Here we go with the next little bit...thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed. I'm not quite sure where this thing is going, but I suppose we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, ne?
=== "Say Please" by Morgan Steelgrave - Chapter Two ===
It took Dilandau only a minute to identify the creature that had appeared out of nowhere and wrapped herself around him like a squid. Growling, he struggled to extricate himself from Meret's grasp, but the djinni woman was far stronger than he had remembered. Glancing up, Dilandau saw Folken regarding the scene with a strange look on his face. When he spoke, his voice was strangled and a little higher-pitched than normal.
"Well, Dilandau, it looks as if you have matters well under control. Report back if there are any further developments." He practically ran out of the room, and Dilandau wondered for a moment as he began to lose feeling in his appendages if the Strategos had been stricken ill by the curse.
Then he heard Folken laughing his ass off out in the hall. His anger returning, the Dragonslayer yelled, "Folken! Dammit, Folken, get back here!" In his fury, he tried once again and in vain to get Meret to release her hold, but the girl was not budging. By this point, Dilandau was feeling light-headed and little black spots were dancing in front of his eyes.
He was going to die, and this...this...woman would be the cause of it. What an embarrassing way to go, some distant part of his brain noted. Another part of his mind screamed at him to fight it, to fight the girl and live to skin her alive. This prospect proved motivation enough for Dilandau to swallow what little pride he had left at the moment and call out, "I need your help! FOLKEN!!!"
He heard giggling by his ear and rolled his eyes to the side in an attempt to better see his captor. All he could see was a mass of auburn hair. He managed to hiss, "Can't...breathe...let...go..."
Meret giggled again. "You know better than that. Say please," she chided.
"Please," hissed Dilandau. The girl immediately dropped her prey, which landed with another resounding thud, and floated above him with her legs tucked underneath her. She listened attentively as Dilandau proceeded to scream at her.
"I don't believe this! I don't fucking believe this!" he yelled as he stood to brush himself off. He was a little unsteady on his feet due to the world still spinning around him, so Meret silently extended a finger and pushed him back into balance as he straightened his armor. He swatted her hand away furiously.
"I'm happy to see you, too," Meret smirked. Dilandau ignored her and began to pace.
"What did I do to deserve this?!" Meret opened her mouth to answer him, but he whirled on her, standing inches from her face. "Not one word," he hissed, glaring at her with as much homicidal madness as he could muster. It really wasn't that difficult, considering the circumstances.
"I might get the impression you're not excited to see me, with the way you're acting," she noted dryly. Dilandau's eyes rolled back into his head and he made a stifled, frustrated growl before turning away and pacing some more, issuing a steady stream of muttered expletives.. Meret watched him the way one watches a caged animal, eyebrows lifting when she caught the occasional, more colorful word. After a while, she spoke up again. "You're going to work yourself into a fit over something you really don't have any control over, you know."
Dilandau stopped mid-stride at her words and stared at her. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. The girl was there, floating right in front of him with that irritating half-smile, and there was not a damn thing he could do about it at the moment. He was stuck with her until he could track Folken down and ask him what to do, after punching him for laughing at him earlier.
That's what really irked him, was that this girl managed to cut him off at the knees without really trying. She had reduced him to a powerless idiot with a mere embrace. No, that had been no hug, he amended. It was a death grip. And he had resorted to calling to Folken for help. The great Dilandau Albatou did not call for *help*. And now, he was exerting all his energy in screaming at her in barely coherent sentences, and she simply floated there and listened to him rant like a spoiled child. She was making him look like an idiot *again*, and he was too aggravated to see beyond her tricks.
He wanted to strangle her, tear her apart, dismember and disembowel her. But there was no way he could lay a hand on her, he was forced to admit. Their fight earlier had shown that, and though he planned on defeating her eventually, it was not the time to make the attempt. He was too tired and wound up to approach it logically. That, and he doubted it would be as easy as a little swordplay to remove a curse that was supposed to haunt him for all eternity. So if he couldn't kill her slowly and methodically, using something painfully dull like a butter knife, what else could he do?
Finally accepting his exhaustion and his predicament, Dilandau allowed his shoulders to slump beneath their armored plates and stepped over to the girl. She was watching him cautiously, green eyes slightly narrowed. He reached out with one gloved hand, almost hesitantly. Meret raised one curious eyebrow, and that was enough for him to snap to motion and grab her by the hair. She yelped as he dragged her out of the room and down the hallway, plowing determinedly along the metal corridors with her floating behind him.
