A/N: Way past bedtime…can't stop writing…AUGHR!
And the winner is…I. The kitchen appliances organize a revolution and set out to conquer the bathrooms. A and G tied for second with B bringing up the rear.
So! When I decide to write Triangles or Squares (still haven't decided yet) the first drabble shall be about the kitchen appliances. And it will be extremely silly. So be warned. Don't know when I'm gonna get around to writing it though…maybe sometime next week.
(8)
She was a beautiful girl. My strongest memory of her was of a white dress stained by grass blowing in the hard wind. Flowers danced about her feet and her hair was whipping across her face. I wanted to think that, in time, I would come to love her. She seemed…different, special. As though there was some part of her that saw into dark places and it set her apart. But even then part of me knew that I could not give her what she needed. I was an unsuitable husband for any of the young girls in the village I had come to treasure as my own. They did not seem to understand this. I was handsome, mysterious, strong, and well-mannered. But, fortunately, their fathers saw the truth of things even if they could, or would, not. She wished to defy the wishes of her father but I refused. She did not understand and it hurt her. She told me I was the only person she could talk to, the only one who understood her. Perhaps I was, but that did not mean I could be for her what she needed. What sort of bond could we have had when I could not even bear to touch her and much less to kiss her beneath the eaves? Nothing like what a husband and wife are expected to share. Perhaps later, when she married a proper young man, she would realize how it was best that I left. Best that she simply pretend the darkness didn't exist.
It shames me that, to this day, I cannot remember her name. Clearly I did not care for her as much as I believed. As if I needed more proof that I am unfit for the life of a real man. Perhaps the emerald dragon was right; perhaps I am the monster.
~ Excerpt from Rorek's memoirs.
(O)
Chapter 9 – The Gift of Flight
Some of the dolls grabbed at her when she dove her hand in for the book but she ignored them. She found the bag easily enough and pulled it out, knocking away the little rag dolls that were trying to cling to both her and it. She then took it back to the other closet – the one that had previously been its home – and then pulled it out of the bag.
"Ah, Raven. Have I…transgressed in some way?" Malchior asked uncertainly. "I've been in the bag for a while…" he added.
"No. Something's come up." she answered. She told him about Rorek. He was silent through her explanation. Dead silent. He didn't ask questions; he didn't offer comments. Was he surprised? Upset? Worried? Angry? Her empathy had never been able to pick up the moods of paper. Obviously. Paper didn't usually have moods.
When she was finished he remained unusually quiet for a long time. Finally, when she was about to break the silence herself, he said, "If you wish, I could verify his claims."
His voice was very blank. Now she was worried. "What do you mean?"
"I would know if he is Rorel or not." he explained.
"Are you okay?" she asked him.
"Fine."
"I don't believe you." she stated. "You know he's relinquished his claim on you. I'm not going to give you back to him. Unless…that's what you want?"
"I think I would rather be thrown into the depths of Tartarus, chained to a rock, and have some big black bird come by every morning to breakfast upon my liver. Thank you."
"Then what's wrong?" she demanded.
"Nothing. It's stupid. Just forget it."
"Is there something about Rorel that we should know?" she asked.
Malchior sighed. "You know his story didn't end with the defeat of the dread dragon, right? You also know that some of the parts you did read were…edited – and if you didn't then you do now. Well…the dragon's story did not end there either. We have…a history. One that's a little more involved than this book might describe even without my censoring. We never exactly became friends…but things happened…to the both of us. After the dragon's imprisonment the story turns very dark. It gets bad, Raven. Very bad. That's why I don't want you reading the rest. Of course I could alter it, but at this point why bother? Still…I'd really rather just forget all of it and pretend it was no more than a nightmare. I'm sure he would too. But he is the hero, I am the dragon. He has a duty to make sure I don't rise to destroy the world and blah-blah-blah. Having him here…I'm not sure which would be worse; that it really is him or some unknown enemy of ours pretending to be him. But I think it's him. An imposter would not have attacked you for this book. Instead they'd have waited to earn your trust. Rorel was never quite so patient."
"So he'll honor his word and leave you to me?"
"He will. He is a stickler for that sort of thing."
"Then there's no reason you should have to see him again." she said.
"Thank you, Raven, but I doubt that will last forever."
"Bright ray of sunshine you are." she muttered.
"Hello Pot, my name is Kettle."
Raven felt a chuckle escape her throat. "Alright, point made. I do have a question though: Is it possible for a human to use the Thu'um?"
