Riven Wight

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

“My guard was up!”
Drust snorted at the ignorance of that statement. “Which is why I would have had ample time to run you through a couple times over since you turned your back?” His chin rose slightly, and he looked down his nose at Ghent. His brows raised dubiously at Ghent’s tone of voice when he reluctantly agreed, but only silently followed him inside.
Elayra turned from them to return her sword to its sheath, then laid it back on the floor. She looked to him when he addressed her, raising an eyebrow at his most recent nickname for her. She gave a quiet snort at it, though it was far better than “Blondie.”
“If it makes you feel better, sure,” she grumbled to his question as she picked up Drust’s cloak and began rolling it up.
As Ghent went about setting his improvised table, Drust strode to Elayra and took over folding the cloak up.
She looked to him and gave him a grateful nod both for him letting her use it and taking care of it now, which he returned before Elayra went to investigate what Ghent was up to.
“Man, this hideout bites.”
She paused and cast a quick glance around before she realized he did not mean the statement literally. Though, she was sure a few of the spiders would have been happy to change that if she wished.
“But it’s a hideout, all the same.” She watched Ghent place the cups on the shelf, everything from the cardboard to the opaque lid a new sight for her “If you think this is bad,” she cast a darkly amused grin toward Drust, “you should have seen the place we found in Tulgun’s Marsh.”
Drust scowled at the memory, and shoved the rolled-up cloak none-too-gently into his pack.
Elayra cocked her head when Ghent mentioned “chocolate shakes.” She sniffed at the air when he opened his backpack and the disgustingly delicious smell of fried potatoes and processed meat burst forth. Her eyes followed him curiously as he pulled out three brown bags stamped with an unfamiliar logo from his unusual pack. Her gaze paused for on the skull pattern, momentarily wondering where he had gotten it from, before he asked about the shadow cats.
“Shadowmire,” she corrected him.
“No,” Drust answered flatly, stepping slightly closer to the two, but still keeping his distance.
“If Luck decides to visit,” Elayra began cheerlessly, giving away her doubt at them having such a visitation, “she’ll have sent only that litter here for recon purposes. See what’s become of Earth in the last decade. Make sure it’d be safe to send others of a higher rank.”
“And now she’ll know you’re both alive,” Drust growled, his face twisting angrily and neck twitching.

To Cure a Curse

Once she was out of the line of sight from their chosen camping spot, Rayadell glanced back and gave a heavy sigh. She had managed to avoid traveling with a companion for many months; now, adventuring beside an elf felt strange. Wrong, even, to be potentially putting someone else in danger simply by being near them for too long.
With her staff in one hand, she gently placed the palm of the other against the rough bark of the nearest tree, mentally reaching out to it, hoping to feel the familiar presence of the only friends her curse did not slowly drain the life from.
