Disclaimer: I am not Tamora Pierce, although I am an EXTRAORDINARILY benevolent thirteen year old goddess. Bow down and worship me, y'all. Please. Disclaimer: of course I'm TP. I'm just so incredibly bored with my life that I'm pasting up fan fiction. Of course I don't have an ego. How could you?!? Disclaimer: I am still not - damn! - Tamora Pierce.

Part Four











Unfortunately


Spying.



It's great fun, actually.



Joren and I eventually decided that I was going to be the one spying, cuz guards are watched a great deal more closely, and it's actually been rather interesting. I mean, if I have to walk around, smiling sweetly while I hear the Scanran nobles analyze my butt in rather highly descriptive terms, I might as well get to arrange their hideous deaths as well as that of their leader. All I have to do is get them drunk. Then they start talking. It's not exactly that hard.



So flashback to about two hours ago.



I was picking up some of the dishes at the high table, when one of the more inebriated lords started talking loudly about Maggur Rathhausak. I would have smiled, because unless they are drunk the Scanrans tend to be a notoriously close-mouthed bunch, but I was not trying to drop china all over my feet, so I didn't. To make my mood a little better, he was talking about Maggur Rathhausak and his military advisor. About Maggur Rathhausak, his military advisor, and where they had their private little conversations. I wonder what THEY could be about. Really hard to guess. Either something completely scandalous, or rather useful. Hmm………Do I want to go to that? I wonder…


Someone shut him up eventually, I think he was unconcious and bleeding from the nose when I last saw him, but I had heard all I needed to know. I was practically dancing a jig. Ha HA! New information! My possible, although extraordinarily unlikely, ticket out of here!



Flashback in. Pay attention, people. AHEM! Yeah, that's more like it. Now that I've kinda briefly updated you on current events, let's go to now. I'm getting my miserable miserly paycheck from the bloody person in charge of the stupid, idiotic, moronic, annoying, and thoroughly bitchy servants, and I'm skipping. Gleefully. I have this great big, stupid grin on my face, and everyone is smiling and nodding and edging away from me as fast as they can. I love freaking people out!



I walked out of the servant's exit, down the alley, and began to dance gleefully until I tripped and fell over my own face. Not my most graceful move of all time. Embarrassing, actually.



I tried to wipe the mud from my face but didn't really succeed, except for immediately around my eyes. My stupid uniform/dress was all splattered. Gazing down, I thought: Dammit. Just the way to wreck my mood. Congrats, world! You officially destroyed my sugar high! Thanks EVER so!



I muttered a few curses in Scanran to myself, and they must have been slightly more invective than I had previously thought, for I wound up with quite a few more stares than usual. Or maybe it is my elegant attire. Whatever.



I reached the opium den, and walked straight in, right past Ryer Melka, who seemed merely amused, and Joren, who was fighting desperately not to explode from laughter.

I hate him.

Granting them a gracious smile, with a particular sneer to Joren, I walked to the room we had rented in an attempt to clean myself up. I succeeded, and actually managed to make myself look, if I may say so, rather nice. I do look pretty when I have the time to spare.



I walked back into the main room, and smirked inwardly as I saw Joren do a double take. I think he was surprised. Loser. Ryer Melka didn't look up from some papers she was looking at, and inquired in a bored voice:



"Well, then. Found anything yet? I'm really starting to doubt your usefulness as a spy. You've gotten, what, no informatio-"



I glowered at her while she spoke, and replied in my angriest voice, which is also my evenest, "Well, I found where that idiot has his discussions with his military advisor. In private. What time. What place. But of course, that would be nothing. Of course." I looked at her darkly, daring her to open her mouth. She gazed back at me. She didn't.



Perhaps aware of a hugely complex female power struggle, perhaps oblivious, Joren managed to interrupt our soon-to-be cat fight with an approving nod. Whatever. I don't exactly need his approval. It is not necessary for my self-image. Bluntly, it is annoying.



"So," he said. "Where is it?"



"That might be the problem," I replied.



"Oh?"



"Pray tell," Ryer Melka interjected. "Pray tell and hurry on with it."



"It's in the former servant's quarters," I said, without preamble. "The place they're using to store cleaning supplies."



"And that's a problem . . . how?" Joren asked quizzically.



I sighed dramatically. "Darling, sometimes you are just so totally without." He looked confused, and I continued. " They store cleaning supplies there. That means there's nowhere to hide except in the shadows. Problem?"



