• Protected: For Bene

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    March 22, 2012 /  Here & Now

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  • Waiting

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    March 15, 2012 /  Here & Now

    “It has been two days now. He should be here already. Has he changed his mind? How much longer can I risk waiting”

    Julea’s hand reaches up to scratch at the nape of her neck, fingers inching down between the rough threading of the thick woollen scarf, unused to the irritation against her skin. She couldn’t look any more different from her usual self. Gone are the fitted leathers with scarlet threading that push the bounds of sumptuary, and instead, she wears the clothes of a farmers daughter and a poor one at that. Even her precious blood red lined cloak is gone, having been left crumpled on the floor of the Brotherhood store room.

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  • Hardest Letter Ever

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    March 14, 2012 /  Here & Now

    (now unpassworded)

    Dear Bene,

    I love you so much, truly. And it is because of that that I think I must
    do this and walk away. I can’t watch you destroy what respect you have
    from the people that you love so much in my name. You are one of the
    sweetest and wonderful men I know. That you even give me the time of day
    is evidence enough of that. That you humour me, and even save me from
    myself over and over again.

    But how can I even consider taking you from your flock? What is the needs
    of this one person when you could be helping so many? And to what end? To
    sneak out at night, stealing you every now and then, and seeing the
    uncertainity and guilt in your eyes. To see you lose the respect of your
    people and the church? Eventually kicked out or ex-communicated because of
    -me-? I can’t do that to you. I can’t. I might do a lot of wrong things
    every day, but I know this is the right thing. And for once I need to do
    that.

    Jules.

    =========================================================================

    The moment it passed from my hand into the Southside Courier’s, I fell to my knees, regretting it. Wishing there was another way. Wanting him so badly to deny it, to come to me and say No. That I am wrong. That I am not that bad. That he can fix it. And we can make it work. To push away the one person that sees the good in me? Am I a masochist? Do I want to be alone? To lose someone again. It is more than I can bare.

    Later, I crept through the Cathedral, and spotted him at the Altar. I wanted to go to him, but couldn’t, and turned away and walked out, choking back my own sobs.

  • When in Jail…

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    March 1, 2012 /  Here & Now
    Julea lowers the neckline of a long sable cotton cloak, emblazoned with the Holy Chalice, exposing her shoulders and her upper back. The fabric is clutched tightly to her chest. “This one, nape of my neck. Just here.. like I drew yes?”

    A sinewy, red-haired man doesn’t look the sort to be talented in the art of drawing on skin, but as always, appearances are deceiving. With surprising gentleness he takes a soft leather cloth to my skin, cleaning from it the weeks of grime and blood and dye. Turning it into the perfect canvas for his tools. “Aye, jus’ like ye be drawin’ miss.”

    A sharp breath is drawn in, and Julea barely represses a shudder from the contact of a sinewy, red-haired man. Her body tense and neck held stiffly to the side. “You did a good job on the last, it’s nearly healed, see?” Julea’s hand reaches down, exposing more naked flesh as she shows off the tattoo inked in black that wraps around her right thigh. “You got the last payment?”

    A sinewy, red-haired man eyes the work on Julea’s thigh critically with the eye on an artist evaluating a masterpiece. “Aye, I did. An’ it looks good iffin I do be sayin’ so meself. One of me best.” When she conceals the tattoo again, he returns his focus to her nape and with a simple quill, he draws a shape directly on her skin.

    Julea, for her part, just holds still. Waiting and in silence. She reaches up to grab a fistful of her matted locks, drawing them forward over her shoulder when he pulls out his tattoo tools, ready to chisel the design into her flesh.

    ——————————————————————————

    It is almost delicious, the pain. At least, it distracts me from the horror that is my foot. I don’t even want to think about that and whether I will be able to walk properly again. It just makes me want to Rage and I can’t afford to do that. Yet. Time and a place Julea. Just breathe. In out. In out.

    He is quick and efficient and silent as he works. I am grateful for that, I’m in no mental state to be creating small talk.

    The tattoo on my thigh was long over due. I don’t know why I delayed it. This one, is new. Perhaps a little early, but still I am certain of it.