She felt a shudder, a fear run through the tree in the abstract way nature felt emotions, but after a moment, it seemed to settle, to accept that it was in no danger from her. If Rayadell did not know any better, she could have sworn it even possessed an unusual sense of curiosity. Though its nearby companions still felt a bit apprehensive, they did not shy away from her when she reached out with her mind to try and assure them she bore them no ill will.
Slowly, she removed her hand from the tree and began her search for wood and kindling in the quickly fading daylight. With the silent promise that no harm would come to the forest with their fire, and a quick thank you to the trees for providing what they needed for warmth, she started a small pile near the tree, leaving it to collect a fair amount before adding to it.
When the moon’s soft glow replaced the brilliance of the sun, dusting the shedding trees and fallen foliage and plants beneath, Rayadell decided she had collected enough to last for a good portion of the night. As she began to pile up the kindling between her arms, ever mindful of her staff, movement in the corner of her eye made her drop her load and spin around, her staff held defensively in both hands.
She searched the darkness, her silvery eyes easily picking out every plant and leaf set aglow in the gentle, majestic lightning, but nothing stirred. The crickets continued to chirp, and a couple night birds chattered a bit deeper in the woods. After a moment, Rayadell returned her staff to her side.
Another wisp of movement flitted to her right, and she spun once more. This time, she caught sight of its cause.
A delicate mist condensed into a willowy, human-like form flitted from one tree to another, its incorporeal body glittering a myriad of browns despite the moonlight bleaching the surrounding forest. In the blink of an eye, it merged with the next tree, leaving no trace of it behind.
A thin smile spread over Rayadell’s lips. Tree spirits. Guardians of the woods, harmless to those who meant them and their precious dwellings no malice. With the possibility of a threat eliminated, she turned back to collect the now scattered bits of wood. Once her arms were full, she began the short walk back to her and Calanon’s designated campsite.
Rayadell noticed a tree spirit hopping from one tree to the next just ahead of her, its featureless head peeking out once to look at her from another tree just to her left before ducking shyly back into the trunk. She had the feeling it was the same as the first one she had seen, wondering if, perhaps, it had been the source of the curiosity she had felt coming from the first tree.
She paused in front of the strong, towering plant where she had last noticed the spirit, taking a moment to give it a respectful bow, before she stepped into the slight clearing where the elk waited, untethered, in the same place as she had last seen him.
She dropped the first armful of wood onto the ground beside the nearly finished ring of stones Calanon had already collected and laid out. Though it was yet unfinished, she began to expertly stack some of the dryer branches and bramble she had grabbed at the stone ring’s center.
The feeling of being watched stepped down her spine, and the sense of curiosity she had felt from the tree brushed gently against her mind. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder in time to see the glittering spirit pull back into a tree near the edge of the clearing, making her smile.
It would seem she had, at least for the time, acquired a stalker.