"Broomclosets," suggested Ryer Melka reasonably. "They'd work. You're mature enough to handle them."



Joren and I caught each other's eye, and couldn't help it; we fell to the floor laughing. It wasn't particularly funny to anyone who wasn't in on the joke, but in Tortall, broomclosets were used for very subterfuge trysts. Very . . . socially unacceptable ones. Reputations were ruined very easily by broomclosets.



Ryer Melka glowered at us. "Excuse me, children. I'm sorry, apparently I walked into a crowd of seven year olds. In case you didn't notice, that may be the ONLY possible hiding spot if you two want to listen to Rathhausak. And yes, I want to send both of you. Come on. It's just a broom closet."



"Melka," I said, "please don't. I already have to pretend to be married to him, do I have to pretend to be having some form of a sex life with him, even though he's my husband? Hello? Do you have any IDEA how embarrassing that would be?"



"Yeah," Ryer Melka replied calmly. "And? Your point is?"



I made a few blustering noises, and Joren cut in, bored.



"Chill, Mindelan. You're not my type. Don't worry about anything. I'm not going to go make your brains out, or anything. Your virtue is perfectly safe."





I turned to him and glared. "I'm so hurt, Stone Mountain, your one and only desire is not to make love to me. My heart is broken."



He smiled, a cocky, self-assured smile.



"It should be."











Broomclosets



Two days later Joren and I were in a tall wooden broomcloset, waiting in silence for Maggur Rathhausak and his advisor to show. We had been here for almost an hour and they had not come. It was getting a little uncomfortable in there; not exactly surprising.



Really. If you have two teenagers in a small, enclosed space, it's bad enough. If you have two TALL (I am five foot eleven, he is six foot five) teenagers in a small enclosed space, it's even worse. But the very worst thing that can ever happen is if you have two tall teenagers who hate each other's guts in said small, enclosed space, especially if the male one is breathing hot, moist air down the female one's neck.



We aren't saying a word, but it's very uncomfortable, very close. I am practically squashed against Joren because of lack of space, and in an attempt to make sure that the door didn't fly open while we were listening to Maggur, his arms wound up slightly limp around my shoulders. No, it isn't like that - thank Mithros! - but he IS trying to keep the door shut, and that is the only possible way.



His arms ARE rather closely around me though. . . a little TOO close . . .



I gritted my teeth for a moment, and tried to think of something else. Anything else, but Joren. Goddess. He is still a total bastard, even if he is perhaps the most handsome man I have ever met. Still a bastard. Must remember, a bastard . . . Food. Cleon's annoying crush on me. Slowly killing Numair, Wyldon, and the King. By torture. Very very painful looking instruments, like the ones the Yamani emperor had left over in one of the wings of the palace as souvenirs of that era five hundred years ago when robbers were everywhere and everyone had to know how to use weapons. Ahh.



About twenty five minutes we heard something. Joren stiffened a bit, and I smiled out of the corner of my mouth. Yay. They were here at last.



They walked quickly, decisively, their boot heels clicking on the stone floor. Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack-clack-clack. I could hear it growing in a crescendo, first softly, then gradually building. Finally they stopped. I swallowed. They were right in front of our broom closet.



They were talking in Scanran, with great alacrity. I could only understand part of what they were saying. Despite my time here, I was not perfectly fluent in the language, but I understood the gist of it, although I could tell that Joren didn't.



It was long and complicated, and filled with a great deal many yes-my-lord s and no-my-lord s and I'll-see-what-I-can-do-my-lord s. I was growing bored, but paying meticulous attention so that I could get the bloody hell out of the gods damned hellhole before it was too late. To summarize: in order to improve Rathhausak's popularity among the Scanran people, he was planning an outing, a rather simplistic P.R. event in which he would go into the streets of the capital and speak with the common folk. Cha-Ching! I mean, can you spell 'target'?



That wouldn't sound too terribly exciting to anyone else, but to me it meant my ticket out of here. Back somewhere where, even if there was snow all winter long, occasionally there were brief reprieves when it was merely cold. And in the summer . . . ahh. . . warmth. Warmth is highly underrated in Tortall. HIGHLY underrated.



I must have been edging away from the door, because I think I collided with Joren's foot, and he gave a slight yelp. Conversation immediately ceased outside. Oh Mithros. Oh Mithros. We were officially, completely, and royally screwed.


