By Jaclyn
(musicnotej@aol.com; http://www.geocities.com/tlwmr)
Disclaimer: In a shocking turn of events, it has been discovered that I DON'T own these characters! Can you believe it?! Sources have been whispering that The Lost World and all characters/places/stuff contained therein actually belong to Telescene, New Line, and all the rest. Oh yeah, and yesterday I read on the internet that I'm not making any profit off this story! Isn't that absurd?!
Author's Notes: This story isn't meant to be tasteless or lewd or anything....and it's most definitely not - although the subject matter may be a bit sensitive. But in my opinion, there's really nothing wrong with it, and I don't think anyone will disagree. But if you do, then....I dunno. Actually, I don't know why I'm even bothering with this warning....there's absolutely no reason for it. So forget I said anything....
And by the way, this is my third completed story in three days!! I am ON A ROLL!!!
Marguerite Krux could not remember ever having been so hot in her entire life.
She kicked at a stone as she trudged along behind Roxton and Challenger, wholeheartedly wishing she were anywhere but this cursed plateau. Paris perhaps, sipping a cool lemonade on a veranda. Or maybe Antarctica, where at least the weather wouldn't be so damn sweltering.
While Marguerite groused silently, Roxton was involved in an animated conversation with Challenger. She glared at their backs, narrowing her eyes even further when her gaze fell on the hunter. Why did he always have to handle everything so well? Why didn't he look sweaty and uncomfortable and annoyed?!
"You know, Roxton, I didn't know lions that large even existed."
"It was incredible, Challenger, the beast was THIS HIGH!" he gestured wildly with his hands, not catching the doubt in the older scientist's voice. "And I knew I only had a few seconds before it trampled me, so I quickly snatched my rifle, and-"
A sharp cry, both pained and surprised, from behind cut him off. Roxton spun around. "Marguerite! Are you all right?" He ran over, upset with himself that he hadn't realized how far behind she'd been lagging. His vow to protect every member of this expedition included even the most infuriating one. Although lately, she had started to seem more and more intriguing to Roxton and he had privately decided to make a serious effort to get to know Marguerite better.
Bent over double, the woman in question just stared at him, clutching her stomach. Roxton grabbed her shoulders. "What happened?? Marguerite!"
"Let....it....pass...." she ground out through clenched teeth, realizing he was this close to shaking her hard and really not wanting him to do that.
The pain in her abdomen abated suddenly, gone as quickly as it had come. Marguerite groaned, muttering, "Dammit! Could this day get any worse?!"
Roxton's eyes were wide. "What do you mean? What happened? What hurts?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Kindly remove your hands."
"Marguerite! I don't underst-"
"Let GO of me, Roxton!" she yelled, wrenching out of his grasp.
"But you're-"
"I'm FINE. I'm fine." Marguerite made a conscious effort to calm down. "Really, Roxton, don't worry about me. Everything is exactly as it should be."
His face twisted into a bewildered expression. "Wha-?" At her glare, he wisely cut himself off.
Marguerite sidled up to Veronica. Leaning against the tabletop, her usual smirk firmly in place, Marguerite watched the 'jungle girl,' as she called her, chopping vegetables. "So," she said, sounder a little colder than she'd intended, but that was, after all, Marguerite's instinctive reaction to being embarrassed. "What do you do out here when you're, you know, menstruating?" And it wasn't that Marguerite was a woman who blushed easily underneath all those layers of self-preservation; it was just that subjects of such an intimate nature were never freely discussed in London...
Vero shot her a puzzled look. "When I'm what?"
Sighing, Marguerite realized that, of course, if her parents had in fact left when Veronica was still a child, perhaps her mother had never given her the "you're growing into a woman" talk. In truth, Marguerite herself hadn't fared much better, getting her education from a bunch of stuffy nuns.
"Okay, when you're -- let's go, Veronica, use your head -- bleeding."
Veronica looked startled. "When I'm bleeding?! Well, I clean and bandage the wound--"
"No!" Marguerite exclaimed in frustration. "Come on, Veronica, once a month, don't you start seeing more blood than usual? I mean, you may be uncivilized but you don't look malnourished so there's really no reason--"
"Kolin'ar!" Veronica's face broke into a smile of understanding. "Ohhh!"
"Excuse me?"
"That's what the Zanga women call it."
Marguerite looked heavenwards. "Of course. Charming."
Veronica bit her lip to suppress a smile. "So, Marguerite, do you bleed red like the rest of us?"
Marguerite narrowed her eyes at her. "Raptors bleed red too, Veronica." Then she spun around and sauntered away.
Rolling her eyes, Veronica continued making the soup.