"Hey!" she protested his hauling her unceremoniously down the hall, but Dilandau ignored her. "Where are we going?"
"To 'work myself into a fit' in a more comfortable place," he replied through gritted teeth.
"Oh," said Meret. "Will you please let go of my hair now?"
Dilandau shot her a glare meant to melt iron. "No."
"I didn't think so. Just checking."
* * *
Dilandau had what he considered a relatively high tolerance for alcohol, and though he was a soldier and operated heavy machinery daily, he was fond of the occasional drink when he was dealing with unsavory subjects or simply having a bad day. Seeing as that particular day fit both categories, the Dragonslayer had managed to get himself suitably drunk in an amazingly short amount of time. Suitably being, of course, feeling as if he were underwater and far, far away from the thing that was currently sitting on his chest and staring at him.
"Was that really necessary?" Meret asked, cocking her head to one side. Dilandau was sprawled across the length of the couch in his rooms. Meret had been floating beside him, but as the evening progressed the sight of a young woman floating in the air had been a little much for Dilandau to process in his inebriated state, so Meret was forced to find a seat. Any and all chairs in the room were in sad shape, the convenient victims of their owner's frequent temper tantrums. Meret did not really feel like sitting in something that had been slashed, broken, spilled upon (that looked like a blood stain, and Meret was not at all sure she wanted to know the unfortunate soul whose blood it was) and burned, so she sat in the next most convenient spot: on top of Dilandau.
"Abso-fucking-lutely," he growled in answer to her question. He glared at her, but appeared to be having difficulty focusing on her. She sighed and adjusted her position so she was sitting down closer to Dilandau's feet.
"Could you watch your language? If you're going to curse, I know you can be far more creative about it," she said in reference to his earlier outburst. Dilandau snarled and tossed his second empty bottle at her, missing her by a mile.
"You're a fine one to talk about cursing someone," he snapped. Meret blinked.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked. Dilandau merely snorted and uncorked another bottle of whatever vile thing he was drinking. "You're going to have a nasty hangover. How can you fight like that?"
"Thanks, Mom," he sneered, taking a swig from the bottle. "I'll watch my language when you stop lecturing. I mean, is that was this whole thing is supposed to be about? You slowly driving me insane with nagging? What the hell kind of..." He trailed off just as he was starting to gain momentum in his rant. He stared down at his lower body with a puzzled look on his face. "I can't move my legs," he remarked.
"That's because I'm sitting on them."
"Of course it *would* be your fault," he replied sourly. Meret grinned and clasped her hands beneath her chin.
"You're so adorable when you slur!" she cried, diving forward and subjecting him to another hug. By this point, nothing really fazed the Dragonslayer, and he simply grunted rolled his eyes heavenward. The only problem was that his arm was somewhat restrained, and he couldn't get the bottle to his lips. After two or three unsuccessful attempts, he gave up and dropped the bottle to the floor, beyond caring if it spilled on his rug. He dropped off to sleep within moments, snoring a little louder than usual and hardly even noticing the dead weight on his chest anymore.
* * *
Dilandau didn't at all like the developing trend of his curse being right all the time. She had been correct in judging the extent of his hangover; when he awoke the next morning, even the low lamplight of his chambers hurt his head. Everything ached, especially his ribs. That had less to do with the massive quantities of alcohol he had consumed than Meret's repeated crushing embraces. Only after he had managed to sit up without too much undue pain did Dilandau realize the djinni in question was nowhere in sight.
He would have been elated, if his eyes could have come unglued and focused a bit better. A hot shower helped, and by the time he was buckling himself into his armor, he was relatively functional. Relatively.
There was no sign of the girl in his rooms or in the hallways leading to the barracks of his men. Meret's absence lifted his spirits somewhat, if not his mood, and he entered the barracks looking forward to a good training session with the men. That's what he needed, alright. Good, respectful, predictable, boring Dragonslayers to scare the hell out of.
Upon opening the door, however, the scene in the barracks was anything but boring, nor was it respectful or predicted. The Dragonslayers had gathered around Meret in the center of the room, seated on the beds or on the floor.
"Now I'm going to make the coin disappear. Watch closely, now," she was saying. The men leaned forward to observe her movements, then gasped in unison when the money apparently vanished.