Maggur Rathhausak and his advisor were about to open the door. Thoughts flooded through my head. Oh Mithros. Oh Mithros. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I'm too young to die. They hang spies in Scanra. I saw someone who was hanged once, when I was off with Lord Raoul. It was horrible. I don't want to die. I'm only fifteen. I don't want to die. Oh Mithros, I don't want to die!



They were a millisecond away from opening the door. Joren was as tightly wrought as I was. He didn't want to die, either. I was suddenly struck with the thought of how young we were, how young and how naïve, despite what we pretended. I am only fifteen. He is only seventeen. We are too young for all this. I don't want to die. I don't, I'm admitting it to myself, although it is rather late by now, that I don't want him to die. Or even to be hurt.



I don't know who started it: me or Joren. I think Joren did, because he turned me around, but I might have, because I leaned in first. Whoever started it, though, started it, and the second that the door to the broomcloset was opened, Joren's lips had caught my own, or mine had caught his, and either way, there was no turning back.








Fireworks, or Lack Thereof




We sprang apart almost instantly. I'm not sure if it was our long-hidden acting skills coming to life, or our utter surprise at the fact that we had just kissed each other, a completely revolting concept, but we quickly turned, thoroughly embarrassed, to look at the stony faces of Maggur Rathhausak and his advisor. Somehow, I do not think they are amused. Wow, genius, I wonder how you FIGURED that out.



I nudged Joren a bit with my foot and trembled. Improvise, I thought tightly, Joren had BETTER learn how to lie VERY well, now is the time for improv! Or total bullshit! Whatever! Just make it convincing! You total bastard! Oh well! I get to go first!



"Milord!" I protested, my eyes wide, my mouth slightly agape in awe and terror, sure to keep my self looking soft and defenseless. "Y-y-y-your majesty!"



I must have looked very convincing, as well as very fetching. Growing up is half the revenge, they say, but I find it very annoying. It does have its pluses and its negatives: Rathhausak seemed to calm down a bit, but seemed to be subtly checking me out. Eww. Well, one good thing out of this whole mess: I know for certain that I was rather attractive to the opposite sex. Or perhaps it was Scanran clothing. It's rather, ah, more low cut, than Tortallan. And, you see, I have a reasonably large amount to display.



The advisor hissed. I realized that I didn't know his name. Milord. Milord will have to do for now. He stepped forward, closer to me. For some reason these two were ignoring Joren. Obviously they did not swing that way, for, upon reflection, most women (and men too, no matter what their orientation) tended to find that hard. I was never able to, even as a page, when I was sure he was the foulest being on earth. Now he is one of many foul beings.



"What," he breathed, menacingly, and I would have stepped back for he had not cleaned his teeth in a while, and the odor of goat cheese was very strong, that stuff should be banned forever from civilized dining tables, "are you doing in here, girl? Didn't your mother teach you not to. . .intrude. . . . upon . . .private. . . . conversations?"



"Milord," Joren said, looking rather sick, from kissing me? Or from being caught, who knows, I think I'd prefer it to be from getting caught, don't think I'm THAT ugly, "your majesty, we are. . . most humbly sorry." He bowed his head, mouth slightly open, the perfect image of a handsome child. The advisor softened, a bit, though Rathhausak did not. We had read in one of the reports from Tortall that the advisor had had a son, who had died at the age of eight. Joren must have reminded him of him.



I managed to get some tears in my eyes, I suddenly gazed into Maggur Rathhausak's eyes. I was beautiful, I was crying, and I knew exactly how to get out of this mess. Flirting. Hey, it works.



"Your majesty," I said, barely above a whisper, sounding at once adoring and awed. "Your majesty, I beg your pardon. I am-so sorry-for having interrupted. I assure you that I was not listening, your majesty. I promise that I was not. I promise that we were not. I swear it!"



Joren looked at me rather thankfully, and I myself was rather pleased, for I had carried that off very well. I missed my calling. Instead of becoming a knight, I should become an actress. I am a very good liar.



Joren sighed shakily, and looked up, blue eyes innocent and naïve. "We didn't mean to, your majesty, milord. My wife-Syrne-and I, we're loyal to you. We didn't mean it."



