up. Meg was getting into place now, while Jo was lingering around outside of the bar, ready to cause mayhem at the drop of a pin. There was one thing that Sei was worried about though, and that was Meg's annoying knack of getting into trouble in situations like this one. If that happened, there were several contingency plans in place. This was an operation that had to succeed, no matter what happened. Hopefully, things would not reach that point. Conditions here seemed favorable enough. Outside of the usual suspicious characters hanging around, there weren't that many people around. It was usually quiet during this time of night, before people got drunk and decided to start blasting whatever they thought would look better with a few bullets holes and hot lead inside of it. She wasn't all that worried about herself or Amy in this situation, as the windows of the car were bullet proof and the vehicle had a very sturdy build. They would be fine, unless of course, a Cybot decided to use the car as a landing strip or for target practice. Call her conceited, but Sei was more than confident in her driving skills. "We're ready whenever you are Meg," she said into the communication decide Amy prepared. Inside of the bar was a very different story. There were people everywhere, smoking, drinking, laughing, have as good of a time as they possibly could. People all over the places were playing drinking games, some seemed to be enjoying a game of Russian Roulette. People who didn't value their lives or the lives of others. This was one of the most dangerous places in Tokyo, not that Tokyo wasn't a dangerous place in and of itself. Of course, they were all armed to the teeth and none of them would hesitate to pull a gun on anyone here. The target was a man they knew only by the name of Tanaka. He was a heavy set man with messy hair that looked to be a bit. . .greasy. It was not at all attractive looking, which would only make it harder for Meg to hit on him than it already would be. A job was a job though. The sooner it was done, the sooner they could get on to doing whatever else Bai Lan needed them to do.

"Ah~Sucha gentleman~" Meg cooed, pressing slim fingers to her lips to stifle a giggle- And ohick, he *really* was older than she'd thought, those exquisite tailored clothes not *quite* hiding his sagging gut...No more than the coiffed hairpiece hid the fact that he was *balding*...Still, the lovely redhead flashed him a fetching smile as she slid smoothly into the seat, her ponytail snaking against her sleek back, green eyes twinkling with amusement- Sending *all* the right signals! It was *entirely* clear that she was either a party girl, or simply slumming it for the night- Looking for Mr. Right Now to take her home, and not particularly *caring*...As long as there was a *good* time at the end of it! A measure of amber fluid splashed into a proferred shot-glass, slid eagerly across the table to her ~ And Meg resisted the urge to look around for Jo, reminding herself that her partners were ready to bundle Mr. Tanaka off at the drop of a hat... -On second thought, maybe a drink wouldn't be such a bad idea. She was going to need to be at *least* a little drunk to pull this off...She lifted her glass, in a brief toast, meeting his gaze again- Then *drank*, draining it in a single draught, her face going red as the scalding spirit cascaded down her throat! It went down warming, and hit her stomach with a heated glow, spreading and waking up her limbs, muscles and skin tingling.spreading out into her limbs~ Meg's gaze seemed greener than ever as she *stretched*, with a low sigh of satisfaction- And it was entirelynaturalto respond, even as color spread in her face, her motions becoming, without conscious thought, *just* that little bit more sensual, the tip of her pointed shoe *accidentally* brushing against his leg~

Lovely wasn't what Tanaka would have used to describe Meg. No, the red haired young woman was much too beautiful for that. Angelic. That was a word that successfully captured the essence of her. Any woman who was able to look at him and not gag was worthy of the title "lovely", but angelic was reserved for a young woman of such magnificence as she. Her face was perfect, her lips were plump and looked as if they were awaiting his own. Luscious was the only word he could use to describe her body. He just couldn't take his eyes off of her as she walked towards him, the dark brown optics following the sway of her hips. As she brushed up against him, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Just like that, he was under her spell. "Oh, no, I'm. . .why don't you have a seat, let me buy you another drink or two," he said. For a man who was so unattractive, who was involved in such shady dealings, Tanaka certainly came across as a gentleman. Then again, it very well could have been an act, a ploy on his part to get her to drop his guard so that he could have his way with her. At this point, he was so enamored with her presence here at his side that he didn't care what he intended on doing. Tonight, there was a good possibility that he would be getting lucky tonight, and he did not want to mess up that possibility by thinking about the situation too much. Jo was a bit anxious now. She stood outside of the bar impatiently tapping her foot. Obviously, she didn't like the fact that Meg was in the bar with the creep who was working with RAPT all alone. If it were up to her, she would have blasted the bar apart to scare the piss out of the man, then threaten his life and force him to give up the information they needed. Sei insisted on not making an enemy out of most of the criminal underworld in Tokyo, which squashed that idea flat. With a visual on Meg now lost, Jo couldn't help but to feel more uneasy. The only thing she could do was wait until Meg gave the signal for them to spring the trap.

Another glass, and the world was looking decidedly better through a warm, liquid haze of alochol- Though Meg was beginning to wonder, now, whether he wasreallyas drunk as he'd initially appeared! It was an effort to concentrate on his words, now; The lovely redhead shifted in her seat, fanning herself with a hand- Feeling *just* a little warm... "So, my dear, how about you and I leave this place? I'm not one to brag, but my place is quite nice. I believe it'd suit your tastes much more than this dump," "R-e-a-l-l-y?" Meg cooed, her deep blue eyes going *very* wide with mock surprise- "Oh, I couldn'tpossibly~" she began, hesitantly, biting her lip, and turning away coyly...But then her gaze went back to him, and she giggled. "Tanaka-san, you really *are* too sweet~!" She clasped her hands with every sign of excitement, her chest *heaving* against the front of her tight crimson cheongsam as she took a *deep* breath~ Those sapphire eyes shimmering, as she turned away coyly...Clearly *entirely* charmed by his oh-so-obvious wealth! *** Lounging against the bar- Or at least *trying* to- Jo swirled her drink, her gloved fingers wrapped around the snifter. "*God*, he's disgusting," the silver-haired beauty muttered. "Just be careful, Meg...Be *careful*..." Only the thought that this was adelicateoperation prevented her from unleashing absolute small-arms hellfire onto the bar in general and Tanaka in specific...And now she was going to have to *watch* them walk out, Meg clinging to his arm and giggling, like a trophy- While praying that the others were up to the task... *** "Amy, just in case things don't go well, find out where he lives and get the floor plans. If worst comes to worst, we need to be prepared." "Mmmmm~?" Amy's heels thumped against the side of her seat, the one she'd been distractedly kicking as she fidgeted~ She'd never had much to do *on* an operation itself, most of her job coming before or after...And she'd been *thrilled* to finally be able to go along on one- It was just that she'd never expected it to be so, so...*boring*! All she'd done was to sit there, while Meg chatted up some sleazy guy in a bar... "Hai-hai, obaa-chan~" she chirped, her brown eyes sparking- At least she'd have something to *do* now, instead of just *sitting* here~! The bell affixed to her pastel-pink blouse and shorts chimed as Amy rested her laptop on her knees, unreeling the thin cable of the fiber-optic wire...And a recent new addition, the VR headset! It was bleeding-edge tech...One that let the user dive *into* the system itself, and slip *effortlessly* through the datastream- But not without *some* risks, like being *entirely* more vulnerable...Not that it mattered to Amy, one of the best hackers in the world! "Here I go~!" she announced, slipping the visor over her eyes- Then, quite abruptly, she went limp, as the world faded, filling with the swirling blue data of the 'Net...

A woman like Meg was completely out of his league. Tanaka wasn't stupid, he knew that. As entranced as he was by her, there was a part of him that was telling him that he needed to be careful with her. What started out as a night of fun could quickly turn into his worst nightmare. The only way he could know for sure, either way, was to go along with what was happening. He would have his answer soon enough. The man offered her a smile as he took another shot, the alcohol giving him some much needed liquid courage. A few shots later, and he seemed to be in the same state that he had been in when she first bumped into one another. It was clear that Tanaka could hold his liquor, so waiting for him to become plastered would be useless. It would be wise for the plan to move forward soon. "So, my dear, how about you and I leave this place? I'm not one to brag, but my place is quite nice. I believe it'd suit your tastes much more than this dump," he said, ignoring the glare that the bar owner was shooting his way. "He's taken the bait," Sei said, biting down on her thumbnail. So far, so good. For their sake, she was hoping that things continued as well as they started. For once, it would be nice to complete a job without Cybots destroying parts of town, or unnecessary bloodshed. She would have even liked to avoid expending a single round from a gun, but since the plan called for Jo to turn the bar into a giant bullet hole, she knew that it was impossible for such a thing to happen. Still, there was no denying that Meg had an annoying knack of getting into trouble at the worst possible time. So long as Jo remained close enough to see her, Sei was sure that things would be fine. The bond that the two of them had was a strong one, and she knew that there was no way Jo would let anything happen to Meg. "Amy, just in case things don't go well, find out where he lives and get the floor plans. If worst comes to worst, we need to be prepared." Though she had confidence in the skills of all of the girls, she needed to have a back up plan just in case.

Captain Aizen was in his office doing the usual paper work that had to be done because there was a fight between one of his subordinates and the 11th Division member. He had to write down why both of them were fighting in the first place and it was hard because he was not even at the scene of the fight. Even though that Captain Kenpachi was there and did not bother to stop the fight he was not good when it came to paper work. Aizen was not happy and he needed to have some form of release. As he sat there looking at his door he felt Gins spiritual pressure and thought about having some fun with him. When Gin came passed his office Aizen told him to come in and shut the door so they could talk for a little bit. But what Aizen was thinking about was not anywhere close to a talk. Aizen was looking at Gin as though he was ready to cut his head off. Aizen always had a plain straight face when he walked around the Soul Society, but when he was with Gin he had a real expression on his face. Most of the time it was not a good one and it meant trouble for Gin. So what are you about to go do Gin? Aizen asked with a smooth and calm voice to him. Aizen got up and walked over to him and started to rub on his face as gentle as he could without scaring him.

Ichimaru Gin was a man that almost no one could figure out. He tended to keep his personal life quiet and plastered a permanent smile upon his face, narrowing his eyes so far they were almost slits and walked around like that all the time, thus earning himself the nickname of 'fox face'. Aizen Sousuke had first met him when Gin was a child and had just killed the 3rd Seat of the 5th Division, telling the man that he was worthless and didn't deserve to have such a high rank. Instead of reporting him, Aizen had immediately given Ichimaru the now vacant position and kept the killing a secret between the two of them since it served his purposes quite well to have someone indebted to him. It seemed as though Gin was a child prodigy much like Kaien Shiba had been, having graduated from the shinigami academy in one year rather than the usual six. And now, he was Aizen-taichou's fukutaichou. Of course with that responsibility came paperwork and Gin hated paperwork. But Aizen seemed to have a plan in mind for Soul Society and wasn't usually too concerned thing he considered insignificant, such as paperwork. Not to mention the fact that with his kind and generous nature it fit his personality to do any necessary paperwork on his own. So Gin didn't have to worry about it too much, which was a relief because he really couldn't stand it. In fact he'd lost his mind once and used Shinsou to slice through a stack of papers that were giving him problems, before his sanity returned. Aizen hadn't seemed to mind at first, but he'd given him a piece of his mind later on when they were alone, which Gin hadn't forgotten. That was when he'd realized the man was pureevileven to those he trusted and Gin had no intention of ever betraying him in the little plan he had for Soul Society. Not if that was the way Aizen treated his 'friends' when they messed up. The little taste he'd had of Aizen made him shudder and his smile dropped slightly but returned to its usual brightness a moment later as he pushed his dark thoughts aside. Gin had never seriously thought of betraying his captain, he'd only jokingly considered it just to mess with his mind. He sighed as his slitted eyes roamed around trying to find someone or something to focus upon and saw nothing which made him somewhat annoyed, where was everyone? Most likely in class of some sort or off on a mission. Perhaps he would go work with Shinsou and with that thought in mind he took himself off down the corridors to head over to the training ground where shinigami went to practice their shikai. He had to pass Aizen's office though in order to get there and he hoped the captain wouldn't be in. Gin didn't want to deal with him right now. Because he wasn't in the mood to exchange playful banter with Aizen-sama, who knew when the man would snap and try and hurt him. Not that he disliked being hurt in that way but sometimes he didn't want it and this was one of those times...

Aizen noticed that Gin was not comfortable when they were near each other. Rubbing his face Aizen started to get just a little aroused by the thought of Gin. Gin was like the only person that was able to calm Aizen down, that was the only reason why Aizen kept him around for so long. When Gin seemed uncomfortable it was Aizens job to make sure Gin did not get to uncomfortable. When Gin got to uneven he can get just a little edge and kill somebody as he did before. Aizen moves to the back of his lieutenant and starts to rub on his chest in a warming way. When he does that to Gin it means that he was ready to get some dick from him, but he only got dick when he was done fucking him. Looking at Gin sometimes made him so hard that he was going to rape him right there in front of everyone. Being Aizens sex slave was the price of living after killing the other Shinigami. Aizen has been using his services almost every other day just so he did not get the urge to kill someone. Moving his hand down just a little bit more down to his dick, Aizen starts to rub him so he could get in the mood as well. He was in a very good mood because he would have hurt him by now just for the hell of it. Just because he was not hitting him does not mean that he will not do something later while he pleasured him. As he rubbed Gin he picks him up and moves him to a couch that was to the left of his desk. Taking his head and moving it to where he was able to get a clear shot at his neck and starts to suck on it.

Blast. It didn't look like he was going to be able to get away without greeting Aizen. Gin entered when Aizen told him to come in so they could talk for a bit, wondering what was on the other shinigami's mind that involved him. More about his planning regarding Soul Society? His typical smile was plastered over his face, eyes narrowed into slits as he tilted his head to the side, waiting for Aizen to speak since he obviously wanted to bring something up. Inwardly he was somewhat nervous due to the way Aizen was looking at him but outwardly it did not show at all. "Oh nothin' in particula'. I just thought I might go train with Shinsou fer a bit. Did ya need me fer somethin' Aizen?" Gin inquired with an arched brow. He didn't really want to do anything with Aizen at the moment but he didn't dare refuse him either. Not when he was like this. He could tell Aizen was teetering on the edge at the moment and now was not a good time to fool around even though he was dying to give in to his usual nature. Gin was surprised when Aizen went over to him and started to rub his face in a gentle manner. His body stiffened a bit, expecting the other man to hurt him but so far Aizen was being fairly nice and he didn't understand it. Aizen had never touched him like this before. Well, he had but the touch had always turned into a blow. So maybe that was what he was doing. Perhaps he wanted Gin to relax and once he had, Ichimaru would be subject to another harsh blow.

There was only so much he could take as Aizen continued to rub his face and soon Gin yanked his head away from the other. "Surely ya kin think of somethin' betta than rubbin' my face." He said lightly, hoping he hadn't just made Aizen mad but he couldn't stand it when the other shinigami rubbed him like that, it felt strange and he didn't like the intimacy. Indeed, he was well aware that he happened to be the only one who could calm Aizen down and sometimes he hated that whereas other times he didn't mind at all. Ichimaru had to force himself not to turn or take a step away when Aizen disappeared behind him and he stiffened when he felt the shinigami's arm curl around him. His smile was still present but it had dropped a bit, he disliked being touched by anyone, including Aizen but had to put up with it because he was somewhat frightened as to what Aizen might do if he didn't allow him to touch him. When the man moved his hand down to rub his cock, Gin realized the captain wanted to use his body again and he grimaced inwardly, outwardly his smile remained fixed on his face, letting no one know how he was really feeling inside. It was why he kept the smile on his face after all because he didn't want anyone to realize what he was feeling or thinking. He had to force himself not to resist as Aizen picked him up and brought him over to the couch which was located near the desk. All too soon, he felt his body respond to Aizen's touch and his cock grew harder beneath Aizen's talented fingers causing Gin's body to arch up into the captain's hands. Ichimaru's hands clenched the cushions beneath him so he wouldn't annoy Aizen by clawing his back and gritted his teeth as he tried to contain his arousal. He didn't want to be aroused by this, he wanted Aizen to take him and then let him go so he could forget about what happened here in this room. Gin hated being used when he didn't want it but he had no choice when it came to Aizen. It wasn't that he feared having the others in Soul Society find out he had killed another shinigami, it was more that he was afraid of what Aizen would do to him if he fought back. At the current moment, Ichimaru did not have enough strength or power to fight against Aizen so it would be suicide to resist him and end up getting killed as a result. Therefore, he had no choice but to obey. Gin's body trembled under Aizen's as the other man forced his head up and to the side as he started to suck on his neck, leaving visible marks behind which Ichimaru would have a hard time covering up. The lieutenant told himself that he wasn't enjoying it when he responded to Aizen's touches, he told himself that he wasn't enjoying it when he came after a session with Aizen. He told himself he wasn't enjoying it but deep inside he knew he lied.

"Rai, Rai!" The Raichu had let out happily as she won the battle, before letting her wounds take effect, nuzzling into her trainer, panting softly, having put her all into the fight, glad he had taught her 'Endure' sometime earlier for just such an occasion. As they left, she let her long, thunder-bolt tipped tail sway behind her as she kept up at his side, having enough energy left to keep herself walking. After getting into the town and finding the back alley shop, while feeling a little unsure of things, tugging on his shirt lightly. "Chu...." Though, as he bought it and got them the hotel room, she looked on, interested, as he popped the bottle open, and an oddly pleasant aroma wafted into her nose, causing it to twitch, as she started to hop up and down in place, pawing at him quickly. "Chu, Chu, Chu~!" Looking excited, she murred as he tilted the bottle for her, letting the liquid slide down her thought, sitting back as she licked her lips a little, murring. "Rai!" She seemed to enjoy the taste, moving forward to nuzzle Nathen gently, feeling better then she had, tail swishing quickly as she held onto him with her little hands, seeming better already, looking happy at him, nodding. Ever since she was a small Pikachu, he had always taken care of her better then anything she could remember, and she always wished to do her best to make him a great trainer.

Nathan grinned as the Pokemon battle was over, his Raichu once again victorious, though the battle had taken its toll....it had been quite some time since Nathan had been in a Pokemon Centre or even a store to buy supplies, and just recently he had used his very last potion. This was a rather bad situation....all of Nathan's Pokemon were rather weak, but Raichu in particular, this last battle had really taken it out of her. As the other trainer left rather dismayed, Nathan hurried over to kneel beside his Raichu, rubbing her head slowly. "Great job Raichu....but come on, let's see if we can get you some help..." He rubbed her head once more, scratching behind her ear, before turning to walk slowly. There was a tiny village not far from here, and whilst it had no Pokemon Centre, he might be able to get some supplies. Ever since she had been a Pikachu, Raichu had hated going into a Pokeball, and that trait had carried over through her evolution after exposure to a Thunder Stone. Still, Nathan didn't mind, infact he rather liked things this way. It didn't take long for the two of them to arrive in the little village, and as Nathan had expected there was no Pokemon Centre, nor a real store to speak of. All that Nathan could find was a tiny little store in a back alley, seeming to sell a few items that resembled Pokemon health potions, though they appeared rather....different. Still, beggars can't be choosers. Nathan purchased the potion that most resembled a healing potion, then went to leave the store with Raichu, headed towards the tiny hotel on the edge of the village, getting them a room for the night. "Now...." Nathan pulled the potion from his bag as he closed the door to the small room, helping Raichu up onto the bed. "Let's hope this heals you up enough huh?" He smiled to the Pokemon, then opened up the bottle, the smell rather strong, and whilst it was rather offputting to Nathan, to Raichu it would smell absolutely delicious. Nathan seemed to pick up on that, then held the bottle out, slowly tipping it up to allow Raichu to drink the contents, waiting until she had downed the whole thing. "There we go....feeling any better?"

As he mentioned getting some rest, she nodded her head, smiling to him, tail swaying along behind her, as she sat on the bed, waiting for Nathan to get ready, ears giving a twitch as he stripped down to his boxers, a sight she had gotten used to. She hopped happily to his side as he patted the spot for her, curling herself up and snuggling against him, letting her long tail coil around his leg, getting comfy. "Rai...~" In snug against him, she kept herself at his side as they slept, getting herself ready for the coming days of traveling. As the pair slept, the little Raichu began to change, the aftereffects of the potion kicking in when she hit deep sleep, causing her body to grow and expand. Her form grew slender with muscle tone, with long, fit legs, shapely rear and upper body, and even a head of shaggy, violet colored hair on top of her noggin. Once thetransformationwas complete, the girl kept herself snuggled close to Nathan, pressing in, feeling a bit colder now as she shivered. Her new arms going about his waist, her even longer tail kept itself coiled around him, resting her head in the nape of his neck, sleeping peacefully. "Chuuuu~...."

Nathan was happy when Raichu seemed to like the potion, the taste even more than the smell, and she certainly did seem to be feeling better. At the very least she should be fine until they reached a Pokemon Centre, though that was at least another 2 days travel from here. "Now, I think the very best thing we can do right now is get some rest hm?" Nathan smiled and gently rubbed Raichu's head, scratching behind her ear. The boy slowly stood up and turned to get himself ready for bed, stripping down to his boxers, before climbing into the bed, patting the spot beside him for Raichu. The Pokemon had always slept beside him for as long as he had been with her, so this was no different. The boy yawned, then curled up in bed, slowly drifting off to sleep, the days travelling and excitement taking its toll on him at last.