Deleted

“In a secluded area of the park where I met Cerasus.” She snorted and shook her head at the sardonicism of it. “A good distance to the north of the playground.” She quickly picked up her now mostly empty backpack and slung it over her shoulders. “Anything in particular I’m looking for?”

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

No worries! I mean, it's not like I made you wait this time, or anything. xD

Ha! That right there, is a mark of a true writer! The researching bit, I mean. Oh, the strange, freaky things writers research for their work... Though that's actually something normal. I haven't gone to Burger King in probably somewhere around a year--at least, not that I remember. The only fast food place I really ever go to nowadays is Subway.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Drust held his sheathed katana vertically in front of him, its tip against the floor, as Elayra dabbed a couple drops of a milky liquid from the neck of a jar on a cleaner part of her skirts.
She gently ran the damp fabric over the scrapes. Within moments, the worst of them stopped bleeding, leaving red scratches, while the least severe of them all but completely faded. She watched the familiar effects as they finished their job. It had been a while since she had used it on something as simple as a scrape, and had forgotten how quickly it worked on such minor wounds.
“I’ll take first watch,” Drust offered as Elayra replaced the bottle snugly in the box. “Rest, if you wish.”
Elayra gave a thankful nod and pulled her sleeves down back over her arms. “If you’re sure.” She put the lid back on the box and handed it to Drust.
“Quite.” He took the box and returned it to his pack, one hand keeping his sword in place.
“Wake me if you need me. But do me a favor: try not to need me.”
Drust smirked, not looking from the direction of the door as she stretched out so she lay on the floor with her back against the wall. She adjusted the pack beneath her head, and used it as a lumpy pillow.
She gave a content groan about at last being capable of resting her entire body, and closed her eyes. With Drust’s familiar presence beside her in this foreign land, she dared let herself drift off into a sweet, light sleep.
Drust’s gaze shifted from the door to the rusting, neglected equipment hanging from hooks. A few of the spiders had dared return to their webs, one on a rake near him continuing its work of wrapping up a struggling fly. His head turned to Elayra, watching as the rise and fall of her chest quickly took on the steady rhythm of slumber. After a moment, he quietly leaned his sword against the wall beside him, and reached once more into his larger pack, careful to not disturb the sleeping girl.
He removed a rolled-up wad of course fabric, and stood. Letting it unroll, revealing the form of a thick, worn cloak, he draped it over Elayra.
She stirred slightly, but either realized there was no threat and fell back asleep, or did not wake up.
Though it could have been a trick of the light, Drust’s eyes seemed to soften, the black lines growing faintly thinner. But it lasted only a moment. His neck twitched, and he turned from her. Quietly, he strapped his katana to his back, and went outside, closing the door softly behind him.
He blinked slowly in the darkness, his eyes adjusting to the difference in lighting far quicker than average. The cool night air held the familiar crisp, earthy smell of the trees near them, yet the stink of exhaust and other pollutants he did not recognize wrapped around the pleasant scent in a strangling waft.
He scanned the path toward the main road, the artificial lighting illuminating it a good distance from their hideout. Slowly, he drew his weapon as a precautionary measure, and headed around the back, giving the immediate perimeter a good check.
By the time Ghent returned, Drust stood beside the rickety storage shack. Bathed in the shadow cast by the building, he looked like little more than a hidden statue, his hands resting on the end of his Katana and the tip of the blade digging an inch into the dirt at his feet.
His head cocked to the side as the gentle sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears still a good few yards off. Careful to remain just out of sight of whoever—or whatever—approached, he raised his katana, gripping it in both hands, and moved to look toward the sound.
Even from this distance, he recognized Ghent from his form and gait, though it looked like he had since acquired a pack and carried something in either hand.
Drust remained where he was, watching the boy grow nearer. A displeased frown pulled at his face when he went unnoticed by Ghent, the boy's attention apparently locked on the shack.
Inside, Elayra’s eyes snapped open at the squeak of the hinges. In an instant, she reached for and drew her saber, and jumped to her feet. She spared the cloak half a glance when it the floor as Ghent knocked on the door. Blinking as she tried to brush away the cobwebs that had already grown over he mind during her nap, she stood at the ready before she recognized Ghent’s voice.
Slowly, she lowered her sword as he entered, and took in the strange tray he brought with him holding even stranger cups.
Outside, Drust stepped directly behind Ghent. “You’ve failed to check your surroundings, boy,” he began darkly, pressing the tip of his katana against part of Ghent’s back not concealed by the backpack. “Never let your guard down. Especially when you believe safety is near.”
For a moment, Elayra held her breath, worried what he may do to prove the point, but with a swift, impressive movement, Drust sheathed his katana.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

FIREWORKS! Woo!

Figured it was about time for another time stamp. Let me know if "Around 9:30" sounds good to you! It's an easy change, otherwise.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

