Galina's eyebrow remained arched with the strangest mix of amusement and curiosity as she regarded this well-spoken, well-dressed man who called himself Goeman. No, it was not the fact that his English truly was, in fact, near impeccable. Galina had already surmised as much, after all. But his frank, quick admission concerning their near-miss of a meeting this morning she actually found... Refreshing. Surprising and refreshing, and the young woman smiled.
"Apology accepted of course, Goeman," Galina smiled smoothly, her dark eyes narrowing thoughtfully though that small tilt of a grin remained exactly where it was. "One can never be too careful, doing what we do. Though I admit, your charismatic manner and pleasing way of speech must have made any number of people wish to toss all caution to the winds. I do believe, you are a truly charming, disarming man."
If Galina was aware of the irony of her words, coming as they did from a woman with a voice to seduce birds from the branches of trees, she gave absolutely no indication that this was so.
As a matter of course, she bowed her head in acknowledgement, as low as the young man had when he apologized. "And you are right of course. Questions Goeman - so many questions, I can barely decide where to begin - well, perhaps with the most obvious then? Obviously we are not Americans. But then again, I am also not Japanese and, unless I am very mistaken, you are certainly not embracing the Holy Church nor swearing allegiance to the Tsar, nor certainly to Mother Russia. Oh! Thank you... "
Galina glanced up to the waiter who placed a small plate of salad before her, fresh greens and artichoke hearts, whole cherry tomatoes and thin slices of red onion with a red wine vinaigrette, moving to Klara then, the only other lady at their table, and then to Goemon.
"As I was saying," she continued, laying her napkin neatly in her skirted lap. "Questions. You speak of my helping you, and yet I remain quite perplexed. Why in the world would I have a thing to do with helping you, Goemon?"
"Oh, and I do pray you appreciate straightforward speech between us. I do not know I am capable of any less with a peer. So yes, I am well aware you say I have been sent here for you - and yet even so, you should know I am allowed a good deal of autonomy. Russia does not raise up broods of stupid, naive children after all."
"What possible overlap between the interests of Japan and Russia could there truly be? And if you tell me you are some kind of 'double agent' I will simply leave you here and now, and bid you adieu. Should you press the issue, I will bid you adieu head first over the deck railing of the Empress - and that would be most unfortunate. I do hope such unpleasantness will be utterly unnecessary."
Gaina smiled sweetly, even hopefully perhaps, as she took up her salad fork and speared a few greens and a ripe little tomato. "So... 'Unconventional,' was it... ?"
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Beautiful good morning all! 
And yes T, you are SO right - this story is amazing (but as you know, it's the writers who make of course! *grins* )
Sorry for the quiet, but I'll be away from home for the next few weeks. I'll still be around though, following all my favorite stories and writing too - just not necessarily quite so chatty is all. ;)
And yes T, you are SO right - this story is amazing (but as you know, it's the writers who make of course! *grins* )Sorry for the quiet, but I'll be away from home for the next few weeks. I'll still be around though, following all my favorite stories and writing too - just not necessarily quite so chatty is all. ;)
Antonia returned Thomas' smile, though with a curious, eminently amused furrowing of her brow as he pulled away, and began his leisurely march to the sea. Words were not needful - even had he offered them - to explain what Thomas shed as he walked to the shore. He unburdened himself of far more than clothing and, sweetening this moment further still? The rogue knew what he did right now was every bit as much for her, as for him.
And were such a thing possible, Antonia loved him all the more for this.
"You are mad" the rogue said just under her breath as Thomas’ impromptu striptease began, the bright beginnings of laughter wriggling and bubbling up past her lips. Clear and sparkling, her child-like giggles began to wash away the filth and despair and worry like a swift summer stream. Antonia blinked with surprise, wondering too when his shirt fell to the sandy wayside at the serpentine shapes illuminated over near the entirety of his back. The purposeful lines and the exact nature of the design remained a mystery for the moment, too far in the darkness for her to make out exactly - but this wasn't a mystery she intended to let sit long.
But she could, certainly, stand to wait yet another moment or two. Antonia’s head tilted just a little, appreciatively even, drinking in that rather stunning view while Thomas stood there on the shoreline, hands on hips, her lovely man living up to every last promise of the nickname she bestowed. “You are mad, Thomas!” she called to him, though she doubted he heard her over the surf, or if he did? He gave no indication and continued his seaward march.