The Raichu-girl had slept peacefully throughout the night, happily snuggled up to Nathan, not having noticed anything had changed. Though, as the morning came and he started to move, she yawned softly, letting out a few soft sounds, her cheeks letting off some extra charge into the sheets as he moved, sitting up herself, the blanket falling down, covering her lower half. She was, as one would guess, rather naked, safe for her fur, as she rubbed her eyes, mumbling softly, as she looked to Nathan who looked shocked, confused, and surprised. "Hmm...Master? What's wrong?" Though, as she finished her sentence, she herself stopped, eyes wide, realizing she just spoke 'human', instead of speaking in 'Pokemon', as she should have. Looking down at herself, she gasped, seeing she had a human-like body now, but was still by all means a Raichu, as far as fur, typing, abilities, and looks, only a human-version of one. As such, she then looked towards her chest, noticing she had breasts, and actually smiled, feeling them lightly, then blushed deeply and looked towards her trainer, forgetting he was there for a moment, pulling the blankets back over herself, her cheeks sparking a little in her embarrassment. "Mas...Master, what happened? Why...why am I human-like now? How...?" She pouted, looking sad as she stared at him, shuffling a little closer to the edge of the bed and him, keeping her new form covered.

In his sleep, Nathan could feel movement beside him, but it wasn't enough to wake the heavy sleeper. Probably just Raichu moving around beside him, she did sometimes after all. Once the movement stopped, Nathan just settled down once again to sleep peacefully for the remainder of the night. When he awoke the next morning, Nathan yawned and started to sit up, in his tiredness not noticing the arms around him as he reached up to rub at his eyes. "Nnngh....morning already?" He yawned again, then blinked as he started to wake up a little more. "Hmmm....?" Slowly the boy started to look down, looking at the arms around his waist, before slowly looking over to see the girl beside him. "Wh-wh-wh-what....?" His eyes widened, staring for a moment, before yelping and suddenly getting off the bed. "Wh-what...what are....who are..." He started and pointed at the girl, shocked for a moment before he started to investigate. The girl resembled a Raichu, and the markings on her fur...they were the same....they were the same as the unique markings his Raichu had. "I....R-Raichu....? Is that....is that you....?" He blinked again and slowly stepped forwards.

She could speak english now too?! This just got stranger and stranger. What had happened? What could've caused this? When Nathan took another step forward, his foot hit something, and when he looked down he saw it. The bottle! The potion he had given to Raichu the previous evening! Had that caused this? It had to have been....what else could there be? Everything else had been perfectly normal until that. Nathan took another step forward as Raichu covered herself up, seemingly having developed a sense of modesty along with her transformations. He had to admit though....she had no need to be modest...she was...well...if she was fully human then guys would've been ready to kill for her. "I....I don't really know for sure..." He moved to sit down on the bed beside her, reaching out to gently place a hand on Raichu's shoulder. "I think....the potion from yesterday did this....I don't know if it's permanent or....or if it'll wear off. I guess....I guess we need to wait and see...."

The woods were so quiet this time of evening, it was insufferable but at the same time wonderful, or at least so thought the Cheshire Cat. Wonderland had changed quickly after the girl named Alice left, he guessed she had been one of the things that influenced the change... but then again, wonderland was always changing. Cheshire sat on a stump in the woods, looking up through the branches waiting for something to happen. There wasn't much going, and hadn't been much going on since many of the forest's inhabitants fled, some retreating to the underground, others deeper into the forest to get away from the wrath of the Queen of Hearts... Cheshire himself was in the forest for that reason, the queen had developed quite the vendetta against him, however she couldn't blame him after all, she was just so much fun to infuriate, tease, and play with, though he hadn't been able to since the Duchess tied the collar to his neck, one he couldn't remove himself. The Cheshire cat hummed idly to himself, relaxing and smiling to himself while he did, the old ballad of the Jabberwock, his favorite song in wonderland. The cat hummed to himself idly, kicking his legs once in a while until something distracted him. The cat gave paused when he heard the noise, a loud 'thump' that came from somewhere nearby. "Oh~" the male turned his head in the direction of the sound, which was followed by a couple more sounds, a female voice... The cat grinned, running a hand through his hand through his dark purple hair before his body vanished. Why hello there!" Cheshire appeared in Alice's field of vision with a tinkle of the bell on his collar sounding clearly, at first a twinkling before the set of pearly white teeth appeared in the signature grin, hovering over the branch that the cat begun to materialize on, followed by the golden eyes. The rest of the cat followed shortly after, his body, fully changed and in all it's glory slowly faded in to view in front of her. The light sifting through the leaves and branches above illuminated the Cat's form, he had changed since Alice had last seen him, his form shifting from a crazy cat to a human male with catlike ears and a long catlike tail. The young male was quite attractive, appearing to be about Alice's age with an athletic and svelte form, his upper body was covered by a couple thin wrappings, otherwise remaining naked from above the belt. The cat wore pants, baggy in their form and hanging on his hips just barely, giving him a relaxed appearance, as well as adding a seductive tone to his form. Around his neck was a large collar, also loosely worn with a large jingle bell on it. When the cat moved the bell would produce a jingling sound, it was a measure to ensure he wouldn't startle others much more. The catboy lie sprawled out over the branch, one leg hanging over the side of the branch and the other on top. The creature's eyes were focused on the woman before him, the golden slitted orbs focused on her, for a moment his head tilted to the side curiously. This female certainly looked like Alice, though she was taller, and shaped differently than the last time that she ran amok through wonderland, sowing wonderful chaos in her wake. Cheshire stared down at the female, his eyes appraising her, looking at her up and down slowly, curiously before his grin widened to an almost ear-to-ear one. The male's tail twitched excitedly from his prone position, straddling the branch in almost the same manner he did a long time ago. The female had looked distressed over one of the many wanted posters strewn about the woods, a picture of Alice, which the cat deemed to take as a clue to her identity. The male's sudden appearance could have many effects, though the mad cat wasn't going to make any guesses as to what. Cheshire waited a couple minutes, appraising any reaction the female would make before looking down at the ground "Long time no see... Alice... How are you doing this fine evening?" Cheshire took his chances, not anybody could just wander into wonderland so easily at least. The cat slowly faded again, first his body vanishing, leaving behind only his smile before it too faded. Cheshire would rematerialized standing a little away from Alice, an innocent smile on his lips as his eyes scanned over her form, he was puzzled with her new form, curious as to why she looked so different. "Did you do something with your hair?" The male asked, approaching her and reaching out towards her hair, but not actually attempting to feel the golden strands.

Of course, you can't possibly just wake up in Wonderland. And she knew they wouldn't treat her to another moment of just falling into Wonderland, however that was apparently not the case, because she had been dropping for quite some time, and now decided that perhaps it was time to think back. Think back to when she had originally come to Wonderland, some years ago as she was now nineteen and not the docile child she was before, perhaps still with a hint of navet in the back of her mind, still finding things to be all the more curiouser. Thinking back to it, she absolutely hated Wonderland, so it made no sense for her to be the one to be brought back to such a place, although she couldn't help but say that this time she hadn't crawled into the rabbit hole. She'd tripped right into it. That damn hole was broad, and truthfully, she felt that it had almost, literally, sucked her in. And now here she was, suspended in a constant fall that had turned to her waiting for her rear to hit the ground, when truthfully, she knew it would be a lot more painful than she wanted it to be, however, as though it were nothing but calmity around her, she landed. Not with a hard thud, but with an 'Umph' with a 'fuck' at the end, her rear hitting a tree stump and leaving her sitting on something not even close to being softer than the ground. She wasn't sure whether to be pissed off or to be rubbing her rear, though the latter was chosen, she still managed to be both of the two, clicking her tongue behind her teeth as she waddled herself up to a standing position. Not knowing where to begin on fixing her attire, she started with her skirt that had awkwardly bunched itself around her legs, pulling at it continuously until it finally settled where it should. Fluffing out the light blue and black pettiskirts, adjusting the bow on the side and making sure the ribbon was properly placed, her hand shifted to her belt b- Wait a minute. She was in Wonderland. China saucer blue eyes opening a bit wider as though she couldn't POSSIBLY see naturally the way her eyes were, she looked around her and found herself at an awkward clearing. Not a fork in the road, but a round, circular section with a stump in the middle, perfectly placed for her. . Or maybe it was just coincedental. Please. Nothing was coincedental or accidental or anything of the 'dental' family in Wonderland. Batting her thick eyelashes and making sure her hands reached her all too slim hips, like her mother always said, when you had slender hips, it made everything else fluctuate. And as this was true, it was one more fact to prove that she was not the young child she was before. Hourglass figure moving around the stump in search of anything she could have perhaps dropped, her loose curls of fresh hay blond fell over her shoulders, another ribbon in her hair to separate her bangs from the rest of her hair, the sleek black fabric streaking through her hair. Shoulders caressed by her hair and whatever sunlight managed to take stabs at her through the trees, Alice sat down again on her stump, adjusting one of her heeled black and white criss cross mary janes, her hand slid up her leg and pulled at one of her striped knee highs. Well. Here she was again in Wonderland, obviously not with as much hate as she had been granted the last time, a bit of parchment caught her eyes when she let her eyes dance up again. Tipping toward it in case there was someone playing a trick on her, she stopped in front of an image of herself, from the last time that she had arrived at Wonderland and, literally, shaken things up. 'OFF WITH HER HEAD! the HIGHEST bounty of them all. BRING her to the QUEEN. ALIVE.' Bounty? Perhaps she had done more than just shaken up Wonderland, judging by what this sign read, Alice was now a wanted criminal in this place. "What have I gotten myself into. ." There was a worried bite to her bottom lip as she moved away from the sign, fingers twiddling with the bow tie necklace around her neck as she moved in any direction, knowing it at least had to guide her somewhere, anywhere. Anywhere away from that sign would be wonderful. But unfortunately, she didn't see anything but signs granted with her face, threatening her life in Wonderland if the wrong person came near or spotted her. Now this, as she easily figured out, would make things a bit more difficult to be in Wonderland. click

When the female explained why she was different Cheshire blinked curiously, tilting his head to the side a bit in a rather catlike fashion before narrowing his yellow eyes in mock suspicion. "Grown up?" Cheshire smiled again, the tip of his tail flicking from side to side. "Well, youaretaller, and I don't remember you being this attractive..." The cat stood in front of Alice, having circled her fully, and reached out a hand that would have cupped her cheek if he hadn't stopped. Cheshire seemed astounded with Alice's transformation into a young woman from the little girl he had come to know during her last visit to wonderland, not to mention completely unaware that he, too, had changed. "Well, since you haven't been here for a while, I might as well tell you, Wonderland is in a bit of a prickly situation." Cheshire rolled his eyes a little, glancing over his shoulder at the path behind him. Any minute now, Cards could filter into the forest, that wasn't something Cheshire wanted, the game had only begun "The queen has been madder than she usually is... taken hold of wonderland, locked the king away... Without him to pardon us poor citizens, the phrase 'off with his head' became so much more... real." Cheshire turned his head to the female, the bell jingling as he did. "The first to go was the poor mock turtle, then the walrus, then the dodo, then the dodo's pals, then The Duchess's cook, she really hasn't been the same, petted me way less when on pepper." The cat glanced over at Alice, pausing to frown "Many of the inhabitants have fled, lest they lose their heads as well." Cheshire sighed "Though you are here now, you can help make things better, we should get going, the Hatter will be thrilled to see you" Cheshire smirked playfully, leaning forward onto his toes, then rocking back onto his heels, he liked to think he helped, though strangely many of the other residents didn't trust him. Cheshire cast a smile at Alice before turning away from her, another tinkle was given from the bell on his collar as he vanished from sight, doing his little act once more, and again as he appeared again. The cat's ears flicked, adding to his grin in his display of happiness. His right ear flicked happily as he appeared again, this time appearing further down the path from her, his back to her. "Come, come, Alice, I am sure you do not want to stay here too long. The Queen of hearts will be livid when she discovers you are here, heads will roll, it is going to be so fun!" Cheshire smiled again, he looked thrilled with all the chaos that was likely to unfold. The queen had her turn, now it was time for the others to make their move. Cheshire began walking, allowing time for Alice to catch up with him. A sign located to Cheshire's left read "This way", pointing down the path, one of the many signs that read either that or the equally informative "That way". The male ventured down the path, his tail swaying from side-to-side as he walked, staying visible and moving slowly down the path, humming to himself as he went. Cheshire did this of course for a reason, allowing the young woman to follow him down the path on the way to his destination. "Come on" Cheshire called behind him, walking at a brisk pace with his tail swaying behind him. The last time Alice had been in this forest she had been helplessly lost, this time would be a bit easier if she deigned to follow the cat down the path.

There were so many signs, so many of them hanging up and smiling at her with her young, pretty face while the rest of the sign screamed at her that she had a high possibility of her head getting snatched off her shoulders. If that wasn't something scary, she didn't know what was. Apparently, she had caused more of a stir in Wonderland than she expected, although when you basically destroy a court and totally mess with whatever odd balance rested within Wonderland, she partially understood how the Queen could be a bit bitter. Jumping softly though, a voice spoke out to her with the jingle of a bell behind it, her skin crawled when her eyes arose to meet the set of pearly white teeth she was so familiar with. That grin. She hadn't seen it in so long, however it didn't feel like anything new or unfamiliar to the lovely young woman, watching as a body materialized to place the grin with a face, followed by the rest of his body. Her wide eyes blinking because this body was definitely not the one she expected to emerge with the cat's voice or smile, mentally taking note that he was looking at her similar to the way she was looking at him, evidently they had both changed. But it was only understandable in her case, correct? She wasn't meant to stay as a little girl for her entire life. Perhaps that was what happened to Cheshire? Or perhaps she was just seeing the wrong person. No, she was definitely seeing Cheshire, those big yellow eyes and that grin that was unmistakable. One of her hands gently holding on to her elbow while her free hand clutched the end of her skirt gently, Alice's blue eyes looked over the cat again, for what it was worth, he was handsome. A handsome cat. Hm. How strange did that sound going through her head, though at least he hadn't particularly sneak up on her like he used to, thanks to that little bell around his neck. Maybe that was another change that had come from her leaving Wonderland? Someone had taken the chance to keep him from scaring ones as he crept up behind them, the bell made its soft twinkling noise and poof, he was caught. He seemed to be on the edge of deciding whether or not she truly was Alice, looking up at him this time and finding herself looking down again at the sign on this tree, however there sat another, no longer her face, but the face of another. A woman, with long ears that couldn't entirely fit in the picture. 'Catch the Hare'? The Hare? The March Hare? "I'm. . I'm not sure how I'm doing." She truthfully wasn't. She wasn't sure about anything right at this instant, however apparently he was, looking up at him again when she found him giving her another look over her body, taking a few short steps back. Letting out a soft breath of air and blinking quickly when he was already down and only a few feet away from her, taking those short steps to close the distance between them in that space invading way he always did. Cocking a brow upward however when he asked if she had done something with her hair, the only thing she had done to it was gotten her bangs clipped at, although she was sure that wasn't all he was talking about, "I. . I grew up," Pausing for a moment, a light smile fell onto her full lips before adding in a positive announcement, "I'm not a little girl anymore."

What a strange strange turn of events. Evidently he had never seen someone grow before, despite knowing for a fact that everyone had to grow. It was only logic. The flowers grow, the trees grow, even the caterpillar had grown, right into being a dainty, mildly questionable, butterfly. Come to think of it, Alice could consider herself a butterfly, blinking lightly when he stated that he didn't recall her being as attractive, folding her soft arms over her chest and announcing, "Well you weren't too attractive either." With the fact that he used to be an obese, round cat with a neck problem, she figured the difference was highly noticeable, but apparently it wasn't. Not to the cat anyway, while it was boldly noticeable to her. Only out of the depth of her curious mind did she wonder if everyone else in Wonderland had gone through their stretch of differences as well. Such a thought only caused her to be excited. Right up until Cheshire began to explain the situation that Wonderland had been left in. The natural reflex to look behind him when his own eyes glanced over his shoulder, Alice decided against asking what he was looking for, figuring it probably wasn't anything good or he would have had that stuck on stupid grin of his. Her eyes remained in their natural size, deciding against speaking until he was finished, though when her hands ventured to her neck, she could only imagine how it felt to be in such a situation- Wait, she had almost been in that situation, almost having had her head rolling around in a basket like it was something simple and normal to just go about cutting off young girl's heads. Crazy woman. Her eyes then deciding to grow at the list of the poor souls that were used as examples to the situation, knowing that the casual fact to point out? It was her fault. She hadn't been in Wonderland in years, and with that having occurred, Wonderland had drowned itself in turmoil. She was now in a decision of whether or not that was a good thing, was it a good thing for her to be there the first time? No, probably not, but she had gotten out of the situation alive. Now how was she going to get out of it this time? Tilting her head to the side when he announced that she could help make things better, she wasn't entirely sure she knew how to make things better, though it did perk up her mood that someone had missed her being around. Had Cheshire missed her, she was curious to know, tempted to reach out and jingle the small bell around his neck though resisting because that was not the mannerly thing to do. "H- How do you expect me to make things better?" Dammit. There he went again, disappearing all over the place like he was just going to leave her there to get dragged through the forest by a deck of cards. Of course he wasn't going to answer her question, her lips pouting softly up until he reappeared and further down the pathway, her feet that had been stopped in their tracks picking up speed, heels clicking over the occasional rock on the pathway. "Fun?!" She repeated, hating how he was persistently switching his emotions around, from serious to giddy to solemn to curious. This was going to be a giant headache, from her current analysis. Catching up with him after the second 'come on', Alice let out a soft breath of air, crossing her arms tightly over her chest because it was just rude of him to rush a young woman and not take the time to make sure she was close behind him. Well, his appearance may have changed, but he sure hadn't. Wretched cat. "I do so hate being late," Came a voice, out of the clear blue, this voice was meek though audible, the sound of something thumping occurring shortly after said words, before being followed by more words, "Being late isn't great for my fate will be, a rather headless one." A rather headless one indeed, another sound of thumping before slender ears caught sound of a jingling. Jingle, jingle went the cat's collar, moving her petite body to hide behind a tree, curious more than she realized she was late, catching sight of that very cat and a pretty girl. Pretty pretty girl, human? Human like the Hatter used to be, yes. She hadn't seen him in quite a while but that was ever so irrelevant, no what mattered now was the kitty and the pretty girl.

She sighed heavily as the bus drove on towards their destination. If it wasnt for Salem she wouldnt have even been in this place. Sure, they had both wanted to be treasure hunters when they had grown up, but this was just ridiculous. They were on some horrid planet and for what? Rumors of an amazing treasure that was supposed to be hidden here? Rolling her dark blue eyes, Claudia just let her head fall back on the seat. In her lap was a simple pistol but on her hip was a beautiful revolver that looked like it had been made for a king. She even had a few knives strapped to her thigh. You never knew when you would need a good knife. Her father had taught her that much before he bailed on her and her mother years ago. Slender, pale fingers brushed dark locks of hair from her face. After a moment of pouting, she leaned her head over on Salems shoulder and smiled. Hey. Calm down. Im sure we will be there soon. She told him. He always got so worked up and this place was only making him worse.

"Pandora... This is our home, but make no mistake. This is not a planet of peace and love; they say it's a wasteland. That it's dangerous. That only a fool would search of something of value here. Then perhaps... I am a fool. But don't be fooled by what Pandora appears to be. There was a legend. Many people tell it. The Legend of the Vault. My father would always go on about the vault, even with his dying breath. Advanced Alien Technology. Infinite wealth. Fame. Power. Women. So you can understand why some little kiddos who hear the stories grow up to become Vault Hunters. Well, I have a story you may not believe, but I tell you it's true. The Legend of the Vault is TRUE! And it's here on Pandora. And there is a Guardian Angel, appears to guide the Vault Hunters to their prize. The tale begins right here, on Pandora with the brave Vault Hunters, the Guardian Angel, and most importantly... Me." Salem growled quietly as the driver of the bus spoke to them, checking his sniper and side-arm. The dust on Pandora was starting to give him fits about his weapons. Oh, how he hated them being not in perfect shape. The bus jostled on the rough road, his body hitting the wall hard. He grunted with a shake of his head, pressing the goggles from his forehead back onto his dark eyes. "How much farther?" He yelled forward, at the driver. Supposedly, this man knew the ins-and-outs of Pandora, and would be helping them. He had heard the stories as a kid, everyone had. But it had taken him years of research, favors, and an immense amount of money to get them out here on this no-where planet. The days were over 80 hours long, and the sun was out for most of it. Pandora was covered North-to-South with dust, and dirt. The plant life was scattered, at best. "How do peoplelivehere?" He asked himself in a whisper. The bus driver ignored his question, continuing his little spiel. Salem wondered just how many times the man had given the same speech as he glanced over at his partner in this mission. They had been childhood friends, and he brought her in on the mission purely because he figured she was the only one he could trust with the hunt for the Vault.