"Well it takes a rather specific type of training and conditioning, but yes, absolutely. It helps if you have a bit of dragon in your ancestry but I think even humans with neither dragon blood nor even any particular skill in the arcane arts can be trained to use the Thu'um. Why? Are you interested in putting a bit more emphasis into your rare bouts of temper?" he asked.
"Um, no. Rorel used the words 'Fo' and 'Iiss' against us while we were fighting so I wondered." she answered.
"Ah…yes…" He didn't seem very keen that the conversation had angled back to Rorek. "Are you ready for another lesson in normal Draconic then?" he asked hopefully. Though she rather suspected this was just a means of swiftly changing the subject.
"Actually it's late, I'm tired, and I still need to take a shower so it will have to wait for tomorrow."
"Very well then. Need someone to scrub your back?" he asked playfully.
"You're volunteering? Your paper would get soggy."
"Maybe not. It's magic paper after all."
"It's still paper and it'll still get soggy. Goodnight Malchior." she said pointedly, though rather than slipping him back into the book back she simply laid him down on top of the chest and turned to leave her closet.
"Goodnight Raven." he returned, though with a far different tone of voice.
(O)
"Can you hear me?"
"Yes! I can hear you! What do you want!"
"Hear me. There is a better way. One way for all. Let me show you the deep magics."
"Who are you? What do you want from me?"
"Time eats his children, but the first escaped. I am he. And I need your help."
"How can I help you? Where are you?"
"Learn the deep magics. Find the iron of the mind."
Raven opened her eyes and sat up, reaching out for…something. For some reason she felt as if there had been a face of some sort in front of her. But she was in her room. It was a dream. And now she couldn't quite remember much about the face save for the fact that it had eyes. She let her arms fall to her sides. "Great." she groaned. She flopped back down on her bed. "Obviously some step-by-step instructions and GPS coordinates are simply too much to ask."
(O)
The morning breeze was soothing and Raven had to admit she liked listening to the rustling bits of flora in Starfire's rooftop garden. It was a bit windy today, but peaceful. The hustle and bustle of city life had yet to reach daytime-level chaos so it was still possible to pretend the various sounds flying across the waters were just the wind. It was a nice place and time to meditate, and she needed to meditate. She should have done it last night after unleashing all that power but they had all been extremely tired after that battle with Rorek. Better late than never.
"Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos…"
That power was still simmering in her veins, too hot, too palpable, too much. She had to pull it back in, bring it down, down deep within where it would lie dormant.
"Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos…"
In her mind she could see her own power as a chaotic dance of energies reflecting the colors of her emotions. Starbursts, ribbons, nebulas, speckles, and twisted images that looked like things for one second and nothing the next. It was pretty…but so was a forest fire.
"Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos…"
She drew that power down, creating a spiral within her. It was a whirlpool of power; sucking the chaos down, down into her core – deeper than her center. She kept her breathing slow and controlled.
"Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos…"
Once upon a time she had to do this to clear out her emotions as well. She wasn't entirely sure why but ever since Trigon's defeat her emotions and her powers had developed some odd sort of separation. Rather than her emotions making her powers go out of control, they became a focus of sorts. She didn't quite understand it. It was like something inside her had been rewired so that she worked differently. Or perhaps some bug had been found and dealt with so she worked properly.
Mmm, now she was thinking with computer analogies. Maybe she was spending too much time with Cyborg.
"Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos…"
Now her powers were dangerous because there was too much. She could handle it, she was in perfect control and she knew how to keep everything focused so she made no mistakes and had no accidents. But at times it was like juggling knives. She could do it, and easily, she knew. It was just that she preferred to be juggling two or three knives as oppose to two-hundred. Especially since, on a regular basis, she only needed a few knives. All it would take was one knife to fall. Slip up with only a little power and it was fine. Slip up with the kind of power she'd been using to fight Rorek with, however…
She didn't like to think about it.
"Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos…"
She felt infinitely better with all that power locked back up. While she was at it she decided to clear out some emotions too. Technically she didn't have to anymore but, well, baby steps, right?
Three years later and she felt like she was still crawling…
"Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos…"
She could feel the eyes on her but she chose to ignore them for the time being. She was good at ignoring disturbances, though this one…
She concentrated on clearing herself out first. Then she'd deal with him.
"Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos…"
(O)
"Can I help you with something?"
Rorel was a bit surprised when she addressed him. He was sure he'd been quiet and he thought he was keeping his presence hidden, but apparently he was not as good at hiding said presence as he thought.