    You would think there would be a third. But, of all of them, him I am most unsure of. Which… many might find surprising. I think he would find it surprising. But I still am wavering. He has not proven himself to me. Not yet.

    ——————————————————————————

  • In Spite of Everything

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    February 29, 2012 /  Here & Now, Verses
    In spite of everything, this war
    which stands, changing delicately everything and spreads
    I still exist. I still breathe.
    Bravely, of course
    (you do not hear the sobs)
    for,
    my love.

    I really should of been eating. That took everything of me.

    All my strength.
    All my fortitude.
    All my willpower.
    All my everything.

    I knew my error the moment she stepped towards the furnace. No I lie. I knew it the moment the words passed my parched lips. I had said too much. Taken it too far. And sometimes the truth just isn’t what people want to hear. Especially when it concerns family. Always when it comes to family.

    But in my defence: a lack of food, and spending my time in a small putrid cell, gagged, blindfolded and bound brings with it a certain level of insanity. And I certainly had that a plenty.

    I know. I know. Not eating. Not my brightest ideas. Down right stupid really. How could I have thought that making myself –weaker– would aid me in this at all. I think I just.. gave up several weeks ago. Again. I blame my own insanity brought about by this foul place. Why am I not fighting this. Not truly fighting. I am letting it happen. I swear Adumbral I will not go down without a fight.

    My fiery foot now loans me more pain than you can possibly imagine. Like a thousand fires tearing through my leg all at once. I know I don’t have long. My body is too weak. And I can feel the fever now at the edges of my mind. Fighting to take over. I keep it at bay with this wine. Just. I feel my insides heating up.

    I want to talk to the one that put me here. I have sent him word, let’s see if he is brave enough to face me. Eye-to-eye. What kind of man are You?

  • Taken Over By The Fear

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    February 25, 2012 /  Here & Now

    I am scared.
    Stripped of my clothing and my dignity, I find my carefully formed veneer has not only cracked but been completely obliterated. I am scared I won’t be able to build it back up in time. I don’t want to be seen like this. Not the tears. Not the trembling. Not the way I seem to be unable to choke back the sobs.

    I am scared.
    Of death. Of dying here, forgotten. I don’t want to be hung. I don’t want to be burned. Truly, I just don’t want to die yet. I love you, but I’m not ready. Give me a little more time. There is still something I have to do.

    I am scared.
    Of being alone. No one will come for me. None of my wolves. Not the Owl, not the Fox, not the Bird nor the Nymph. Father? No one comes.

    I don’t know what’s right and what’s real anymore
    I don’t know how I’m meant to feel anymore
    When do you think it will all become clear?
    ‘Cause I’m being taken over by the fear

    Forget about guns and forget ammunition
    Cause I’m killing them all on my own little mission
    Now I’m not a saint but I’m not a sinner
    Now everything’s cool as long as I’m gettin thinner

  • Awakening

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    February 25, 2012 /  Here & Now, Soundtrack
    I can’t see. Nothing. I awaken and I can’t see an Arien thing. Not even a hint of light. Where the fuck am I? I try to move and find my wrists bound, ankles too. Gravity pulls at my limbs and I know I am upright. I know I’ve been ridiculously drunk before but this is the strangest predicaments to awaken to.

    Using my ears and I can hear the sound of a critter a chittering and the distant sound of metal scraping against metal. Iron if I am not mistaken and I am rarely wrong when it comes to such things. I was nurtured for listening after all. Reality then hits like the rat’s shield slamming into my skull and I gasp for air. It’s stagnant. Old. There’s something in my mouth and I choke trying to spit it out.

    Tower.

    Panic sets in and I find myself struggling to breathe. I’m cold. Freezing and my arms feel like they’ve been torn from my sockets. How long have I been here? A day? Maybe two? My head hurts and I have a hangover from hell.

    As time passes I refuse to face reality or any of the food that is brought to me. With the darkness it is easy to slip into the memories. I remember a little bird telling me about this. I told him I was afraid. He said it wouldn’t happen to me. That it was different now. He was wrong.

    ….

    Tonight I danced. I know. Not a big deal right? Everyone dances every now and then. Good wine, good food and good company and it was bound to happen eventually.