Of course there had to be something there. She had her own pair of goggles that sat on her head, but she only wore them when the wind was blowing hard. Her hands had brown leather fingerless gloves on them so she could have a better grip on her weapons. The bus soon stopped and the two got off to be left behind in a cloud of dust. Claudia coughed and covered her eyes with her arm before the stupid robot showed up. "What the fuck?" She said as she listened to it yammer on before it scurried off. She looked at Salem and just shook her head. "Claptrap." The two walked towards what was left of a town. It looked like this place had really taken its toll on what was left. Her nose wrinkled and she pulled her goggles down to hide her pretty eyes. Now everything had a green tint to it. Claudia kept her pack on her back and one had was on the shoulder strap to make sure no one tugged it off from behind. Her left hand was gripping her pistol tightly as she glanced from side to side. "This place gives me the creeps." It was always bad when a place gave her the creeps. Salem knew that better than anyone. Her slender body shook slightly as they continued on despite her creepy feeling.

Salem shook his head softly, bringing the goggles down onto his eyes to help shield them from the glare bouncing off the sand. He felt his anger nearly melt away as she leaned on him, his rough face cracking into a tiny smile. "Yeah. Soon. And then we can finally get started trying to find that treasure we always talked about." The man didn't need the treasure for any sort of money. The backing for the entire journey was financed by him. He just enjoyed the rush of treasure hunting. The side-effects of actually finding it were moot to him. But boy, would he rub his parents faces' in it once Claudia and he found it. "I'm feeling it this time. Really. Hear how that guy's going on about the Vault? There's gotta be something here." He said, letting his gaze drift back out of the window. There was a giant sign coming up on their right. A welcoming sign. It had bullet holes in it... it was barely standing. The entire sign seemed rusted, and worn down. 'Like this fucking planet.' He thought sourly, his eyes narrowing behind the goggles. The bus hit a bump, jostling the pair once more. "Sorry about that folks! Musta been a skagg." Cried the bus driver, cackling madly at the thought of hitting some 'natural' creature that lived on this Godforsaken planet. "Arriving at Fyrestone!" He said a few minutes later, stopping the bus... in the middle of nowhere, it seemed. "Now, get off my bus." He growled, spinning around in the seat and ushering them off quickly. Salem growled himself, as he picked up his pack and sniper and stepped off the bus. He looked around slowly, watching Claudia get of the bus as well right after him. The man drove off rather quickly, leaving behind a giant billowing cloud of dust. Suddenly, a strange and rundown looking robot moved up to them. "Hello! I'm CL4P-TP, but my locally designated name is 'Claptrap'." The robot continued droning on about the city of Fyrestone, and moved off almost as suddenly as it came. Salem looked at the thing with a stoic expression, his shoulders shaking with restrained laughter. Once it had left, he turned to Claudia with a smirk. "Claptrap?" He asked quietly, before starting to walk off on whatseemedto be some sort of path into town.... If you could even call it that.

"Yeah. This doesn't look like a great place to live." He grumbled softly, pulling his rifle up and resting it against his shoulder, pointing at the ground. Pandora was supposed to have two kinds of people ~ bandits, and left over researchers that had gone... sort of crazy. And now there was them to add to the list. He wondered who they would find in this town. He lifted a hand, tugging at his dark hair. There was a loud bang, almost sounding like a gunshot. Almost. Salem spun around, seeing the claptrap on the ground, it's wheel spinning. "Owwwww..." It moaned out. With a raised brow, he turned back around, facing the buildings in front of them. They were low to the ground, with rounded sides and rooftops. He assumed it make them more aerodynamic, or something. He stalked slowly forward, his strides taking him closer to the biggest building in the middle of the city. A door creaked open, a face poking out with a rather surprised look on it's face. "Hello! Are you...them?" He questioned as his eyes narrowed. The sniper turned to glance at his companion and shrugged mildly. Salem shook his head silently. Them was a broad term, and surely they weren'tthem. "Oh. Good, good. Then come in, before the bandits show up. They know when new blood is on the planet. Hunt them down like dogs." Salem's shoulders shrugged as he found himself being drawn into the man's home. What could be worse.... A crazy man, or a band of bandits? "Come on, Claudia. Maybe he knows where we can start."

It started out a cool morning the sun was starting to rise in the sky a slight chill held in the air. A girl was out in the courtyard of a shrine sweeping the leaves. Pausing a moment she looked to the sky seeing a large figure flying over head, She didnt know what the monsters she saw were called, but she saw them, a lot. At times they seemed to be coming for her, searching her out. The girl searched the sky looking up her fiery red eyes peering though her reddened bangs sighing hoping the creatures would just leave her alone, leave the town though she knew that wasnt going to happen. She wanted to ignore it but she knew if she did more than likely someone would get hurt. The monks whom took her in always told her she was different, special, had a special gift normal people, even themselves could never really understand. And she used her gift to stop the monsters. With a heavy sigh she returned to the shrine leaving her broom by the door making her way down the long hallway to her room shutting the door she slipped her temple garments off walking to her mirror looking at herself. She was always disgusted with her appearance. Ever since shed changed. Her burning red eyes, and fire red bangs, and the mark emblazoned on her skin. She grunted in disapproval pulling her hair into a high ponytail grabbing the bandages she used to hide her markings, wrapping it snuggly around her arm as she walked to her dresser opening it shed pulled out a pair of baggy cargo Capris and a baby tee, getting dressed quickly shed returned to the entrance of her shrine slipping into her sneakers before running out the door and down the stone path in the direction the monsters were traveling. Shed been running for a few minutes when shed felt a strange surge of energy, it was different from those monsters. Shed felt something like it before but by the time shed arrived to the scene no one was around and the feeling was gone. She ran harder not wanting to miss what was happening running down the street turning into the woods coming to a secluded park. Thats when shed seen something she didnt understand. The monsters, lots of them more than shes seen at one time were attaching a group dressed in black who were fighting them and killing them. She was a little afraid of the scene playing out before her she nearly ran but one of the monsters was coming up beside her it was large towering into the sky, black with a hole through it and spikes encircling it. Opening its mouth a beam shot at her. She jumped just barely missing it still getting tossed aside but regaining her composure. Holding up her hand hesitantly a familiar chant incoherently passed through her lips the markings on her arm glowing through the bandages. What seemed like merely a shot of fire split the hollow in 2. Returning to her panting she fell to her knees hearing the cries of the people in black who were fighting the other monsters, seeing most of them were gone and only 2 people were standing fighting the last one. Knocking one of them out of her range she watched a young man with snow white hair attack with a dragon made of ice which intrigued her get knocked away injuring the monster but not killing it. She ran to the scene he was barely standing the monster, LongweiRyuu!: She called unfamiliarly this time a coiled dragon of fire emerged finishing off the monster before it could hurt the white haired guy. Panting as the dragon returned to her she gathered her strength hurrying to the strangers side. Checking him over she saw that he was a live and still breath but badly injured. ~~~ Mitsuna Haetsuno 20 Long sunny blonde hair with deep red bangs Bright red eyes. 56 120 She has markings on her right arm she usually covers with a bandage or long glove to hide. She was lightly trained in hand to hand combat to protect herself. Shes really good with her bow and arrow, she can clean, cook, she pretty much takes care of the residents of the shrine. Mitsuna was your average girl, born to elderly parents who passed away when she was 3, never meeting her sister who died a long time before she was even born. She lived in a local shrine since she was 11 what family she has fears her thinking shes cursed, or a pyromaniac. After a bad fire when she was 10 the people from the shrine took her in feeling something special was hidden within her. Before that fire she was your usual blonde haired blue eyed little girl. But trapped in the flames something happened her hair and eyes changing a mark appearing on her arm. Shes not fully aware of her power only that shes different. She sees things and experiences things others dont. Despite her insecurities, shes a friendly social girl. Can be a little on the serious side but is generally a playful nice girl.

Lately, a huge group of Menos Grandes along with an army of ordinary Hollows had gathered in a small part of Karakura Town for no logical reason. This had inspired the Captain-Commander Yamamoto to send out the 10th Division captain, vice captain and a few others in their squad to go check it out and take care of the problem. Toshiro Hitsugaya, Rangiku Matsumoto and three others from their division had answered the call and followed orders, heading through the gate portal to discover what was wrong with that particular area. When they had arrived they couldn't find any disturbances but that didn't mean the monsters weren't there, only that they weren't around at the moment. So they went into their gigai bodies and separated for the time being, Toshiro going to get some food for dinner, Rangiku going to get some sake because a little bit wouldn't hurt even if they were on the job, and the others remaining where they were to be on the lookout for Hollows. As it was the Hollows showed up ten minutes after Matsumoto and Hitsugaya had left and the captain and vice-captain were alerted to the danger moments later. Rangiku arrived first and quickly took note of the situation. "Growl, Haineko!" She called out and her zanpakuto turned to ash and wrapped itself around a Hollow obliterating it within moments, returning to her blade to reform into a sword-shape again. Matsumoto leaped forward to bring her sword down through another Hollow as the other three did the same while the Menos Grandes looked on almost idly. Then out of nowhere they suddenly converged and three opened their mouths to shoot three different Zeros at the vice-captain. "Sit upon the frozen heavens Hyrinmaru!" Toshiro's voice called out and an ice dragon placed itself between the Zero and Rangiku, causing the Zero to obliterate the icy object while Matsumoto got to safety. "Matsumoto. You should pay more attention to your surroundings." Toshiro's voice sounded somewhat aggravated as it always did. "Taichou!" Rangiku exclaimed and flash stepped over to Hitsugaya as she looked around at the Menos Grandes and the remaining Hollows. "How are we going to destroy all of them? What do you think they're here for?" She frowned, trying to come up with some sort of explanation.

Mitsuna watched the scene confused by it all. Usually the monsters shed seen went after her, not others. And who were the people in black. She sighed her mind trying to figure it wall out till her attention was diverted. She looked to her feet a moment spotting something that looked like a cell phone. Recalling seeing the white haired with it just a moment before. She looked at the screen seeing the red spots but not sure what they were she closed it tucking it into her pocket seeing the white haired kid fighting. As he was being blasted with bursts of energy from the monsters she ran to him reaching him just after a blast made contact casting a worried eye to him before looking back to the towering monster. Hey kid She called to the white haired young man as she approached him, getting a good look at his features blushing his face was handsome, he had an older look than she would have thought a few wounds and blood marring his features. His eyes were still open appearing to look at him till theyd shut. She stood once more facing the monsters which were coming right for them. I hope you are up for this She whispered holding her arm above her once again calling the name of the dragon of fire. LongweiRyuu She called her arm glowing red Slowly a golden red and black burning dragon encircling her. She looked to it with a slight smile turning her attention to the monster. Uzu nenshou gogyou hasu seme LongweiRyuu! She yelled the dragon seeming to nod in understanding glowing blindingly bright, an intense heat emitting from him as he spiraled towards the towering monsters which remained one by one they all evaporated with a piercing cry. She smirked as the last one finally fell grimacing as a few of their attacks reached the dragon and affected her but shook it off as the dragon returned to her fading once more the glow coming from her arm disappeared. Falling to her knees for a few moments she was breathing hard. Taking a few moment to catch her breath. Looking behind her seeing the white haired young man still unconscious. She moved to his side her reddened eyes running along his features. She debated what to do deciding to bring him back to her shrine and carefully pulled him onto her back glad he wasnt extremely heavy. She took the woods back to her home as to avoid questions about what happened to them and whom he was questions she couldnt easily answer. It took her 20 minutes to make it back to the shrine. She felt fortunate the monks werent around sneaking into her room carefully placing him on her futon seeing the pained look on his face. She brushed her hand over his forehead her arm glowing. He felt frigid to her but a smile curled her lips as she walked away into her bathroom pulling a glove on her hand she returned to his side debating on removing his shirt seeing blood especially around his shoulder. With a deep breath she acted carefully removing his top seeing him wince in his sleep as she did so. Carefully shed cleaned him off and dressed and bandaged the wounds covering him with a clean blanket as he slept. Sitting on the floor beside him she dozed off after a little while still in her dirty clothes.

Before Mitsuna had arrived at the scene Toshiro had gotten unexpectedly hurt quite a bit, along with his fukutaichou and while this was expected during missions,howthey had gotten injured was not normal. Hollows did not tend to work together, especially when they were Menos Grande and yet this time they had, almost as though someone had been controlling them and pulling their strings to make them do what they wanted. Hitsugaya had tried to draw one of the Menos Grande's attention to him but as he was doing so a group of Hollows attacked him from behind and when his attention was focused on destroying them, another Menos Grande had sent a Zero shooting at him. Something he had only seen at the last minute. He didn't have time to turn to bankai because if he paused a split second the Hollows fighting him would converge and take him out. Before he knew it Matsumoto had knocked him aside, trying to make both their escapes possible but she got caught in the after effects of the blast and struck a nearby building, falling unconscious almost immediately inside the building itself. "Matsumoto!" Toshiro yelled as he looked over at the building that his fukutaichou had been driven through and bit his lip as he turned his attention to the Hollow that were remaining. There was no way he could take out a group of Menos Grande along with the Hollows that surrounded it by himself. Why were they working together like this? It didn't make any sense, Hollows didn't have a mind, not really. They went for people with the most spiritual energy, that was it and yet they were working as a team and lying traps, something was definitely wrong with this picture and Toshiro knew he needed to contact Soul Society. But he didn't have time at the moment. He had to survive. In the next few minutes he constantly flash stepped, using his sword to take out at least ten Hollows before he had to avoid another Zero from a Menos Grande and kept flash stepping until he grew tired, wondering how long he could do this for. There had to be some sort of solution. "Bankai!" Hitsugaya said and when the smoke cleared he had ice wings on his back and an icy dragon at his side. He used his wings to raise himself up into the air and took out a communication device. "This is Hitsugaya-taichou of the 10th Division requesting backup to our current location. Matsumoto is unconscious and the rest of our team needs medical assistance." He avoided a Hollow that appeared before him and ducked as one behind him tried to slice him in half, making the two Hollows take each other out for the time being but in the process dropped the communication device. "Damn." Toshiro used his wings to transport him around and managed to take out another ten Hollows but more just kept coming and he was growing tired and the Menos Grande were still here. The situation wasn't looking too good. And then he realized that the Hollows had lured him into a secluded area and he looked around to see that five Menos Grande were surrounding him along with tons of regular Hollow above him to cut off any escape attempts. Hitsugaya's eyes widened as he saw the glowing red balls appear at their mouths and instantly shot downward, hoping to cut the damage in half if he managed to avoid at least some of the Zeros that were bound to come. They came and his wings caught most of the blasts, which destroyed the ice, causing it to shatter but one Zero caught him full in the shoulder and Hitsugaya cried out as he was slammed into the pavement of the ground beneath him. The after effects of the blast caused him to pass out and he wondered if this was the end for him. He'd never expected to go out like this...the last thing he saw was a girl standing above him and a dragon of fire...

Mitsuna was lying in a troubled sleep being haunted by the same monsters that have always been in her dreams. This time her mind also replayed the events that took place, with the stranger. The fight shed helped with. She was confused, the monsters rarely involved anyone else when they came after her. But maybe they werent after her. Abruptly shed opened her eyes confused as to why she was on her carpeted floor looking around seeing a figure on her futon sitting up quickly rubbing her eyes her fiery eyes taking a minute to adjust seeing the white haired young man on her bed looking around confused before his eyes finally fell onto her. She looked back at him with the same confusion not sure what to say. Hi She said rubbing the back of her head. When hed asked what happened to him she gave him an unsure look. I was going to ask you the same thing. She said more to herself turning her attention to him once again. Why were you fighting the monsters? She asked moving sitting up looking at him as she sat on the floor running a hand through her long duo-toned hair.

"I'm not...a kid..." Toshiro managed to get out before his eyes closed, the sight of Mitsuna being the last thing he saw. He winced in his sleep when she lifted his body to remove his shirt and his head fell to the side, revealing a wound on his head as well but not from the Cero since it wasn't deep. Hitsugaya had probably gotten that when he'd hit the ground, smacking his skull against the pavement. His spiky white hair was mussed up but still retained the style Toshiro always wore it in. Hours later he blinked and his turquoise blue eyes opened. He winced when he tried to sit up and the blanket fell off his form to reveal bandages all over his body. What had happened to him? Had he gotten into a fight or something? Toshiro looked down to see a young woman with long sunny blond hair and red bangs sleeping on the floor beside the bed. His sister? His girlfriend? A friend? It couldn't be his mother because she didn't look old enough. She probably was his sister, it made the most sense. Why she would care for him, look after him and worry about him. He also didn't feel anything towards her romantically so that made sense too. He wondered why he couldn't remember. Maybe she would know. "Hey! What happened to me?" Toshiro said as he looked over at Mitsuna, waiting for the woman to wake up. Perhaps she would be able to make a few pieces fit into the puzzle and he waited rather impatiently.

She looked at him trying to think of how to answer his inquires. Though she cocked an eyebrow as she watched him wondering why he didnt seem to know what she was talking about. And frowned when he didnt know of the monsters. I dont know what they are. They come after me from time to time. Id found you fighting them. With a few others. She explained her head leaning forward in thought her bangs falling in her eyes. You were fighting a lot of them and the number seemed to overwhelm you. She added. She shrugged when hed asked about the floor. It doesnt matter to where I sit. She said idly shifting her position pulling her knees to her chest. Surprised by his next question she gave him a strange look slowly shaking her head as she replied. Im not related to you. I dont even know you. I just happened upon you when I was following the monsters. She said getting to her feet slowly dusting herself off making her way to her chair which held his clothes still soiled with dirt and blood and holes handing him his clothing when shed returned to the futon sitting on the end. I dont know what you are... For that matter whom you are. But youre different like me. She said with a sad sigh looking out her window across from where she sat on her mat.

Toshiro's brow furrowed when Mitsuna said she wanted to ask him the same thing and his turquoise eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?" He blinked when she asked him why he had fought the monsters and he wondered if that was a metaphor for something he didn't know about. If it was, he was in the dark about what this woman was talking about and he didn't like the feeling at all. "What are these monsters you speak of? Is that how I got injured?" Toshiro inquired as he glanced down at his body, eyes taking in the bandages for a moment before he looked back up at Mitsuna once more. The spiky white haired male watched as Mitsuna moved to sit up on the floor and he sat up in bed as well. "You're not going to sit on the bed? The floor looks kind of hard to me." Toshiro remarked and looked around the room once, still not remembering anything about it. "I take it you're my sister, right? What's going on? Why are you asking me about monsters?" He asked, wanting to know what was going on that he didn't know about. Being kept in the dark about certain things was not his idea of fun. But he had to admit she was kind of pretty and he wondered what he looked like.

Enyalius very much looked his fathers son. Indeed to his annoyance the resemblance was often considered sufficient that he was taken to be his father. The youthful war god had taken to growing a beard that covered the strong form of his chin and drifted up along the lower reaches of his cheeks and his lip. Dark eyes, were set against olive hued skin and closely cropped dark hair. He was the son of two gods of war Ares and Enyo, hence his body seemed formed in warlike perfection. His shoulders were broadly set apart and his form was of a muscular build. His torso had the chiselled appearance that the sculpture ever strove for, with each muscle rigidly defined and visible in its brawny power. A tunic of crimson and gold rested against his form. He remained for the moment in his fathers house. Although Ares himself had departed on some matter or another. Enyalius did not feel the stir of conflict or war within his blood, so he suspected that rather than sowing havoc upon the earth, his father was like as not sowing his seed in Aphrodite or some other woman. A bemused smile graced his lips at that particular thought as his fingers idly touched against the hair that graced his jaw. Mischievously he wondered if absent the beard his resemblance to his father was sufficient that in dim light the goddess of love could tell the difference. Although if he wanted a sure manner in which to bring his fathers wrath upon his head that would most definitely be it. Thus the experiment hed considered was likely to go for not. Indeed he was waiting for the armour that had been procured by his father for him. His mother had been rather persistent that he warranted the finest armour that could be obtained in the heavens or earth as a god of war. Although Enyalius had no illusions that his father had sought it as a great sign of favour towards him, rather like as not it was simply to revel in the joy of needling Haephestus as Ares and the god of the forge loathed each other with a passion. He could hardly blame the crafts god for his hatred of his father. After all the philandering of his wife was legendary at this point. Nor could one help but notice that Aphrodite had numerous children by Ares and yet not a one by Aphrodite. He could only imagine that it galled the lame god. He rather imagined that a less beguiling figure than Aphrodite would have been chased from his home and divorced many times over. None the less whatever contention existed it provided him with fine armour so he could hardly complain as he lounged with a cup of wine in hand.

The forges of Hepheastus were hot and hellish, filled with sufficating heat and the loud hammering of the workers. Half-finished armor hung everywhere, as well as swords and shields. Every so often, something delicate intended as a love gift could be found. One tended to sweat the moment one walked inside the forge and only the heartiest could survive there. It was not the kind of envirment one would expect to find Eukleia, goddess of glory and the chaste bride. As the daughter of Hepheastus and Aglaia, she often could be found in the company of her stepmother, Aphrodite. She and her three sisters were the younger Graces, attendants to the goddess of love and beauty. It was not always an easy job, Aphrodite was paranoid about the beautiful women around her and often jealous if she thought they recieved any praise. Eukleia had been banished from Aphrodite's side after the goddess of love believed her son, Eros, smiled a little longer at Eukleia then her. Which, was silly since Eros was madly in love with his wife, Psyche (both having been stabbed by Eros' own love arrows). With no where else to go, Eukleia went to her father's home. "You're miserable," Hepheastus said, looking at his daughter. "Why not see if Aphrodite has forgiven you?" "I did nothing wrong," Eukleia said. "And if I return before she's ready to forgive me, then I'm in even more trouble. It's best if I just wait." Eukleia did not look anything like her father. Where Hepheastus was ugly and twisted, reputed to be the most unpleasing of the gods, Eukleia took after her mother. She was tall and slender with high perky breasts and a sweet swell to her hips. Her black hair, much like the color of her father's, was plastered to her head and stuck to her face and neck. She did not feel very beautiful, and she knew that if her stepmother saw her, it would make Aphrodite feel better. She just had to wait for Aphrodite to make one of her rare trips to the forge. Hepheastus sighed, pushing a beefy hand through his sweat-slicked hair. "Well, if you're going to be staying here, at least you can help. I have a few pieces of armor for Ares. You can deliver them for me." Eukleia smiled. Her father hated Ares, the lover of Aphrodite. Though her father had the rare affair, he could never stay away from his legal wife. And Aphrodite knew it, taunting him with her many affiars and perfect children. Ares, protected by Zeus' desire for peace in Olympus, had no fear of Hepheastus and that angered the artisen god even more. "I'll deliver them," she said. "Just let me take a bathe and change first."