"Wow! How did you do that?" Chesta demanded, grabbing her hand and examining it. Meret smiled.
"Magic," she said. "Oh! What's this here?"
"Where?" Chesta glanced up at her, and she reached behind one of his ears and revealed the coin in her hand. A chorus of oohs followed.
"You think that was good, watch this!" Meret snapped her fingers, and Gatti's uniform pants immediately dropped to the floor. He yelped and yanked them back up, blushing furiously as the others howled with laughter.
"That wasn't funny! Guys, that wasn't--" Gatti glanced up from bucking his belt to see Dilandau standing in the doorway, seething. Gatti gulped audibly. "Uh...D-D-Dilandau-sama!" The other Dragonslayers all scrambled to stand at attention upon seeing Gatti's panicked look. Meret remained floating at ease, watching the scene with renewed interest.
Dilandau held his position for several interminable minutes, simply regarding the Dragonslayers and watching them squirm. He waited until they began to sweat profusely before he stalked forward, hands clasped behind his back, red eyes squinted.
"I would have thought you would have learned by now to be at attention and ready for the day's training when I arrive," he mused, pacing in front of them. "I would have thought you were more intelligent than to be distracted by some stupid magic tricks." He stopped in front of Chesta and delivered a hard slap to the boy's face. The other Dragonslayers winced as their comrade received his punishment. Gatti tried not to cringe, knowing he was next as his leader stepped over to him.
"And as for you, Gatti," Dilandau continued. Instead of hitting him, however, he smiled wickedly and glanced back at Meret. "If you please," he said, and with a giggle she snapped her fingers. Gatti's pants dropped once again, and his fingers twitched involuntarily as he had to stop himself from bending down and pulling them back up. Dilandau leaned forward until he was inches from Gatti's bright red face and said, "I thought it was *very* funny."
The others had to fight to keep from laughing aloud. Dilandau observed Gatti's mortification for a moment before announcing, "The rest of you get to the training area and begin your exercises, I'll meet you there shortly. There's someone I need to speak with before I join you. Gatti, you stay here and do not move one muscle. I'll be back to check on you, and if I find you've moved an inch, I'll pull your fingernails out with a pair of tongs. I have a headache, so don't try me. Now get out of here." He watched the other Dragonslayers file out of the room, then turned to speak to Meret. She had already materialized directly behind him, however, so Dilandau jumped slightly upon turning around and finding her much closer than he had expected.
"Will you PLEASE stop doing that?!" he snapped, then winced and pressed the bridge of his nose to quell the pain in his head.
"Sure," Meret agreed easily. Dilandau gave her a quizzical look from behind his hand, but ignored her. "Come on, we're going to see Folken." He reached out to grab her by the hair again, but she disappeared and re-appeared just out of his reach. "I can follow you without you dragging me around like a caveman," she noted.
"Whatever. Now come on," he exited the room without looking back at Meret or Gatti, who had stood watching the entire exchange with eyes as round as dinner plates, and his pants still puddled around his ankles.
In the hall, Dilandau was walking swiftly towards Folken's office, when Meret materialized and latched onto his arm like a limpet while floating along beside him.
"I thought you said you could follow me without being dragged like a dead animal," he growled.
"This is different. It's on my terms, and you don't have me by the hair." They passed by a group of soldiers who eyed Meret appreciatively, then grinned at the Captain of the Dragonslayers. One of them even had the audacity to shoot him a discreet thumbs-up. Dilandau glared at them.
"Well, stop it. We're being stared at," he hissed between clenched teeth. Meret noticed the men whispering and casting glances in her direction. She scowled and materialized directly in front of them, sword pointed directly in their faces. They cursed upon looking ahead and seeing the girl suddenly standing in front of them, barely stopping before running into the blade.
"I don't appreciate it, boys," she hissed.
"Wait, h-how did you do that?!" one of them demanded. Meret smiled coldly.
"Magic." She looked furious, her green eyes glowing, her robes and hair lifting slightly in the charged air around her. The men took one look at her as she started advancing on them, turned, and ran. They didn't get far, however, before tripping over their bootlaces where their boots had been tied together.
"Oh, that was great. They look ridiculous," Meret reappeared next to Dilandau with her sword sheathed once again, laughing hysterically and seemingly back to normal. She latched onto him again, still giggling, and Dilandau cast a questioning sidelong glance at her. He said nothing, though, and they continued down the hall.
