A/N: ….*pokes head back into room, then bounces*…I'm not dead! ^_^;; *hears much booing in the audience, so stops dancing and hangs her head*…but I'm very, very sorry…;_;…I haven't posted in ages----….*cries*…infact…I've been thinking of just leaving it….*sniffles, ashamed*…T_T….But…did not..^_^;;…I got a review a couple days ago, and it took me up to 50…*_*…*glomps all reviewers* and I realized that I loved this story and will carry through 'till it finishes on what will hopefully be a 45th chapter (NEWBWHA TO JEWEL OF LOVE, THE REVIEWER WHO THOUGHT THAT'S HOW MANY CHAP'S THERE SHOULD BE! ^^) ! ^_^ reviews are happy motivations, and I love you all who give them. ^_^ THANKIES! MWHAHA! EH! ^_^
Disclaimer: LOD belongs to Squaresoft, and Rap's (whose numerous works have given her more rights to it then all those money grubbers in Squaresoft combined.)^_^…yeah (I have had this disclaimer from the beginning, and will keep it! WOOTABAGAN! ^^)
~Lady Crysania Majere
Souls in Silver Midnight
By Lady Crysania Majere
Chapter Four: Escapades
When it came, the expletive was spoken quietly, issuing from the woman's mouth to hang, ominous, in the dark gloom of the cell, the menace in it mixing with surprise.
His back pressed against the chill stone of the chambers wall, Lloyd permitted himself the brief satisfaction of a twitching at the corner of his lips; he had her attention, at least. Pale, elegant fingers toyed in a bored fashion with one of the silver linked chains that connected the delicate-looking manacles around his wrists to large iron rings set in the wall above. Paying no heed the curse, Lloyd lingered in that position for a moment, before glancing up from his fetters; red eyes taking in the looming woman and her bloodied sword.
"You haven't closed the door."
The reprimand was soft, and he smiled as he said it, the twitch at the corner of his mouth spreading -ever so slightly- across his face, before melting back down into obscurity. Eyes of cold violet met mocking crimson and in a voice flat and frigid, she parried.
"You haven't told me why I should."
Sirens echoed in the backdrop, voices carried down the hall, and Lloyd allowed the sardonic light to fade from his face. Black clad shoulders shrugged slightly at the sounds.
"Guards might check a room with its entry hanging wide, and if I screamed out your whereabouts it is more likely they'd hear me through an open door then a closed one."
"You're helpful." The words were light, acerbic, and suspicion danced in them, quiet, subtle, but undeniably there.
His eyes sparkled slightly then, and satirical tones once more colored his words.
"I try."
The soft hum of flying Wingly's accompanied by the thuds of running footsteps grew louder, and the woman paused for a moment, lost in her own thoughts. Apparently unconcerned, Lloyd turned his attention back to the silver chain, moving it in such a way that it might catch a ray of light let in from the hall. A slight noise turned his attention back to the human, however, as, bowing her head in sarcastic acquiesce, the women silently reached behind herself and closed the door.
Ignoring the mockery of the nod, he permitted himself another smile.
"Much better. Now, shall we talk?"
***
During the first several months of a person's captivity, a prisoner often goes through a certain eccentric phase in which they either rally against the people and reasons that brought them to their current situation or go through every single possible –as well as impossible- way in which they could escape. At the moment, Lloyd was fervently glad that he could be categorized as one of the latter. Of course, even in the schemes upon schemes his mind had played out to fill the long hours he hadn't envisioned anything quite like this, but he'd gone though enough similar scenarios to improvise with more then a little success. His head turned, and he observed his fingers as they played up and down the silver chain, seemingly engrossed, before suddenly commanding them still to glance up at the woman in his cell.
"We were discussing your gracious unchaining me." The statement range out in the still air, and he tilted his head slightly; letting things unsaid have their due.
Ice met the sardonic fire, and her voice as cool as his was –mockingly- warm answered,
"Were we?"