"My apologies." he said swiftly. She hadn't even turned to look at him. "I did not mean to disturb you. I will leave if you prefer."
She shrugged. "I don't mind either way."
"Then…might I join you?" he ventured. This was dangerous and he knew it, but he could not help himself. No, that wasn't true. He could help himself. He just did not wish to.
"If you want."
It was a simple statement made in a simple tone that expressed neither desire nor aversion. Somehow that was worse than outright hostility. Hostility would have at least signaled that he'd made some impression. This flat apathy was maddening.
She was still wearing her hood up. Did she ever take it down? The shadow it cast over her features had to be intentional. But if he asked to see her face then she would undoubtedly ask to see his. Hmm…
He stood next to her at a comfortable distance and watched her for a moment before turning his gaze upon the water and the city beyond. The view was excellent, but still so strange and alien. He was no stranger to new and amazing sights. Even so, the massive behemoth that was now called a 'city' was…too much. He'd get use to it – he had to, this was his life now – but it was very daunting.
"I must confess my curiosity, M'Lady. What is it you are thinking of so deeply when you close your eyes and sit in the air like this?" he asked her.
"I meditate." she told him. "The point is to think of nothing so that sub-conscious thoughts and emotions can be recognized and dealt with, leaving the mind clear and focused."
"An intriguing concept. Must one be able to hover thus in order to achieve it?" he asked.
"It's not compulsory, no." she answered. "But you do need to find a position that's comfortable enough your body won't distract you with mild pains and yet not so comfortable you fall asleep."
"It seems to me that concentrating on levitation would not be beneficial." he forwarded.
"My levitation is a natural ability. It's not a spell I must concentrate constantly on. For me it's as easy as standing. I also find that keeping some part of my mind occupied by a menial task like this helps my focus."
"Can such an ability be taught?" Was there too much eagerness in his voice? The way she looked at him out of the corner of her eye made him think that she could probably tell how much he wished to fly like her.
"I'm afraid not. You have to develop your own method. You were doing pretty good with your ice. Why not use that?" she asked.
"Ice may be my first element but I have no natural ability to use it. Flying like that is not something I would be able to keep up for any great length of time." he explained.
"Then why not use your spellfire?" she questioned. She unfolded herself from her position and turned to face him. He had a moment's view of her form-fitting black garb from a much better angle before the white cloak dropped to conceal it. He was starting to resent that cloak.
He blinked, going over her words in his head. His brow furrowed in his confusion. "How do you mean, M'Lady?"
"Can you do this?" She created a sphere of her strange black, white-bordered spellfire just in front of her and began to fly it about her form in controlled and complicated patterns without looking at it.
He nodded. "Easily, M'Lady." he demonstrated with his own white, slightly transparent spellfire.
"What about this?" She then flattened the sphere into a disc and began manipulating its angle as well as its trajectory. He wondered where she was going with this.
"Yes, I think so." He mimicked her action. "It might take a bit of practice." Manipulating the angle of the disk as well as it's direction was just slightly trickier.
"Good. How big can you make it and still control it?" she asked. Her own disk became about the size of a man and she began moving about above them with what appeared to be no effort at all.
He enlarged his own disk and sent it into the air to join hers. He still wasn't sure what her intention was with this but somehow his attempts at both testing his own prowess in this particular area as well as his desire to impress the lady turned it into a sort of game. Their disks made a soft 'sch' noise when they touched and somehow the game was now an attempt on her part to prevent their disks touching while his part was to make it happen. Her disk wove about the sky above them, ducking and weaving about, making use of it's flat sides as it spun over to avoid his and then dipping around in a pattern that he found himself mimicking. Somehow it seemed to be necessary to keep the disks level throughout the majority of their flight and to always have the same side facing up. He noticed that and, after some time following this example, Raven's disk disappeared.
"Now," she began. "Can you do this?"
Her disk then reappeared beneath her feet and lifted her a few feet into the air. Then, using only the power of her spellfire disk, she soared into the air. She rode her disk through several of the patterns she had shown him previously, her cape whipped back around her shoulders by the force of the air resistance and her body twisting and bending as though her movements controlled the disk rather than her own power. Then she was back, still hovering a foot above the ground, her body language expectant.