    But me? I have not danced since my Bethrothed died. Conscious choice. I just.. couldn’t. Not if I could never dance with him again. That was how we met you see, when he asked me to dance. And we had been dancing together ever since till the day he died.

    But tonight, against all odds, I did. I wanted to. I think.. that meant I was.. am finally are able to move on. Right? It felt good, for one night to feel totally free from it all. The pain and the agony of feeling it always there, pressing against my chest, clawing at me and dragging me under was gone. Completely. It was like walking on air. To feel free like that.

    I was lighter than air, swirling my skirts about as I spun around on the heels of my beautiful shoes in a beautiful Tubori styled dress that exposed more skin that was entirely proper. I remember laughing freely and as I spun about from one turn, I came colliding in against a new dance partner, the fox.

    After the dancing. I vaguely recall kissing. Lots of it. Five? Six people? It all blurs together except one; the murderous fox. I remember the sugar cubes and the hemp and the wine and the ale, the games and the flesh. And then, getting dragged from them in a sudden slam of reality. The feeling returned again, the pressing, the clawing and the slow squeezing against my heart. I barely remember it. Walking. The chains. The indignities imposed on me.

    …..

    My mind delves back further, to the night we met. The moment our eyes collided, it felt like the whole world would be pulled apart if for just a second I looked away. And so I didn’t, and neither did you. Your mouth moved and you asked me to dance, but I truly I didn’t hear the words as we came together in to dance in a way that the Tubori are known for down at the Taverns on the docks.

    My wrist upon your shoulder, and fingers curled about your nape. Your arm wrapped around my waist in a firm hold. Less than an inch between us, we danced as one. It wasn’t a slow romantic dance, but one of the hips, and small quick steps. It was hot, and sweaty, with skirts flared around my knees with each quick twist and turn. There were sweeping dips, and pressing hips. It was perfect. I didn’t have to think. You anticipated my moves and I yours. And that is how it always was. You were my life. And then you were gone. I am lost without you.

    See the storm set in my eyes, see the thorn twist in my side and I wait for you
    Sleight of hand and twist of faith, on a bed of nails he makes me wait.
    And I waste without you. With or without you, with or without you

    Through the storm, we reach the shore, you gave it all but I wanted more
    And I’m waiting for you, I can’t live, with or without you
    And you give yourself away, and you give yourself away
    My hands are tied, my body bruised, he got me with nothing to win, and nothing left to lose
    And you give yourself away, And you give … and you give, And you give yourself away

    With or without you, I can’t live
    With or without you

  • What Would Daddy Say?

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    February 20, 2012 /  Here & Now, Memories
    “JULES! Enough with the Arien moping around.” I can already hear His voice in my head, usually when I close my eyes and attempt to find the elusive sleep that insomnia always manages to keep away.

    It is in times like this, I really need to give myself a good kick up the ass and focus on: “What would Daddy say?” and less upon “Look at poor ol’ me. Nothing I do makes a difference. Nothing will ever change.”

    So really. What would the Red Claw say?

    “NEVER forget who you are.”
    “NEVER forget where you’ve come”
    “NEVER forget what you have become.”

    “Scarlet dear.” He always liked to call me Scarlet; a pet name he had for me since I came into his care when my age reached double digits. “They cannot take that away from you, it is carved into you as surely as the Red Claw on your spine. So take that Arien spine and use it.”

    “And NEVER fucking give up.” This would of probably been accompanied by a solid wallop around the ears with the flat side of the training blade. Mind you, we didn’t use wood, only steel for His. But the blades were blunted. And wounds were… well not rare, but they healed quick enough. And you bloody well learned how to dodge a steel blade much quicker than a wooden one I’ll tell you now!

    I wonder, can you even imagine me as I was back then? A little girl, with a head of unruly black curls, thin as a rake and as wild as they come. Well, when I put it like that, perhaps it isn’t so hard to imagine. Wild. That might of been an under-exageration. So, I was indulged and spoiled. Sue me.

