Letters

A mind consuming chaos has enveloped a pair of young heroes. A chaos that, if not defeated, could mean the apocalypse of Fa'Deil as we know it. And to think that chaos began with a letter...

If anyone ever dares to partake in the endeavor that is character concept theft, let it be known that, if caught, I will severely punish thee. The characters Reia, Ryo, Lan, Sirea and Seadran are mine. Seadran especially, since I have been using him as a roleplaying character for three years now. (In truth, Ryo is a concept of a friend...)

The Legend of Mana copyright Square Enix, formerly Squaresoft. Any mention therein within this work of fiction is also done so under respect of the Copyright Laws. No one will, in any way, make a profit from this fictional work. It is done purely for leisure, and at the pace and level of its Authoress.

As a note, I started this fic before I'd played Final Fantasy X, so any mentions of the Ronso are also credited to Square Enix. To me, the idea was original...ah, but Reia, Ryo and Lan are still mine! Besides...they aren't just Ronso now are they?

Sunlight streamed through the window of a house. This house stood a few hundred yards away from a small village called Domina. However, though the house might be normal, the people who resided within it certainly were not. O, no, they were respected by all races.

Yes, and this spiral of dazzling, warm brilliance chose to, at that moment, play across the seeping face of a youthful man. In sleep, the man appeared like a fallen angel, features seemingly contoured to fit his personality. A moderate mass of golden curls, like a crown upon his head, allowed a few stray stands brush across his forehead with the sensation that a butterfly would have caused by landing on the man's face. In wakefulness, the man would conceal this feature of him beneath a favored hood of his. His complexion was rugged and sun-darkened. The light eventually trailed up to play across his neck and shoulder. There, a horrendous scar trailed from beneath his jaw line to his upper arm. A scar he earned honorably, from a dishonorable opponent.

The man eventually stumbled from his restfulness to a sthate of partial consciousness. One eye opened blearily and shone a brilliant, sapphire azure. "Morning already?" He asked to no one, it seemed. In fact, he spoke to a plant. And, not just any plant. After a moment, he glanced down at the corner, where a cactus was growing inside of a pot. When appraised from this angle, it appeared a mere cactus, oddly shaped with two thick pads branching off from a central bulb. There was a large coral-hued flower atop the plant, not quite fully opened.

The cactus appeared as if it didn't intend to answer, but eventually, it nodded thoughtfully. Turning around in the pot, one could see why it was peculiar. It had eyes, large and liquid and brown, and a large and slightly turned down mouth. Despite this, a happy look was on its face. It was always happy near its master.

The man padded barefoot down a flight of stairs to the ground level of his home. There he was greeted by a pair of children. Well, they were really tiny elves, not fully mature. They adored him as their master, also, but he was more of a mentor and teacher. He was glad to do so, since he knew the other person they would look to would set an improper example for them.

And, as if thinking of the woman in question could summon her, the door to the study opened and closed, admitting a slender woman. She was not soft, as her adult companion appeared, but instead hard, her face consisting of angular lines and planes. Cold green eyes watched the man as he set about preparing himself a meal. She herself had the same golden hair, though hers had a more antique quality to it, and was much darker. Hung from the woman's hair were several stick of hand carved and decorated ivory.

Where the man wore only a long shirt, the woman was dressed for the day. Aside from her hair adornments, she wore a rather peculiar tunic. A crimson cloth was draped about her shoulders and breasts, and served as a sort of shirt. To say the least, it covered only what was needed so that it would not hinder movement. From there on, it was a dark violet color. It might have once been the lover half of a tunic, but now it was split in both front and back and tastefully shaped like the arms of a star. A gold trim defined the outer edges. She also wore exotic leg and foot articles. The outer part of her clog was composed of skillfully dyed rawhide, colored a strange teal that complimented the upper half of the odd tunic. As it climbed to just short of her knee, it was decorated with a thick lining of hide, the fur left on and dyed a similar color, albeit more green that teal. Fluttering behind her, tucked into the top of the boots, were two fringed cloths. They had edges done in orange, but otherwise the background was the same color of the skirt. There were two columns of overlapping triangles done in a golden weave as decoration.