By the time he turned to entice her to join him in the warm Jamaican waters, the rogue was already glancing up and down this stretch of nighttime beach. Though she knew very well they were completely alone, she still had to be satisfied that for all intents and purposes, they may as well have been the only two people in the world – a notion that suited Antonia fine.
Shedding her own garb was, as might be expected, perhaps a touch more difficult than Thomas’ disrobing – and a bit noisier as well, though the sound of the surf masked most of the occasional clinking of metal on metal. Silken skirt and underskirt, petticoats and the dual garters with sheathed stilettos left a colorful, glinting pathway all of the rogue’s very own on the sandy shore. And though the corset gave a bit more trouble, the thin throwing knives stowed in its stays jangled merrily when the corset strings gave way, and joined the silver and ebony trail already blazed by Thomas.
Dressed only in her long, lace-edged ivory chemise, Antonia waded into the waves after Thomas. Those two hothouse roses, crimson and white, that once perched over her ear now floated on the waters, marking the spot where the rogue dove silently into the sea. Disappearing beneath the tide, Antonia swam unerringly to her lovely man, rising up behind him in a spray of laughing sea foam. Thick, curling lengths of ebony hair glistened with crystal droplets of sea water in the moonlight, her hands gliding up the length of Thomas' arms to rest lightly on his wide shoulders. The soaked linen shift clung to the rogue’s svelte curves, the revealed outline of her body a strangely delicate counterpoint to the magnificent, monstrous beast that writhed across Thomas’ back. And though her eyes drank in the sight of that intricate, skillfully crafted tattoo, it was her fingertips that ran so tenderly over the great scars she could now see on his back.
“Oh Thomas,” she said tenderly, her wet, cooling cheek leaning against his shoulder before she turned to kiss it softly. One hand snaked about his waist, pulling him close as the fingers of the other gently traced the edges of one of those scars. “It would seem you have a story or two of your own lovely man – dark and light - you have not yet shared with your Antonia.”
And were such a thing possible, Antonia loved him all the more for this.
"You are mad" the rogue said just under her breath as Thomas’ impromptu striptease began, the bright beginnings of laughter wriggling and bubbling up past her lips. Clear and sparkling, her child-like giggles began to wash away the filth and despair and worry like a swift summer stream. Antonia blinked with surprise, wondering too when his shirt fell to the sandy wayside at the serpentine shapes illuminated over near the entirety of his back. The purposeful lines and the exact nature of the design remained a mystery for the moment, too far in the darkness for her to make out exactly - but this wasn't a mystery she intended to let sit long.
But she could, certainly, stand to wait yet another moment or two. Antonia’s head tilted just a little, appreciatively even, drinking in that rather stunning view while Thomas stood there on the shoreline, hands on hips, her lovely man living up to every last promise of the nickname she bestowed. “You are mad, Thomas!” she called to him, though she doubted he heard her over the surf, or if he did? He gave no indication and continued his seaward march.
By the time he turned to entice her to join him in the warm Jamaican waters, the rogue was already glancing up and down this stretch of nighttime beach. Though she knew very well they were completely alone, she still had to be satisfied that for all intents and purposes, they may as well have been the only two people in the world – a notion that suited Antonia fine.
Shedding her own garb was, as might be expected, perhaps a touch more difficult than Thomas’ disrobing – and a bit noisier as well, though the sound of the surf masked most of the occasional clinking of metal on metal. Silken skirt and underskirt, petticoats and the dual garters with sheathed stilettos left a colorful, glinting pathway all of the rogue’s very own on the sandy shore. And though the corset gave a bit more trouble, the thin throwing knives stowed in its stays jangled merrily when the corset strings gave way, and joined the silver and ebony trail already blazed by Thomas.
Dressed only in her long, lace-edged ivory chemise, Antonia waded into the waves after Thomas. Those two hothouse roses, crimson and white, that once perched over her ear now floated on the waters, marking the spot where the rogue dove silently into the sea. Disappearing beneath the tide, Antonia swam unerringly to her lovely man, rising up behind him in a spray of laughing sea foam. Thick, curling lengths of ebony hair glistened with crystal droplets of sea water in the moonlight, her hands gliding up the length of Thomas' arms to rest lightly on his wide shoulders. The soaked linen shift clung to the rogue’s svelte curves, the revealed outline of her body a strangely delicate counterpoint to the magnificent, monstrous beast that writhed across Thomas’ back. And though her eyes drank in the sight of that intricate, skillfully crafted tattoo, it was her fingertips that ran so tenderly over the great scars she could now see on his back.