The advisor scrutinized us, his eyes narrowed. Rathhausak was still looking me over. Goddess, when he's dead I am going to SPIT upon his grave. I really dislike people checking me out if I don't happen to find them attractive as well. I feel like a damn object, and it's VERY uncomfortable.



"You may go," he told us, stonily.



I smiled, nervously, and curtsied; Joren bowed. We scurried off before they could call us back. When we were safely out of sight and hearing distance, I turned to face Joren, suddenly furious.



"What the hell is wrong with you?" I hissed. "You practically got us KILLED, you IDIOTIC BASTARD! I personally happen to LIKE being alive, thank you VERY much!"



"Shove it, moron!" he whispered back, just as angry as I was. "Always have to blame someone else, don't you? It was YOUR fault, Mindelan, NOT mine!"



"As if!" I replied, glaring at him. "If you hadn't yelped, smart one, we'd still be in there, getting information that could GET US A TICKET AWAY FROM HERE. Okay? I have NO desire to stay here ANY longer than I have to."



"Well, if you hadn't stepped on my foot-"



"If you hadn't yelped! I was TRYING to get away from the FREAKING door, Stone Mountain! Okay? I was trying NOT to get caught by the advisor what's his face, and Rathhausak, and what do you do? Yell. Thanks, sweetheart, thanks a lot."



"Shut up!"



We were back at the opium den. I glared at him, my hands on my hips, looking up, dammit; he did something completely surprising.



He laughed.



"Melodramatics are thy name, Mindelan," he said dryly. With that closing part, he walked to his room, leaving me to walk to mine. I ignored Ryer Melka, as she glanced inquiringly. She was apparently amused by our antics. I did not desire to discuss anything with her. Not now. Preferably, not ever.



Back in my room, late that night, as I was washing my face, I thought.



Joren almost gotten us killed, but we weren't dead. We ought to be, for spies in Scanra are traditionally executed almost immediately, but one of us had the quick wit to save us. Which one?



I paused, as I applied a few dots of a moisturizing lotion to my cheekbones. I wondered. Me, or him?



That was practically my first kiss, too, if you thought about it. Oh, Cleon had kissed me a few times, and once Neal's cousin Dom had, but for all intents and purposes, THAT WAS MY FIRST KISS.



And I mean, excuse me! Aren't you supposed to get fireworks, and lightening, and all that sort of romantic fluff on your first real kiss? Aren't you supposed to know if he is forever, or not? Isn't your heart supposed to beat wildly, and your palms sweat? Aren't you supposed to know if you love him? Heck, aren't you supposed to fall in love? I mean, HELLO. Problems with this picture? Anyone?



I fear I am getting seriously disillusioned about romance.



Damn.



Anonymous: thanks! Yep, it's definitely gonna wind up the way to get out of it. I mean, there are only two possible people who could be hiding in a broomcloset: spies, and people who are madly in love. Which one gets executed and which one doesn't?


Violyn: creepy? Ok, new reaction. Sorry about the cliffie, but I wanted to get a bunch of reviews. . . . . heh heh heh. Thanks for reviewing, btw.


DeadlyBlackRose: jumping around like a bunny is fun, especially if you are totally hyper, like I usually am. Thanx sooooooooooooo much for reviewing!!!!!! I want to steal your name! It rocks!


Angel Of The Storms: Thank you! I was GOING to have this up the next day, except that I am lazy and had a severe case of writer's block, so no story for yall. Sorry it's December, though. Wasn't planning on taking THAT long. Thanks!


Lady Sandrilene: yep. Literally a broomcloset. I wanted to be original. C'est la vie. Thank you!!!!!!! Arigato gozaimashita, Sandurirene-san. Danka schurne! Siren Porter: thank you so much! They kinda already hate each other, but that's okay. They''ll wind up together, unless I get evil and decide to write a sad end to this story. Joren still dying. Don't think I will, but if I ever get cruel, that's what I'll do. Thank you!



DaniSue: Sorry if I was a bit annoying. *cringes* thank you very much. I'm trying to make him as realistic as possible, but it's HARD!!!!!! Evil people. Whenever anyone writes them they come out as absolute slobbering sweethearts, or really, completely, evil. Thank you!!!!!!



Keita: of course you're not obsessed. You couldn't possibly be. No. of course not. Yeah, I'm going to join your conga line! ACTION!!!!!! Very VERY hard to write, even though I wrote the skimpiest love scene in the history of the ENTIRE world. Thanx. :oD, 2 u, 2.