Altogether, her mere appearance was frightening, with her full lips seemingly placed in an eternal frown, and her fist usually clenched around the haft of her favored weapon. To protect her hands from blistering due to continuous chaffing on the wooden pole, she wore fingerless gloves of a crimson material that went to her elbow and tied with a plain brown chord. The weapon that posed this threat was, in fact, a halberd. And, leaned across the railing to the stairs, appeared rather malicious as the light played across the wickedly sharpened crescent of cold steel that gave way to a skillfully made, albeit unembellished, spearhead. All-in-all, the woman was deadly with that blade, a viper ready to strike.

And, with a viper's eyes, she watched the man as he went about the simple task of preparing the morning meal.

They were, in fact, non-identical twins. Neither had known their parents, but instead had relied upon one another all of their lives for survival. Well, until late, anyway. The man's name was Danatoth, and the woman was Kieru. Those were the names they could recall their aunt calling them when they were five. The woman who had raised them in place of their real parents had long since passed away from old age, leaving the two to fend for themselves.

"I do not see it brother," She said at last, settling herself on a lavishly carved couch. The padding was new, but not so new as to retain all of its fluff. It was at a level of firmness that the woman found most suitable for herself. "Why you can cook better than I, tend Bud and Lisa with greater effect. You might have helped some lovesick centaur, a lucrative merchant who looks like an obese rabbit, and perhaps even a few of the pirate penguins, but I have not only quelled the great crimson dragon, Draconis, but has saved a race, and killed a half-blooded demon." She looked resignedly at the large skillet of cockatrice eggs which smelled wonderful, accented with some finely chopped gray ox meat.

"And, sister, I do not understand your way with monsters, the forges, our golem workshop, the art of instrument creation..." He trailed off, scratching his head. They balanced out in the long run; one could not top the other in everything.

They were two of the most famous people in the world. Danatoth was known better than his sister, who preferred to call herself mercenary. Danatoth had defeated a goddess, the very creator of this world, and sealed her within the great Mana Sanctuary. He had also helped many friends along the way, but not near so many as Kieru. Kieru herself had revived the failing race of the Jumi, quested with two dragoon knights in order to seal and maintain the crimson dragon within the underworld, and traveled with a knight named Escad in order to defeat an evil demon. And gotten herself totally drunk numerous times along the way; now, bars everywhere waited for the visit of the Mana Heroine, for she held more spirits than the hulking Miner, Roger.

For a time afterwards, while they ate, the house was silent, punctuated only by the clatter of forks and knives as they tore through the meal. It was as wonderful as it had smelled, but the appetite of the female, lessened by many hours of traipsing through places unexplored without eating or even stopping, and she ate very little. As a matter of fact, she looked restless, and beneath the table, her feet were continuously shuffling. She wanted to go out. For how long, Danatoth could not know; a day, a week, perhaps even a month; she never stayed for more than a month in that little house. Despite this, she maintained a steely calm façade until after the meal.

At last, she decided to voice what was on her mind. "I am going to go visit Elazul and Pearl. Rubens, Flourina, Diana, and Esmeralda, for that matter. I haven't seen them in months." After a moment, the hinting of a wry smile danced across her lips, but lingered in her emerald eyes. "Besides, I promised Esmeralda I'd teach her the staff. Three months ago." The last she finished by holding back a snort of laughter. And, as if that settled the matter (which in fact, it did, being that she wouldn't've listened to her brother anyway) she stalked into the study. That was where she slept when she stayed there, and this little period had been no exception.

Soon enough, she had stalked out of the door, halberd gripped in one hand, provisions for a few days slung in a bag across her back. She was never gone for a definite amount of time; here it was a day, there, two weeks, and past the horizon it was possibly a few months. When she had quested with Larc and Sierra, and any of the numerous events that she went to the underworld, she lost track of time; the dead did not feel the need to eat.