- TO BE CONTINUED -
=== "Say Please" by Morgan Steelgrave - Chapter Two ===
It took Dilandau only a minute to identify the creature that had appeared out of nowhere and wrapped herself around him like a squid. Growling, he struggled to extricate himself from Meret's grasp, but the djinni woman was far stronger than he had remembered. Glancing up, Dilandau saw Folken regarding the scene with a strange look on his face. When he spoke, his voice was strangled and a little higher-pitched than normal.
"Well, Dilandau, it looks as if you have matters well under control. Report back if there are any further developments." He practically ran out of the room, and Dilandau wondered for a moment as he began to lose feeling in his appendages if the Strategos had been stricken ill by the curse.
Then he heard Folken laughing his ass off out in the hall. His anger returning, the Dragonslayer yelled, "Folken! Dammit, Folken, get back here!" In his fury, he tried once again and in vain to get Meret to release her hold, but the girl was not budging. By this point, Dilandau was feeling light-headed and little black spots were dancing in front of his eyes.
He was going to die, and this...this...woman would be the cause of it. What an embarrassing way to go, some distant part of his brain noted. Another part of his mind screamed at him to fight it, to fight the girl and live to skin her alive. This prospect proved motivation enough for Dilandau to swallow what little pride he had left at the moment and call out, "I need your help! FOLKEN!!!"
He heard giggling by his ear and rolled his eyes to the side in an attempt to better see his captor. All he could see was a mass of auburn hair. He managed to hiss, "Can't...breathe...let...go..."
Meret giggled again. "You know better than that. Say please," she chided.
"Please," hissed Dilandau. The girl immediately dropped her prey, which landed with another resounding thud, and floated above him with her legs tucked underneath her. She listened attentively as Dilandau proceeded to scream at her.
"I don't believe this! I don't fucking believe this!" he yelled as he stood to brush himself off. He was a little unsteady on his feet due to the world still spinning around him, so Meret silently extended a finger and pushed him back into balance as he straightened his armor. He swatted her hand away furiously.
"I'm happy to see you, too," Meret smirked. Dilandau ignored her and began to pace.
"What did I do to deserve this?!" Meret opened her mouth to answer him, but he whirled on her, standing inches from her face. "Not one word," he hissed, glaring at her with as much homicidal madness as he could muster. It really wasn't that difficult, considering the circumstances.
"I might get the impression you're not excited to see me, with the way you're acting," she noted dryly. Dilandau's eyes rolled back into his head and he made a stifled, frustrated growl before turning away and pacing some more, issuing a steady stream of muttered expletives.. Meret watched him the way one watches a caged animal, eyebrows lifting when she caught the occasional, more colorful word. After a while, she spoke up again. "You're going to work yourself into a fit over something you really don't have any control over, you know."
Dilandau stopped mid-stride at her words and stared at her. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. The girl was there, floating right in front of him with that irritating half-smile, and there was not a damn thing he could do about it at the moment. He was stuck with her until he could track Folken down and ask him what to do, after punching him for laughing at him earlier.
That's what really irked him, was that this girl managed to cut him off at the knees without really trying. She had reduced him to a powerless idiot with a mere embrace. No, that had been no hug, he amended. It was a death grip. And he had resorted to calling to Folken for help. The great Dilandau Albatou did not call for *help*. And now, he was exerting all his energy in screaming at her in barely coherent sentences, and she simply floated there and listened to him rant like a spoiled child. She was making him look like an idiot *again*, and he was too aggravated to see beyond her tricks.
He wanted to strangle her, tear her apart, dismember and disembowel her. But there was no way he could lay a hand on her, he was forced to admit. Their fight earlier had shown that, and though he planned on defeating her eventually, it was not the time to make the attempt. He was too tired and wound up to approach it logically. That, and he doubted it would be as easy as a little swordplay to remove a curse that was supposed to haunt him for all eternity. So if he couldn't kill her slowly and methodically, using something painfully dull like a butter knife, what else could he do?
Finally accepting his exhaustion and his predicament, Dilandau allowed his shoulders to slump beneath their armored plates and stepped over to the girl. She was watching him cautiously, green eyes slightly narrowed. He reached out with one gloved hand, almost hesitantly. Meret raised one curious eyebrow, and that was enough for him to snap to motion and grab her by the hair. She yelped as he dragged her out of the room and down the hallway, plowing determinedly along the metal corridors with her floating behind him.
