Glaw

Just a Fairy Tale | Glaw & carsgovroom

Dorothea hummed quietly, and she noted that she felt strangely at ease despite their immediate situation. Laughter helped very much. As did memories. "It's all right. My mother died when I was six, so I don't have many memories of her beyond the way she smiled and the smell of her hair. She was gorgeous, though -- inside and out. The kingdom adored her, and my father most of all. She was always patient -- well, most of the time. My father says she could be rebellious when she had a point to make, and that I take after her that way. She grew ill one winter, and was gone by spring. That was ... sixteen years ago. The next year there was a small conflict with Verinia -- and I guess that war with the fairies the Marshal talked about. My father married Narissa at the end of it out of a political need to secure peace with our neighbors. She's the sister of the current queen of Verinia. I don't think he ever loved her, not really, but he's asked me to be kind. He's always been kind." Her tail swished, she sighed, and she tickled Sam's cheek with her whiskers. "You would like my father, he's curious about everything and everyone. I'll warn you though, he tends to fill up all his guests with sweets and pastries and milk-tea til they pop. Sugar cures all ills, he says."

The Marshal stepped out onto the King's Road and tipped his head back, scanning the sky for dark wings -- and then he cast his eyes each way on the bleak road, then back toward Sam. He was wearing the same shadowed expression he'd had when he first knocked on her apartment door. "We should be ahead of them," he guessed. "But I don't know when they left or how fast they're moving."

Dorothea's ears flicked, and she pointed with an outstretched paw. "Verinia is this way. It's still a long way off, but I know this part of the road." She peered at the Marshal. "I thought we were going to the horse farm. We can't outrun them on foot."

"I don't know the horse farm," the Marshal said gruffly. "That forest could keep us walking in circles forever and you know it. We'll just have to walk quickly." He turned in the direction of Verinia and began walking, occasionally casting his eyes to the sky. Liam would catch up to them soon enough, and the queen would keep her peace for the moment.

St. John Ambulance [PlayItPerfect & Glaw]

His hopeful expression fell by degrees to one of solemn curiosity. Here was another thing that wasn't quite right: by now, Sorcha Cooper should be well on her way to a collection of prestigious awards, not shuffling coffee and beans-on-toast at a half-wage eatery on the edge of nowhere. Of course, there were a thousand things wrong with this universe (the man-eating monsters that dropped out of the sky, for starters) but for Sorcha Cooper to have never set foot on a big-time stage meant the time stream had gone wrong far earlier than he'd thought.

The grin reappeared on his face, and he shifted up straight. "Right then, sorry, my mistake." There was no reason to torture the poor girl -- it was obvious that she had dreams of the stage, and maybe a part of her knew she was meant for brighter lights, but persisting with thoughts of what should have been would only be cruelty at this point.

He grabbed a laminated menu and scanned it with keen interest, his stomach rumbling. "Fish 'n chips, please," he smiled amiably up at her, "and a cuppa tea." He thought he was finished, but glanced at the menu again. "Oh, and a side of bacon, and a side of mash with gravy. And a milkshake. Strawberry, with that swirly whipped cream on top, I love that. And sprinkles! Sprinkles would be fantastic."

He gave her the pleasantest of smiles, determined for all the world that she should have a better day than he was having. "And before you go, if you could tell me, Sorcha Cooper, how long ago was it these Reapers started showing up? When was the first one sighted? Where was it, who saw it? Has anyone given a guess about why? Has the city seemed to be shrinking at all?" The mild interested expression on his face was starkly juxtaposed with the intense gravity in his eyes. Should things go on the way they were, the lack of a stage would be the least of Sorcha Cooper's regrets.