In truth, the fact that Larc had allowed his sister to declare herself dead by being baptized in the flames, and spend time in the underworld was something he all-but-abhorred them for. In a bond so close that they were to a degree, empathic, it had hurt him deeply to suddenly feel the shock of emptiness. It had been some time before he had suddenly felt her sensations of numerous things, such as her sprained ankle and numerous gashes from the four dragons. She also has covered in burns to such an extent that, not only as soon as she got inside, disregarding all previous array, she had limped up to Danatoth's bedroom and fallen asleep in his bed, but it was also a wonder that her blood-matted hair and eyes were not damaged. And he hadn't had the heart to extract her.

He himself had planned to loaf about all day, but perhaps he should go work in the forges. He hadn't in a while, but wanted to make a new bow for hunting. This late in the year, foodstuffs were becoming hard to find, and his sister simply would not sacrifice her wealth of hard-earned lucre for their welfare until it became too cold to hunt for themselves. So, padding up to actually attire himself more suitably in case of un-expected guests, who came often to visit them, he began the trudge out side.

It was the kind of morning that was clearly and foretelling of rain; the sun, a paled spot on dark clouds that lgave suitably lucid warning to anyone who wasn't blind, gave no hint of warmth, and it felt a good sixty degrees, if not cooler. However, in his actual clothing, the only part of Danatoth that was cold was his toned lower abdomen, and the small of his back. His attire started atop his head, as his sister's did, though his stood out with a touch more...fervor...

A tattered, albeit it brightly colored, scarlet hood, held with jade clasps that gripped into his unruly, almost matted cap of pale curls, covered most of that aspect of his person and held it away from opponents in battle. The hood was plumed, even, with white Garuda feathers. He had tried not to accept them, but the woman who had given him the gifts had been very...persuasive, and eventually, he had given in. He wore a bronze breast-plate. Decorated with a pattern that, when translated into the old tongue as a word, had a connotation with a similar phrase which meant 'he who fights with a white heart'. Covering otherwise bared shoulders was a very short vest, though it had proved useful many times; lined thrice with Lorimar Iron mail, it deflected daggers and arrows effectively. He wore also an odd array of plates to guard his legs. Fashioned from both Menos Bronze and Lorimar Iron, it was an odd piece, with his rear and the sides of his legs to his knees guarded by a silver material, and his fore region of that longitude was protected by a plate of brazen metal. Tucked into a sturdy leather belt beneath this article was a cloth, akin to the two his sibling wore on her leg-guards, only his, spared of fringe, was brown with golden triangles that were arranged in such a way as to had three parallel lines on either side. There was only a twice occurrence of these, or at least, from what the casual observer could see. Flaring out from beneath the armor piece was a pair of loose pants, dyed a predominantly green shade of turquoise. Across the bottom, there was a jagged stripe of the same crimson that predominated the rest of his attire. Just visible as he walked were metal leg-guards, which ended neatly with the top of the man's clog-shoes, which, apart from being steely blue instead of teal, were exactly alike.

When he entered his workshop, the first thing he noticed was the blast of warmed air which indicated heated forage. How his sister managed to keep the thing ablaze, day and night, was something he would never know. Her predominant spirits were Salamander and Shade, where his were Undine and Wisp. Perhaps that had something to do with it.

Gingerly opening the heavy, metal-plated door tat separated him from the forge, the man had gone a full ten paces into the room and almost drawn out the piece of steel he'd intended to make arrowheads out of before he noticed that he was not alone in the room.

Smudged with dirt and old ash, the figure appeared to be sleeping but the trickle of blood issuing from the corner of its mouth appeared otherwise. Swearing something horrid-he hated being in such a damned bad situation-he hefted the limp figure and began trudging out of the forge and into his home once more. The figure was light, and as he walked, he checked for a pulse. The wrists were thin, and he could feel the bones of the fore arm. Swearing again with the realization that this person was emaciated but definitely alive, he set about boiling some water for a poultice that would ease the ragged, unsteady breaths of the body.

"Bud! Lisa! Set up a pallet in the study!" He ordered once the kettle was hung over the beginnings of a fire.

The oldest of the children regarded him with a look of confusion. "But why? Mistress Kieru just left..." And she trailed off as she watched Danatoth take a dampened cloth and begin to rigorously clean at the smears of ash and dried blood on the limp form's face.