Silverhair: new name. It's cool. Thank you SOOOOOO much. First you help me with the idea (I was going to have them trip and fall into each other) and then you say it's funny, and then you ask me to plz update soon. (preens majorly) I know, about the whole K/J fic thing-it's like NO ONE writes any. The only person who's writing any right now are The Dark Lady Adrienne (a month ago) and DaniSue. It's annoying. Mandi-girl finished the fic, though. . . .



Evilstrawberry: never fear. I have an immense terror of little brothers, perhaps because I am the youngest of three and the only girl. I get to be the brat. . . . thank you SOOOOOO much. You are REALLY nice. But yes. Christmas. . . . ahhh. . . . .


Shadow of Blood: the reason this is in first person is because originally, this had different characters. I was writing a Chrono Trigger fic, LuMa, although a slightly different plot, and I wanted to write Lucca that way. Thank you so much! Yeah. . . . I need to describe more. I used to over- describe, now I under-describe. Thank you!



CamiofQueenscove:YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS S? Thank you! Sry I took this long updating, cannot write love scenes to save my life, and while there may or may not be some in this chapter (I'm not being evil, I don't know!) writer's block. What can you say. Took French for two years, all I learned was that cheval meant horse (therefore, pas de cheval means step of the horse, already knew what pas de chat meant) and how to conjugate verbs. E, es, e, ons, ez, ent. STOP THE CUTE ANIME FACE! GAH! And I might give yall a cliffie in this one, too. . . . . BWAHAHAHAHAHAHHHHAHAHHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHHH!!!!!!! Okay, ahr, stop. You are rubbing off on me! Darh!



P.S.: thanx 4 reviewing my WHAT NOT TO WRITE WHEN HIGH ON SUGAR..... Fic. I was bored. What can I say? I'm probably going to remove it, or only work on it when I have writer's block. My stuff isn't particularly funny, but I try, and after that, it's easier to write Disillusionment.



Squire Kali: Thanx!!!!!!! I'm so glad you don't think she's stupid. I'm sort of basing her on me in my truly HIDEOUS moods (once or twice a week.), so she better not be stupid! I'm supposed to be smart! (or so they think. . . ) Thoroughly insane, but smart! I'm trying to write this differently, because I'm a selfish person and love reviewers, and stories that sound the same as everything else don't get any. Thank you, again!



HShuler888: THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I cannot believe that this story makes you crack up! People are saying that, but every time I make a joke at school, people just look at me funny! I swear, it's true! Thank you SO much. But besides that, it's fun to write. . . .



Zenin: hee hee hee hee hee. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Yes, I am evil! I know it! Last year, in sixth grade, in math class my math teacher made each of us write down our goals. Normal people, like my friend Susanna wanted to go to Berkeley for undergrad, Harvard for law, and make a killing suing for medical malpractice. I wrote that I wanted to skip school and become the dictator of a small, third world country, failing that, to embezzle $80 billion dollars from the federal budget and escape to Tajikistan. He only thought I was joking. . . . Mr. Peters tried to kill me last night! He called the police about that 'evil youngster' down the street. Hah. I have eggs, and I know just how to use them. . . . I FEAR THE KNIVES!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!





The Blind Assassin: yeah! It doesn't matter that he's dead! If Thom could bring Roger back to life, surely Numair could bring Joren! They are TOTALLY meant to be together! Ok, I need to stop going all !!!!!. Sry I didn't update sooner. Thank you for reviewing!


Cytosine: I'm glad it's. . . . interesting. Thank you! There actually WAS a point to them kissing, which will be revealed in this chapter. MAJOR point to their kissing. Besides, I want to get them home so I can write a sequel in which they haven't told anyone about the 'we.' THANK YOU!



MagixPawn: Thank you! Another very. . . . interesting, though. I wonder what's going on with the telepathy around here. . . thanx!

Keita: No . . . I'm so sad . . . I can't have Neal do anything in this fic because he is like three thousand miles away . . . NEW K/J IDEA!!!!!!!!!! Thanx majorly. U reviewed AGAIN!!!!! (

Queenofilangees: Interesting name. It's so cool. Thanks an absolute TON. You are sooooo nice!!!!!!!!!!