Enyalius lowered the cup from his lips as he spied the woman entering the room carrying armour with her. His eyes fixed upon the woman and traced over her body in a rather lingering fashion. His interest and appraisal of her figure was rather blatant, and its rather continued fashion seemed to indicate approval for the pleasant composition of her lithe form. After he took his time observing her he rose from where he sat, drawing himself up to his rather considerable height. The war god sauntered across the room towards her without speaking. Rather he approached her and then stopped a hairs breath from her form. His rather brawny form would loom over her and she would be able to feel the warmth of his breath as his head tilted downwards towards her. How kind of him to send it over promptly. He remarked as his dark eyes gazed down at her. His hand rose and idly captured a lock of her hair and toyed with it. Who would have thought that Hepheastus rivalled himself in the making of armour and weapons only in his creation of pretty daughters? He said in a rather suggestive tone. His head tilted downwards to rest against her own. His hand pressed to her hip rather firmly and then he inquired And which one are you hmm? He inquired as his dark eyes gazed down upon her own. Impetuous might be the right word for his current actions. Although in that Enyalius indeed resembled the father he was being mistaken for. But hed looked upon the goddess and decided he wanted her. Now lust flared in him and that desire be obvious enough. War and lust always seemed intermingled and if the matter further provoked the lame god that while the father stole away his wife, the son claimed a daughter so be it. He would have what he wanted.

After her bath, Eukleia dressed herself in a chiton of light sea-blue with a gold beld, inlaid with gems just a touch darker then her dress. It was a gift from her father, something pretty for one of his pretty girls. The dress matched her eyes, he said. It also looked beautiful with her olive skin. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail and slipped on a dainty pair of soft sandals. She then went to get the armor from her father. "You look too pretty to be delivering this stuff," Hepheastus said, pride in his eyes. "Thank you, Father." She took the armor and left. She was to go to Ares' chambers in Olympus. Well, chambers made it seem so small. It was probably more like a home, one that housed not only Ares but a few of his kids. As Eukleia approached, she grew nervous. She had only seen Ares from afar, normally when he and Aphrodite were sneaking off for another tryst. She had heard of him, from her father. Hepheastus may not have been an ideal father, perferring his forges to actual contact, but he tried. Eukleia was probably the only among her sisters who was as protective of her sire as she was of her mother. She didn't trust Ares, thinking it scummy to sneak around with another man's wife. While her mother was not Hepheastus' wife, her mother also never repeated her indiscressions. Hepheastus was alone and Aglaia had many other lovers after him. When she arrived at the chambers, she squared her shoulders and walked in. She could see someone lounging in the main room. Thinking it was Ares, she walked over. "I have your armor," she said. "Father finished it this morning."

Enyalius observed her initial look of awe. A slight smirk graced his lips as she referred to his as Ares. It was a rather common mistake. But he noted the rather angry look that was directed at him and as she demanded that he take his armour and let her go. He lofted and eyebrow as he remarked And if I dont? A rather arrogant tone entered his voice, as reasonableness and compromise tended not to be traits one associated with warlike deities. He simply stepped over the armour and he pressed to her body once more. He didnt allow her much of a chance to answer as his mouth pressed down rather firmly to her own. His lips rather hotly crushing against her own. His lips were demanding as he pressed them against her, and his hand strayed along her side rather firmly now. Roaming from the curve of her side down along her thigh. His fingers pressed into her flesh as his body pressed up against her. His muscular body pressing up against her form so that those supple thighs and pert high chest was felt. His hand grasped hold of her chitton and then dragged the garment upwards towards her waist seeking to bare her lower body. His hand craving that naked flesh, and as he did so shed feel his own arousal pressed to her body. The thick length of his manhood pressing through the tunic and up against her body. His member pressed against her belly and his mouth continued to savage her lips. Roughly pressing against them as he found himself burning with desire for her. His other hand sought to part her thighs as his hips would seek to press between them. The thick form of his cock would soon press against the softness of her sex. Threatening to plunge within her as his muscular form was crushed against her body. His lips pressed to her as he murmured Tell me you dont want it.. Although he gave her little time for such protests as he lanced the stiffened form of his prick inside of her. His hips rolling into her and smacking against her hips as he claimed her soft body.

Eukleia was first struck by the handsomeness of the god she believed to be Ares. She could clearly see why Aphrodite had forsaken her father for him. If she were as shallow as the goddess of love and beauty, she too would then go for this viril warrior. His face was rugged and manly, short cropped hair that accented his features. Dark eyes that seemed to see into her soul. Her knees felt weak as he walked to her, his eyes ablaze with a look she was used to seeing in men. However, for once, it was focused on her and not Aphrodite. In that moment, her awe turned to anger. Ares was Aphrodite's lover, and here he was, staring at her like she was that night's special. Or some war prize. With his hand on her hip, she finally found her tongue. She had to take a step back in order for her to shove the armor into his arms. If it clattered to the floor, it wasn't her fault. How dare he try to take advantage of her like that! "My name is no concern of yours, Ares," she snapped. "Just take your armor and leave me alone!"

Enyalius watched her eyes widen as he kissed her and struggle slightly when he lifted her chitton. He pressed inside of her and he heard her muffled scream. His dark eyes watched her as his hips pressed to her, lancing that thick cock inside of her. The throbbing flesh of his prick filling her and rather swiftly he felt the presence of her hymen and the gush of blood that its rending indicated. He idly whispered Youre Eukleia after all he assumed the goddess of glory and the chaste bride would be the only goddess who would remain chaste at least until this moment. As the goddess began to weep he raised his hand to her cheek and slowly wiped the tears from her eyes. Rather gently hed wipe away her tears as her face was buried into his shoulder. He leaned in and pressed his lips to her ear Im not Ares, Im Enyalius, his son. There was a slightly soothing manner to which he revealed that. You might note something of a resemblance though. He smiled faintly He is my father. The large member remained inside of her and as she clung to him slowly he pumped himself inside of her. Perhaps more gently than was expected as he slowly worked himself within her. He sought to let that virginal sex stretch to accommodate his presence within her. But he pressed inside of her filling her as he claimed that previously untouched passage. She felt deliciously tight and despite the pain she clearly felt he couldnt help but to desire more. He tilted her head towards his own and pressed his lips to her own. He could taste the blood of her bit lip and gently hed suck on that lip as its coppery taste left a tang on his tongue. His mouth moulded to hers as his hips rocked and ground into her. Steadily his member pressed to the cradle of her sex, taking her rather firmly as he claimed her as his own. The goddess of the chaste bride was now rather unchastely his.

Eukleia's sea-blue eyes widened when he kissed her, his beard rubbing erotically against her, his body pressed hot to hers. She tried to fight against him when she felt him pushing her chiton up and spreading her legs. She didn't want this, she didn't want Ares (for he had yet to tell her she was wrong in her assumption). When he entered her, she bit her lip so hard to keep from screaming that she tasted blood. She had been the goddess who represented the chaste bride. She had lived that life, remaining chaste and virginal until marriage. That was stolen from her in one brutal thrust. He was huge, far larger then she thought a man could be. Larger then any of the statues she had seen. Tears stung her eyes as she clung to him, the pain too much for her to bare at the moment. She was no longer the goddess of the chaste bride. She had been robbed of her position by the very man her father hated. She no longer tried to hide her sobs, burying her face agasint his muscular shoulder. "Please," she whimpered, "Please let me go. Please, Ares, just let me go. You've had your fun."

Enyalius felt her beginning to respond to him, and as her leg hooked about her thigh and her body pressed back against him his pace began to increase. He pressed into that taunt sex as it gripped him and buried his cock within her slick folds. His desire only seemed heightened as she now gave herself willingly to him. His body crushing her to the wall behind her, as he pistoned his manhood within her. His dark eyes gazed down into her own blue orbs, peering into those beautiful pools. He murmured I wanted you from the moment I saw you. Rather than screaming the goddess seemed to pull his head closer to her own and kiss him rather deeply. He grinned into the kiss as his body met her own. His hands pressed into the softness of her body and he felt those svelte curves brushing against him as they coupled. Those tantalizing thigh and firm breasts promising him all their delights. He pressed her back to the wall behind her as the weight of his body pinned her in place. His mouth consumed her own as he rutted between her thighs rather lustily. He grinned to her as she murmured that he could have been gentler with her. But he bit down upon her lip and tugged upon it. I could have, but I dont think you want me to be. His tone was rather teasing although he soon seemed to but the test of it as his hips smacked into her and drove her back into the wall. More firmly now he began to enter her. Rougher and more rapidly his hips moved in that arching motion to smack into her own, and ram his cock up and inside of her. His forehead leaned against her own as he murmured Your father is going to hate this. The words parted his mouth although he was just realizing it now. He kissed her rather vehemently as his speared her upon his shaft. Deep and hard he fucked her now. He sought to fully fill her with each thrust. The virgin goddess was one no more, rather he sought to make her a goddess of carnal pleasures as he revealed in the feel of her folds about him.

Enyalius. That name would be forever burned in her mind. Handsome, seductive and very possessive. The way his hands held her, the way he smelled. It was all branded in her brain. The way the pain between her legs faded as he slowly thrusted into her and pleasure filled her. Almost against her will, she found herself responding to him. She held tighter to him, moving her leg up to hook around his thigh. This position helped open her further to him, and the pain eased even more. She allowed him to claim her lips, closing her eyes as he savaged her mouth. Her hands inched higher, moving from his shoulders to the back of his head, holding him to the kiss. Every logical fiber told her to push him away. She should be screaming for help and outraged, but shd found herself pushing closer to him. When she wanted to scream, she kissed him, silencing herself. All she could think of was that this was not Ares, and she should not feel ashamed for finding him attractive. Instinctively, her body molded to his and her hips slowly ground into him. When she could force herself to tear her lips from his fiery kiss, she managed to murmur, "You could have been gentler with me, you big lug."

Eukleia heard his comment about her father, but she couldn't think at the moment. Her body was a torrent of sensations,robbing her of her ability to do anything beyond feel. Each thrust caused a new sparking of pleasure through her body and she felt as if she were on fire. It started at her core and spread through every limb, every nerve. It burned pleasanlty, and when she thought she couldn't take any more, he pushed her more into that flame. She clung to him, the only thing keeping her up was him and the wall. she wasn't sure if her own legs would support her. He was her only lifeline at the moment. The pleasure robbed her even of speech, and the room was soon filled with the sounds of her moans. She knew she should tell him to stop, that this wasn't right, but she couldn't. she couldn't vocalize anything beyond 'more' and 'yes'. The fire inside her grew and she felt like it would consume her. Her moans became more urgent as his pounding and thrusting became rougher. She wanted to say stop before she was fully consumed, scared of what was happening. Her nails dug into his shoulders and back, and she surrendered. The sensations seemed to explode in her, her body shaking as the fire flickered on every nerve ending. All she could do was hold him, murmuring his name like a prayer.

"I'm sorry Mickie, but there's just nothing I can do." Teddy Long said while fixing his glasses, trying to keep the WWE Diva calm. "I can't help what Vickie chose to do in the match. She was the special referee and what she called, is what she called." Mickie James, the former Women's champion had her hand in her hair, with a look of disbelief struck onto her face. She was quick to reply, raising her voice some-what. "You can't really mean that! You saw what she did out there! She clearly hit me and favored Michelle!" Earlier in the night, Mickie James had a title match against Michelle McCool with Layla at ring side. To top it all off, Vickie Guerrero was the special guest referee. She happened to be the "Smackdown Consultant" appointed by Vince McMahon himself which meant she had a lot of power, and she had a strong dislike for Mickie. Of course, the match turned out in Michelle's favor, costing Mickie the belt, a week after she had just won it. The WWE Diva had gone through weeks of torment from Team "Laycool" but finally shut the two up at Royal Rumble, becoming a five-time women's champion. But all that was for nothing as of tonight. "I'm sorry Mickie... my hands are tied." The GM spoke calmly, letting out a small sigh afterward. And with that, Mickie left his office in a huff, very annoyed with everything that happened tonight. She was desperate for a chance to get back in the ring with Michelle, to regain the title that was rightfully her own. She could go to Vince McMahon, but she knew what he was like. He favored the blondes in the company like Maryse, and Michelle herself. Vickie was a definate no-no. As she walked down the hallways, Mickie avoided conversation, clearly not in the mood to have one. When she stopped to calm down and think a little, the diva over-heard two workers talking. "Right, right, but didn't you hear the announcement he just made out in the ring? World Champ title shots will now be limited to pay-per-views only, and once someone loses against him once they can't challenge him again? I don't care who the belt is on, this company is nuts giving anyone power to make the rules like that." "That was Vince's call. Good luck when you tell him what you think!" "The World Champ.." Mickie muttered to herself, thinking for a moment. "Jericho?" She bit down on her lip, putting two and two together. She was desperate. It was better than nothing... right? Still dressed in her wrestling attire, the diva moved through the hall ways rather quickly, trying to find his locker room. After a while, Mickie came to a quick halt, finding his name plate on a door. Letting out a deep sigh, her hand moved up to the door, ready to knock. She hesitated, giving it one more thought. After swallowing hard, the nervous diva knocked on the door a few times, hoping that he would be inside. "I can do this. Just ask for a quick favor... then get the hell outta there."

"What an asshole," the one crewman mouthed, mouthed low, watching the cocky blonde strut by out of the corner of his eye. "Shh!" the other chided him quickly, and with a sharp nudge. "Dude! Watch that. What if he hears you?" Jericho did. Jericho had. And on a worse day he might have taken it out on the man, might have knocked some sense into him. Or some steel into him. As he strode confidently on the concrete floor of the arena's backstage hallway he glanced at a folding chair at the corner of his eyes. That would work. But, no, he thought with a smirk as he continued past the two maintenance workers. These guys were pathetic enough. Any fifteen minutes of fame they'd get from him beating the crap out of 'em would highlight their day, not bring them down. Instead he continued on in his walk, the large golden World Heavyweight Champion belt slung along one shoulder, turning a corner to take the long way to his new personal dressing room. And why not take the scenic route? Hewas the scenic part of it. These hallways were all the same - he was giving everyone else something to look at, something to admire. The two workers had held a lingering glance toward his back as Jericho rounded the corner, and now that he was gone they again spoke, "Seriously though, I don't get it. How does one guy get so much power?" "He's the champ." "Right, right, but didn't you hear the announcement he just made out in the ring? World Champ title shots will now be limited to pay-per-views only, and once someone loses against him once they can't challenge him again? I don't care who the belt is on, this company is nuts giving anyone power to make the rules like that." "That was Vince's call. Good luck when you tell him what you think!" "Haha, no thanks! That fucker's crazier than Jericho could ever be." Another turn, a left down this hallway, and then another. Chris took his time, walking slowly, smirking as he made eye contact with wrestler after wrestler in the halls. Shad. Yeah right. That guy might take the Intercontinental on his best of days. The World? Keep dreamin'. Next were Hardy and Mysterio. A joke and a fluke. Then he came up to The Hart Dynasty, paying Kidd and Smith no mind as they attempted to stare him down. Instead, his eyes were locked with Natalya's, his mind considering inviting that nice piece back to his dressing room later. For now though he just continued past the trio, back straight, shoulders strong and confident as he stopped finally at a doorway. Chris Jericho World Heavyweight ChampionAnd there was that smirk again, a look on his face that never quite left, and when it did it was never for very long. Furnished, private, this was one of the perks that came with being the best, that came with supporting the whole of the show on your shoulders. Turning the knob, he opened the door and confidently stepped inside, ready to embrace that which was due him.

Mickie had an awkward smile on her face. Jericho and her weren't friends. Not even acquaintances really. They would see each other around but that was it. No "hello", no "how are you?", nothing. At least he was being nice so far. Which was a nice change from what she saw on the monitors. Maybe he really was a normal guy. Though all of her thoughts quickly changed when he spoke about gracing people with his presence. Mickie simply rolled her eyes when he turned away. Guess he really was arrogant after all. Her attention turned back towards the Hart Dynasty who was out in the hall way. Looking them over, and then herself, Mickie shuddered a bit. "I really got to get a new outfit... matching in with them isn't going to do me any good." The brunette let out a small laugh while brushing her hair back slightly. She attempted the break the ice with that one liner, but she assumed it wouldn't do much. Taking a step inside, Mickie James closed the door quietly behind her, looking around the fully furnished room. "Ah, the good old days." She joked once again, referring to how she had a similar room. Of course it wasn't as nice as this, but it was certainly better than what she would be going back to. Small, rather nervous-looking steps was all she did, slowly making her way over toward the champion. Clearing her throat as if to get his attention, Mickie looked down at him, standing off to the side of the couch. Her eyes would shift between the television and Jericho himself, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "Look, I'm just going to get right to it. No BS, no ass kissing, nothing." Her eyes stayed focused on him now, trying to show him that she was quite serious. "I need help, and I know you can help me." Her hands were placed on her hips. A minute ago they were playing with each other, but she decided keeping them still would be better. "I need a rematch against Michelle. Teddy won't give it to me. I know Vickie isn't going to let it happen any time soon. To top it all off, I know Mr.McMahon is going to be a lot of hell to go through to even ask him. I figured you were the next best person to come to." After saying her little speech, Mickie bit down on her lower lip, waiting to see how he would take it.

knock knock Light. Timid. If there was one thing Chris knew how to smell it was weakness, weakness from even a mile away. He had just set his belt down on the dark mahogany coffee table between the black leather couch and black leather loveseat, had just sat back on the soft, cool cushion and turned on the live feed on the TV showing what was happening in the ring - a match between Kane and Ziggler, the first of the night - when he heard the knock. Giving it a moment before responding he thought it over. Considered it. That had been a pretty light knock. He wasn't going tonotanswer it, but... this better not be another stupid interview. "Yeah, yeah, what do you want?" he questioned, somewhat annoyed as he stood from the couch. He let his eyes linger on the television a moment before turning, taking his time in walking to the door, it having been a good ten or twelve seconds now since the knock. Jericho grabbed the knob. Turning, he opened the door and... What the hell does she want? ...that was his initial thought. Not in a bad way, but quite unexpected. He didn't say that aloud though. Rather, first his brows raised in brief surprise but soon shifted to a smile, "Well well, what can I do for you?" Her wrestling attire was quite delicious, wasn't it? He saw it every week, though usually just in passing. He saw all the Divas. He'd been doing this for years, this profession. Yet that truth never once diluted the attraction of a hot body in something skimpy. The smile lingered for a moment before becoming a smirk, cocky and confident. Whatever it is, he thought, "Come on in... Whatever you want, I don't feel like standing in the doorway. I've graced these losers with my presence enough for one night." Peering over Mickie's shoulder to a few wrestlers prepping to go out next, The Hart Dynasty, he smirked a little more. "And close the door behind you," he said as that look past her lingered, even as he stepped away, until he was out of the doorway completely. Jericho was no fool. Arrogant, yes. Every right to be, yes. But when it came down to it he knew what he was doing. The simple truth was a beautiful half-dressed woman just knocked on the door of his private dressing room and was being invited in. Moving back toward the couch, Jericho took a moment to adjust his tie as he sat back down, loosening it a bit as he sat in the center, leaning back. Not wanting to appear overly interested he turned his head to watch the match on the television while reaching for a water bottle on the coffee table, twisting the plastic top open.

Mickie crossed her arms over her bust, shaking her head as he spoke. It's true that she skipped all of that, but there was a point. Little chit-chat like that would get her the same kind of remarks. Asking those questions would probably result in sarcastic and snarky replies. As for the ass-kissing? She didn't think so. Mickie was quick to reply to his comment about it. "Yeah, I don't think so,Chris." Again, Mickie shook her head in disbelief. "You have to be joking... You punched a fan, you got into a fight with Gregory Helms after drinking... you even got arrested. All you got was a slap on the wrist. I accidentally spill food on Vickie Guerrero, and I lose my belt, while you got an opportunity you shouldn't have. Then.. here we are. I'm without a title, and you have one. Looks like you're the one whoreallydid the ass-kissing, huh?" The diva laughed, placing her hands on her hips again. "There's nothing I have that you want, so all I'm going to say is..." She took a deep breath, keeping eye contact with him. "If you've got even a tiny bit of a soul, you'll help me out. I'm sure you saw how Layla and Michelle taunted me for weeks. They humiliated me publicly, and I put up with their crap. I finally made them eat their words at the Royal Rumble, and then I was cheated from my title. How would you like it if that happened to you?" The former women's champion moved in front of the television, making sure he was paying attention. With a serious look on her face, Mickie stared down at him, keeping her hands against her hips. "I bet you'd be backstage, throwing your little mantrum until you got your rematch, right?" Mickie was intent on getting her rematch, even if it meant dealing with the worst of the worst.

