~ It's Not Ketchup ~

Cyclonis couldn't find the desire to pay attention. Tempest was leading the council meeting, and it was bureaucratic trivial matters. How much wheat there was still in the granaries, the rising cost of slaves, air traffic regulations... nothing to hold her attention.

It didn't help she still felt a small glow thrumming in her veins. Her mind wandered, remembering the events of the previous night in vivid detail. It had been a while since she had felt anything at such intensity, and she knew that a destructive part of her was craving more.

While she played with that idea and what it could entailed, she distantly wondered what she was going to do about Furor's offer. She couldn't very well accept could she? She had only considered the idea fleetingly, and now... there was a definite lack of interest on her part. It might be smart politically, but she wasn't so desperate yet that she felt the need to stoop to such methods.

She just hoped Furor would take the rejection well. She couldn't really afford the fallout.

Not that she had seen him. The council meeting was well under way, several hours had already passed.

She listened to Tempest's drone on, trying to not fall into day dreams, she decided to worry about Furor when the time came.

The room was suddenly buzzing with whispering voices, drowning out Tempest. Tempest tried to speak over the rising voices, to try and wrest back control, but it didn't work.

"What's the meaning of this?" Tempest shouted, as someone came forward, escorted by guards.

It was Furor. And he was covered in blood.


A/N: I'm very sorry about the lapses between updates. The intensity of the last chapter was very draining, and I had less time on the holidays then I expected. And the first few weeks of school were not kind. Here's hoping for more regular updates, eh?