"Hey!" she protested his hauling her unceremoniously down the hall, but Dilandau ignored her. "Where are we going?"
"To 'work myself into a fit' in a more comfortable place," he replied through gritted teeth.
"Oh," said Meret. "Will you please let go of my hair now?"
Dilandau shot her a glare meant to melt iron. "No."
"I didn't think so. Just checking."
* * *
Dilandau had what he considered a relatively high tolerance for alcohol, and though he was a soldier and operated heavy machinery daily, he was fond of the occasional drink when he was dealing with unsavory subjects or simply having a bad day. Seeing as that particular day fit both categories, the Dragonslayer had managed to get himself suitably drunk in an amazingly short amount of time. Suitably being, of course, feeling as if he were underwater and far, far away from the thing that was currently sitting on his chest and staring at him.
"Was that really necessary?" Meret asked, cocking her head to one side. Dilandau was sprawled across the length of the couch in his rooms. Meret had been floating beside him, but as the evening progressed the sight of a young woman floating in the air had been a little much for Dilandau to process in his inebriated state, so Meret was forced to find a seat. Any and all chairs in the room were in sad shape, the convenient victims of their owner's frequent temper tantrums. Meret did not really feel like sitting in something that had been slashed, broken, spilled upon (that looked like a blood stain, and Meret was not at all sure she wanted to know the unfortunate soul whose blood it was) and burned, so she sat in the next most convenient spot: on top of Dilandau.
"Abso-fucking-lutely," he growled in answer to her question. He glared at her, but appeared to be having difficulty focusing on her. She sighed and adjusted her position so she was sitting down closer to Dilandau's feet.
"Could you watch your language? If you're going to curse, I know you can be far more creative about it," she said in reference to his earlier outburst. Dilandau snarled and tossed his second empty bottle at her, missing her by a mile.
"You're a fine one to talk about cursing someone," he snapped. Meret blinked.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked. Dilandau merely snorted and uncorked another bottle of whatever vile thing he was drinking. "You're going to have a nasty hangover. How can you fight like that?"
"Thanks, Mom," he sneered, taking a swig from the bottle. "I'll watch my language when you stop lecturing. I mean, is that was this whole thing is supposed to be about? You slowly driving me insane with nagging? What the hell kind of..." He trailed off just as he was starting to gain momentum in his rant. He stared down at his lower body with a puzzled look on his face. "I can't move my legs," he remarked.
"That's because I'm sitting on them."
"Of course it *would* be your fault," he replied sourly. Meret grinned and clasped her hands beneath her chin.
"You're so adorable when you slur!" she cried, diving forward and subjecting him to another hug. By this point, nothing really fazed the Dragonslayer, and he simply grunted rolled his eyes heavenward. The only problem was that his arm was somewhat restrained, and he couldn't get the bottle to his lips. After two or three unsuccessful attempts, he gave up and dropped the bottle to the floor, beyond caring if it spilled on his rug. He dropped off to sleep within moments, snoring a little louder than usual and hardly even noticing the dead weight on his chest anymore.
* * *
Dilandau didn't at all like the developing trend of his curse being right all the time. She had been correct in judging the extent of his hangover; when he awoke the next morning, even the low lamplight of his chambers hurt his head. Everything ached, especially his ribs. That had less to do with the massive quantities of alcohol he had consumed than Meret's repeated crushing embraces. Only after he had managed to sit up without too much undue pain did Dilandau realize the djinni in question was nowhere in sight.
He would have been elated, if his eyes could have come unglued and focused a bit better. A hot shower helped, and by the time he was buckling himself into his armor, he was relatively functional. Relatively.
There was no sign of the girl in his rooms or in the hallways leading to the barracks of his men. Meret's absence lifted his spirits somewhat, if not his mood, and he entered the barracks looking forward to a good training session with the men. That's what he needed, alright. Good, respectful, predictable, boring Dragonslayers to scare the hell out of.
Upon opening the door, however, the scene in the barracks was anything but boring, nor was it respectful or predicted. The Dragonslayers had gathered around Meret in the center of the room, seated on the beds or on the floor.
"Now I'm going to make the coin disappear. Watch closely, now," she was saying. The men leaned forward to observe her movements, then gasped in unison when the money apparently vanished.
"Wow! How did you do that?" Chesta demanded, grabbing her hand and examining it. Meret smiled.