He smiled. "I believe we were." Steel sang beneath the words, making them fact, rather then opinion.
She smiled too then, and the smile was a dead, frozen thing, a promise of winter, worse for the fact that it melted slightly, revealing a blacker pledge. Lloyd suppressed a shudder.
"Wingly, I do not have any keys."
A solitary silver eyelash flickered.
"No?"
"No. I was not a prisoner here. I have little need of trinkets to escape" Violet eyes narrowed, daring a question.
No question came.
Instead, Lloyd raised a single eyebrow –by now, long recovered from the smile- and his face took on a melancholy expression that was just as mocking as his earlier facade.
"I see."
"You are a most understanding man, Wingly." The sarcasm was back, and Lloyd welcomed it.
"Thank you. I wonder if the same can be said of the guards down the hall."
"It is doubtful." The voice again became flat and frozen. "Still-…Wingly, if your intention is to call them, attempt to remember your own advice; the door is closed, they shall have a time of hearing you."
His smile returned, to banish the false air of depression.
"And that is why I am so fortunate to have this." His hand falling away from the chain, Lloyd's fingers sought out –and found- an area of stone that lit at his touch, glowing with a pale blue radiance. "Karian, in all his wisdom," The mockery in the last few words by far outmatched all the subtle inflictions of derision from before, "saw it fit to have a communication spell made; so that I might inform him when my supposedly inevitable repentance took place. It was created so the sentries at the end of the passage would hear of my capitulation first; a lesson is better remembered –after all- if all know you have learned it. Still, it will serve now…." White teeth flashed in the gloom, "All I need do is put pressure on the stone and we can truly see if the prisons garrison is as indulgent as I."
Amethyst eyes narrowed to slits, and a dagger was suddenly in the woman's left hand.
"You would be dead before you could activate the enchantment."
"Probably," He shrugged then, "but even so, not entirely correct. There is no spell on my part, as the manacles," Lloyd lifted his left wrist to indicate the silver shackle that clung there, "have a way of absorbing all of the magic I cast –why else do you think I could possibly need you to release me?-, so all that must be done is to add a little more pressure. It takes a person so long to die, as I'm sure you know, and in that time...." the same elegant fingers that had so casually toyed with the chain were splayed with equal elegance upon the shining rock. His voice suddenly changing from airy and mocking to dark and serious, he added,
"If you truly have no keys then you are a fool, for only a fool would be thoughtless enough to close that door with no way out, locking themselves within. And only a fool would not know that a cell door seals itself from the outside once closed. You," and now Lloyd spoke with a quiet conviction, "are not a fool, whatever else you may be. So I will ask you to see reason; what possible gain could you derive from keeping me shackled? Nothing, though you stand to lose all. Unchain me and little in your position changes for the worse, though you gain a guide. And you cannot deny that you need one; it is obvious you have no idea how to get out of the prison, for all the fact that you –most probably- have a map. This corridor, after several hallways, leads to a dead end, and as you're so clearly trying to escape the rest of the castle, if you knew your way around you'd not have come down here. As for the map; Karian remodeled the prison after the Empires fall, and most charts you can find of this place do not include those changes. In fact, an exit used to exist down this way, it was closed up, but a map would still show it as accessible. Logically, it can be assumed you were heading for that outlet before you were sidetracked." He lifted his left hand again and raised it, to indicate the surrounding walls, "I would not mind being free of this place, and no doubt you feel the same. As I observed before, you are not a fool; the same can hopefully be said of myself. Now, release me so that I can lead us both out, and we can be on our separate ways all the sooner."
Lloyd finished in the same bland tone that he had assumed during the speech, knowing with a sense of absolute conviction that he had her; glares, ice, and all. Some things are undeniable.
So it was with no small amount of incredulity that he saw –for the second time that day- the women before him smile, and this time the winter was tinged with wryness. Her eyes stating of a hidden amusement, she looked down her nose at him, and stated,
"I have no keys."