“Oh Thomas,” she said tenderly, her wet, cooling cheek leaning against his shoulder before she turned to kiss it softly. One hand snaked about his waist, pulling him close as the fingers of the other gently traced the edges of one of those scars. “It would seem you have a story or two of your own lovely man – dark and light - you have not yet shared with your Antonia.”
Thank you for the vote of confidence Serge, and I hope my post didn't disappoint in the "played off yours" department!
Semyon had simply... Disappeared. One moment he had offered her a hand from their more-or-less not entirely painful crash landing, and the next, the wight had vanished into nothingness -
No, not entirely into nothingness. Veti knew that deathly cold her Russian friend had fallen into, a world within and beyond this one that a certain pink-haired BFF could slip into with an unnatural [supernatural?] ease. The werewolf could not begin to imagine what in this world Daisy could possibly want with Semyon, particularly when she seemed to despise the wight with a very special kind of hatred - but at the moment, there was really no time to dwell. He was safe - or at least safer than being caught beneath the enormous claws of a raging demigod - which was a hell of a lot more than could be said for -
What. The fucking. Hell?
The bouncing, careening headlights of a... A truck? Yes, it was a truck, some beat-up ancient piece of shit lurching toward the ravaged battlefield like some strange, geriatric cavalry. And the scene its bounding jostling headlights unveiled before her preternatural eyes sent the crimson wolf sprinting, her powerful haunches devouring the distance to her boss - her friend - and her mortal enemy.
In a motion as natural as breathing, Veti dropped the incendiary magazine from the pistol, and slammed in the silver, round chambered as she moved, her eyes never leaving the two figures those headlights illuminated, becoming brighter by the second. The loathing she had for the white wolf was visceral, needing neither reflection nor thought. Murderer, coward, beast. His life was forfeit. Her brother demanded it.
But it was Siya's exquisite, ivory face that flashed across her mind's eye as Atticus bled from innumerable cuts, retreating from the relentless onslaught of the white wolf's blade. Siya who would mourn; her precious friend who had only just found her Atticus again, who would be inconsolable, consumed by a desolate eternity without her infernal lover.
But that unthinkable moment was put off indefinitely, and quite spectacularly at that, as the ancient truck barreled into the white wolf like he wasn't much more than road kill. Damn, she couldn't help the wide, wolfish grin and the slightly maniacal laughter when she realized the fucking new guy had brains - or maybe just a touch of insanity - along with those crazy acrobatic skills.
Well, all right, just the touch of insanity then. Yeah, Veti had to give "brains" a pass as Gabe tore off the tattered shirt, sword in hand, and then... Then... Ran right by their bleeding, sliced up boss.
If she had a proper human face to palm at that moment, and even one spare second to do so? Yeah, she might have indulged herself.
Even so, Veti just couldn't help the lunatic mirth that rumbled from her throat as she slid beside her boss, one arm wrapping around his chest as she helped the incubus back-to-steady on his clawed feet. "Damn Atticus," she growled, heaving him upright though she tried like hell to avoid that tore up wing of his, "You look like shit, man. Keep bleeding out on the grass, and Siya's gonna be pissed."
The unmistakable scream of crunching, crushing metal, the teeth-grinding screech of claws rending an undercarriage to shreds stopped her laughter cold, and she ran with the incubus. Just past the hillock, the white wolf all but tore that truck in half, putting that aged, rattling old beast down for good. Pulling himself to his feet in that wreckage, the silver-edged shashka flashed in the moonlight as he stood to his full height. There was no more laughter from the white wolf now, only the promise of murder burning in his amber eyes as he lifted that ancient Cossack blade to run down Gabe -
Veti fired, the silver bullet shattering the bones in the white wolf's wrist. The shashka flew from his grip, its point buried deep in Irish soil - and not in FNG - as his shocked howl of agony gave even the Earth-ending wails of the Fenrir fair competition.
That made her smile. You had to take what joy you could at the end of the world.
But the white wolf was nowhere near done, cursing as he leapt to his claws, a dire glare for the still-living abomination and the incubus he had toyed with. But the driver was closer, that bastard who hit him with the truck, spoiling his sport - and he meant to see him his blood run over his claws before the end.