"Just do it!" He snapped, not realizing his apprentice's realization. Damn it! Damn it damn it DAMN IT! Kieru, despite much protest, had the decidedly higher skill at healing, though neither of them was very good. And yet, the man was sure that this event had been just waiting for Kieru's departure.

After a long time of vigorous scrubbing, Danatoth managed to draw two conclusions about the lifeless form; for one thing, it was most definitely inhuman, and two. It was decidedly female. The thought of the second observation made him cringe. He had decided long ago that he would never purposely see a woman in less than adequate clothing. He was rather squeamish about the female anatomy. And yet, he was sure most of her injuries lay beneath the ragged once-white dress she wore.

The Mana hero. The man that had defeated a goddess...

...Was afraid of dressing the wounds of a woman if it meant displaying more flesh than proper. Sighing at his predicament, he wondered what she would think of it if he could make her survive. She wasn't unbecoming, from what he could see, but she wasn't human.

Though her hair was too filthy to have a distinguished color, there was also a light layer of fur that covered from her hairline to what he could see of the tattered neckline of her garment. It was a dark, nearly black blue. That was not the only inhuman feature about her, either. A slightly protruding jaw line made her mouth appear like a feline muzzle, but her most peculiar feature was her horn. Protruding from her forehead, it had a fine, silvery quality to it, and appeared smooth, like glass. Unconsciously, he reached up and touched her forehead, checking for fever.

He gasped and drew his hand back to stare at it with awe. He'd had a very old scar there that'd split recently. In place of the torn flesh was healthy, pink skin. When he reached up to touch her forehead again, he carefully, almost reverently, did not touch the glossy protrusion. No sweat had beaded on that fine, dark-blue brow, but the flesh beneath had felt akin to a hot coal. A bad sign; she had Firehead.

Once more aware of the fact that this major illness was caused by festering wounds, Danatoth put on a firm resolve before carefully removing the dress from around its wearer. Thankfully, the woman wore a breast-band and a loincloth of sorts beneath her dress. Sighing and muttering a prayer of gratitude to the goddess, he began to assess the woman's wounds.

There were bruises around her neck, and the flesh was a swollen welt, which meant that someone had tried to hang her. A myriad of large, long gashes decorated the woman's body, which was as furry as her face. Someone had tried in desperation to kill her. He wondered who, and why in desperation, but wondered even more to the reason she'd been in his workshop.

Doggedly, he struck up a new vigil against the festering, dirt-encrusted wounds. He began with a peculiar mound on her chest, just below her clavicle. Blood had congealed and matted into her fur, so he had a hard time of it, but, eventually, he unearthed a peculiar sight.

A core.

Embedded within the woman's chest, it appeared to be a marbled jade. A smooth dome, a single scratch marred the surface, and even that was minor. The stone was a rather jaded shade of creamy sea-green, veined with a slightly blue white. As if making contact between the core and the air would rouse her, the girl moved fitfully in her state or pseudo unconsciousness.

After that, Danatoth all-but incased the girl's torso in white gauze before carrying her up, into his room. She was surprisingly light after having a large portion of the dirt on her knocked off.

"I guess we go disassemble the pallet now..." His eldest apprentice said, sighing. She was perhaps only three feet tall, though her age was a bit indefinable. She had violet hair, which matched with her slightly gray lavender eyes. There was a pale red bow perched atop her head, and a dress of much the same color adorning her brief person. A darker red fringe dangled from the skirt, tickling her shins. She wore a pair of blue leather boots. The oddest aspect of her, as well as her younger brother, was, in fact her ears. Very few elves lived in Fa'Deil, but one of their parents had been. Their ears were long and pointed, and looked as large and childlike as any other distinguishable feature of them.

"Of course not! I could hardly sleep in there..." He said, patting her fondly on her head. In Kieru's absence, Lisa was a powerful reprieve. His sister had left her mark of sarcasm on the girl; it agitated him to no end. She smiled with the realization that, once again, her master had been the gracious host and given up his own quarters to his guest.