He looked at her, and then he looked down at his feet. He recreated his own white disk beneath him and slowly used it to lift himself in the air. He was very unsteady and knew that at any moment he would slide off the tilting, tipping thing. Then he realized – feeling a bit foolish for it – that he could fuse his boots to the disk even more securely than he had done with the ice. Now there was no fear of falling, but he was still unsteady.
"You make it look so easy." he commented, trying to stop wobbling about and certainly trying very hard not to make a fool of himself. This was certainly not the same as flying on a slab of ice – though he wasn't entirely sure why this should be so.
"Yes, well, I have been doing this all my life." she reasoned. "You'll get use to it."
"This is far different from simply controlling the disk from afar." he said. He took a deep breath and tried to get his thumping heart under control. The fear of falling might not be there anymore, but, he realized, the definite fear of looking a fool in front of this lady was just as powerful. "Would your meditation make this easier, do you think?" he asked her.
"Definitely. You're scared of something and it's not helping you." Was it that obvious?-! "Try not to think about it. Get your breathing under control and try to relax physically as well as mentally. Focus solely on the task at hand. This is your power. Make it listen to you. Don't let your emotions get in the way. Focus them. Redirect them. Use them."
The point of meditation was to think of nothing. He'd start with that, then. He took several deep breaths and cleared his thoughts of everything save for the disk beneath him. That was when he realized he wasn't doing himself any favors by allowing his body to control the movement of the disk. He forced it flat with his power alone. His body swayed a bit from the sudden lack of unstable ground but his boots were stuck firmly and he used them to stand up straight.
"Good. Just keep that up. You are in control, the disc can do nothing unless you allow it." Rorel tried to focus solely on her words but that was just a bit difficult. He never thought he'd find a low gravely voice so attractive in a woman. "Now take your fear and turn it into something else; something you can use."
Determination, he decided. He would not make a fool of himself. He was in control. This disk was of his power. More deep breaths. He opened his eyes. Raven gave him an encouraging nod of approval and then used her disk to fly up several yards above him. He took two more deep breaths and slowly rose up to meet her. Perhaps his disk hovered just a bit closer to hers than necessary, but he could blame that on his present lack of experience. She flew backwards in a swerving pattern, slow and easy, and then she stopped some distance away. She clearly intended him to mimic her.
Determination. And now, he decided, he had a goal. If he could get her flying fast enough, that cloak would become a cape again. Her hood might even fly off.
He did not fly quite as fast as she had at first, but the more he did this serpentine pattern the more sure he became of his movements. He drew up next to her. This time she went up and down, curving her disk around the pattern so that it angled as she dipped and rose. He followed her slowly and awkwardly, but once more the patterns became easier and he was faster.
Gradually she began to lead him through more and more complicated patterns so he had a better feel for this. He grew faster, more confident, and was soon able to keep up with her patterns so that she didn't have to stop and wait for him. He realized that, when she moved her body about as she made these patterns, she was not using these movements to control the spellfire but rather as a focus for her trajectory.
"Alright," she said after a while, "Now let's see how fast you can go." and she whipped around him, shooting off down the wide expansive river at speed. He followed, excitement griping his heart as he threw his fears away and raced after her.
And then it wasn't a game anymore. Then the sheer elation of flight and the realization of this new power took hold and he found himself unable to care about anything else. Rorel laughed from the joy of it all as he soared at speed across the river. Soon he was past Raven, testing himself and how fast he could go. But she drew up next to him, now allowing him to take the lead as they flew out of the city boundaries and into what had to be an ocean. No mater how fast he went, however, Raven could keep up. Her white cloak billowed behind to reveal the black-clad form beneath. Despite his elation, it was still hard to keep himself from staring. Eventually they turned around and headed back towards the tower. The sting of the wind was harsh at these speeds but not harsh enough to stop him. This was absolutely wonderful.
They slowed down as they drew near the tower and he was able to shout to her above the wind. "This is amazing, M'Lady! I cannot believe I have never thought of this before!"
She gave him a small, brief smile. "I don't know about you," she began, "but I'm working up an appetite. I'm getting some breakfast." she said. Her disc then angled back towards the roof of the T-shaped tower.
Rorel stopped and watched her fly away. An overwhelming sense of loss swept through him for a moment. He didn't quite understand why this feeling had been so potent. He thought of ignoring it and continuing his foray into the elation of true flight, but he got the distinct impression that, though flight was now open and free to him whenever he would desire it, the lady's company was not.
He decided to follow her. He did not wish to cease the experience of his newfound freedom and power, but, he reasoned, he could come back out here and continue at a later time. Right now…
He did not wish to be alone.