Jericho listened. He listened without looking at her, his eyes to the TV, his hand raising the bottle of water to his lips. After a slow, relaxed sip he twisted the cap back on and leaned forward just enough to set the bottle back on the coffee table. He was listening, but he didn't want to let it seem like she had his full attention, not so easily. "...The next best, huh?" he finally chimed in. "Your faith in me is astounding." He smirked at that. Jericho watched the screen for a moment more before finally turning to face her, the leather of the couch sounding beneath his movements. Shifting, his eyes trailed up from his guest's hot pink legs to her firm, impressive abdomen, to the even more impressive cleavage. Finally to her face, and with it he tilted his head a bit, looking her in the eyes. "Hello Chris..." A purse of his lips. "How are you doing today, Chris?" A wince. "Ouch! That was a nasty match you had just now. Are you alright?" His voice filled with a degree of energy. "No, not even a 'Hey, congratulations on the title win!' or anything, huh? The first time you come to even say hi it's because youneedsomething. Tch.Of course you're here because you need a favor. And, truth be told? Maybe youshoulddo some ass kissing, instead of just 'cutting right to the chase.'" He turned away again, shifting against the leather to look back at the screen. The show had gone to commercial. "So you want a title shot, Ms.Mickie-Choke-James." His body remained still but his head turned back to her, over a shoulder, arrogant as ever. "Guess what there toots? Know how I got this belt? ...of course you do. By defeating five other men in an elimination chamber. By defeating The Undertaker! So if you're gonna come crying to me about losing to one woman it's not going to get you very far." Looking back to the TV, "You know, you come here wanting a favor, but favors go both ways... why should I give you a title shot?" A sneer. "What kind of favors are you going to do for me?"

With a determined look in her eyes, Mickie didn't back down when he advanced. She would simply stare up at him, intent on what she came here for. If it meant getting into a verbal fight with Jericho, so be it. She wouldn't leave until she had what she wanted. Mickie was about to respond to the little "slap on the wrist comment" but just as she opened her mouth. Slap. Her head was turned to the side, feeling the stinging sensation against her cheek. Did he really just slap her? Raising a hand to her face, Mickie looked back at Jericho, tears already forming. She spoke, but no words came out, unable to retort. The diva was stunned, shocked that he had actually done it. Soon enough, she found herself being pulled by her soft brown hair. A groan escaped past her lips, closing her eyes. Another sound came out when she felt herself thrown into the couch. Opening her eyes slowly, the vision of Jericho right in front of her soon became clear. The diva had paid attention to his little rant, though her eyes were focused on a way to leave. It was a mistake to come here. Thinking it over while her eyes followed the man, who was clearly frustrated. If she left now, Mickie knew that Jericho would go out of his way to make her day even worse. He already stated that he wanted her dignity. What did that exactly mean? A repeat of McMahon and Stratus? Doubtful, but she wouldn't put it past him. Still rubbing her cheek, Mickie managed to speak out, quietly though. "W-what do you want, Chris?" He had stated his terms, but she didn't know what he was specifically asking for. A part of her was too scared to use the attitude she had earlier, knowing that he wasn't afraid to get rough with her. It was painfully obvious that this was going to turn into something ugly. Either she could listen to him, andpossiblyget a title shot. Or she could leave and get Jericho to join Michelle, Layla, and Vickie in the quest to destroy her. On top of that, Jericho had the power to get Vince McMahon himself on her case. "Just tell me what you want..." She spoke again, a hint of nervousness in her voice. Her eyes traveled away from his face, looking down at the ground.

Jericho palmed his mouth, running fingers along his jaw as he thought. It was hard to not laugh. He didn't look up at Mickie right away when she moved between him and the TV. Rather, he let her go on. He let her dig her grave deeper. A quick chuckle ran through his body, amused, shown by a brief rise of his shoulders, failing to hide it until she was done. And when she finished he applauded, giving her a brief mock-clap as he looked up, laughing right to her face. "Oh boo-hoo, did they pick on you sweetheart? Did theirmockinghurt your feelings? ...You wanna know how many raw dealsI'vegotten over the years?" He stood. Slowly, letting his presence be felt, he approached this conversation just as he would with anyone else. Just as he would were she Khali; seven and a half feet and pure muscle. Jericho didn't get told how things were. He told you, and you accepted them as fact. Or you learned. "A slap on the wrist, huh?" He slapped Mickie across the face. Suddenly. Hard. "Maybe that's because- Come here, you little twat," he grabbed a fistful of the Diva's hair. With his other hand grabbing her hip Chris put his strength against her, shoving the smaller woman to the black leather loveseat a foot or two away. His face twisted in anger, a finger pointing at her, lecturing, he continued, "Maybethat's because since the day I returned I've been carrying this company on my back, Ms.James! Maybe that's because, if you paidanyattention, you would have noticed that ninety percent of the time since I've been back I've had belt after belt after belt around my waist! Maybe it's because I've been a mainstay ofbothbrands, and now they're even showcasing me on a third night! Maybe it's because Corporate knows who to reward, and who around here isreplaceable!" He was seething. Come to his private room and insult him? "Youdohave something that I want, as a matter of fact, Mickie. You have something I'd very much enjoy for you to give me." Calming now, though his voice was still firm, still irritated, Jericho stood up straight. He was between her and the door. Well, her and the door immediately; taking the long way around the coffee table was an option. "I want your dignity. ...You think you're gonna just walk in here and act like I owe you something? Little bitch. In your shortsightedness you must have forgotten that I not only canmakematches, I canunmakethem. I can make it so you get a title match every night or never again. And with what Vince was proposing to me right before the show, the power I have is only going to grow." Straightening his tie, he smirked down at her. "Women's Championship, huh? You can either degrade yourself right now and start earning my forgiveness, or I can make it so the only matches you ever have around here are on WWE Superstars. ...Or maybe not even that. Maybe you'll just get booked on house shows from now on."

He was serious? With a look of disgust on her face, Mickie would just glare at Jericho, unable to find words at the cruel punishment he was placing upon her. Apologizing to him was bad enough, but apologizing to those other three women? It was something only a monster would make her do. She knew she was in no place to argue, but she kept hoping, and waiting for the man to burst out laughing, simply to state it was a joke, but that moment never came. A tear rolled down her cheek, accepting the terms that he pushed onto her. The last thing he said was what just pushed it over the line. Slowly, she nodded, looking down at her lap. Wiping away the tear, her attention was focused on Jericho. Her eyes showed hatred for the man, but in an annoyed tone she began to speak. "I'm sorry..." She said slightly grumbled. At least the ass-kissing part wasn't literal like it was for Vince and Trish. "I'm sorry for coming in here and trying to demand something from someone like yourself. I should have known that I had no right to ask something from someone as great as yourself, and for that, I'm sorry." With that last sentence, Mickie got up and made her way to the door. Without even looking back, she pulled it open and headed outside, slamming the locker room door shut behind herself. Fixing up herself as she traveled around the arena, the brunette searched for the people she had to apologize to. Eventually, the diva ran into both Michelle McCool and Layla who were chit-chatting amongst themselves by the table of food that had been set up for the superstars. Standing behind them, Mickie took a deep breath before tapping Michelle on the shoulder. "Okay.. Ew. Don't touch me Piggy James." The blonde raised both her hands up, before turning around. "How did you know it was her? The stench? The earth-quake causing foot steps?" Layla asked with a sneer. "All of the above, Layla." Michelle said with her arms crossed, giving Mickie the death stare. "So what do you want?" Mickie tried not to get bothered by the under-handed comments, and with a deep breath, she mustered up the courage to do what she had to. "Look, Michelle... and Layla. I know we've had our differences, and I don't want to fight anymore. I just wanted to say I'm sorry." And with that, the former champion stuck out her hand to the new one. "Yeah.. no. Who knows where that hands been?" Michelle raised her hands up and walked away in disgust, Layla following right behind with her usual cackle. Shaking her head, Mickie turned back to head in the direction of Vickie's office, but she was quickly stopped, feeling herself bump into something heavy. Ironically enough, it was Vickie herself, who now had water all over her top. "M-Mickie!!" With an "ugh" type of sound, Smackdown's consultant began to storm off, shouting at the top of her lungs. "You'll never see that title again!" "I'm sorry!" Mickie repeated it several times, walking behind her before giving up. She had apologized to all three women now, and the next thing she had to do what return to Jericho's locker room. The former women's champion had decided that she had enough of all of this today, and slowly began making her way back to her locker room. The diva closed the door behind her, forgetting to lock it however. Stripping off her clothes, Mickie headed inside her shower. Trying to forget all of today, she spent a while inside, relaxing underneath the hot water. After a while, she stepped outside and wrapped a short white towel around herself. Mickie stood inside her bathroom, with a smile on her face, feeling much better than she did before.

Weakness. Jericho soaked this moment in, standing over the frightened woman triumphantly. Smirking. Pleased with himself. Does that cheek hurt, honey? Poor baby. "Now that's a good question." In truth he didn't know. The idea of her dignity was simple enough, but from there things could branch out in a number of ways. A number, and all of them humiliating. "You can start by apologizing. ... ...You know what? You know what, I think I like that idea." He could see the fear in Mickie's eyes. Chris turned his head from one side to another, looking into the brunette's eyes. Observing her. Considering. "First we're going to start with me, right now." He could cash in on the power he had over her right now, he knew, or he could gamble and see if this woman would go all the way. See how broken she could become. "You were pretty rude to me just now, you know that? You can start by apologizing to me, Mickie, followed by a little ass kissing. All truthful compliments of course - let's face it, my accomplishments are enough that you don't need to embellish." Taking a slow, deep breath, Jericho sucked in the power like oxygen. Snickering, he sat calmly back down on the couch, back on the center cushion, leaning back. His voice had returned to a relaxed tone. "And after you've apologized to me I think you have a few other people to apologize to, don't you? ...The current Women's Champion for starters. And Vickie. And Layla too while you're at it. I think you should track down and apologize to all three." Bearing a toothy grin, Chris leaned forward to retake his water bottle, unscrewing the cap for a drink. "I'll be waiting here, of course, so don't dawdle. ...You hear me? That means get started there honeypot. And when you've finished apologizing to everyone for your unladylike actions as of late, you can come back here," smiling, he ran his palm along the black leather cushion beside him, patting it lightly, 'sit right here, and you and I can discuss what your future holds. Oh, you'll get your title shot. As soon as you learn some respect." He paused. "Or maybe the word is 'obedience?'" This was an interesting game. If she left and never came back he really wasn't losing anything; he could let what just happened sink in and approach her about it later. But if she came back? If she came back to his room, timid and defeated, obedient and willing? Then things would get very interesting, very quick. "Get started, Piggy."

Jericho waited. He waited at first, of course, because no matter how willing someone was to do as you told them, there was a matter of physics. As in, it took a degree of time. So he thought nothing of it, going back to watching Smackdown on the television set, observing the roster in action and the general going-ons of the show. He sat back against the couch for awhile like that, occasionally drinking from the bottle, grabbing a new one when the first was emptied, easily shifting between paying attention to the screen and snickering, recalling the events of what had just happened. What could he have done different? What could he do once she returned? All alone with his thoughts, the blonde lounged in silence, simply thinking. And waiting. And waiting. And... waiting. After awhile he began to wonder, began to doubt. After a little while more his temper got the better of him. Mickie would have,should have been back awhile ago. McCool wasn't a hard woman to find. Did she even bother apologizing? Or did Miss James simply blow off his 'offer' altogether? Ticked off, Jericho thought to take a shower himself. Something cold, something to get his head straight. He got as far as ripping off his tie and throwing it against an oak locker, these far nicer than what the rest of the chump got to use, he got as far as pulling his jacket off, pulling his shirt off, as far as discarding the clothes all about his dressing room as he stormed back and forth. Jericho got as far as turning the water on and walking out of the bathroom before he turned right back around a moment later and turned it off... No. He was too pissed off for even a cold shower. Did that fat, dumb brunette really think she'd get away with dissing him like this? Like hell. Like goddamn hell she would. The suit was constricting. Annoying. Classy, but he had enough of that on his own. Instead Jericho changed back into the street clothes he'd come in that day, a simple white t-shirt with an eagle on the front and faded light jeans. Dashing fingers through his hair, he grabbed his belt and set out about the backstage area of the arena. Have you seen Mickie? Where is she? You don't know? Then get out of my way! Jerky this and retard that, he berated cast and crew alike. He even ran into Layla who, after a brief inquiry, shrugged her shoulders and said that the porker was acting weird but finally acknowledged she wasn't in the same category, even apologizing to her and the champion. This told him something at least. Turning, leaving her as he left everyone else he'd asked, Jericho continued on the war path until one of the workers fessed up that he'd seen Mickie wiping away tears as she slipped into one of the locker rooms twenty-some-odd minutes ago. At twenty-one minutes the door to that very locker room opened. It was done angrily, but as Jericho stepped inside he stopped midstep - looking around, it was empty. Before he turned to head out though he heard something. Someone. Sounded like it came from the bathroom. Narrowing his eyes, the epitome of arrogance quietly closed the door, even quietly locked it. He took a few steps over to a chair to set his gold and leather belt out across the seat. A moment later the bathroom door slammed open in a quick, sudden swing. Eyes alight with fury, a muscled arm reached out for the head of long, wet mousy-brown strands from behind her and to a side. Grabbing hold, Jericho wasted no time in gritting his teeth, in grunting, in jerking her head out through that bathroom door, releasing his grip, sending her staggering forward sloppily.

You could call Pandora a festering heap of corruption, and you woudn't be far from the truth. The parched, arid lands were decidedly inhospitable, bleached dry by centuries of basking beneath the planet's merciless suns- The cloudless sky a blurred, rancid blue, doing absolutely *nothing* to stop the slow roasting of the endless plains stretching out beyond...Inhabited mostly by scags, mercenary gangs, and wretched, devolved subhumans. Those who could usually cowered indoors, out of the bleak, blistering sun- Those who *couldn't* didn't last too long. Natural selection in action. The armored security booth was a rusting hunk of metal, still solid, but sand-blasted and pitted as *everything* on this wretched planet, pornographic etchings and crude graffiti the only hint of color in the ramshackle Arena; Considering how short, brutal, and simply *ugly* life on Pandora was, the popularity of blood sports- As well as the up-and-coming Mad Moxxi's Underdome Riot- was depressingly clear- After all, the locals didn't have cable. In sharp contrast to the booth's slovenly occupant, the woman standing before him- A rare enough sight- was absolutely smokin'hot. The killer curves of hip, bust and ass were only outlined by her tight leather apparel, her legs sheathed in tight leather jeans, battered from months of travails- A pink half-shirt exposing a tempting glimpse of navel and flat belly... Lilith sighed, and snapped her gloved fingers, in a futile attempt to draw the man's eyes back *up*- God alone knew how many times the Siren had tried to keep his train of thought from derailing. She rolled those deep brown eyes in sheer exasperation, her vivid crimson hair a splash of color in the murk. The women on Pandora tended to be a *lot* like the men- Gritty, ugly, and crude, quickly swelling up from the day-to-day struggle of survival...Compared to them, Lilith looked like something out of a wet dream. A low 'tsk' parted her lips, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of interest at the offered bounty; Rade's smirk, however, was what *really* decided her. Life on Pandora was like a pirahna tank- Show *any* weakness, any at all, and quite suddenly, they were *all* over you. Four *thousand* was a not-inconsiderable sum~ And she'd been spending the *last* few months running a series of equally bizarre, inane errands, back-and-forth across Pandora's rocky surface. This came as absolutely *no* surprise. -In time, people *can* get used to anything. Or they die. See a pattern? "Deal," Lilith purred, her voice low, husky, and acid-sweet; For a woman who claimed to gain her powers from crossing the 'Hotness Threshold', she sure wasn't shy about showing it off- Though the thought of walking out *there*, in front of hundreds of the worse kind of hyperactive degenerates, screaming for blood and carnage...It made her skin crawl. Still, her apple-red lips curled into a confident, beckoning smile...And scarcely had he finished, when there was the dry *rasp* of leather of skin as the Siren pulled her *tight* leather apparel off- Slithering out her shirt, her nimble fingers unclasping the belt fastening her tight-fitting jeans- revealing only her hot pink undershirt...And surprisingly lacy undergarments, clinging to her long, toned legs... With a disdainful flick of her wrist, the lovely redhead rebuckled her bandoleer, the old, rusted- But still *entirely* lethal guns hanging from her webbing, as she bundled her clothes aside! Her feet, arched high on heeled boots, creaked as the Siren sauntered forward, heedless of the hot breeze on her bare skin- About to walk into the arena in little more than a tight-fitting shirt, and lacy black panties! "Take a picture, cueball," she suggested, her full lips curling into a distinctly nasty smirk. "-It lasts *longer*." Without another word, Lilith sauntered right past him, with the sultry, hip-rolling gait that seemed second nature to her- To the roars of the crowd, as she walked out into the ring...Armed with a shitload of guns and a *very* bad attitude!He'd *better* have the money, she thought, darkly-...Or I'll show that frig a whole new *world* of pain...

Pandora... Few knew what it actually meant, where it stemmed from. Go through enough researchers, if you truly cared enough about such a desolate place, and you might find out that the junkyard of a world was long ago named after a mythological box from a forgotten planet. Dig even further - though, why would you? - and you might find the significance of the mythological item. Perhaps you'd get a kick knowing it. Perhaps there was a degree of morbid amusement in how even when this planet was first colonized that the people back then knew it would be a complete shithole, for they named it after a box which was said to contain every evil in the world: Avarice. Pride. Prejudice. Envy. Theft. Rape, and murder. It was said that this thing, this 'pandora's box' contained a shred of hope despite all of these evils, but anyone who had spent even a month on the planet, even a goddamn day, could see that if any such hope existed, it was simply for the agony of it then being taken away. Pandora was a planet one person should never wish upon another. Scale every inch of the place and you would find only two things: small colonies built of jagged sheet metal and rotten wood, settled in valleys and alcoves where the sandstorms weren't as bad, and endless stretches of wasteland. Wastelands of dirt and wild beasts, wastelands of rancid trash piled upon rancid trash; neither was realistically inhabitable. The only people you might even find in venturing out to such places, should you go mad, and should you luck into someone before you die, were bandits, savages of society who holed up in such places because they were so awful that not even a rival gang would put up with it to come and shoot them dead. Why live in such a world? Because you were born here, and because there was no way out. There were no ships off of the planet, the galaxy well aware of the type of people living here and in the value in keeping them isolated. The planet was allowed to continue existing solely to serve as a garbage dump, rather than dump into space where a lightspeed ship might strike debris and go up in flames without even knowing it. So why come to such a place? That was often the question, the joke toward any new faces; the poor bastards had no clue they'd never be able to leave, did they? Oh well. Not like it really mattered. Most 'visitors' were skag food within their first week anyway. "Well goddamn," Rade Zayben said with a laugh, middle-aged and bald, leaning forward on the counter of his sheet metal booth at the Circle of Death, a 'sport arena' in the Arid Badlands. He leaned forward in a heavy, sloppy slump, shameless in the fact that he didn't know the name, hell, eye, even hair color of the person standing in front of him, outside the booth. "They ain't anything great, but I can't quite remember the last time we had a woman out here." Her tits. He was staring at them, at Lilith's chest for the past few minutes, his eyes never bothering to rise above it. What were they talking about again? "...Hm? Anyway, you saw my post over on the board, did you? Well, fine. Heh heh. It'll be a shame to see you torn to bits, but maybe if the pieces of you left over are big enough... A woman 'round here goes for quite a bit 'a cash, you know. Even half of one would fetch a nice price. Though I suppose it matters what half." Breaking his glance, an act that had only happened once or twice so far since the redhead approached his booth, Rade looked over about forty feet to the metal entrance of the arena. Once closed, it now raised as the cheering of the few dozen people inside gradually died down. "Heh... looks like they got 'im. Another sucker I don't gotta pay." Back to the woman. "Anyway," back to her chest, "the standard going rate is four grand. You go in. Skags everywhere. They win, you get eaten alive and everyone has a laugh. You win, you get four grand. Very simple. Even a woman should be able to understand those rules." Smirking, he cast another look over to the now-open gateway into the arena. The skags, some quite large, could be seen in the distance being rounded up and ushered back into their pens. Back to her chest. "Though you bein' a female an' all is a rare treat, so I'm gonna go out and make you an offer for my customers." He looked down, eyes trailing her flat abdomen to her crotch and thighs. Then, an ever-wicked smile, he looked back to the woman's chest. "You take off that top 'n bottom, you manage to slay those shits in there like that, and I'll think about adding something to the prize to make it worth your while."