Marguerite paused outside her doorway. Nice job, you idiot, she berated herself. You ambled out of there before you got any actual answers!
With a sigh, she swallowed her pride and went back to the kitchen area.
"Veronica."
"Yes, Marguerite," Veronica said, in a tone that stated that she was only barely tolerating the other woman.
"Can you just answer the question?" Marguerite asked, her usual energy draining away. Veronica heard the new apathy in her voice. She turned, slightly worried.
"Marguerite? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine; I'm always fine."
Veronica went over to her. "No, I mean it....I've always bled very lightly but I know that some women have a horrible time of it. Do you get....I don't really know much about this stuff, but....horrible cramps? Is that why you've been in such a horrid mood?"
Marguerite attempted a smile. "I'm always in a horrid mood."
Veronica grinned back, relieved. She really had no experience in matters like these; she didn't know if the Kolin'ar could become really serious, if Marguerite was going to need medicine or something. Veronica had only ever experienced the lightest discomfort. Judging from Marguerite's latest grimace, Veronica apparently had never realized just how lucky she was.
"I've already ruined a handkerchief," Marguerite prompted. "I don't have enough to use like this....and if you tell me to put moss or something down there I'm just going to throw myself over the railing and be done with it."
"No, no, nothing so drastic....I've got some old rags; we can share. Just wash them out as often as possible with cold water so they don't stain."
Marguerite's mouth dropped open. "Wash-touch-the....are you kidding me?" she squeaked.
"Marguerite....stop being so squeamish. It's your own blood, after all."
"Yuuuccckkk," Marguerite moaned. "But fine."
Marguerite was awakened early the next morning by a horrible pulling pain in her abdomen. Groaning, she rolled over and felt something sticky between her legs.
"Oh, beautiful," she muttered, realizing she'd soaked the rag right through.
She stood up, shivering in the early morning cold, and stripped off her nightgown, leaving the bloody thing in a heap on the floor. Shrugging on a robe, Marguerite trudged to the bathroom to clean herself up.
Unbeknownst to her, Roxton had heard her groan from the next room as he dressed. In full 'protective' mode, he marched himself over to her room, but when he peered inside, it was empty. His gaze caught on the lingerie on the floor, on the reddish-brownish stain. His hunter's eye was even able to pick out the few glistening droplets of blood on the wooden floor.
With a shout, he ran to Challenger's room.
"Challenger!" he cried, barging in on the sleeping man.
The scientist shot up in bed. "What? What? Raptor?!"
Roxton lowered his voice to a whisper. "No. Marguerite."
Challenger blinked hard, forcing the last remnants of drowsiness away. "Is she all right?"
"She claims she is, but things just don't add up." Roxton leaned closer.
"Ah, I assume you have a theory?" Challenger asked, readying himself for another exaggerated tale.
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I think Marguerite has some sort of stomach illness that causes her intermittent pain, and I think she's throwing up blood."
Challenger frowned. That was a bit more specific than what he'd been expecting. Quite frankly, the idea that Roxton's suspicions might be true frightened him. The medical facilities on this plateau tended to be limited to witch doctors and small clay huts.... "Go on."
"Yesterday, remember, when we were walking back? She screamed, and when we turned around, she was clutching at her middle, unable to speak for a few moments. And today, I just walked by her room, and what do I find? A trail of blood leading to the bathroom, and her bloodied nightgown on the floor!" Roxton shook her head vehemently. "Of course she's not gonna admit it, George. She hates when people feel sorry for her. Well, I for one am not going to stand by and let her die!"
"Roxton, you're a hundred percent right....we need to do something. See if you can get a blood sample."
Veronica, shamelessly eavesdropping outside the room, was unable to suppress a silent giggle. Marguerite was going to flip!
She silently treaded over to the bathroom. "Hey," she whispered. The dark-haired women turned.
"Oh my god!" Veronica gasped. "Marguerite, you look horrible!"
"Why thank you," Marguerite replied dryly. "Remind me to hire you full time to boost my spirits."
Veronica couldn't muster up the desire to say something sarcastic back to a women as pale and pained looking as Marguerite.
"The men think you've contracted some fatal stomach disease."
"What?!" the woman in question exclaimed.
"You heard me. Roxton saw blood on your floor. And he caught you before you thought you hide your cramps, as I'm sure you remember."
"Lovely...." Marguerite muttered. "That's the last thing I need to deal with today: a ridiculously ignorant man." She turned her gaze back to Veronica. "About what you said before, the second day is always worse for me. Tomorrow I'll look more like myself."
Veronica bit her lip. "Marguerite," she began nervously. "You're a few years older than me-"
Marguerite stiffened. "So?"
"So I was just wondering....up till now my Kolin'ar has been relatively painless, but by the time I'm your age, is it going get worse?"