Cami of Queenscove: What's up with you are BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA? Have I entered the evil villain of the world contest? Oh . . . well, trust me, there WILL be broom closets. But I think I like my way better. Although, actually, how to get them kissing is a good idea. I think I might steal it from you. OK? THANKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lady Sandrilene: Thank you!! And yeah, Conscience rocks. I am addicted to K/J, but practically no one is adding any new stuff! Darn it.

The Dark Goddess: Ecce Romani, right? Thanks for reviewing again. BTW, this is my second year of Latin, so we're about done with the book. I'm trying to make the plot thicken . . . but I'm highly tempted just to have Maggur fall off a cliff so that Kel and Joren don't have a plot to obey. I'm still winging this. That's why it's kinda odd.

Min: Thank you!!!!!!!! I know, it rocks! And by the way, your fic was AWESOME. Really awesome.

Angel Of The Storms: must write Joren. Must write Kel. Must stop getting side tracked into these hilariously funny daydreams in which I am thrown into Tortall, meet Kel and all of the people, and start laughing hilariously to myself when I get these mental images of describing to a blond dude exactly who every writer who writes about him pairs him with. ROTFL!!!!!! Thanks.


Yu: Of course Kel's his type. Joren and Kel are just being abnormally thick again. But don't worry, I'll get everything sorted out in the end . . . wouldn't they? I mean, honestly.



annie, you just gave me the best idea. Thank you sooooooo much! Now I don't have to try and struggle to think of a vaguely plausible way for Joren and Kel to wind up kissing-which they have to do soon, dammit! or everyone will get thoroughly bored and leave my fic in hatred and disgust. Thanx!!! You laughed?!? That is so funny, in a really screwed way. Every time I try to make a joke people just smile, nod, and edge away, murmuring about men in white coats and wonderful places where I can eat jello all day long . . .



CrystallineLily: marvelous name. Love it. Thanks! Of course there's going to be romance. It's really funny; if you ever read HP fics, about 1 out of five stories will have a broomcloset in it.



Evilstrawberry: another fabulous name. Y didn't I think of that? OMG, thank you soooooooo much! You are so nice! Thank you! ( ( ( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (( (!!!!!!!!!



The Dark Goddess: yo, you reviewed again! I think you've reviewed every chapter I've written. Thank you so much! Ugh. My parents don't ground me, but they threaten to perpetually. "If your room's not clean you're not going to ballet on Monday, dance next week, school (hey, I'd go for that), the library this afternoon . . . I feel great pity for you. Cya!



Zenin: maniacal giggles rock! It guarantees that no matter where you go, you won't have to fight your way in cuz either everyone is slowly edging away or the maitre d throws you out. YES DRILL SERGEANT! OBEYING ORDERS! I know though. . . if anyone saw them, it'd be hilarious. For the sake of anyone who actually reads other people's things:"Dearest...whore." "Pooky- wooky...bastard." It would be sooooooo funny to see!



Lady Sandrilene: arguing is the best. I hate fics when all of a sudden they're all: I love you. I love you more. I love you even more than that. I love you from the bottom of my heart. They don't seem like very realistic representations of a relationship to me. Or maybe that's cuz mine tend to be either disfunctional or mainly imagined on both of our parts . . .



Cami of Queenscove: THAT IS SO COOL! But HOW DARE SHE SAY THAT JOREN AND KEL ARE NOT GOING TO MAKE IT AS A COUPLE?!!?!?!?!?!?! I have this very odd urge to make up fifty zillion free email accounts and keep mailing her notes that say: joren. Joren. Back to life. Or I won't buy another book. I wonder if that'd work. . . I think I'm going to sit down and lay off of the cough medicine. . . I think it's screwing my head . . . I'm going to start crying too, though. I had this secret little wish that she'd bring Joren back to life. I don't like Dom too terribly much. He never does anything vaguely romantic towards kel, where at least Joren acts kinda like he has a bit of a crush on her. Damn. Gah. Tissues. Must find tissues.



Keita: Thanks! So glad u like kel this way. I tried to update soon, but I accidently deleted half of my harddrive by downloading this stupid aol password cracker . . . astalavista.com.



Cytosine: caught between boo-hoo ing and dancing. I've gotten spoiled I have. . . all these people being all nice and worshipful, but you saying that YOU LOVE IT! So I'll forgive you. I'm writing it off of the top of my head, with only a vague idea of where it's going, so that's why it sounds a little choppy. And Joren and Kel can't be themselves. Y would they go togheter, then?