"Go for the eyes, Atticus," the werewolf growled in the incubus' ear as she reached to swiftly unfurl his one good wing. She didn't really need him to fly so much as to, well, glide a little. "Then tuck and roll. We can discuss trust issues and terminating my employment tomorrow."
"Well, you know - if it actually comes."
Veti was a crimson blur as she hurled the incubus with both clawed hands, straight into the path of the white wolf. In that split-second, she saw everything. She saw Atticus' halting flight, the distraction that would save Gabe, and the shocked roar that escaped the white wolf's maw. She saw his body twist just so, ready to swipe the demon from the sky but only exposing the width of his wide, ivory-furred chest - a perfect target.
And she saw the crimson bloom exactly where she aimed, the twin to her own silver-scarred flesh, when she pulled the trigger. The white wolf dropped, and Veti was satisfied. Yes, the world still might very well end tonight. But when she stood before the Throne of Judgment, she could say that this one thing was not left undone. That she kept faith with a brother, and that one sacred oath.
Veti strode to where the white wolf lay, mouthing a genuine, heartfelt 'Sorry' to Atticus before holding up one red claw to the FNG to back off. This fucker was hers.
The white wolf wasn't dead. Not yet. Yeah, Veti really was that good a shot. She smiled, hearing those bubbling, gurgling gasps for air as she approached. "Knife. Gun fight. Heh... " Veti slammed her knee into the white wolf's chest as she dropped, grinning as she batted aside his feeble attempts to clutch and claw at her as if he were no more than an irksome insect. "Yeah, that kiss of Luna - hurts like a bitch, doesn't it?"
The smile slid from her face, something predatory, dark and dangerous lighting her own amber eyes now. "Aislinn Hoyle was beautiful. Noble and decent, and worth a thousand of you, you worthless sack of shit."
The crimson wolf leaned forward, her voice dropping to a low, almost intimate whisper as if to a lover, her words meant only for him. "I want you to know, this is the last thing your mortal ears will ever hear. My living voice, telling you that Reginald Hoyle sent me to kill you, and that he will laugh as your soul slides to Hell. Your life meant nothing. Your death means even less. And the Teachglach Mactire still lives."
Veti pressed the muzzle of the Stetchkin between those hate-filled amber eyes, and pulled the trigger.
No, not entirely into nothingness. Veti knew that deathly cold her Russian friend had fallen into, a world within and beyond this one that a certain pink-haired BFF could slip into with an unnatural [supernatural?] ease. The werewolf could not begin to imagine what in this world Daisy could possibly want with Semyon, particularly when she seemed to despise the wight with a very special kind of hatred - but at the moment, there was really no time to dwell. He was safe - or at least safer than being caught beneath the enormous claws of a raging demigod - which was a hell of a lot more than could be said for -
What. The fucking. Hell?
The bouncing, careening headlights of a... A truck? Yes, it was a truck, some beat-up ancient piece of shit lurching toward the ravaged battlefield like some strange, geriatric cavalry. And the scene its bounding jostling headlights unveiled before her preternatural eyes sent the crimson wolf sprinting, her powerful haunches devouring the distance to her boss - her friend - and her mortal enemy.
In a motion as natural as breathing, Veti dropped the incendiary magazine from the pistol, and slammed in the silver, round chambered as she moved, her eyes never leaving the two figures those headlights illuminated, becoming brighter by the second. The loathing she had for the white wolf was visceral, needing neither reflection nor thought. Murderer, coward, beast. His life was forfeit. Her brother demanded it.
But it was Siya's exquisite, ivory face that flashed across her mind's eye as Atticus bled from innumerable cuts, retreating from the relentless onslaught of the white wolf's blade. Siya who would mourn; her precious friend who had only just found her Atticus again, who would be inconsolable, consumed by a desolate eternity without her infernal lover.
But that unthinkable moment was put off indefinitely, and quite spectacularly at that, as the ancient truck barreled into the white wolf like he wasn't much more than road kill. Damn, she couldn't help the wide, wolfish grin and the slightly maniacal laughter when she realized the fucking new guy had brains - or maybe just a touch of insanity - along with those crazy acrobatic skills.
Well, all right, just the touch of insanity then. Yeah, Veti had to give "brains" a pass as Gabe tore off the tattered shirt, sword in hand, and then... Then... Ran right by their bleeding, sliced up boss.