"I see. And, if you don't mind, I'm going to forage in Kieru's untouched closet for things for our guest to wear when she comes to. And probably test magic on her dress. I learned how to use it to do menial tasks, but I've never tried it past sweeping." She smiled cattishly at the idea before stalking up into the room with the injured occupant to find her decent clothing. She had learned early on about his squeamishness about feminine anatomy.

Sighing with relief, her resumed is his desired action of forging arrowheads. After awhile, he'd made about thirty, and a spear as well. By the time he'd finished, the rain had become more than a promise; a light, misty drizzle left minute, glimmering spheres of dew on any available surface on the outside of his home.

Smiling to himself, he began preparing the midday meal.

Some time later, when the drizzle had become a rain which had become a storm, the strange woman chose to awaken. Blearily, she opened one large eye. The light of a dim candle cast it into relief as she attempted to move. It gleamed a virulent shade of bright silver, veined with royal gold. In stead of the normal, human circle of iris, hers was slit like those of a feline.

For a moment, she pondered at the restriction of white linen and gauze about her torso. It gave her breast band a wide berth, she noted. Probably some nervous male healer. She realized that he would probably prefer her in clothing, if she still possessed any. Her dress was absent, replaced instead by a long white shirt and a dark blue robe. She donned the articles rapidly and began a slow limp down the stairs that were the only exit to the room she was in.

The sight that greeted her was welcome. A young child had her dress, restored to its former, pallid glory by washing, laid across her lap, with a needle and thread in one hand. The girl looked up in time to see the inhuman woman slump weakly against the railing of the staircase. "Daaanaaaatooooth!" She shrieked, throwing open a door that lead off of the main room.

"What's on fire this time?!" A startled male voice hollered from inside of the room. The woman's vantage on the staircase inhibited her view into the room, but it was obvious that the occupant of it was the one who had bandaged her up, for on first sight he sighed greatly.

"Oh, it's you." He said, leaning on the doorway and holding at his chest. "She never shrieks like that unless Bud's caught something on fire." He did look like that'd been what he'd expected.

Much to the woman's displeasure, her belly gurgled something awful. "I am hungry..." She said, meekly. It sounded rough but oddly melodious. She limped along the wall, rather cattish claws leaving minute indents in the sturdy walls. When she finally let go of the wall, she stood before Danatoth. Well, towered was a better phrase; without her horn, she managed a good ten in inches over him. "But this is more important."

Kneeling in something akin to a bow, the female waited for a moment before standing. "I believe I have the pleasure of addressing Danatoth Nivare, yes? And where is Miss Kieru Nivare? The King insisted I bring this two the two of you." She looked crestfallen when he explained that Kieru had left some hours prior to her discovery.

"And just who is your king and why did he send you?" Danatoth added after a moment's pause for air.

"That," The woman (or was it a girl...?) said with a rather odd look. "Is as close to blasphemy as disowning the king. Or, at least, in our lands. Oh, but do let me explain. I Reia, part of an ambassadorial expedition to Fa'Deil. My twin brother, Ryo, and he who is besotted with my protection, Lan, are about this place in the city called Roar. Or, in your case, the standard name is...Lumina? Yes? Good." She smiled sheepishly at him. "I've been out of it for awhile; my people can go for a good week with no food and very little drink." She indicated her thin wrists and tentatively flexed her knee so that the hollow behind it seemed more defined.

"Good; it's about supper time, anyway." He was a little shocked at the woman; he was unused to so much being said at one time. Kieru would most often say two of her favored words when disturbed; "shut" "up" But this was downright odd to him. Even companions he'd traveled with had usually been quiet, or even silent. He'd once spent a slow trip visiting the Jumi in Etansel with his sibling. When he had gotten there, many a cold stare had been spared for him. Only Pearl had acted differently. Pearl...

Clearing his head of thoughts of the sun-haired woman he was all-but besotted with, he snapped his attentions back on his guest.

"I never answered the second half of your question." Reia noticed with a smile in her pretty voice. "Or the first, for that matter. I am of a race of mountain dwelling peoples called the Ronso. Our king is really the clan elder that was chosen by our people; our current leader is an aged male called Savarend tsar'Anyearved. Our society is matrilineal." She smiled in a fashion that any man with half a wit would recognize as smug triumph. "I have been sent as a messenger of bad tidings, I'm afraid. The Mana tree has begun to seed."