Skags come in several varieties. There are Skag Pups. Skag Whelps- Names which are deceptive, as they make the ornery creatures sound decidedly *less* lethal than they are; When your typical Skag is a three-jawed omnivore that eats *anything*, and yurfs out everything *else*, it's easy to see why they're native to Pandora- Anything less vicious simply couldn't hope to survive on a planet as barren, as blasted... -Then you had those which spat acid, those which were so badly mutated, even by Pandora's standard, that a thick layer of chitin and bony growths bulged beneath an already *really* thick hide...About the only thing Skags *couldn't* do was fly, and that was simply because most of the aerial predators were just a lethal.Thatniche had already been filled. The crowd had been indulging in whatever depravities it needed to turn them *all* into hyperactive, bloodthirsty monkeys- A thick *roar* of mingled lust and blood-hunger rattled the zinc roofing, calling out suggestions and lewd threats; They were literally *slavering* over the sight of the gorgeous Siren, sauntering oh-so-sexily into the crude ring...When they saw what she was *wearing*, those lacy panties and a lacier bra, beneath ammo belts and the webbing-straps of the rusty weapons Lilith had plundered from, well, all over the planet, the roar got onlylouder! Lilith tossed her head back, vamping for the camera- "Ah, showbiz," she purred, in that smoky voice of hers, *entirely* aware of the eyes greedily devouring every inch of her lovely form...And of the skags, waiting to devour her, *too*. But literally. They *all* wanted a piece of her~ And the hot air *tingled* on her bare skin, as if to remind her how very, *very* exposed she was...Though with a brisk shake of her head, the lovely redhead squared her shoulders, reaching from her trusty combat rifle! The gates screeched open, and the first of the skags came bounding hungrily past the bars- Those things were *always* hungry, triple-jaws gnashing the air for more, more, *more*...*Right* up to the point where the first bursts of fire stuttered from the weapon's molded barrel. Literallyfire. Apparently, somewhere, Lilith had found a gun that shot flaming bullets. She was using the same technique that'd served her so well in her travails across the surface- Backpedal like hell, shooting all the way, and start *dodging* like crazy! The first skag walloped over, as it took most of the magazine- The two rushing alongside it promptly split, peeling away to come at the woman from the sides, as the other three lead a hungry, slavering charge! One didn't make the leap- It tumbled over the flaming corpse of it's packmate, and the curvy redhead promptly gave it the last few shells in the magazine, just *because*! She'd taped them together, end-to-end, jungle-style...And those slim but strong fingers moved *fast*, as she snapped the empty one off, spun it around, loaded in another... "Ugghhhhh!!!" And stumbled back, as one particularly canny skag raked her from behind! It's razor-sharp claws drew lines of fire down her back, slicing right *through* the straps of her black bra- Her rifle's stock bashed it right in the head, pitching it back...Right before the Siren crammed the Cobra halfway down the main maw! "-That's one *hell* of a mouth you got there, boy," Lilith gasped from between gritted teeth...She *squeezed* the trigger, and kept holding it, until fire and death ate the spasming creature out from within! The crowd's cheers were deafening. They wanted blood- The skag pack *pounced*, all three of them at once, right for her... -Now, on the bus, Lilith had met a trio of interesting characters. A sly little weasel of a man, with that equally mean hawk of his, who went for the eyes- And fingers, if it could- of anyone who got too close. A tactiturn soldier, who had a mobile turret- More like a bunker, really- he'd duck behind when there was shooting. And a big, big bruiser, who simply was *very* tough. No one likes being hit- A hot woman even less. Lilith ducked, with a gasp, letting go of her weapon- Amateur mistake, right off the bat- And wasn't there to be hit. She went translucent, then transparent, and the skags met in midair...Right before a crackling wave of lightning swept over the skags!! The first two pitched over, then sizzled as a second sheet of chain lightning washed forth from the de-ghosting woman...Smelling like fried cockroaches, as they popped and *burst*, riling under the stuttering of pinpoint fire! The last one went for her *anyway*, and those sharp teeth *bit* at her, slashing a deep gash down her side...Only to feel a shotgun's snub-nosed muzzle press into it's jaw! "Say hello to the disco for me," Lilith panted- And a buckshot blast hurled the thing's broken body against the wall! As the energy died from her, she slumped, just a little...Battered, bruised, and nicked countless times, in the brief encounter, her skimpy lingerie hanging off from her in tatters! She waved to the crowd, a sardonic little flip of her wrist...Then blew a wet, juicy kiss to them, bending over low and *deep* to really show them the goods! "Mmmm, thanks for a *great* night, boys~" the Siren cooed, with a brisk shake of her head...Looking absolutely gorgeous as she stepped daintily over the blackened bodies. That bastard better have the money.

That smirk on Rade's face widened, damn near seemed as if it'd wrap around the whole way as the redhead gave him quite the show. A man could get hard as a rock just listening to that, the sound of leather peeling from a woman's body, of her skin being revealed to the world. Having eyes simply made it all the more enjoyable. He lifted up a hand as Lilith piled her clothes on the counter by where he leaned. Instantly the strip had brought cat calls from the numerous lowlifes hanging around the stand, some by a barrel, standing a ways behind, sharing a conversation of open admiration of the woman's tight ass. Another had been cheering her on, laughing and calling to 'see some pussy' from over by the vending machines - vending machines, vending out guns and medical kits of all things; what a fucking degenerate of a world. They wasted no time in verbally complimenting the woman, even started to approach her, but as Lilith finished her strip and gathered her clothes up onto the counter Rade halted them with a discreetly raised palm. No, fellas. Not now. This little chick's got a crowd to entertain. "Good luck sweetheart," he called with a laugh as the Siren sauntered off - that ass! That ass in those black lace panties. You'd have to be begging for dick to willingly go around such a place like that. When she passed the entranceway Rade turned to look to the other men, still that smirk. "I don't know about you fellas, but I'm gonna watch the show." Nods. Laughter. Grins. "Anyone think she'll make it? Bets now." "No way!" "Haha, four of five, maybe, but not clear it. Not with those rusted out shits." "Make what, the round? Make me a sandwich is more goddamn like it." "Amen to that." The several layered thick sheet metal door slammed shut once Lilith was standing in the center of the dirt ring, sending up a small bit of dust on either side. "Sounds like we should all grab some seats." "I've never seen a bitch get eaten alive. Do you think it'll be hot when she screams?" "Nah. That comes later, when I'm poundin' her." "Her remains you mean." "Tch, fine with me!" "How about one of you goes ahead and makes her clothes disappear? This world, fucking bandits everywhere... It'd be a shame if she had to strut around like that permanently." "I'm a fucking bandit!" "Well then that works out perfectly, doesn't it?" They all laughed. Over in the arena there were roughly two to three dozen spectators; hardly enough for a blood sport, but a decent turn out for such a dingy shithole as this. Many were hooting, howling, and making otherwise lewd gestures and suggestions to the half-naked woman standing in the center of the dirt arena. The rest were chanting; 'Die!,' all of them. Laughter abounds. After a few long moments of wait, time enough to let the victim's courage falter, several gates opened up and a half dozen skags of various sizes came charging out. Hundreds of sharp teeth. Drooling maws. Claws that could rip through sheets of steel. The gauntlet had begun.

They cheered. That was an understatement. Most fights that happened around these parts saw the brave - or often, desperate - fool of a competitor finish his first clip only to be torn apart while trying to load in his second, even to his dying breath. Most fights, on that note, did not last very long, so one like this, one with lightning and flames and other flashy moves, were indeed a rare treat. Add to that that Lilith was a woman. Add to that that Lilith was ahotwoman. Add to that that she not only was doing it in her underwear, but that her bra had been cut some during the fight and her round fucking globes were hanging free... You had something each would be telling their buddies about for months to come. You had a crowd that was cheering and whistling as loud as they knew how. "Well screw me sideways," Rade said with a sigh, a sigh mixed with a slight twitch in his face. "That twat. What the hell! I haven't paid anyone in weeks! She broke my streak!" "That's only four grand though," came one of his friends,three of them sitting together in the stands. "All the bets people made... nowthoseare gonna hurt ya!" "haha And don't forget the special whatever it was you promised her for gunnin' in there lookin' like a skank!" "I ain't promised nothin'!" "Eh?" "I told her I might, that I'd think about it." "haha That's cold man." "You think she'll be pissed?" "Might not even remember." "You two start cleaning up those skags," Rade said as he stood, hands on his knees as he ascended. "I'm gonna go see to business." "The hell do we look like?" "Like two freeloaders who I didn't charge for their seats." Casting them a glance, "Now get to work," Rade stepped forward, down the stadium-style benches. Bent in certain parts, rusted in others, they served their purpose well enough. "Now what in the hell," he muttered to himself as he descended, walking along the platform past the crowd, "am I gonna do with her... That wasn't no fight. This chick's the real deal. I ain't payin' her to go in there again and slaughter the beasts up." Looking around as he walked, as he descended the shaky metal stairs to the dirt, Rade raised an arm to run a palm over his bald head. "Hm... Well, there isthat... heh... Shedidget undressed pretty easy... Probably wouldn't be very hard to convince her..." Bestiality. Was she the type of gal? All were if the money was right. He hadn't had a woman willing to do this in awhile. Two years, it felt like - and Pandora's years were long Rade disappeared to a back area for a few minutes while the crowd continued to cheer, heard well enough here as it could be anywhere. Two huge, steroid-pumped bruisers sat on folding chairs behind the bleachers, a deck of cards and a rickety table between them, shotguns at their sides. Rade passed them to reach the safe a few feet beyond, a rusted iron box on top of a crate on top of the dirt. He pulled the handle open, not bothering to twist the knob at the front as the lock hadn't worked in some Thus, the pair of shotgun-wielding bruisers. One thousand, two thousand he counted... three thousand... four. He set that on top of the safe. One, two he counted again, three and four. Five and six. Combining the two handfuls, he exited out and walked back to the arena with ten thousand cash in hand. The bets for and against the Siren would be dealt with later. Right now he wanted to get down to business, to take advantage of the crowd's excitement while the iron was hot. "Here you go," he said as he tossed the four grand at Lilith's feet, having approached her out in the middle of the arena. The damn diva was still soaking it in? He snickered as the money exploded in every which way, having nothing to tie it together so the paper fluttered about at her feet. Maybe she'd put on a show while picking it up. "Pretty nice job out there." Rade's eyes scanned her as they stood there, out in the arena. What a piece of ass. And the sliced up bra didn't hurt none. The blood trickling down her back and side weren't an especial fetish of his, but they weren't a turn-off either. "There's your four thousand in cash, like we agreed. And I was thinkin', you know it ain't often we get someone like you out here. Interested in putting on a show of a different sort, any chance?" He held up the pile of six thousand, held it up but still close to him, letting Lilith see but not touch. "You get on your hands and knees, get rid of the rest of what you're wearin', and we let a few skags pump 'n pound you 'til there's none left that want a go. These guys pay me to watch. I pay you to perform. And you suddenly got ten instead of four."

Bishamon Island, the personal, *private* retreat of Heihachi Mishima, was the closest thing to an earthly paradise- A beautiful gem of an island, with the golden sweep of a natural beach and the emerald waves of the forest...A eclipsed by his personal mansion looming tall and stately above it all, like a victorious fist thrust towards the heavens... -It was, to put it simply, *impressive*. On this day of days, the low drone of helicopters sliced through the serene tranquility of the island- The anoymous wasps darting through the clear, cloudless skies, each with a *very* specific destination...And a *very* specific cargo... *** Two left jabs short and fast, and then high right round snap-kick. Swing the body low to avoid the first two and slam forearms into the thigh of the kicking legs. Counter with a right back fist and an uppercut with the left. Take the impact on the left forearm, tighten up the body and spin with the force of the punch. Drop down and keep spinning, sweep the right leg out to the calves of the opponent... -Or not. With a flare of blue, along with a brief, flailing moment of confusion, Asuka Kazuma yelped as she toppled, squarely on her nicely rounded behind with a lowthud. "O-w-w-w..." she muttered, straightening- One gloved hand rubbing at the bruised portion of her anatomy, a longsighrasping in her throat... It wasn't any use. She still couldn'tconcentrate.She'd been thoroughly surprised to receive the invitation, two full months ago- Long enough to murmur "Queenof the Iron Fist?" before Xiaoyu was on the phone, wondering whether this was some kind of joke. It'd taken a while, but they'd agreed that the leader of the Mishima Zaibatsu, founder of the Tekken Force, *and* one of- if not *the*- greatest warrior in the world, probably didn't have much of a sense of humor. The fact that he was supposed to bedeaddidn't seem to have slowed him down at *all*. Asuka rose to her feet in a single smooth motion, the fluffy whiteness of her towel hooked around one slim, toned arm- She ran her fingers through her lustrous brown hair, momentarily lost in thought...Her eyes going again, for the umpteenth time, to theboxshe'd placed on the cool sheets of the bed, the slightestglimpseof gems and crimson winking oh-so-innocently in the lights... Shestillwasn't *quite* sure that this- *All* this- wasn't some elaborate prank. Those full lips quirked in a smile, a mischievous glint in her eyes, as Asuka held the oh-so-scandalouscrimson teddy in one hand, tossing it lightly...Her face coloring, ever-so-slightly, at the *thought* of wearing it- Before a low, long chuckle parted her lips! "Well now," Asuka murmured, almost to herself- Stealing a quick glance at the slow pendulum of the clock. It'd been some kind of mistake- Probably meant for one of the *other* contestants- but that didn't mean she couldn't...play along, for now, at least... It wasjustttttthe slightest bit embarrassing, but she'd nursed an absolutecrushon her grandad when she was just a little girl...He'd been so *handsome* then, though it'd absolutely infuriated her dad- But then again, *most* things infuriated him. Why should this beanydifferent? Besides, if this was *really* Heihachi, it'd be chance for him to see how she'd...grown... -And Asuka flushed again, ever-so-slightly, banishing that decidedlyoddthought with a brisk shake of her head! With a flick of her wrist, she whisked the garment after her- The bleating of water on the shower's tiles, and the rush of hot steam punctuating her decision...

The Queen of Iron Fist? It was amusing, in a sense. When it came to being the world's strongest you either were or you weren't. Period. Women were invited to participate in Heihachi's 'King' tournaments just as men were, and cross-gender matches were not uncommon. You were, or you weren't. Gender mattered not, at least not in Heihachi's eyes. To denote women into that second tier role would be a blow against the prestige of the title. He wasn't looking for the world's strongest woman with his tournaments, much as he wasn't the world's strongest man. He was simply looking for the world's strongest, whether it be male or female, whether it be a machine such as the Jack series or a trained, yet still wildly vicious bear. But despite this envelopes had been delivered two months ago to eight women around the world, cherry picked from the most recent 'King' tournament to compete in the first ever 'Queen'. Emilie de Rochefort from France, young, prim and proper, with an elegant style to match. Zafina from Egypt, a light-skinned sort of shamaness. Christie Monteiro from Brazil, a brilliantly skilled capoiera fighter. The Williams sisters, Anna and Nina, bombshells with only the other rivaling their assassin abilities. Julia Chang, a naturalist from America with Native American ties. Ling Xiayou from China, beautiful and swift, honed beyond her years. And finally Asuka Kazama, his own granddaughter, rounding out the most elite women the world had to offer. But to what end? ...They would find out soon enough. They would find out in time. The offer to whomever could claim victory in his 'King' tournaments was always grand, perhaps near mad, and assumption alone would be that the 'Queen' title would grant something equally prestigious. The invites had been delivered two months ago now, and it was finally time to see who would show. The Queen of Iron Fist November 11th Bring only what you need to fight. All else will be provided. - Heihachi Mishima It was to be held on the same tropical island that all other tournaments were, secluded and full under his control, isolated from the world by fields of sea. There was no government out here, no country that had power to step in. Heihachi here was law, until a day when one could unseat him by force. It was finally time. It was finally the day, and Heihachi chose to spend it in deep meditation, dressed in a ceremonial robe in his dojo at the very center of the island. All afternoon helicopters had been arriving with the participants, one at a time lest any decide to start hings early. To further this precaution private quarters had been built for the women along a beach with a full mile distance between each guest house. They were designed identically, and in the style Heihachi himself preferred, traditional Japanese-style homes, straw mats and sliding walls, with numerous closets full of personally chosen clothing based on what he knew of each of the women. Each guest house was extravagant in design with no expense spared, rivaling hotels that might cost thousands for a single night's stay, though they intentionally paled in comparison to the grandeur of Heihachi's dojo. Each home had a simple, hand-written note set on the table in the dining quarters, instructing its reader to pick from the vast, varied swimwear provided in their wardrobe and to report to the beach by dawn, to a circle of torches. One girl however had a second note left for her, a note set on a package, the box long and flat. His granddaughter, Asuka Kazama. Inside was a beautiful red lace teddy, the fabric a soft silk and completely sheer, tight around the chest and abdomen and billowing outward to a short skirt that only came a third of the way down one's thighs. The top stretched up around the neck with a small heart clasp in the back, shimmering with diamonds, a matching clasp placed between the top curves of the woman's backside. The note with the package stated she was to wear this, and only this, a potentially embarassing request as nothing for her lower half had been included, and she was to await her grandfather's arrival on the beach behind her new home.

The raw, untamed jungle bordering the island was a sweltering thicket of green, the lush foliage creating an almost tropical heat, the smothering air prickling sweat across Heihachi's scalp- The aromatic resins of the evergreen scrub casting a shimmering haze in the air, one that lingered at the very edge of the treeline... In sharp contrast, though, the golden arc of the beach was a breath of fresh, crisp air, tinged with the bite of salt and spray...Far, far beyond, the ruddy orb of the setting sun glowed redly against the sky, slow fingers of cloud twisting to follow its stately descent. It'd been a *hot* day, and the golden sands were warm underfoot, smoldering with stored heat. -Now or never. In an ironic echo, Asuka had spent the intervening time in...contemplation, though that might've been the wrong word to use for the strange,formlessthoughts that'd raced through her mind, bringing a slow, spreading *heat* to her lovely face, a flutter to her stomach...As if sheknewsomething, or anticipatedsomethingthat she wasn't *quite* ready to acknowledge, *just* yet... The lacy softness of the crimson teddy touched her in odd places, as sleek as a second skin, molding oh-so-perfectly to the lissome curves of Asuka's form, the hem whispering against her bare thighs as she took the first steps out from her luxurious quarters, her arms clasped demurely behind her back...An odd spark of excitement dancing in her eyes, as sand crunched underfoot, toward the figure silhoutted against the evening sun... The distance suddenly seemedvery, very far...Those soft brown eyes widening, ever-so-slightly, a light gasp to her throat as she laid eyes on Heihachi for the first time inyears. Not for the *first* time, Asuka felt decidedly...*underdressed*, all-too-conscious of the silky lightness of the fabric against her flawless skin. In this she could perhaps be excused- It's hard *not* to feel just the slightest bit uncertain, even *vulnerable*, when meeting one of the most dangerous men in the world... Heihachi Mishima, in contrast, looked like he might know of uncertainty and vulnerability by reputation, but had never met either face-to-face. One hundred eighty-eight centimeters of muscle and stone. Absolutely still. Absolutely relaxed. From his attitude, thegihe wore might have been body armor. For a long,longmoment Asuka paused, basking in the odd serenity, a breeze ruffling her glossy brown hair- Then, her voice clear, strident, just the hint of a smile on her face, she said: "Hello...Grandfather. It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

They had all arrived. No attendant came to Heihachi with this news; he simply knew. He had counted the whirling buzz of each helicopter as they arrived at the island throughout the day but even before that he knew. Only a fool would pass up such an offer as these women had been given, though they still had yet to be told what that offer even was. Only a fool would turn down the renowned Heihachi Mishima to begin with, even, or perhaps especially if they knew. "It is time," he said, opening his eyes. Day had given way to evening, evening way to the beginnings of night when the warrior rose from his meditative crouch. Dressed in his usual attire, half ceremonial and half combative, for one should never dress in a way that restricted their movement ability, Heihachi wore loose, flowing, rich blue pants with a gold and black dragon stretching from one leg to the other. A similar gold and black belt, though this design a tiger stripe, held two swords at his waist, the first a katana for if a blade were ever to be needed and the second a shorter blade, its one and only duty to be used for when its bearer failed to a point where he could no longer honorably live, and needed to take his own life. Thankfully Heihachi didn't fail, his power, his money, his island an existing testament of that. Finally he wore thick wooden sandals on his feet and black armbands covering the length of his forearms. Aside from that the man wore nothing, his entire torso bare, bare and muscled, a wicked scar ever present at the center of his chest. Heihachi dressed like this for all of his tournaments, right up until it was time for him to compete, at which point he changed into a black marital arts gi. But for now it would be this. When he felt it time, only the slightest bit of sunlight still on the horizon, the aging warrior stood from his meditative sit in the middle of the mahogany floor of his dojo at the island's center. One of the room's walls was completely removed, only columns existing every sixteen feet for support, allowing for a wide, picturesque view of part of the beach, and the thick forest from there to here. Heihachi smiled as he looked onward, recalling in a flash which was to be Asuka's. Third from the left. And so forth he went. Traversing the depth of the jungle was a feat neither challenging nor time consuming for the man well into his seventies. Tigers and snakes, bears and packs of wolves, the beasts bowed to him whether ahead of time or by force. They had been included as an extra challenge to the women, as if they were so weak as to succumb to a stalking leopard or a hungry bear then they were not worthy of the gift they had been brought here to receive. Heihachi, for his part, knew every part of the woods like a man knew the crevices of his home, knew which route would be the fastest and which direction would take him to his granddaughter, a girl with no lack of beauty whom he held every bit of confidence would be waiting for him. His pace had been nothing short of a solid dash from the moment of setting foot beyond his dojo, and as he emerged from the treeline to step out onto the beach his chest was rising and falling with only a slight harshness to his breaths. Ha. Seventies indeed! How long had it been since he'd seen her? Too long. Too long in person, anyway. He was well aware of Asuka's beauty, that very much the reason she had been left a personal gift. That very much the reason he visited her at her guest house tonight instead of any of the other stunningly attractive women. Spies were everywhere. Cameras were even more places. He was well aware of many things about each participant invited, his granddaughter's voluptuous, womanly form amongst an elite few thoughts often at the forefront of his mind. And now came the time to again wait. All that he had done so far, there would be a little more still, as he saw Asuka had not yet taken to the beach as her note instructed. Did she decide against such a forward, blunt request? Did she even show up? ...Of course she would have. And of course she would come. When Heihachi reached her home he walked right past it, past it and to the beach where he would wait standing at the very tip of the tide. Arms crossed along his chest, muscled back facing the back of the extravagant home, the eccentric billionaire gazed out at the coming moonlight upon the waves as he waited. Patience was one of many things he could afford; not even time would bring about his death, as many often hoped.