If she had a proper human face to palm at that moment, and even one spare second to do so? Yeah, she might have indulged herself.
Even so, Veti just couldn't help the lunatic mirth that rumbled from her throat as she slid beside her boss, one arm wrapping around his chest as she helped the incubus back-to-steady on his clawed feet. "Damn Atticus," she growled, heaving him upright though she tried like hell to avoid that tore up wing of his, "You look like shit, man. Keep bleeding out on the grass, and Siya's gonna be pissed."
The unmistakable scream of crunching, crushing metal, the teeth-grinding screech of claws rending an undercarriage to shreds stopped her laughter cold, and she ran with the incubus. Just past the hillock, the white wolf all but tore that truck in half, putting that aged, rattling old beast down for good. Pulling himself to his feet in that wreckage, the silver-edged shashka flashed in the moonlight as he stood to his full height. There was no more laughter from the white wolf now, only the promise of murder burning in his amber eyes as he lifted that ancient Cossack blade to run down Gabe -
Veti fired, the silver bullet shattering the bones in the white wolf's wrist. The shashka flew from his grip, its point buried deep in Irish soil - and not in FNG - as his shocked howl of agony gave even the Earth-ending wails of the Fenrir fair competition.
That made her smile. You had to take what joy you could at the end of the world.
But the white wolf was nowhere near done, cursing as he leapt to his claws, a dire glare for the still-living abomination and the incubus he had toyed with. But the driver was closer, that bastard who hit him with the truck, spoiling his sport - and he meant to see him his blood run over his claws before the end.
"Go for the eyes, Atticus," the werewolf growled in the incubus' ear as she reached to swiftly unfurl his one good wing. She didn't really need him to fly so much as to, well, glide a little. "Then tuck and roll. We can discuss trust issues and terminating my employment tomorrow."
"Well, you know - if it actually comes."
Veti was a crimson blur as she hurled the incubus with both clawed hands, straight into the path of the white wolf. In that split-second, she saw everything. She saw Atticus' halting flight, the distraction that would save Gabe, and the shocked roar that escaped the white wolf's maw. She saw his body twist just so, ready to swipe the demon from the sky but only exposing the width of his wide, ivory-furred chest - a perfect target.
And she saw the crimson bloom exactly where she aimed, the twin to her own silver-scarred flesh, when she pulled the trigger. The white wolf dropped, and Veti was satisfied. Yes, the world still might very well end tonight. But when she stood before the Throne of Judgment, she could say that this one thing was not left undone. That she kept faith with a brother, and that one sacred oath.
Veti strode to where the white wolf lay, mouthing a genuine, heartfelt 'Sorry' to Atticus before holding up one red claw to the FNG to back off. This fucker was hers.
The white wolf wasn't dead. Not yet. Yeah, Veti really was that good a shot. She smiled, hearing those bubbling, gurgling gasps for air as she approached. "Knife. Gun fight. Heh... " Veti slammed her knee into the white wolf's chest as she dropped, grinning as she batted aside his feeble attempts to clutch and claw at her as if he were no more than an irksome insect. "Yeah, that kiss of Luna - hurts like a bitch, doesn't it?"
The smile slid from her face, something predatory, dark and dangerous lighting her own amber eyes now. "Aislinn Hoyle was beautiful. Noble and decent, and worth a thousand of you, you worthless sack of shit."
The crimson wolf leaned forward, her voice dropping to a low, almost intimate whisper as if to a lover, her words meant only for him. "I want you to know, this is the last thing your mortal ears will ever hear. My living voice, telling you that Reginald Hoyle sent me to kill you, and that he will laugh as your soul slides to Hell. Your life meant nothing. Your death means even less. And the Teachglach Mactire still lives."
Veti pressed the muzzle of the Stetchkin between those hate-filled amber eyes, and pulled the trigger.
The gentle, welcoming smile on her face did not so much as flicker from its perch on her lovely lips. Galina's dark eyes were instantly riveted to the charming young Japanese man with a voice as smooth as glass, though obviously nowhere near so transparent. Her elegant hand gestured to the chair closest, a wordless indication that, of course, he was more than welcome to join their small party, and see it grow by at least one charismatic stranger.
And though her heart raced at the sight of the Japanese man she had passed earlier below deck, nothing of that too-genuine surprise showed on her face. Either at his appearance, or at his choice of words.