"Magic," she said. "Oh! What's this here?"
"Where?" Chesta glanced up at her, and she reached behind one of his ears and revealed the coin in her hand. A chorus of oohs followed.
"You think that was good, watch this!" Meret snapped her fingers, and Gatti's uniform pants immediately dropped to the floor. He yelped and yanked them back up, blushing furiously as the others howled with laughter.
"That wasn't funny! Guys, that wasn't--" Gatti glanced up from bucking his belt to see Dilandau standing in the doorway, seething. Gatti gulped audibly. "Uh...D-D-Dilandau-sama!" The other Dragonslayers all scrambled to stand at attention upon seeing Gatti's panicked look. Meret remained floating at ease, watching the scene with renewed interest.
Dilandau held his position for several interminable minutes, simply regarding the Dragonslayers and watching them squirm. He waited until they began to sweat profusely before he stalked forward, hands clasped behind his back, red eyes squinted.
"I would have thought you would have learned by now to be at attention and ready for the day's training when I arrive," he mused, pacing in front of them. "I would have thought you were more intelligent than to be distracted by some stupid magic tricks." He stopped in front of Chesta and delivered a hard slap to the boy's face. The other Dragonslayers winced as their comrade received his punishment. Gatti tried not to cringe, knowing he was next as his leader stepped over to him.
"And as for you, Gatti," Dilandau continued. Instead of hitting him, however, he smiled wickedly and glanced back at Meret. "If you please," he said, and with a giggle she snapped her fingers. Gatti's pants dropped once again, and his fingers twitched involuntarily as he had to stop himself from bending down and pulling them back up. Dilandau leaned forward until he was inches from Gatti's bright red face and said, "I thought it was *very* funny."
The others had to fight to keep from laughing aloud. Dilandau observed Gatti's mortification for a moment before announcing, "The rest of you get to the training area and begin your exercises, I'll meet you there shortly. There's someone I need to speak with before I join you. Gatti, you stay here and do not move one muscle. I'll be back to check on you, and if I find you've moved an inch, I'll pull your fingernails out with a pair of tongs. I have a headache, so don't try me. Now get out of here." He watched the other Dragonslayers file out of the room, then turned to speak to Meret. She had already materialized directly behind him, however, so Dilandau jumped slightly upon turning around and finding her much closer than he had expected.
"Will you PLEASE stop doing that?!" he snapped, then winced and pressed the bridge of his nose to quell the pain in his head.
"Sure," Meret agreed easily. Dilandau gave her a quizzical look from behind his hand, but ignored her. "Come on, we're going to see Folken." He reached out to grab her by the hair again, but she disappeared and re-appeared just out of his reach. "I can follow you without you dragging me around like a caveman," she noted.
"Whatever. Now come on," he exited the room without looking back at Meret or Gatti, who had stood watching the entire exchange with eyes as round as dinner plates, and his pants still puddled around his ankles.
In the hall, Dilandau was walking swiftly towards Folken's office, when Meret materialized and latched onto his arm like a limpet while floating along beside him.
"I thought you said you could follow me without being dragged like a dead animal," he growled.
"This is different. It's on my terms, and you don't have me by the hair." They passed by a group of soldiers who eyed Meret appreciatively, then grinned at the Captain of the Dragonslayers. One of them even had the audacity to shoot him a discreet thumbs-up. Dilandau glared at them.
"Well, stop it. We're being stared at," he hissed between clenched teeth. Meret noticed the men whispering and casting glances in her direction. She scowled and materialized directly in front of them, sword pointed directly in their faces. They cursed upon looking ahead and seeing the girl suddenly standing in front of them, barely stopping before running into the blade.
"I don't appreciate it, boys," she hissed.
"Wait, h-how did you do that?!" one of them demanded. Meret smiled coldly.
"Magic." She looked furious, her green eyes glowing, her robes and hair lifting slightly in the charged air around her. The men took one look at her as she started advancing on them, turned, and ran. They didn't get far, however, before tripping over their bootlaces where their boots had been tied together.
"Oh, that was great. They look ridiculous," Meret reappeared next to Dilandau with her sword sheathed once again, laughing hysterically and seemingly back to normal. She latched onto him again, still giggling, and Dilandau cast a questioning sidelong glance at her. He said nothing, though, and they continued down the hall.
- TO BE CONTINUED -