Just a Fairy Tale | Glaw & carsgovroom

Dorothea listened with perked ears and bright eyes, just trying to imagine all the mystery of Sam's world, of living without a trace of magic, all the sound and energy and buildings and horseless carriages. By the end of Sam's descriptions, at her expressions of worry for her parents, Dorothea purred gently. "My father knows now that I've been kidnapped -- he sent Liam and his men to search for me. My father is the king, and he's brave and strong, but his heart never healed after my mother died. Losing me must be destroying him. I couldn't let your parents go through that kind of loss, and you belong with them. You will get home, Sam." She grinned, which looked peculiar on a cat. "And then I think I should like to take a proper tour of your world, if only for a day. It sounds fascinating."

August held the mirror long after it had gone dark, and he consciously controlled his breathing. He wasn't afraid of Narissa's fury -- he knew going into this that he had little chance of making it out alive -- but if he was killed too soon the kingdoms would be left to ruin. Now he had to even be careful of what he said to anyone, for the queen could simply be listening in with the help of her mirror. It was a miracle she hadn't heard his explanations to Sam the previous night, which could have meant the collapse of all his efforts. He took a slow breath, retained his impervious expression, and set off again.

"Hurry up, this way," he called, glancing back at Sam. The mirror was back in his pocket -- and he led them straight toward the King's Road. The raven was overhead, and there was no possible way they would ever make it to the horse farm now.

Just a Fairy Tale | Glaw & carsgovroom

Aw man, I just have to say: Narissa is so fun. XD

Just a Fairy Tale | Glaw & carsgovroom

The Marshal jumped like he'd been stung at the sound of the queen's voice. He quickly glanced back, but Sam and Dorothea seemed to be engrossed in a serious conversation. At least they hadn't noticed. Yet.

Shit. He tightened his grip on the mirror and scanned the immediate area for somewhere he could have some privacy without causing the girls to search for him. He ducked behind a tree, leaned his back against the trunk, composed his expression to one of stony ruthlessness, and withdrew the mirror from his pocket.

He looked into the queen's face without the slightest indication that anything was wrong, though he braced himself for the verbal lashing of a lifetime. "My queen," he spoke before she had a chance to open her mouth again, and he made a point to keep his voice down, "I have the princess in custody and am on my way to the King's Road. I will join Prince Liam's party within the hour. I must report a break-in by three bandits at the fortress. They had stolen the princess, but I have reclaimed her in your name and intend fully to carry out your command."

Dorothea sighed; there was little else they could do, and again she relied on Sam to calm her nerves. It seemed every conversation they had now was exactly the same. Oh, how she couldn't wait to get to the capital, to tell her story, maybe get one of their wizards to break the curse and return her to her human form. To have hands again! She relaxed (though somewhat forcefully) and tried to think of other things. "So what is it like, in your world?" She realized she had never really asked. "I only ran through it once, and that's hardly a pleasant experience. There's so much stone and concrete. And lights. How do you tell day from night?"

St. John Ambulance [PlayItPerfect & Glaw]

Well wasn't this the most ridiculous and useless obituary. No cause of death! No date of death! What's an obituary without a cause and a date of death? More like someone's missing and everyone else just stopped looking. Poor Harriet Jones, perhaps the greatest woman of the modern world, reduced to a paragraph on page ten. To be fair, though, the preceding nine pages were full of color photos and exclusive stories on the terrible monsters that were killing people every day -- and on the fact that no one in London could seem get out of London. Very interesting stuff.

The sentences blurred together as a sort of dizziness came over him. He swayed and closed his eyes while something tingly bubbled up his throat; very carefully he exhaled a lungful of regenerative energy that twinkled golden for a brief second, curled against the newspaper, then dissipated into the grease-heavy air. He kept his eyes shut against a momentary lightheadedness and listened to the strong quadruple pulse of new blood in his veins. He would never get used to this process. A shudder ran down his spine. He rather hoped he'd never have to.

But! He sniffed in a breath, opened his eyes, broke into a determined grin, straightened the newspaper with a snap. Right, then! There must be something in that strange obituary that he'd missed.