"Oh Veronica....you're one of the smartest woman I've ever met, and I don't say that lightly," Marguerite burst out, in a rare moment of tenderness. "But there's really so much that you don't know." She took the blonde's arm. "Listen, if you ever have any questions...."
"I have one right now," Veronica said weakly.
"Ah yes....and the answer is, I see no reason for you to start menstruating more severely....and that is the word you're gonna have to start using; you're not a savage, you know. 'Kolin'ar!'" Marguerite muttered, shaking her head. "Some women, like me, just naturally have a tough time of it. And some women don'-"
Veronica was starting to look horrified at this point, as Marguerite cut herself off with a strangled gasp. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?"
"I'm positive. Really, don't worry about me. In a few days I'll be-"
"Your usual irritating self?"
Marguerite laughed. "Exactly."
The two women smiled at each other, both surprised that they'd managed to share a friendly moment after starting out as rivals.
"Now about Roxton....he should be snooping around your room trying to get a blood sample right about....now."
Marguerite grinned evilly. "You should have warned him never to mess with a woman whose hormones are running wild."
"I thought you'd have more fun with it than me."
Marguerite, feeling better already, flashed Veronica an evil smile and went off to put a certain someone in his place.
"Roxton."
He jumped at the sound of her voice. Standing up guiltily and trying to hide the vial behind his back, the hunter turned around.
Marguerite was leaning nonchalantly against the doorjamb, her robe beginning to fall open alluringly. It was obvious that she was wearing nothing underneath.
She smiled sweetly. He swallowed hard.
"Looking for something?" she queried innocently.
"No," he croaked.
"Really?" Marguerite marveled theatrically. "Then you wouldn't mind showing me what's behind your back?"
Roxton stuffed the vial into his pocket and brought out his empty hands, spreading them wide. "See? I've got nothing to hide, contrary to your obvious beliefs."
"Nothing?" Marguerite advanced, a wolverine on the hunt. "Are you sure?" Her eyes were wide and inviting.
Whatever Roxton was about to stammer was cut off abruptly when Marguerite abruptly wrapped her arms around his waist and slowly, sensuously, cupped his buttocks. He gasped loudly. "Marguerite!"
"Yessss?" she purred. And then, "Oh....look what we have here!" She pulled out the vial from his back pocket.
"It's for your own good!" he burst out desperately. "You don't have to hide your illness, Marguerite! We can help you somehow....you don't have to be embarrassed....we're all in this together...."
Marguerite was surprised to find that she was actually touched by the sincerity she saw in his eyes. He slowly brought a hand up to caress her cheek. "You don't have to depend only on yourself now." His voice cracked. Her eyes, amazingly, teared.
"You utter imbecile," Marguerite whispered.
"What?!"
Feeling very self-conscious about her now luminous eyes, Marguerite said, "And don't you get the wrong idea....I'm just abnormally emotional right now. Hormones and all. Roxton....didn't your mommy or daddy ever explain to their little boy how babies were made? And did they perhaps go into detail to explain what a woman goes through once a month to ensure the success of that process?"
Roxton's jaw dropped. "You mean you're not dying?"
"As long as I don't get eaten by a dinosaur, I'm pretty confident that I've still got a few years left, John."
His face broke into a grin. "Marguerite, that's wonderful!"
And then he did something that surprised the both of them.
He kissed her.
And she kissed him back.
When they broke for air, she said, "Well. That was certainly unexpected."
"But not unpleasant."
"No...." she conceded. "But that doesn't mean you're forgiven for snooping!"
Giving him an evil grin and a light smack on the arm, Marguerite slipped out of the room, laughing.
"Veronica!" he heard her call.
"I don't get it," he mumbled to himself. "If she's supposed to be all moody....well, she was yesterday, but why is she suddenly so....spirited?"
Marguerite, having backtracked once she'd realized she'd forgotten to shoo him out of her room, heard him voice his confusion. After making her presence known and shoving him out the door, she admitted to herself that she was now seeing him in a new light.
Marguerite mouthed at his back, "Oh, I don't know....perhaps the answer to your question has something to do with you."
Not that she was ready to share that particular bit of information just yet....
Hope you liked! Feedback is craved and appreciated, and I always return the favor of reviews!
By the way....there was one teeny detail about this story that bothered me, something about the characterization of someone who shall remain nameless so that I don't put ideas into your head. If something strikes you as too weird, please let me know in a review, and I'll probably just delete that minor....whatever it is. Yeah. Hmm....thanks!
Note #2: The next part of Severed IS coming, I promise....right now I have part of chapter one, two, and four written. I never write anything in order; it's so messed up, I swear....