***
"I have no keys," she repeated, denying what Lloyd knew must be the truth, "Yet as you have observed Wingly, I am not a fool." Replacing the dagger in her left hand into the hidden sheath from which it had been removed, she propped her still bloodied rapier against the wall closest to her.
Three long strides were all it took for the woman to bring herself before him, and when, with a practiced ease, she dropped to her knees and clasped both of his manacled wrists in callused hands, he let her.
Even knowing something was going happen, even stealing himself against all possibilities, Lloyd was not and could not have been prepared for what occurred next.
Black flames erupted about the woman's fingers without warning, twisting the magicked shackles to extreme proportions. Enchantments whose purpose was to absorb the spells of the particular Wingly to which they were attached had little hope against an outside influence. They shriveled, as, without touching the man, the blaze ate away at metal of their being. Still smoldering, the distorted lumps of silver fell to the floor, and Lloyd could not stop the words which flew past his mouth in a breathless exclamation.
"So that is why."
The last of the Dragoons, whose power was over darkness, nodded her head and turned, making her way quickly back across the cell. One hand grabbing her blade, she extended the other to reach out and lightly touch the closed door. Black fire flared.
Before a now unobstructed entryway, the woman turned once more to Lloyd.
"Get up Wingly; it is time for you to fulfill your part of the bargain.
***
Rose ran. Hallways opened everywhere around her, branching off into infinity, but she paid them no mind, her eyes fixed on the flying silver hair before her, her steps following those of her guide as her mind replayed what she knew of him. The Wingly was clever, of that, there was no doubt. Oh, admittedly, he must have had time to brood on such an escape, but that did not alter the fact that he had played his hand well. Almost perfectly, she was forced to admit, allowing herself to feel a small bloom of admiration. To underestimate this man, to not respect the way he had manipulated what he could of the situation, was death. The only fault in his theories was his focus on keys, but that was little more then a minor flaw that she had used to mislead him, and had Rose been the betting type she would have bid quite highly that this particular Wingly would not fall for such a trivial ploy again.
They passed another corridor, and this time were met by a small troop of guards. In front of her, she saw the Wingly's hand shoot out, and a net of golden light surrounded the group, binding and blinding them long enough for both Rose and her guide to duck down another hallway. That made six sets of guards that had subdued altogether.
Right left, left right they ran, up and down hallways and corridors like rats, 'til there breath came quick and the beating of their hearts should have been audible. Ahead of her, the Wingly slowed, and Rose bid her feet to a halt. His fingers resting calmly upon the handle of a door both dusty and discreet the Wingly turned and spoke, his voice no longer holding any clever mockery, but instead, a quiet warning.
"Beyond this door is a small, walled-in courtyard; it was abandoned after the prison was modified so we should have no trouble in it, unless someone spots us from the air, unlikely, because one of the towers casts a fairly perpetual shadow across it. Another door will get us out of there, but once we are in the open it will be impossible not to be spotted. As you undoubtedly know, the prison is built on a mountain; once we are free of the castle there are only a few ways down, and none of them will leave us unseen. Hopefully, most of the forces still search for us inside the prison, so we should last until night, when we'll be able to slip away under a cover of darkness….You are ready?" Crimson eyes locked with violet, and Rose gave a tight nod. "Good." With a flick of his wrist the door came silently open, for all the fact that, after countless years of neglect, and with its rusty un-greased hinges, this particular exit should have squeaked.
***
Muted sunlight filtered in from the open door, and dust partials danced and played in a fickle, autumn breeze. Chaos smiled to itself, and watched as, in the distance, a flash of silver and a dot of black disappeared through another door and vanished from sight.