A flick of his newspaper was followed by a very good question, if the quick rumble of his stomach was anything to go by. "Oh yes! Please! I'm famished!" He smiled broadly with fish 'n chips on the tip of his tongue, and folded the newspaper down so he could get a proper look at this keen waitress of the apocalypse -- and he did a double-take. The long red hair. The brilliant and fiery eyes. The voice. The momentary shock on his face breached to a wide grin.

"Well look who it is!" he laughed. "Sor-cha Cooper!" he elongated the name in singsong, astounded and very pleased indeed. "I'm a huge fan. Your work is magnificent -- Lady Macbeth -- Christine Daaé, Phantom of the Opera. You stepped onto the stage and took the theater world by storm. Bull by the horns!" He shook his head with a grin. "But what's a brilliant lady like you doing waiting tables at the end of the universe? Researching a role?" He raised his eyebrows, folded his arms on the table and leaned forward expectantly -- but the look on her face was more than slightly troubling.

St. John Ambulance [PlayItPerfect & Glaw]

YOU MAY RETURN TO KITTENS. Have some extra kittens! I adore your post and couldn't stop grinning all through it. Sorcha is perfect. XD

Also! Is Sorcha wearing a name tag? And what's her dream job? Actress?

The EarthGiver [Nem & Glaw]

Her polished black shoes left empty prints in the dust on the floor.

"Ah, this one is a favorite of mine," her father was saying over her head. Something about anchors or compasses or weathervanes, no doubt. The old wood squealed under her foot. She paused, and she lifted it -- carefully -- while the floor groaned.

"It's a silver bell from the mast of a seventh-century Liluthian warship," her father went on in a voice that fell damp on the crowded shelves and cluttered tables and half-hinged cupboards. She picked up a little box made of moving wooden gears and springs, and she wiped it on her dress, leaving a smear of dark rotted polish and dust.

"The Liluthians believed that when a silver bell rang during a storm, it protected the ship from being devoured by demons." There was nothing in the box but crumbles of folded paper and an old brass ring. She snapped the box shut and placed it back in its clean square on the shelf.

"Oh, here's a summoning crystal, from the Tilurecs. Second century. These are very rare intact," her father's voice said. After a bit of groping between a rigid stuffed tiger (teeth bared, glass eyes bright) and a chair made of old candlesticks, she found the pull rope for the curtains. Light and dust exploded into the room.

Her father coughed and smacked at the dust with one hand. "A Tilurec shaman would stare into this until he became possessed by an animal spirit." He used his dramatic voice, hoping to inspire a flicker of interest in his perpetually apathetic little girl. He saw her dark head moving occasionally among stacks of books and collections of canopic jars. "I wonder how your uncle Oscar ever got it."

"Black Rummy and cricket fights," she replied in a voice that was flat as a stale biscuit. She tapped on a glass box, which protected a single stone figurine from the inevitable dangers of her late uncle Oscar's curiosity room. "What's this?"

Finally, a spark! Father shuffled closer, grinning, careful of the porcelain masks that lined the wall behind him. "Ah, that is an earth god."

"Of the Old Folk religion, right?"

"Precisely. The Old Folk believed that the gods sleep in these figures, and that they sometimes would wake up and walk among us, if we prayed hard enough. See how he's stepping off his pedestal?"

Agatha stared at the little stone man with bright dark eyes; she felt that there was a story in that polished statue -- of all the reverent hands that had stroked it, all the offerings that had burned at its feet, all the tears and joy and anger that had been given for its judgment. She wanted to touch it, like the Old Folk had so long ago. She pressed her palms on either side of the glass barrier and began to lift --

A box crashed and clattered off a high shelf across the room, and bones and carved ivory skittered and rolled and scattered through the dust on the floor.

Agatha dropped the glass cover back into place, her brows furrowed in anger. "Pinafore!" she snapped at a flash of blue leather wing before it disappeared into an open cupboard.

"I told you not to bring him," her father sighed behind her, while she marched up to the cupboard and threw open the doors with a squeak of old hinges. Pinafore flinched and cowered in a stack of parchment scrolls, and he hid his face in his tail so as not to be seen.