"I didn't mean you had to come with me. You're perfectly welcome to continue on your own." she told him when he landed next to her, banishing his disk as his feet neared the ground.
"My stomach believes otherwise, M'Lady." he lied.
She let out a short chuckle and gave him a brief smile that made bits of him twist up on the inside. "Are you sure you've never flown like that before?" she asked, leading the way to the rooftop door.
"I have flown upon the backs of winged creatures and hovered at moments upon the surface of ice, but never have I possessed such a freedom of flight that you have given me this day." He moved to stand in front of her just as they reached the door, stopping their progress. He gently clasped one of her hands in his so he knew he would have all her attention. Their eyes locked, though hers were still slightly shrouded by the shadow of her hood. "No words could express my gratitude for this gift, My Lady. If there is any way I might repay you, you need only ask. I know I have little to offer, but whatever is within my power to give shall be yours."
He could feel it. The slumbering storm of power that pulsed beneath her flesh; dormant and controlled, but so very palpable to the right senses. It made his skin tingle and caused shivers to run up and down his spine. The closest comparison he could make was that it felt akin to touching a lightning stone with one's bare hands. Though perhaps this particular lightening stone was holding a star instead.
So, this was the same sorceress whose touch had woken him. Amazing. He had suspected, though he'd needed to touch skin-to-skin to be sure.
She drew her hand back to his disappointment. But he saw she was looking a bit uncomfortable. Was there a blush beneath that hood? By the gods he hoped so. Finally he was making an impression.
"That's really not necessary…" she told him awkwardly. "I'm glad I was able to help."
"Clearly you underestimate the value of such an ability. It is entirely necessary. You may consider me at your disposal, M'Lady." he told her. Then, bowing low, he stepped aside and opened the door for her.
"You…really don't need to do that. I'm perfectly capable of opening my own doors." she stated primly. He tried not to feel too pleased with himself. She was flustered and trying to cover it up with irritation.
He managed to swallow his chuckle. "I am well aware, My Lady. Forgive my ancient ways. I imagine many of my habits will seem out of place in this culture." he said. But he stayed where he was and waited until she walked past before following and closing the door behind him.
Dangerous. part of him warned. He ignored it.
(O)
No one else was up yet. Either that or they just weren't in the living room. Probably the battle with Rorek had tired them all out. It'd tired her out too but Azar forbid she get any actual sleep when there was something apparently monumental looming up on the horizon. Looked like breakfast would be up to Raven. She pulled her hood down and began to gather her hair up into a ponytail at the knap of her neck so it'd be out of her way.
"I hope you like waffles; it's about all I can cook." she told Rorek. "What?" she asked. He was staring at her intently. Too intently. She was glad she'd meditated. The emotions those eyes were calling up in her were too powerful and unfamiliar. She'd managed to get a hold of herself on the way down to the kitchen after said emotions had decided to have a party in her gut up on the roof, but now she was facing those eyes. She felt…
No, too much, too quickly. She couldn't do this. She bundled these emotions up and locked them away to be dealt with later.
"Ah, nothing! I apologize. What are waffles?" he asked.
"The Gift of Tongues doesn't cover waffles?" she nearly demanded. She was almost affronted. How could this power give him knowledge of a bathroom but not waffles?-! That wasn't right!
"It appears that having no knowledge of these waffles is not something that would cause as much of a barrier in daily conversation as being ignorant of a toilet might." he mused.
"No…I guess it wouldn't…" she admitted grudgingly. She turned to the kitchen and began levitating the necessary ingredients from various drawers and cupboards.
She actually enjoyed cooking quite a lot. Too bad she was no good at it.
"Do you do this often, M'Lady?" Rorek asked.
"No." she sighed. "Like I said, waffles are the only things I'm good at cooking. Everything else sort of…becomes inedible."
"Hmm…In my time no established sorceress would deign to prepare food. Perhaps there is something about extensive practice in the arcane arts that dulls one's ability to cook." Rorek mused.
"No, I just can't cook." Raven stated flatly, measuring out ingredients. "I imagine the reason the sorceresses of old wouldn't cook was the same as it was for sorcerers."
"What reason?"