A soft, taut *gasp* sawed in Asuka's throat, her brown eyes going *very* wide as he touched her, his strong hand *very* warm on her hip! "Oh-" she began, at that intimate contact, almost *unbearably* hot...Her lips moved, but she couldn't seem tothink, to phrase the shock she felt! "W-what are you~" She murmured, her voice low, disbelieving- wondering distantly if this was some kind of *joke*, some dream... -She remembered joking about it, with Xiaoyu; "Ah, maybe he's looking for a bride~" the Chinese girl had said, in that innocently cheery tone of hers...Asuka had chuckled, just a little; "-Him? He's too old, after all~ And then why's he's inviting *me*?" They laughed about that, together, and she'd thought it made a perfect retort- But *now*... "Wait...Nnnnnn~!" Asuka gasped, that lissome form shivering at his touch, an electric thrill jolting up her spine as those strong, *masterful* fingers cupped the perfect peach of one full breast, kneading the soft, supple flesh...She could feel herself *respond*, on a deep, primal level, the lovely fighter's lips parting; There was a low murmur of protest, of course, but there wasn't any strength in her voice...And her gaze never left his, as she realized, belatedly- -He's *serious*! Her own grandfather- A man more than *three* time her age- *wanted* her, as a woman...And to her own surprise, that thought wasn't repulsive or frightening, but...*thrilling*. The realization was like a shot of brandy- warming, spreading a heated glow through her limbs, muscles and skin tingling! Her gaze seemed deeper than ever, as his hand delved between those smooth, sleek legs...grazing against the neatly-trimmed thatch of her nether curls...to encounter *warmth*...And then a wet, creamy heat. "Mmmmmm~" that low, sensuous sound left Asuka's lips as her knees buckled, just a little, acutely aware of how sensitive her body felt, how her blood seemed to sing in her veins, calling to it's own! The ocean breeze made her shudder, as the silky fabric of her garment rasped against her hot skin... -Somewhere, reason wailed a plaintive cry...That this was *impossible*, that this couldn't be *happening*, that he was her own *grandfather*, and she should run- Just *run*, or fight, or wake up...But slowly, with a sensuality she'd never known, her slim but strong fingers slipped the straps of the lacy red teddy down her shoulders...The fabric sighing as it slithered down her sleek curves, then long, toned legs- Pooling in a silken puddle at her feet! For a moment, the only sound was Asuka Kazama's breathing, sweet and low, rising into *pants*- A slow, how color spreading in her lovely face, as she stood before him, her arms demurely folded across her chest...Then drawing apart, the fading light limning her silhoutte, glistening off her skin! The sand felt *very* warm underfoot, as she stood there, for a heartbeat... Then- "*Yes*~" she whispered, the words low, lilting...And smoldering with desire. With that same, dreamlike haze in her brown eyes, she prowled towards him with a tempting sway of her hips, her tongue darting over her dry lips- "-I *do* want you..." A shimmer of heat seemed to lift off her skin, glistening in a thin sheen of sweat- Her hands rose, to caress that lined face, seemingly mesmerized by their sheer proximity...Intoxicated by what they were about to *do*! "I've waited...so *long* for you to make me..." And her voice trembled, savoring the heady words, her mind churning- "*-yours*. It was as if *that* had sapped all lingering restraint...Her eyes squeezing shut, Asuka's tipped her head back, her face rising to meet his, *pressing* that supple young body up against his, with a deep, shuddering *gasp* as their bodies met!

And there she was. He knew it from the moment she exited her new beach home, though Heihachi had kept his back to it, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes to the crashing waves. You didn't live this long, not with this many enemies, without having to train your ears to pick up every slight detail about every minor thing. Not only was she approaching him on the beach, but the light sound of her feet when she left her house before stepping to the sand signified that she had indeed dressed as requested, or at least similarly light. Good. This caused the older man to smile. Letting a length of time pass before he acknowledged his granddaughter, he replied with a strong, "Good!" followed by, "you came." Turning, Heihachi's body often resembled that of the animal he often wore on his attire. A tiger in every sense, he was beyond strong, beyond intimidating, yet not clumsily so, retaining a grace about his movements that seemed to ignore his age, as if he could strike with the utmost ferocity at any given moment. The steps that separated them in the sand were few, and from the moment he turned to the moment he was face to face with the young woman, literally inches in front of her, Heihachi's gaze had been only for her eyes. For now. "It has been very long indeed, Granddaughter." A smile. "You do great honor to your lineage by proving strong enough for such a tournament as this. I have hand-selected the top eight women in the world, and you would not be among them for blood alone. Though," and at this he had a brief paused, a sneer overtaking the disappeared smile, "Kazama...tch.Do you really think you get your strength from there?" Asuka Mishima would be far more appropriate, he mused. "I had hoped you would rid yourself of such a name long ago." A few more seconds of pause. Breathing in. Breathing out. Heihachi stared his granddaughter in the eyes, his harsh expression gradually fading to find a slight smile once more. The wind beating on the beach was the only sound for a few moments, then. "Though you have proven wise enough to accept my gift," the seventy year old said, reaching a strong palm up to caress up Asuka's side. It started first at her thigh, moving up to her hip, dragging the red silky teddy up with it to expose her lower half entirely to the night. Heihachi didn't look however, his eyes set firm on hers. As his hand moved upward the fabric fell back into place, the single hand moving up Asuka's ribs, and to soon cup her left bosom firmly in his right hand. Palming the firm, supple skin through the sheer fabric, this was a part of a woman, he thought with a smile, which would stay that - womanly, tender and soft, no matter how strong the rest of her body might be. "You did not have these when I saw you last, Little Asuka..." "Orthis," he continued, his smile turning to a firm grin as his hand left her breast to travel downward, down the front of her lingerie. Down across her firm, flat abs. Down to her crotch. Slipping beneath the fluttering fabric, his fingers cupping his granddaughter's bare vaginal lips in his palm. "It wasn't like this, was it? You feel so...readynow." He was going to have sex with her. Consensual or rape, he truly didn't care. Pulling his palm back from her warm, moist folds, Heihachi stood there with a look of arrogance on his face, the epitome of confidence. He was a man wel accustomed to having anything he wanted. Right now he wanted his own flesh and blood. "Offer yourself to me, Asuka." A pause. "Remove the last of what you wear and make it clear I may take you as I wish from now on." Clear to herself; he needed no such permission. "...Do not be shy about it."

"I have waited since your youth, little Asuka, for you to be ready for me in both body and mind." Those heady words made Asuka *gasp*, just once, a taut sound in her throat, as those corded arms encircled her lissome form in a forceful embrace~ A heartbeat before Heihachi's mouth...Her *grandfather's* mouth...closed her on hers! Her tanned, toned skin prickled, at the brush of his whiskers, full lips parting obediently as his tongue slipped into her mouth, sliding over her own; Their tongues duelled, as she leaned *into* that long, *hot* kiss, returning it with equal fervor! The stiff, rosy peaks of Asuka's nipples *ground* against his chest, as proud swell of her bosom pressed up against him~ It felt like fine sandpaper against the sensitive nubs, the rough *friction* stimulating them as she writhed, giving herself over to the kiss; She could hear, distantly, the hungryslurp, feel the thin trickle of drool, in faux-hunger, down her chin~ Those long, coltish legs rose to wrap around his waist, doing her level best to press every *inch* of her supple form up against his powerful one! Asuka's pulse thundered in her ears, as the sheertabooof what she was doing- Fascinated, rather than appalled, by the sheer *physicality* of the man...And Heihachi wasverymuch of a man. Her eyes squeezed shut, droplets of sweat glistening like dew in her brown hair, Asuka *felt* rather than heard his pleased grunt, the sound seeming to reveberate through her in a taut shudder- And she couldn't help but *moan*, at the feel of his cockhead, brushing against her damp petals...Theraspof fabric against her hot skin almost *unbearable*... Then she slipped to the golden sands, as his mouth moved to the sleek curve of her neck, making her head loll back in bliss~ "Mmmmmm!" Asuka gasped, her eyes going *very* wide...Electricity crackled through her nerves, at every touch, every caress across her lissome form, wonderfully, achingly *sensitive*! Flat on her back, now, a sensual shiver rippled through her form at the prickle of cool air~ Pinning her with the illusion of complete, submissive helplessness, though her gaze, locking with his, was hot enough to melt a glacier. A powerful shift of Heihachi's frame, an adjustment of the angle just so even as she was raised up to the perfect height; the bulbous, blunt head of his cock dragging against the weeping flesh of her open and ready sex between her thighs. Flesh caught against flesh, the soft kiss of her opening holding his erection right there, perfectly aimed. A moment, as he *held* her poised, without so much as a hint of tremble in those powerful muscles, letting it stretch out even as her muscles trembled and writhed in anticipatory ecstasy- -And with a smooth, sure thrust as he pressed *in*, spreading her open on his cock! Her legs locked up and over his waist, the soft, hot junction between her thighs open and defenseless, Asuka's surrendering flesh traced the bumps and contours of her grandfather's phallus as it slid itself into her, inch after agonizing inch, penetrating this wonderful, tight cunt! "Ah! Ah!AAAAHHHHH!!!" a hot cry burst from her lips as her back arched, eyes going wide, her hips slapping against his- Hands going to her mouth, breath coming in white clouds as she tried to stifle her screams, quaking visibly at the fullness within her, body going taut at the strain! There was a flicker of pain- and a hot, coppery trickle down the inside of her clenched thighs- and Asuka *flushed*, a low "Oh~!" teased from her core at the knowledge that he'd *claimed* her...The respite was only brief, as Heihachi stabbed forward again, sheathing more of his cock inside the lovely fighter, his rutting movements pinning her against the sands as his body loomed powerfully over her. This was only the start!

Did she understand what this meant, what it meant to be 'his'? It was sex. It was lusty, incestuous, constant sex. It was more than that, though. None of the women yet knew the reason behind this tournament, the reason they were all here. They were here to compete, yes, but for what end? Asuka would be his no matter which of the eight won. A young woman still, she would remain on this island regardless of whether she won or lost. She would be a sexual object, always on her grandfather's arm, always on her grandfather's dick. Bearing his children - child after child, for years to come. He hadn't been very clear, he knew. When the tournament was over he would explain to her in more detail, explain to her why she could not leave. For now he simply watched her with no shame in his eagerness, enjoying her curves with his eyes, craving her femininity with his loins. Heihachi stood firm as he watched his granddaughter mull over the decision so very briefly before giving in, animal lust in her eyes, a red lace teddy at her feet. Grinning, he allowed her to press herself up against his form before moving to react. The patriarch's strong, powerful arms wrapped around her muscled, yet still gorgeous form, hugging her erect nipples away from the cold and against his chest, urging her needy crotch to his hard, ready own. He looked down to his granddaughter's eyes, her lids closed, and the lips she held pursed - but didn't kiss her just yet. Grinning, "You have waited long, have you?... ... ..." Kissing her, he finally leaned in close, exhaling hot, hungry breath against her supple lips, his arms tightening hard around her back as he let his lips linger. The next few moments seemed to meld together for him, each kiss firm, each coming intense, a thick white mustache brushing back and forth against her cheeks. "I have waited since your youth, little Asuka, for you to be ready for me in both body and mind." Heihachi's strong, firm hands were not the least bit shy in grabbing her body, muscled arms squeezing tight around her sides, palms sliding in separate directions, one up the right of her back and between her shoulders, the other down between her cheeks to then cup Asuka's left, spreading them slightly as he squeezed. Like this he held her firm, held her strong body against his even stronger, encouraging her form to meld against him as he kissed his own flesh, as he kissed his own blood, as he thought nothing wrong of it in the least. A strong, pleasured grunt came from between Heihachi's lips, against hers, the sound escaping as he tilted his head to kiss Asuka again. They had crossed a point of no return already. He was too aroused, too needy of her, something Asuka had surely felt by now. Should her courage falter, she had already given her grandfather to take her as he pleased. Gripping her firmly to his chest with those large, powerful arms, Heihachi leaned back a moment, lifting her feet off the sand with it. Still kissing, moving his tongue between her younger lips, Heihachi's hands moved about her back as he held her slightly aloft, letting her lean against him. One hand moved from Asuka's shoulders to the very center of her back, holding her close as the other moved down the back of her bare buttocks to the just as bared leg, down her thigh, his strong touch guiding that leg to wrap around his side. Leaning forward, Heihachi dropped to his knees in the sand before laying the woman out on her back - for no matter their relation she was still very much a woman, and if she wasn't yet then she was about to be. His other hand moved to grab Asuka's other thigh, guiding that too around his waist. Heihachi's hungry lips abandoned hers to search instead around her neck, along her throat, his breath heady, his eyes greedy, pinning her buxom body down against the beach. With her body guided around his he was perfectly poised now to take her fully, an opportunity he seized with some degree of eagerness. No foreplay. No fooling around. Heihachi grabbed at the front of his ceremonial pants, a rich blue with a gold and black dragon, pulling the gorgeous fabric over the hump of his crotch to reveal the very proud erection she'd have no doubt felt pressing up against her this entire time. "You've waited so long, you say," he whispered, hot breath dancing along her skin. The waves on the shore nearby provided an interesting backdrop of scent and sound that Heihachi was far too caught up in the moment to appreciate. Instead he traced his lips across her neck, intoxicated by the mixture of respectable strength and gorgeous femininity. "Tell me more..." His hips thrust forward. Hard. Deep. This wasn't about gentleness, about a tender first time. She was being claimed. Her body was being made his.

This had perhaps been one of the best ideas in his entire life! Putting an advert in the Ministry of Magic weekly newsletter, advertising for a cleaner. Well if he had been anymore brilliant, he would have had to have killed himself. The amount of young school girls that would want to work for the summer had to be huge amounts, and of course they wouldn't be stinking muggles! Having dressed this morning in a dashing suit, made from the finest of materials, Lucius paced the mahogany floors of his incredibly lavish manor. The dragon hide boots clanking against the surface, making an echoing noise around the vast hallways. Pushing a strand of platinum blonde hair behind his ear, he rose a brow as he heard the noise from the door. Quickly a small house elf shuffled towards the door, and pulled it open. "Master is...Oh." The house elf stopped in it's tracks, and begun to chuckle a little "Master is not going to like this...' The creature whispered under it's breath, ushering Harry into the hallway. "Allow me to take your cloak?" The creature spoke once more, offering it's spindly hand. The being chuckled under it's breath, pointing to the drawing room door where Lucius had now taken his seat in the large leather wingback chair.

Harry Potter sighed and adjusted his glasses as he walked up the long path towards the rather ominous looking manor. Whilst he would rather be spending time with his friends, this was certainly better than what he was being offered. It was summer and the only way he had been able to get away from the Dursleys was to agree to undertake a summer job through the ministry of magic. Unfortunately, the only thing that had been left available by the time he got around to applying had been a stupid cleaning job. Well....at least it wasn't cleaning for the Dursleys, and at least he would get some pay and appreciation for this, Harry didn't know who he was actually working for, just that they lived here. When standing at the doors of the manor, there was no nameplate, nothing that might indicate who lived within. With a sigh and a shrug, Harry reached out to pull a cord that looked like it might ring some kind of bell, then took a step back to wait, trying to look relatively happy to be there, even if he wasn't too fond of the idea of being a cleaner for the next month.

Taking the cloak gratefully from Harry, the little elf scurried off down the hallway and disappeared just as soon as he had appeared in the first place. Snapping his fingers gently, a pop sounded and a different little house elf appeared at Lucius' feet. "Whiskey" Was all he said, observing as the elf rushed off to oblige her master. Within seconds a crystal cut glass was placed into the pale hands of the Malfoy elder, filled with an amber liquid. Nodding his head a little upon receipt, Lucius took a small sip of the fluid. As he did so the elf disappeared. After he took another sip, his ear's perked up at the sound of a male voice. Immediately his brows furrowed, and an angry expression filled his face. Cheeks as pale as snow, suddenly turned fiery red with clear anger. There was noway he had put that a male should apply, definitely not! Placing the glass on the side table, Lucius pushed him forward a little in order to stand regally. Adjusting his suit jacket, he moved across the room to open the door. Once he had opened it, Lucius eyes widened as he noticed the Potter creature stood before him. A wicked smirk adorned his lips, as he looked the dark haired boy up and down. "Well, well, well, if it isn't Mr Potter" His voice was as smooth as silk when he spoke, giving him a somewhat aristocratic presence. Although this boy was clearly the wrong sex for the job, it wasn't beyond Lucius to make the very best out of a bad situation. Having the little wizard about the place would surely make for some light entertainment, especially if he could managed to get the male into the outfit he had chosen for his 'wanted' slender female. "Do come in, and take a seat over there. Drink?" He asked, moving into the room and taking a seat once more in his chair.

Harry glanced down at the House elf as it spoke, seeming almost surprised, then amused to see him. Still, he never had quite understood House elves....they always acted in the most peculiar ways. "Hm....thank you..." Harry removed his cloak, handing it over to the expectant House Elf, then moved to follow it's directions to the rawing room. "Wonder why they need someone to clean up if they have House Elves running all over the place...." Ah well, who was he to argue? He was going to get out of the Dursley's place for the summer and get some extra spending money for it. "Hello?" He knocked on the door, then started to step into the drawing room, seeing only the back of the chair, not knowing yet who's house he was in. "I'm from the Ministry....they sent me for the part time cleaning job?"

Harry was....surprised to say the least when he saw the figure standing before him. Lucius Malfoy....oh god...this was the Malfoy house! That meant Draco probably wasn't far away! If Harry had been told who's house he was to be cleaning...well, needless to say he never would've agreed to this. There was no way he wanted to stay now....he'd rather be at the Dursley's than here. At least he could threaten the Dursley's a little bit. "I um...." Harry laughed nervously, raising his hands slightly and shaking his head as Lucius invited him to take a seat and have a drink. "I uh....I think there's been just a tiny little mix up here....I uh....I obviously hang the wrong house....I'll just be getting out of your hair...." He laughed once more, taking a few slow steps back, trying to look for where the House Elf had put his cloak, though he'd leave without it if necessary. This had to be someone's idea of a sick joke....and when he got back to the ministry he was going to wring the neck of the idiot who had sent him here.

The dull roar of the blitzball stadium was a welcome sound to the ears of Demitrius Biggs as he exited the giant floating orb of water and let his body adjust to standing on firm ground again. There were only a few people milling about, his teammates (done with practice for the day) and a few devoted fans who came to watch the practice. His chestnut brown nape-length hair was matted to his head and face, limp from the hours of swimming. Long, tan and toned arms glistened and rippled as he stretched them. All the repetitive motion of swimming had tired him out a fair bit. Demitrius turned and looked back up at the strange aquatic sphere and furrowed his brow. How this mass of water was able to stay afloat in the middle of the air with seemingly no magical aid, how it never got dirty with seemingly no maintenance crew, and how he was able to hold his breath for so long while submerged in it was beyond him. He was a Red Mage, one skilled in both the arts of magic and physical combat. He did fairly well in both, and as such he was gifted with an athletic body and a decent mind. Of course, he was no Spartan Warrior and he was no genius, but he at least knew more than most of the meatheads on his team. He didn't like Blitzball a terrible lot. It was fun to watch, but definitely not something he thought he would be involved in. Still, when he heard how flexible the hours and how good the pay of a spot on the Luca Goers was, he decided it was in his best financial interest. After all, that Tidus boy, the outlandish guardian of Lady Yuna, still had time to play in tournaments while out saving mankind from the world. How Tidus managed this was beyond him, but what he did know was that it was rather easy for him to do his work as both a Red Mage and an athlete. He headed back to the lockers, taking a shower and changing into some suitable casual clothes before heading out into the streets of Luca. His blue eyes, slightly shimmering from his magic power, scanned the streets as he walked. He'd heard a rumor that another from Yuna's pack--a magic user named Lulu--had branched off and was currently staying in Luca. He'd never seen a picture of her but from what he had heard, she was quite a lovely lady and she hadn't exactly looked chaste in her search for...whatever it was that she was looking for. He arrived at his destination, a tavern in the shopping district of Luca. It was called The Golden Chocobo, named after the elusive creature obtained through extensive breeding. It was an old-town folksy name for a rather modernized bar. That way, people could go and enjoy a drink and pretend they're living the old-fashioned life while enjoying all the comforts of contemporary style and technology. Consumer psychology was a tricky business. Demetrius stepped inside and glanced around. One patron immediately caught his eye. She was aloof, yet not quite snobbish. Beautiful and almost dangerous. (And if he thought she was "almost dangerous" from one glance across the room that meant she was most likely rather dangerous.) She looked far too...unattainable to be alone at a place like this. Demitrius didn't waste time in calmly striding to where she was sitting and taking a seat next to her. "Two more glasses of Cornelia Rouge, if you would," he signaled to one of the people working. "Demitrius," he said, flashing a smile. Friendly, but it showed his intent well enough.