Agatha plucked him out of hiding with two fingers and shook him until his claws detached from the scrolls. "You stay out of trouble," she scolded. Pinafore creaked in dismay.

Out in the foyer, someone with a strong and husky voice was calling and knocking for Mister Thrimble. Father straightened his lapels. "The movers are here with our furniture, though I have no clue where to put it. Agatha, you'll have to help me decide this room. We could sell all this stuff or --"

"We should start a museum," she announced without looking up, scratching with a finger under Pinafore's chin.

Father smiled. "We'll talk about it later." Another call boomed up from the foyer. "Here, I'm coming!" Father shouted back, and he disappeared into the hall.

Peregrine [Closet & Glaw]

"Aw, she's no animal!" Dorian grinned and petted Anat's muzzle, though gently leading her away from the wound as he did so. "Are you, lovely?" he cooed, laughed, and raised his eyes to the man he only assumed to be the nurse. "This beautiful lady is the reason your miraculous patient has remained standing and moving and living far longer than he really ought to." He kept a hand on Anat's face, and he looked down at the sleeping patient. "That, and the weight of a thousand souls rests on this man's shoulders. A little flesh wound wasn't about to slow him down." Zahi looked so ... average ... laying there like anyone else, in a hospital sack like anyone else, scrubbed down and sewn up and tucked in like anyone else. He could just as easily be a vacuum salesman as the heroic prince of of a noble desert people. It wasn't right at all.

Dorian snapped out of his reverie and took a breath, blinking. So the nurse was still here, like a hangnail. "Yes, well!" He cleared his throat and clapped his hands. "How about his things? His clothes and the ... stuff he was carrying when he ... ah ... nearly died?" While he was in the mood for cleaning up, he might as well wash and polish whatever needed washing and polishing -- though he expected at least half of the prince's clothes to have been destroyed in the surgeons' haste to clear and staunch the wound in his stomach. Zahi won't be happy about that. He'll be less happy when he sees the fine selection of bleach-smelling tee shirts and sweat pants the hospital would offer him. Dorian wasn't quite sure whether this was sad or hilarious; he folded his arms with a bemused smile.

"And when, would you say, might I be able to take him home?" Home was only a simple word for something that would take too much explaining, to someone he wasn't at all keen on explaining anything to. "As soon as he wakes up, he's going to want to get on with his life. Immediately." This, of course, was fair warning.

Just a Fairy Tale | Glaw & carsgovroom

She was going to trust him? August gave Sam an uncertain look, waiting for the catch, waiting for her to declare the terms under which he might be allowed to keep his hands free. When no stipulation came, his expression turned solemn. Damn her. She trusted him just when he planned to betray her. His gut wrenched; he sneered and looked away.

The forest was dappled with sunlight and thick with quivering green and warbling birds. A creek gurgled nearby. Nowhere was there a sign that anything dangerous could possibly jump out of the shadows -- but the trees themselves sometimes ate passersby out of boredom. August glanced in the direction of the King's Road, where he knew Liam and his parade were clanking on their way to the capital. Straight ahead, through a small clearing and past a darker part of the forest, would be the farm the dwarves had been leading them to. Horses.

August took a slow breath, frowned in decision, and set off purposefully through the brush. "This way," he commanded gruffly, falling into old habits now that he was in the lead.

Dorothea jumped onto a low branch, and then dropped onto Sam's shoulder, shifting warily. "Sam..." she said hesitantly, quietly. "You know something about him that you're not telling me." She was very aware of the weakness of her form, and she was genuinely afraid. "Please, Sam. The queen would see you dead. He could kill you here and take me, too easily, so why?" Her voice shuddered. "I feel as if we're following him to our graves."

August reached into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the small mirror there; he glanced up at the sky now and then, looking for ravens. It would be inconvenient if the queen found him here, at a time it would be difficult to explain what, exactly, he was doing.