***
The air was thin at this height on the mountain, but Rose had long ago learned to ignore such discomforts, as the Wingly at her side had apparently not. Sweat glistening on his brow, and his breath coming unevenly, he had begun having his troubles once they had exited the secreted courtyard and crossed out into the open. Though it did not appear he could last very long at this rate, she realized with a foreboding start that he would need to. Halting then, Rose signaled for the Wingly to stop as well. There; a patrol of perhaps…Roses eyes squinted against the sun and felt her lips tighten into a grim line…thirty or so Winglies were headed in their direction. No longer in a narrow passage way, and no longer able to take their enemies by surprise, Rose saw little chance of holding out against such a number, and on the bleak, baron mountain top, saw no hope at all of avoiding their sight. Violet eyes scanning the area around her, Rose sought something –anything- that could perhaps help defend the indefensible situation. The desolate stretch of land remained stark and still –slightly frosted- before, in the distance, coming to an abrupt end. Nothing suggested possibilities, save maybe….
Stooping down, Rose grabbed a rock –small and gray, with a dusting of snow on its top-, and handed it to the Wingly.
"Here. Follow me."
He did.
***
The Wingly Prison of Charle was built at the height of the Melbu Frahma's reign, as a small piece of spite from a ruling brother to his sister. The site for its construction was chosen for several reasons, among them the fact that to the back of the Prison was mountain -that last stretch of solid rock that consolidated into the peak- and to the front was a small, flat area of land that meandered outwards for awhile before going into a sheer drop, almost all the way down to the foot of the mount and into a forest. Only a small amount of magic was needed to remove the almost and the Prison became unreachable to any save Winglies, and then, only by flight. Later, several other trails down were constructed for the moving of supplies, but they were exposed, and closely watched. Yet it was not to one of these paths that Rose ran, for she could never have made it before the Wingly patrol was upon her, even had she known the way and even had the man beside her been in perfect condition. Which he was not, Rose saw; sweat poured down his face, and his silver hair was damp with it. Obviously, something was off with him, more then just the air. That problem would have to wait, though. Ahead of her, the edge of the mountain loomed, dropping down for miles.
"Wingly," She addressed him quickly and businesslike. There could be no room for cold, or hate, or memories right now. "When we reach the cliff, we are going to jump. No- don't argue, I have not the time, and you not the breath. Count 20, begin now, then activate your wings and throw the rock at me." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Wingly begin to slow, incredulously. "Run, damn you. All should be explained before we reach the ground…Wingly!" Off to the far right, and above, Rose saw the column of approaching figures slow, and beside her, observed as the bluish flows of magic that served as wings slid from her guide's shoulders. They had reached the edge. Now for the telling moment; the pebble she had handed to the Wingly hit her on the shoulder, poorly cast, it did little more then irritate, but that was enough. The magic from a Dragoon Stone can be drawn on at all times if a person knows what they are doing, but true transformation can only take place during battle. Perhaps most Spirits would not accept a intentionally flung rock as combat –up until that instant, Rose had not sure hers would either- but she had lived once in a place that had had an infestation of small mousy creatures who threw stones at everyone they chanced upon and at one point she had taken it upon herself to exterminate them. Anyway, it was enough that her Dragoon Spirit seemed to find the pebble acceptable. As she went over the edge, black wings sprouted, and Rose fell.
***
Or rather, she flew. The speed at which the air passed her was controlled, and the pure joy that came from that rush, for a moment, banished the darkness. Rose soared. Yes, though she plummeted through the sky, it was soaring.
The same could not be said of the Wingly.
Blue wings flickered, and his plunge was just that, the pale glitterings on his back doing little to slow what so obviously was a fall. The joy banished, Rose's eyes observed another seen, another such uncontrolled decent, where the plunging figure was another man with golden hair and wings of red, instead of silver locks and those quivering strands of trailing blue magic. It had been little but 200 years ago, and she watched again; the scream, the stone, the fall.
Later would come the questions of how she ever saw Zeig in the plummeting Wingly, later she would wonder. For now, it was enough that she saw it, and that one more death on a conscience slick with blood would be an atrocity she could not, at the moment, commit.