    See, my Mother had died three months earlier (poisoning – see, I bet you always wondered why I test everything I eat!), and me, being the smart little kid that I was, decided that the last thing I wanted was to be hauled off to some orphanage.

    So, of course, like any rag-tag miscreant, I joined the streets. Rarely even stepping from the shadows to steal, I hunted amongst the bins at the sides of the taverns at night. Little more than an animal and living off the off-cuts of society. I learned to not be noticed, not be seen.

    And it took Him a season to find me. Just as the leaves had fallen from the trees, and Winter was beginning to set in. Just when food had become scarce and it was difficult to even find the energy to hunt amongst the rubbish for my next meal, I was hauled out of the barrel I had been using that night to sleep in, and given a pretty good shake down. Would you believe I was wearing a dress? I know. Hard to imagine right?

    I wasn’t to know this till much later, but the Red Claw had put a rather hefty price on my head. He owed my Mother for what she did and in return for years of service that ended so finally with her death, he had assured her that I would always be taken care of. He always keeps his word. His real word, the ones he swears in blood, not the lies that fall off his tongue from day to day.

    Apparently I had been careless and one of the serving wenches/whores had spotted me earlier that evening and had filed a report. I was so close to the age and description that Red Claw had, he’d come out to find me himself.

    So here I was, held up by the scruff of my ragged dress, squirming, punching, thin legs flying and doing really … well no damage at all. My big fight was completely ineffectual as I came face to face with the man who would become my Father, my Trainer, my Boss and my Inspiration.

    Feel it coming in the air
    Hear the screams from everywhere
    I’m addicted to the thrill
    It’s a dangerous love affair
    Can’t be scared when it goes down
    Got a problem, tell me now
    Only thing that’s on my mind
    Is who’s gonna run this town tonight…
    I’m gonna run this town

  • Surrender

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    February 15, 2012 /  Here & Now
    My father, my dearest father not of my blood, once told me that I was the most beautiful thing he owned. I was fourteen and I believed it.

    “Jules…” He murmured, with fingers gripping me here and there. Him, eager and full of promise of all the things he intended to do to me. Me, whimpering, undone at his touch and ready to surrender again and again and again.

    Here is where I forget the oath to the bird. And there is where I forgot all the wrongs of today and yesterday and last week and last month. My previous grievances banished as my lips trespass over his. Forward steps inching me backwards to my bed that violates sumptuary in so many ways.

    “Beautiful, inside and out. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, Jules.” Whispered words almost inaudible against my ear echoing my Father’s sentiment. I am now nineteen and I believed it again.

    With averted eyes from his lightning ones I breath in the scent of him. When I exhale, he’s gone. Almost. He says something about seeing to something important and being back shortly but in truth, I am still recovering from the rapture of his touch and it barely registers.

    “No!” I object loudly in my head, but the thoughts never find voice.

    There is a flourish of grey cloak, and a glimpse of the midnight leather beneath showcasing muscular form as he turns towards the door and before I can draw my next breath, he is gone.

    Two days later, he has not returned yet his presence still lingers here and it will not leave me alone. I am so tired of being used.

  • Three-Pronged Fork

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    February 13, 2012 /  Here & Now

    So now I have a choice, and one that I have been putting off for.. at least a few weeks. And the number of choices seem to be growing by the week. I suspect by the end of the month they will be a score or more. Maybe I better decide soon before my indecisive mind is plagued by even more options.

    The Knights of Lithmore?
    I think because I have been told so often that I can’t, it just makes me want to want it more. But am I a Knight? Could I ever be and still retain myself somewhere deep in side? Is it safe for me to be? By far this is the most dangerous of the choices, especially if that small (not so small) concern turns out to be a growing reality. But that. I do not want to think about. It is pushed to the back of my mind where even I rarely peek. I think, it can wait.

    A Scribe to the Royal Family?
    By far the safest of the three options. I can closet myself away with my (well not mine but I can pretend) books and lose myself amongst the dust and just.. forget that the rest of the world exists. Another kind of oblivion but is it the one I seek?

    A Bardic Writer and Singer?
    This one I still tip toe around. It scares me, because I know if I walk down this path, then there are emotions and other such things I’m going to have to face that terrify. Dare I dance?

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