"Pride." she answered. She had all the ingredients in her bowl but rather than mixing them with magic she decided to do it herself. There was something very satisfying about beating the dough with a wooden spoon. "Human nature being what it is, social views have developed the opinion that, since women are generally better at cooking and cleaning and other such domestic activities than men, this is to be 'women's work' while the hunting and protecting is to be 'men's work'. There is nothing wrong with this on the whole; the problem is that people decided that the 'women's work' was somehow inferior and performing these activities was demeaning. I imagine back in your time women did not have an equal social standing as men?" she inquired.
"Sadly no, M'Lady. Only the sorceresses were given the same social status as their male counterparts." he answered.
"I imagine that's only because a sorceress had the power to force the issue."
"Again, I fear, you are correct. Indeed, there is an old saying that kept the ladies of magic in their position and maintained an only somewhat shaky union between the two sexes in the arcane arts. It goes as thus: 'A woman with half the power of a man is twice as potent.' Any halfway intelligent sorcerer learned very quickly to take this to heart."
"I'm…not sure how well that might apply today. Magic has sort of taken a back seat to super powers in this millennia." Though it was certainly flattering. "Besides, we don't have the same social separation these days. At least not in this part of the world. So it doesn't mater much anymore. Things are different."
"Better, I imagine." he said.
"You'd think so, wouldn't you? But to be honest it seems like every time you fix one problem in the world several more turn up. We'd like to think it's better, but really it's just a different kind of bad. Some things are better, some things are worse, and some things that didn't even exist back then are now issues. It just depends on your perception." She poured her batter into the waffle maker and set it to cook. It was the mass waffle maker so it would do a dozen at a time. Maybe she should put blueberries into the next batch. Did they have blueberries? She went to check.
"Then clearly I have much to learn."
She stood up holding the blueberries and found he was suddenly next to her. He took the berries from her with a bow.
"Perhaps this ancient sorcerer might learn to cook?" he asked.
"I only know how to make waffles..." she reminded him uncertainly.
"Then I shall learn to cook waffles. If the arcane arts are not to blame for my loss of cooking capabilities then perhaps it is a skill I might relearn."
"You use to cook?"
"When I was apprenticed I did so, yes. In my time an apprentice was, by definition, already inferior and expected to do the chores. All of them. Even the so-called 'women's work'. I have not done so since, however, and must be terribly out of practice." he mused.
"The foods are also going to be completely different from what you were use to." she reasoned.
"Indeed. So, My Lady, what are we to do with these?" he asked, indicating the blueberries he was holding.
Sometime later...
The four late-rising Titans all stared at the hostile pastry takeover. The smell had been what finally dragged their tired and sore bodies out of bed. It'd been worth it, even if the sight that greeted them was a bit…odd.
"The living room appears to have been visited by the violent twisting storm of waffles." Starfire observed. Beast Boy and Cyborg were already in their happy places.
"Um, yeah, we got a bit carried away beating the batter..." Raven explained sheepishly.
"Who would have thought such an action could be so…enjoyable?" Rorek mused.
"So, uh, enjoy?" Raven offered.
The Titans all looked at one another.
"WAFFLES!" Cyborg and Beast Boy cheered.
(8)
A/N: I now have a truly masterful plan to defeat the Teen Titans!-!-! I shall hack into all their mp3s and subtly alter the wave lengths so that faint subliminal messages will brainwash them all into thinking Wheatley would make a good cook! BWAHAHAHAHAHA!-!-! Good thing I'm not a villain or this would TOTALLY WORK!
Ah, poor Rorek. A slave to narrative causality. And then there's the fact that he hasn't had any real female contact for the past millennia, he just saw Raven's 'I killed Trigon; don't screw with me' awesomeness yesterday, and Raven's pale skin would be quite a bit more attractive to him than Starfire's bronze tan (even if Raven is about 100 lbs too light to be a traditional medieval beauty). I'd feel sorry for him if I wasn't such a fangirl 8D.
Coming up in the next chapter:
You're well over a thousand years old and you have acne?
PLEASE READ: Okay, so I can't decide here. Some of you seem to like the name 'Rorel' a lot but I had planned on keeping it as 'Rorek' officially since that's canon (or, at least, make it official for everyone who wasn't Rorek himself, lol). So, let's have another vote! Who wants him to stay 'Rorek' and who wants 'Rorel'? (No, you can't vote for both. That would be unhelpful) If I do not get enough votes for one or the other I'm sticking with 'Rorek' as the default since it is canon. You have until…(checks draft) before chapter 11 to vote. So that's this chapter and the next. (Anonymous votes are accepted even if all you type is 'Rorek' or 'Rorel') Thanks!