Just another day in Spira. Far above, in the blue sky, birds- And terrible razor-winged harpies- soared through the clouds, a bewildering array of native fauna crawled, growled or spat flames...And somewhere else, far, far away, a titanic, invincible behemoth set about on its task of destroying the entire world. But *that* happened every generation, after all; So hey, no pressure. Currently, the only hope for the salvation of two worlds was...Dodging lightning bolts on the Thunder Plains? After that, he'd get round to chasing those damn blue butterflies in the depths of the Macalania Wood...And then there were those chocobos to breed- When asked exactly *when* he was going to work on the whole 'Destroying Sin, and saving the world for good' thing, the party's nominal leader answered, quote, "Eventually." unquote, and went right back to playing a particularly brutal variant of underwater football. Curiously, by-and-large, the people shrugged and went on with their daily lives. While Spira might be, as stated by a recently re-killed madman, "A sad land, trapped...In a *spiral*. Of DEATH!" the god-spawned abdomination and potential ender of the world certainly wasn't going anywhere, anytime soon... Of course, while waiting for every last sidequest to be completed, a girl could get very, very bored. *** The city of Luca is the second-largest metropolis in all of Spira. For the purposes of our story, though, it's a particularly important city; It's the trade center of the world, where merchants and people of all stripes mingle, away from the repressive theocracy that grips most of the land. Here, anything and everything is available...For a price, of course. As befits the 'free trade' zone, the rest of the city has been built entirely to cater to visitors; Blitzball matches, breathtaking underwater- and aerial- views, a variety of exotic restaurants... -And bars. There's *always* a bar. It is, without a doubt, a place a girl could get herself into a *lot* of trouble. *** In the pavilion of a salon in the depths of Luca... Inside, the place was lit by glow-globes and hanging lanterns, each private booth and dining table surrounded by fluttering drapes of white silk, magnifying the lamplight, creating a creamy, flowing texture like vellum. The twitching brazier light cast a crimson, almost hellish illumination of the pitch-black floor below, creating the eerie sensation of falling through space... At a corner table, a pale, long-fingered hand curled around the stem of a wineglass, bringing it up to raven-black lips. As she set it back on the glossy black table, Lulu stretched langurously, displaying the curvaceous tightness of her fur-trimmed gown; Beneath the endless array of criss-crossing belts, her long, lissome legs whispered as she crossed them, enticing flashes of creamy thigh flickering through teasing gaps... Bored Her wine-dark lips curling in a sultry pout, the lovely sorceress leaned back in her chair with a sigh, the charms that lined her bound hair clinking against her hairpins, in a gentle surussation; She was bored. Idly, Lulu tapped her long nails together, fingers drumming a gentle tattoo on the obsidian surface; She sighed, a low, throaty sound from her magnificent throat. This was *not* what she'd in mind. Ever since she'd taken on the duty as Lady Yuna's Guardian, it seemed that the world had become an odd place indeed; They'd left the well-defined rut of the Summoner's Pilgrimage, and were, apparently, breaking entirely new ground...Now, the impetus was to *defeat* Sin, forever, not just seal it away for another generation; And, certain disturbing...revelations...had come to pass, which'd changed things entirely... It was, she decided, enough to make a girl turn to drink. Cupping her pointed chin, Lulu gazed absently at her reflection, thinking. Their fearless leader had come to the decision that, with the final confrontation looming, it'd be best if they found the ultimate weapons...More firepower against Sin. That, on paper, was an excellent idea. In reality, though; There'd been an insane number of hoops to jump through- You didn't just need the weapon, you needed an, um, 'Celestial Mirror'. Then a 'Venus Emblem'. And, finally, the damn thing itself. She'd asked to be dropped off here, in Luca- After all, if those could be found anywhere, they'd be found here...Right? And besides, she had to admit, she *was* looking for a little fun... A spark of amusement ignited in Lulu's dark eyes, and the sorceress straightened, ever-so-slightly, her bare shoulders rising above her gown's fur trim; She'd sent out word of her interest, and had received a fairly enthusiastic...Let alone overwhelming...response. Maybe, she thought, it was the *way* she'd been asking the questions... Oh, well. She had time to burn, and a will to pursue this ridiculous sidequest. Who knew? Perhaps something would come out of it, after all...

So far, so good. Demitrius was never one to play games when it came to these sorts of situations. Hell, when it came to womanly pleasures he hardly needed to. After a game there was no shortage of girls who wanted to accompany him to the after party and then some. Still, when one encounters someone like this...by the Yevon gods, one goes out of their way. Lulu.The name clicked with him immediately, but he didn't let on. Chances are a girl didn't go off to enjoy a drink with the intent of talking about that odd party of warriors and magicians. "Charmed, Lulu," he said, his face remaining calm but friendly, like that of a close friend in a poker game. He graciously took the carafe and poured himself some wine before lifting the glass to her. "Cheers." He thought for a moment at her question. What did Demitrius come into the Golden Chocobo for, anyway? "I was done with my obligations for the day and didn't feel like going home yet. Besides, nothing good ever comes from drinking alone." He leaned back, his eyes fighting the temptation to glance down at her luscious lips and her impressive cleavage. Eye contact, eye contact. "And yourself? Something tells me you don't frequent this place."

A soft, low "Hmmmmm?" parted Lulu's lips, as his knuckles rapped on the wood; She glanced up, arching an eyebrow, her dark eyes curious...She hadn't been expecting company, after all! She caught the flash of white teeth, heard the easy, almost amused vitality in the speaker's voice, and thought- I *could* make an exception... With a flick of her wrist, the sorceress twitched the curtain aside, just the smallest curl to her pouty lips; "Lulu," she murmured, her voice smokey, a little husky from drink- But with a certain sparkle in her eyes..."Please, feel free; Some things *are* better shared." Lulu gestured, cradling the carafe of wine she'd ordered, turning it in her pale fingers, letting it catch and sparkle in the light. Easing it into a slow spin, she brushed her dark tresses back from her face, leaving the curtain open, invitingly; Ice clinked as she swirled her glass, the sound- And the cool darkness- a pleasant contrast to the heat of the day outside... A smile tugged at those full, bee-stung lips as she leaned back into the plush seat, those kohl-rimmed eyes meeting his, for a moment...Then shifting away, as if satisfied. "-And what brings you here, Demitrius~?"

Demetrius's sky-blue eyes flicked downward, catching a brief glimpse of her tantalizing pale legs behind the outlandish matrix of belts that comprised her skirt. How she assembled them into a suitable vtement was beyond him. Still, the way her legs peeked through like light through a tight lattice was quite a sight. Perhaps I'll find out how that skirt comes off... No. No. Demetrius chided himself for almost letting his mind wander. But oh, the places it could wander to... "My lips are sealed," he answered, leaning forward as she did. She was obviously enjoying his company. He had to admit, even beyond her stunning body and sensual aura, he was enjoying himself as well. Lulu seemed like the type of person one could never get bored of being around. "For now, though..." Though he'd been actively listening to her before, he felt himself suddenly caught in a new sharper focus as her eyes zeroed in on his. "Is that so? Sounds like quite an endeavor. I suppose you'll be around for a while then?" It almost hard to keep his cool composure as he could feel her eyes evaluating him. He could almost sense a hint of skepticism in her, as though she wasn't quite convinced that he was the one she'd like to be spending an evening with, and that she was merely entertaining him for the moment to amuse herself. If she could do this much with a look, he could only imagine what it was like to be one of her party on her bad side. "There is something of a charm about this place, isn't there?" he replied, banishing his previous thoughts and putting on an air of confidence once again. "Well, while you're around, I suppose I could take some time to show you around," he offered, sliding an inch or two closer to her.

Lulu's bee-stung lips curled into a smile, enjoying the back-and-forth; On the ship, with the rest of the party, with one thing after another, well...It'd been a long, *long* while before she could just unwind, and enjoy someone else's company- And this certainly qualified. He was...certainly good-looking, in a dusky, muscular way...Again reminding her, oddly, of- "And myself?" she echoed thoughtfully, a low "Hmmmmmm~" as she considered- Then those dark eyes flashed with mischief. "It all depends," Lulu murmured. "-Can you keep a secret, Demitritus?" Those slim fingers brushed a stray strand of midnight hair back from her pale face, her skirts rustling as she shifted the slightest bit closer...Then waved it away, as if it meant nothing at all. "-I am, actually, seeking...Exotic goods. Relics of old Spira. But-" and she paused, just for a moment, "...Thatisin the long-term. For now, though..." And her dark eyes locked with his, in a pleasantly uncomfortable contact, seeming to *measure* him...The amused glitter leaving him pondering whether she liked what she saw! "-I'm merely enjoying the ambience." Ice clinked. "With company, of course..."

A young man walked into the shabby bar, many obviously illegal drinks bubbled lightly behind the bar. The man looked around as if he had sensed something amiss. His eyes stopped on Fey for several moments before he turned back towards the bar, now acting as though he was completely unaware of her very existence. The man himself was difficult to describe, since he was cloaked and hooded in Jedi garb. The garb was pure white and was etched with almost to many Jedi symbols, as if some form of disguise. Many heads turned, as his garbs apparently announced the presence of a Jedi to the stupid and easily fooled. The man sat down by the bar and ordered a drink, placing a small pack which he carried down. The pack hit the floor heavily, indicating valuable or just plain heavy contents. One of the drunks eyed the pack, obviously thinking about potential contents. To this the man whispered shortly in his ear. The drunk stood up and walked out of the bar, ignoring the call of the bar tender. "Hey you, Riorian, you didn't pay for your last round." The bar tender chased after the drunk and turned him around, the drunk didn't seem to notice he had been turned around as he walked past the bar tender collapsing on the floor near the bar. The bar tender seemed confused for a moment but quickly recovered as he walked up to the drunk, extracting his wallet from his pocket and returning to behind the bar.

Mos Espa. A once-sweet desert rose nestled in the heart of the horrid dune sea, the winding snake of a city was a dying cesspit of corruption. With an economy based so heavily on drawing in spectators for the famed pod races, it was a city of come and go. There were always strangers in the streets, and their faces changed day to day, week to week, race to race. The locals were lost in the constant crush of visitors and excitement, and business boomed. Especially the lucrative businesses that were the slave trade, and in particular the night life. Cantinas were like roachesfor every one you saw, there were another two nestled around the corner in some filthy back alley somewhere, somehow. The more civilized ones were featured on the main drag of the snake-like central street, complete with dancing entertainment. The more seedy, darker places were the ones that a person couldn't find unless they were lost in the maze of alleys and walks. Rather than put herself in either category, the young red-headed woman chose to walk the hazy middle line, choosing an establishment only a block away from the main street. Just far enough away from the commonplace that the common folk wouldn't bother most of the time, and not far enough into the shadows that the shadow dwellers wouldn't come out unless called. Her name, or rather the word that she chose to be called by, was Seren. Seren Fey, some called herfey meaning a number of things, but most commonly 'fated to die'. And that was the reason that she kept to a nearly indistinguishable fringe, where she wasn't likely to be found, by someone who wanted to carry out that fate. And so she slid up to the bar, hunkered into a seat, and tipped the barkeep's attention toward her just enough to let him know he had a new client. Durindfire, she whispered Cold. And the glowing cocktail appeared before her in a moment or two. The barkeep cleared his throat, and she looked up from a sip, gesturing at him vaguely with her hand. I already paid you, good sir. Forget me. His eyes glazed very slightly, he nodded, waved her away, and she slid away from the crowd at the bar, and into a corner, out of sight, and out of mind. Or, she would have been had it not been for the glowstick of a drink she was sipping at, twirling the glass in her fingers. She smiled at the sickly blue-green glow, watching the way the light lit her delicate features into a ghastly, spectral glow, from the reflection in the glass. Her smile didn't reveal her teeth, and was faint enough that it was nearly not there, but it was just enough to make her features all the more eerie in the ghostly glow. Let the night begin.

The man silently sipped his drink as if no one else was present. Several thugs were talking about the man as silently as they could. They occasionally would point to him and the bag he carried as they rabidly discussed their increasingly obvious plans. The man remained by the bar, not even giving the bar tender his attention as he mentally probed everyone in the room. He did this rather slowly, and cautiously towards those most likely to catch him in their mind. He finally had a general synopsis of everyone in the room, and what some of them planned to do next. The only one missing from the picture was Fey, whom he had intentionally avoided contacting mentally. He took several more sips from his drink, relishing it's subtle intoxicating effect that he so enjoyed. He waited several moments, keeping his senses alert to see what fey would do. The only thing he knew about her for sure was that she was shrouded in the dark side of the force and had no training to hide this from others familiar with the force. Though she was powerful, the force was strong with her, but she neglected to properly train herself.

From her spot, Fey could see the entirety of the bar, except down beneath it which wasn't visible to anyone except perhaps those sitting at the bar itself. She could see the drunks, the sober, the deals being made and unmade, and the entrance and exit of every patron. All there was to give her own presence away was the steadily dwindling bottle of glowing liquid, and within a number of minutes, it too had been extinguished. Becoming bored, and deciding to play with a glowing drop hovering around the inside of the neck of the bottle, she didn't notice the look she received from the newest entry to the establishment. Her eyes rose to touch his back just as he turned away. His robe intrigued her--she had always known Jedi to be much more subtle creatures. They hardly liked to flaunt their presence like that, wearing pure white with jumbles of stark symbols. That brought several things to mind; he could either be an idiot, or a fake. One way or another, it hardly seemed to bode badly for her. Bored with the sudden lack of good drink in her bottle, she mentally nudged the bartender with her suggestion of more drink, and he made his way over to her with another cold durindfire, eyes slightly clouded with her mental pressure, and bent for a moment, almost as if talking to her, and she made the mimed action of slipping something into his hand, though she really did no such thing. He dropped the imaginary money into his apron, and then wended his way back to the bar, where he seemed to come back to himself. Completely unaware of what had just happened. She chuckled softly, and cracked the wax seal from the second bottle, sipping steadily as she continued to watch the goings on, in particularly the potentially stupid/fake Jedi who sat at the bar.

The supposed "Jedi" noticed Fey leave as the bar fight conveniently broke out, and it didn't take him long to deduce what had happened. He stood up grabbing his pack, easily overpowering everyone in his way as he made his way out the door after Fey. He stepped out into the windy street to notice water was flooding it. "Rather odd for Tatooine" he thought. He turned to see a moister farmer had in effect, lost control of his merchandise. Ignoring this small inconvenience he began to run after Fey. He quickly found traction to suddenly be a bit of a hazard in the freshly soaked street. Catching a glimpse of Fey running off in one direction, he acts quickly to over take her. He dashes behind a corner and focuses his energy at her mind. Using the dark side of the force to seize control of her mind.

While two small bottles of drink were certainly nowhere near the amount that she would need to ingest to even come close to being intoxicated, they were enough for her to make her more easily bored. If there was one thing that was bad for her to be, it was bored, because she had absolutely no problems with starting things that would make her...less bored. What mattered quite a bit to her was her own amusement. It was petty, sure, by all means, but it was her. Her attention had turned to one particular group of men muttering to one another, and watching the 'Jedi' at the bar. There were four of them, and it looked like they were getting ready to move. She smiled. One of them stood up, from the far side of the table, and began to move around his companions as they began to rise, and she found her opening. With a gentle thought, she called a tendril of the force to swoop around his ankle, and the man went down with a squawk of anger. One of his companions jumped up, and darted around to check on him, but only made it half way when another of his buddy's chairs slid out just enough to trip the second man up. Both second and third man and chair went down into the pile, and the fourth man simply sat at the table and howled with laughter, mocking his clumsy friends. And within seconds, a small brawl had started between the four, and it didn't take long for it to escalate to include more and more of the bar patrons by the second. Fey chuckled, tipped back the rest of her drink, deftly ducked as a chair sailed across the room and through the window behind her head, and then disappeared out the window behind the chair in a single, fluid movement. While starting barfights was fun enough...now she needed to find another bar to plague herself upon. She flipped up the hood of the short, tan-coloured cloak, covering her choppy, sandy red hair, smashed the empty bottle against the ground, and stepped off down the alley, humming an amused, jaunty tune to herself as she made her way deeper into the darker, nastier part of town. There was still much fun to be had.

Kynslive was thrown back slightly at the rather unexpected force scream. He scanned the area observing the damage done by Fey and then quickly turned back to Fey seizing control of her mind. She was weak after that single attack, and although his ears were still ringing he was able to quickly take control of her mind. He had her stand and follow swiftly behind him towards the edge of the city. A lone speeder hovered over the sand just outside the city, a dug happened to be in the process of looking through the speeder for valuables. the dug looked up, rather surprised to see the two approaching the speeder. He jumps out of the speeder in a panic as Kynslive raises his hand. The Dug begins to apparently choke, not able to breathe as it attempts and advance on Fey and Kynslive. Kynslive has Fey sit down in the passenger seat in the speeder as he chokes the dug to death and retrieve is stolen goods. As various objects float through the air replacing themselves in their original position Kynslive seats himself down and fires up the engine and speeds off into the desert. Kynslive closed the cockpit, shielding both himself and Fey in darkness, away from the blazing sun. After about three hours they come to a large ship in the middle of the desert, with rather a rather obvious purpose for battle. He slows down the speeder and opens the cockpit, stepping out he has Fey follow him into the ship, leaving the speeder open as he usually did. Despite the fact the ship was designed for battle it was fairly luxurious, with dual decks, each luxuriously furnished. Kynslive brought Fey onto the second deck into a small lounge, where he yielded control of her mind, but kept his presence in her mind.

The swell of darkness in the currents of the force behind her was enough to alert her that something was definitely not right, but she wasn't quite quick enough to throw up her mental shields to a state where she would either be invisible or able to block any sort of mental attack. Her hands jerked over the hilts of her sabers, fighting for control to take them as the other mind in hers fought her to keep them off. Her entire body stiffened, her back arching to a painful angle as she fought the mind control, lashing out with a mental bombardment of her own. But she was simply too disoriented and caught off guard for that to function properly, and though she could tell the general direction of the attack, she was more interested in trying to keep control then she was in pinpointing the idiot screwing with her. As a last ditch effort as she remained trapped in the arched posture, Fey threw back her head and let out a sharp keening shriek, much like a banshee, that reverberated in reality as well as in the force. To anyone without any sort of training or force abilities, the sound put them down almost instantly, bleeding from the ears. Not dead, but in massive pain or unconscious. Windows shattered shamelessly within a fifty foot radius, and then the sound cut off as she crumpled to the ground in a limp heap. A force scream was erratic and unpredictable, and also took a massive amount of energy. It's lack of total success had destroyed any chance she'd had of fighting the invading mind in her own, and she laid there, curled on her side, her eyes totally blank and glassy while her conscious mind flailed and screamed inside her head.

Kynslive sealed the doors to the ship and walked over to a small compartment, opening it. Inside was a galore of Sith holocron's. He opened the pack he had been carrying and carfully sorted the contents onto separate shelves with other holocrons, sorting them carefully. He then sealed the door with a very unique lock that sealed itself with a specialized holocron that required one to activate the holocron to gain access. He then turned to Fey whom he had ignored until now. "What is your name?" It was a simple question that he already knew the answer too since he had already visited her mind. The question was simply a test to see if she knew that he already had most of his questions answered. Testing how much she knew of the dark side, perhaps she was greatly knowledgeable, or perhaps she knew nothing and was simply shrouded in the dark side. He would soon find out for himself if she knew anything worth learning.

Fey was mostly aware of the trip through the city, though the surroundings blurred slightly from a combination of the speed and her distraction as she attempted to wrest control of her mind back from the strange man from the bar. While she couldn't control her motion, a rough, dark expression began to appear on her face, and her teeth gritted. Her canines elongated very slightly into a delicate pair of points, and her breath began to hiss. While he had the control, she was still roughly fighting him. The trip in the speeder flew past in a blur, and by the time they reached the ship she was mentally and physically exhausted. A few tiny flecks of perspiration dotted her face beneath her russet hair, and her eyes had taken a slightly orange-yellow hue characteristic of many Sith. Mostly, the colour was due to her fury at losing control, and when she lost her temper, sometimes parts of her physiology changed, due to her shapeshifting nature. The only changes so far were the teeth and the eyes, and both were hardly noticeable. She hadn't been expecting the sudden yield of control, and she jerked harshly when it flooded back to her. A sharp gasp came from her, and then she took a step back, tensing, and her face screwed up in an ugly snarl. "That," she growled "Was rude." But she knew better than to put her hands near her weapons, or attack him just yet. She could feel him. Her arms crossed under her breasts tightly, and she shifted uncomfortably, her eyes flickering and inspecting the room every few seconds from the corners of her eyes, before returning her gaze to his face. "What was the point tothat?!"