When Ghent looked to him, dagger now in hand, Drust cocked his head slightly and returned his gaze with an icy stare, almost daring him to try something with his new weapon.
Though Elayra’s mouth remained a tight line and her gray gaze bore into Ghent, the moment the door shut behind him, she let out an exasperated breath, ran a hand through her hair, and leaned against the garage wall behind her.
Drust snorted, and turned from both her and the door, his arms crossing over his chest. His long shadow sliced the room at an angle before merging with the darkness lingering on the opposite side of the small room.
“If he doesn’t get us killed,” Elayra grumbled, quickly undoing her sword belt and dropping her sword and quiver so they leaned against their packs, “one of us is going to kill him.” She slid back to the floor to relieve her legs of the burden of her weight.
Drust made a sound somewhere between a snort and a growl. “We’re all dead without his help.” His voice sounded dismal, lifeless. “I’ve said it before. You need—”
“Magic to stop magic. I know. But there’s got to be another way. We both knew there was a chance we wouldn’t be going back with him, and even your backup plans have backups.”
“But we found him. Alive. And he’s agreed to help. Any such plans I had are unnecessary.” His words came out short and clipped, his body little more than a statue with its back toward Elayra.
Part of her knew she should leave it at that, should back off before she set him off, but another part of wanted to at least have her point out in the open.
“We don’t know how long we’ll have before either the Sorceress finds us, or we find her.” She drew her feet toward her chest, her ripped, muddied dress draped over her knees. “Ghent’s untrained. Clumsy. He scarcely even knows how to use his fists. He’s spent his entire life here, and from what I can tell of the place, it’s the complete opposite of Wonderland. Even if the three of us do get safely back home tomorrow, I’d be surprised if he survived the—”
Drust spun around, making her reach for her sword. “We’ll. Make. It. Work, Elayra.” His neck twitched and his hands clenched and released, but he remained where he was, the diseased colors of his eyes throbbing menacingly.
Elayra swallowed and bent her head. Knowing it would do her little good at the moment, anyway, she forced her hand from her sword’s hilt and raised her palm beside her in surrender. On a good day, she knew she could hold her own against him—at least, for a time—but she also knew her limits, and she had reached them long ago. Her legs scarcely wanted to hold her up, her arms ached and stung from her collision with the concrete, and the spot where Drust had kicked her still felt a bit tender.
“Okay, Drust,” she said softly. “We’ll make it work.”
A conflicted expression flashed over his face as he looked down at her.
Elayra took a slow breath, then closed her eyes and leaned her head against strange metal. Her eyes shot open when she heard Drust take a step toward her. She watched him warily as he closed the distance between them, unbuckled his katana from his back, and sat down on the opposite side of their packs. He leaned the sword beside him, and crossed his legs, his head angled toward the door.
She gave a quiet sigh of relief, then moved the phone so its light illuminated them a bit better. Carefully, she rolled down her right sleeve to check the damage, a couple splotches of red soaking into the fabric.
As she had thought, a long, nasty-looking scrape marred the side of her forearm, interrupting the line of a faded scar. The worst of it glistened crimson, and a smaller one near her elbow beaded with blood droplets.
Drust looked to her with only his eyes, then turned and opened his pack as she rolled up her other sleeve.
Her left arm had only a patch of inflamed, ruffed-up skin. She frowned at the minor irritation they presented, then looked to Drust as he removed a fair sized wooden box from his pack and handed it to her without a word. The dark wood had scars of its own, and looked burnt in places.
Elayra placed the box on the floor near the phone, and pried the tight-fitting lid off the first-aid kit.
“Are you okay?” Drust asked in his usual flat tone, resuming his previous, unmoving position, watching the door. His eyes shifted only once to Elayra.
She responded with a sharp nod. “Are you?” Her tone matched his.
He snorted lightly. “One can only hope so.”

Deleted

Izzy frowned when Riley said Trevor wasn’t normal, but said nothing, letting him talk uninterrupted.
“Riley, we have my luck on our side. With that, chances are, we’ll find ourselves in that last ten-percent.” She took what remained of her donut and tossed it back in the box before standing. “What might this mean for Trevor,” she turned back to him and wiped her sticky fingers on her pant leg, “and what do I need to do?” If Trevor was, once again, in danger from aberrations, whatever she needed to do, she would do it, no matter what it took. If she could not help his situation at home, at least there was something about this she could do.

They Live Among Us (Vampiricchild x Siaya)

Victoria looked back to Alex when she noticed him turn to her. She shifted uneasily at his expression.
She looked to him, confused, wondering what he meant.
When his grin widened, showing off his too-white teeth, she had to look away, reminding herself and her instincts once more that he was still the Alex she knew. Her gaze turned somewhere between the floor and the window, hoping it would make it seem as if she was only following his glance.
“You mean a fire escape?” she asked slowly. She eyed the hall once more, then stepped back inside the apartment. She closed the door firmly behind her, as if the simple latch would ward off any dangers, then stepped toward the window. "Never been down one. But I suppose it's better than waltzing out the front door."

Deleted

“Gesundheit,” Izzy responded to the first of the titles Riley gave. Her brows furrowed, wondering what would make it so “unpleasant” if the beast was little more than a carcass and a smear on the ground now.
“That dog--White Wolf, whatever--was an aberration?” Izzy frowned. “It looked so… normal. But it’s dead now, anyway. I mean, we buried it. Wouldn’t that make the coincidence a good thing?” She fidgeted with a piece of donut she had intended to eat, bits of icing making her fingers sticky.