"Isn't that a good thing?" He asked, puzzled.

"If you wish for the vileness of the goddess to once more take the world into chaos. The king's letter, which was supposed to arrive before us, will contain details. If you would permit, I would take one meal and depart." She smiled readily. "I must see what the two little morons I've been sent with are doing in my absence. Heaven forbid, they're probably terrorizing some human females in taverns. Ryo is terrible with his alcohol. And his lecherousness." She looked disgusted before giving Danatoth an odd look. "Just where did you find me, anyway?"

"In my Workshop, about three hands breadth from the forge fire. How did you get there?"

Her eyes glazed over; her body went limp; her matted mane of hair seemed to weigh her entire body to fall backwards. However, Danatoth was faster than the force of gravity and caught the woman before she measured her length on his hardwood floor.

"I will not mention it again..." She managed in a breathy voice. "You will not mention it again." She lifted a proffered set of clawed digits and brandished them threateningly.

"I'm sorry, but when I put you to bed mere hours ago you had Firehead. And you're covered in too many wounds to count, many of which festered." He prodded at the linen, which was apparent through the rather sheer shirt. Damn Lisa and all of her making fun of him! But then again, he had to blame his sister for even having the garment, didn't he?

"Again?" She said, smacking a hand to her forehead below the horn. "That's the third time this year. I am a hunter for my clan; I get more serious maladies with that occupation." It was Danatoth's turn to look faint at that. Knowing what he was about to ask, she smiled in her smugly feline way again. "Our horns have healing properties." She nodded and lifted one of her arms. There was a long, shallow gash which she brushed against the side of her horn. As soon as the two surfaces touched, the scabbing blood became flesh, and almost immediately, fur grew over that. "But, I could permit myself to invade on your hospitality until the storm passes." She smiled in her feline way again, though it was not smug this time. She was a very interesting person.

The eternal city of night was also experiencing the storm, being only some thirty miles from Domina. Rain and small pellets of hail showered upon the rain covering of the out-door tavern, the 'Mana Angel". This accounted for two things; one, that the floor and seats were wet, and two, that there were only about five patrons at the tavern. And two of them were Ronso. Male Ronso.

The largest of the two stood at least seven and a half feet tall, not accounting for his horn, which occasionally brushed the cover of the tavern. His fur was too dark to be anything but black, with his hair a shade of dementedly dark gray. Eyes of a depthless black seemed to seethe with many thoughts, but no emotion was truly discernible from those glimmering black spheres. His simple tunic was of a shade to match his hair, though it seemed to strain against well defined and toned muscles around his physique. It was also unlaces to a certain point to display a glimmering sphere of stone, not a scratch to be seen on the surface, the seemed to radiate blackness. Black Ronso were rare, even more so in males, but it made him appear truly rabid.

His companion, obviously reveling in the fact that he was drunk, was about a foot shorter, and built much more thickly. His fur was a shade of mutedly dark blue, with his hair being more white that blue. His eyes, bright gold veined with silver, were glazed with the stupor-induced blankness of drunkenness. He wore decidedly less than his reserved companion, with just an elaborate, modestly wide loincloth and a heavy weight of necklaces adorned with various animal bones and teeth. He was a proud hunter, like his sister. Nestled among the many threaded leather thongs, his core of iolite gleamed dully. It always looked dull when he was drunk.

"Oi! Lan, these spirits are wonderful! Try some!" Coming from the drunk's mouth, it sounded sloshed together, but the black was accustomed to such style of speech from his friend, who had been like a brother for a long time.

"I'm concerned for Reia. She was supposed to be here three days ago. I'm keeping a clear head in case she shows up during the storm." It was the most he'd ever said at once. The drunk merely nodded and tossed down another greedy portion of the strong spirits that were his favorite. Lan knew that the other was concerned for Reia, also. They were, after all, siblings.