Catching the man as he plunged was not the hardest of tasks and neither bearing him with her; as a Dragoon everything seemed lighter. Diving down the impossible distance to the foot of the mountain, Rose gave the briefest glance at her load, noticing with surprise that the Wingly's eyes were rolled back and his breathing shallow.
Call it curiosity, then, that stayed her hands from dropping the man when the questions of later came.
***
She had been flying forever; the blue of the heavens a steady, cold companion, the world around her a rushing intangible thing, the ground so far below a sea of green that stretched from one horizon to another. The dive was eternal, and for Rose, it passed beyond all thoughts or time. Yet the sky only goes on for so far, even mountains come to an end, and the emerald blur beneath her soaring form eventually separated into individual treetops, full of gaps and cut by streams. It was to one such gap and stream that Rose flew; -a small knoll surrounded by meadow-y area, situated closely by running water- and it was at such a place that she landed and threw down her burden.
Perhaps it was jolt of his body as it connected with the ground, or perhaps it was the brief flash of violet light that came when Rose relinquished her Dragoon form, but the Wingly sat up with a start, crimson eyes clear and appearance as cool as ever, if slightly disheveled. Rose waited there for a moment, allowing the man who had been her guide to fully regain his composure, so that he might explain in his own time his difficulty on the mountaintop. Amethyst eyes observed as the Wingly regained his feet, and stood still, his own red gaze focused upon the sheer cliff face from which they had both descended.
Perhaps had Rose been just several years older in that instant, –ice settled firmly on her being- or just a few years younger –her grief more fresh, and her soul still torn- she would have walked away then, and left curiosity and questions behind with the sarcastic Wingly on the grassy hill in the middle of the forest.
But she was not; so she stayed.
***
The silence remained unbroken for a long while, and Rose, watching the Wingly, made no effort to change that fact. If the he did not wish to clarify his odd behavior outside the prison she could question the man later, but for the moment, she waited. The years had taught her that, in the end, patience is always gratified. And it was.
"Thank you."
If the Wingly's stance and expression showed no change, his tone did. Sincerity rang quietly behind the words, and Rose was surprised. She knew Wingly's -she had enemies, friends, and acquaintances among them- and one of the things she had discovered about their particular race was that they did not thank. Pride before and pride behind, the most you will ever get from a Wingly whose life you have saved is a nod of gratitude, or a returned favor. Perhaps the man who spoke the words knew this also, for he continued quickly, not allowing her time to respond.
"I fear I misjudged your importance up until the last moment." The Wingly turned slightly, and Rose noticed he wore a slight frown, "Of course, after your display in the cell, I guessed, but was still uncertain. After all…it's been so many years…. Humans usually do not live two centuries. Had I been sure at the time…." Now he turned to face her, and the frown was gone, replaced by an inscrutable look. "All of the Prisons security spells are now in full use. That has never happened before. We were lucky, the enchantments outside the castle are older then the ones within, and only the last of them were made by Melbu Frahma. Look,"
The Wingly raised his arm, and a single pallid finger pointed back towards the sheer face of the cliff. Then his hand twisted in a swift, flicking motion, indicating his spell was finished.
For a moment, all was silent, and Rose looked to see what the releasing of the Wingly's spell had done. Nothing.
And then the mountainside erupted in crimson fire.
***
Lloyd lowered his hand, and felt the last of his strength go out of him. He had never before used his magic to such an extent, and his insides felt hollow and stretched. The enchantments embedded into the mountain had powers beyond anything he wished to think about, and had drained him to the point where he could not have lit a candle if his life depended on it. Which, he hoped fervently, it would not. Somewhere off to his side, he vaguely heard the woman who was the Dragoon of Darkness –he had known her name once, had been taught or had read it maybe. What was it, again? Daisy? Lily? Iris?- make a comment, but it was spoken softly, and –his mind rebelling- Lloyd did not catch it. Still upright, he nodded, mumbling something unintelligible, while attempting to take a step down the hillside. It was at this time that his feet decided that they did not want to come with him, and for a second it seemed he would fall. Something caught him then, and although a vale of fuzz had draped itself around his eyes, obscuring sight, he knew what it was.