"Please, do join us," Galina said graciously, the dulcet notes of the string quartet utterly unable to compete with the gracious beauty of her melodic voice. She nodded her head politely to the young man as he moved to join them at their table. There was a knowing look in his eyes that, truth be told, unnerved her for a moment - though she was far too much the consummate professional to allow her mask to slip.
"Introductions first, if we are to pass our time far more pleasantly tonight?" she continued blithely, despite the sudden certainty that this man knew exactly who she was - even if she was at a complete disadvantage on the matter of his identity. But that was the nature of this mission aboard the Empress after all, was it not?
Galina turned to the elder woman beside her with a smile. "This is one of my oldest and dearest of friends, Klara Antonova, and I am Galina Demidova . And I feel confident in speaking for us both, that it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir."
The younger woman lifted a crystal goblet of ice water to her lips, taking a slow sip as she looked over the edge to the well-dressed man beside them.
Arching one eyebrow curiously, that sweet smile returned as she set the goblet down once more. "And as for your choice of words, sir? I imagine you might best decide whether that was the precise word you wished to use. I would guess that your grasp of the English language is far more impressive than, perhaps, your modesty might allow you to let on?"
The first stirrings of genuine misgiving squirmed uneasily in her gut, though her dark eyes never left their dinner guest's face. Now, what were the odds? The odds that the first hint of their unknown contact would be a Japanese man? Here, aboard the Empress of Japan? What would be the chances of such a happening, when the very man whose memory she could not be rid of, was himself a denizen of that island nation?
Galina was never a great fan of "coincidence."
And though her heart raced at the sight of the Japanese man she had passed earlier below deck, nothing of that too-genuine surprise showed on her face. Either at his appearance, or at his choice of words.
"Please, do join us," Galina said graciously, the dulcet notes of the string quartet utterly unable to compete with the gracious beauty of her melodic voice. She nodded her head politely to the young man as he moved to join them at their table. There was a knowing look in his eyes that, truth be told, unnerved her for a moment - though she was far too much the consummate professional to allow her mask to slip.
"Introductions first, if we are to pass our time far more pleasantly tonight?" she continued blithely, despite the sudden certainty that this man knew exactly who she was - even if she was at a complete disadvantage on the matter of his identity. But that was the nature of this mission aboard the Empress after all, was it not?
Galina turned to the elder woman beside her with a smile. "This is one of my oldest and dearest of friends, Klara Antonova, and I am Galina Demidova . And I feel confident in speaking for us both, that it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir."
The younger woman lifted a crystal goblet of ice water to her lips, taking a slow sip as she looked over the edge to the well-dressed man beside them.
Arching one eyebrow curiously, that sweet smile returned as she set the goblet down once more. "And as for your choice of words, sir? I imagine you might best decide whether that was the precise word you wished to use. I would guess that your grasp of the English language is far more impressive than, perhaps, your modesty might allow you to let on?"
The first stirrings of genuine misgiving squirmed uneasily in her gut, though her dark eyes never left their dinner guest's face. Now, what were the odds? The odds that the first hint of their unknown contact would be a Japanese man? Here, aboard the Empress of Japan? What would be the chances of such a happening, when the very man whose memory she could not be rid of, was himself a denizen of that island nation?
Galina was never a great fan of "coincidence."
Oh she is absolutely beautiful LP, thank you for sharing that image! You're the best, and thank you too for the links!
And that was a very fun post, Serge!
And that was a very fun post, Serge!
You know what LP? I actually discovered that fact about my angel, after I sent the image I wanted to Heroes, found on a Google search with parameters totally unrelated to Magic: The Gathering. Believe me hon, you are assuredly not alone in the depth and breadth of your nerd-dom! *grins*
Lillian Thorne said
Yet there is neither blue, turquoise nor purple in your set...
No, I'm afraid not - I simply could not find a proper tropical sea-colored angel to share with Heroes.
But that doesn't mean I love her any less, or the breathtaking job he did with my set - nor change the loveliest, most soothing colors in the whole wide world! *grins*eta: And thank you Serge, for the find there! *high fives*
Lies is it, hmm? Now who embraces the avatar of the golden pretty angel of ass kicking, and who among us has an avatar reminiscent of a crimson will o' the wisp, a deceptive ghost light luring the unwary to their DOOOOOOOOM?
Hmm...
Hmm...
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