Lan all-but jumped as a figure came into view of the city, clattering noisily up the carefully carved and maintained stone steps that lead to the tavern. It was a rather soaked human female, wearing an odd tunic and clog-shoes. Why the humans even needed shoes was beyond Lan; their people had pads on the souls of their feet. None-the-less, the female was very soon standing at the counter.

"Your strongest spirits, 'keep. I want to loose the feeling of running all day in rain." The voice was rougher than any human's he'd ever heard, but also tinged with something he could not define. In very short order, she was seated near their table and was discreetly observing the pair of them. The bottle was only partially full; she'd downed that as soon as the bottle was open and in her hand.

"It's a rare sight, seeing Ronso this far south in winter," she said at last, allowing her attentions to be seen more easily. "I've only ever seen one other, and she died of old age. Which, I hear, is rare in your people?" For having downed such powerful alcohol, she seemed unaffected, although she seemed more relaxed. She sighed richly. "I feel so short..." She muttered at last. It was true; she stood a good three inches taller than the average human male. But that still put her a hand shorter than Ryo.

"Indeed. We were sent to warn someone of something. Do you happen to know the residence of Danatoth and Kieru Nivare?" His own voice was as angular as the woman's face.

She glared at him. Not an angry glare, just an intense study. "Would you believe me if I said you were addressing a one Kieru Nivare?" It sounded oddly humored, as if she found something amusing. It killed him that he did not know.

He started, also, and dropped in something akin to an elegant bow, albeit a brief and short one. "Forgive me." He said, with a smile that changed only the angle of his lips over his jutting muzzle. "I did not know. With any luck, your sibling will be entertaining Reia Czareaina for the duration of the storm. She crept off with a note on her pillow three weeks ago, but knowing her, she probably injured herself in the process."

Remarkably, he reminded her of Elazul, worrying over Pearl if she was gone. There was a sting to her thoughts as Elazul entered them. Of what emotion, she would not allow herself to even think of.

"I hope she's alright. I also hope that she isn't injured in any place not covered by a garment; Danatoth's afraid of girls." She giggled in a most insane way, which sounded odd coming from her. She rarely giggled, almost never laughed, and she was sure chuckling would split her sides, but did not know what it felt like.

Ryo chortled as he finally noticed Kieru. "Now there's a pretty one!" He said drunkenly. He advanced slowly and began saying a million things that would make even the most astute whore blush with shame. Just as he got close enough to reach down at the most inappropriate area, the woman who was beginning to feel violated, pushed her fist outwards in the action that could only be described as decking. Ryo measured his length on the paving stones, completely inert.

"I do hope that he takes no offence. My heart belongs to someone else." She wouldn't admit who, though, not even to herself...

Lan laughed softly. "No, no, of course not. It'll do him some good to be injured by a pretty girl. And, no offence, if there can be any in what is usually a compliment, but I can't say you're not pretty." He smiled, but it did not touch his eyes. The black pools seemed as if trying to drown Kieru as she gazed with the barest blade of anger into them.

"None taken, if you're seriously smart enough not to be a pervert." She smiled, her eyes glimmering with amusement for a moment before becoming hollow again, and pulled a long draught from her bottle. She looked near enough ready to melt with relaxation. Alcohol must be nothing new to her. It shocked him a little, since females of his race rarely even touched alcohol.

"That's good to hear then." For a moment, he watched as Ryo staggered to his feet. He was partially sobered. And rubbing his bloodied mandible. She had hit hard. "I suggest you reconsider who you try to take advantage of next time." He suggested, helping the shorter male to his feet fully.

"But, but..." He trailed off, sounding like a defeated child. "But I was drunk!"

"That's always an excuse, isn't it?" Kieru offered with a touch of wry humor.

"Oh, yes, that's right. Ryo, this is Kieru Nivare. Currently into her second bottle of strong spirits. She'd be an excellent drinking partner for you." Lan grinned as Ryo dropped a deep and gracious bow and rose with a sober face.

"We come with the tiding of bad news..." Ryo was officially sober.

Wow, I did it! Times New Roman, Ten Point, nine pages. Can I do it? well, I just did. R 'n R, thankies...