Drained, tired, and stretched beyond his limits, Lloyd gave little thought to squelching his pride for the second time that day.
"Thank you,"
And then it came to him, drifting up from the smooth white pages of a history book,
"Rose."
His vision having by then long faded into a pleasant, fuzzy darkness, where his mind now resided also, he failed to see the woman who was the last of the Dragoons look upwards towards the flaming mountain and reply.
"No Wingly, thank you."
***
Two figures stumbled, one supporting the other, off the rolling hill where the first, the woman, had started her journey to the mountain prison. Chaos observed both mortals closely for a moment, smiling in silent exultation, before moving off; yet a little more worked needed to be done.
***
Reports were scattered in reckless abandon across the desk, their pages –once a crisp white- now crumpled and slightly stained. The Wingly whose careless reading of them had brought the documents to their current state sighed once, and then winced; a flood of rueful shame washing over him. A man usually neat to the point of obsession, even the looming of the present crisis did not excuse, to his mind, a self-control that had -for a moment- gone rogue.
Bringing gloved palms up to massage throbbing temples, Karian –Warden of Charle Prison-, began to feel his years. A middle-aged man when the reign of the last Wingly Emperor –who some thought the greatest- had begun; Karian was an ancient being, knowing more of the intrigues and flaws in his kind's culture then any one of the humans who had started the rebellion and Dragon Campaign. Of all Wingly's, he would be the first to admit that, in those battles, several valid points had been made. Naturally, during the height of the Empire such a particular perspective had brought his loyalties under question. Nothing had been proven, of course, but the suspicions harbored by Melbu Frahma on the point had landed Karian in the removed position of Charle Prison's Warden. All of the Emperors qualms were moot, now, however; he was dead, his Empire gone, and his problems fallen upon a man who did not wish them. Again, Karian sighed. He had no particular love of Dragoons –whatever happens, never let it be said that he did- and the trap he had so casually set to catch one had been a task done to more set those last doubts on his allegiance to rest then to actually accomplish anything. Had his guards been just a little more competent or the spells in the prisons security just a tad more strong, he would have succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. Now, a failure worse then he could have ever foreseen howled its cruel laughter through his soul, hanging before him 'what-if's' and 'might-have-been's'.
Karian had waited late in life to be married, and it was even later that he had had a child. The Warden had never been close to his son, and had been farther still from the grandchild that had been heaped upon him after that son's death. The boy's ideals and ideas would have been treason during Melbu Frahma's reign, and to have anyone learn of them would have brought things far more heavy then simple misgivings down upon the Grandfather who had supposedly taught him. A prison cell had seemed the best option, special manacles to keep the prodigal child from a magical ability that might have made him one of Frahma's top generals, had the boy lived during that time. Who could have foreseen his escape, his partnership with the one woman the Wingly world wanted dead most? Silently, Karian wondered;
"What have you done, Lloyd?"
Anguish and an icy fear running through him, he asked again,
"What have you done?"
***
Orders needed to be given, of that, there was no doubt. To not attempt pursuit on his errant grandson and the Dragoon would have meant his death, and Karian was not quite ready to face that grim specter yet. Summoning his Captain of the Guard, the Warden gave the curt commands that would remove him from the quandary his child's child had set upon him.
"Eron," None of the doubt or troubles that afflicted Karian sounded in the harsh voice that spoke the man who stood before the Warden's desk, "in these last few hours, as you must be well aware, many things have happened. Few them good. Still; instruction comes from all different places," Crimson eyes glared with a powerful force at the calm man Karian addressed, and now the Warden ground his words, "and I have learned something. Your guards are incompetent; thus, so are you. Your failure is theirs, Eron, and they have failed most mightily. As Warden of this Prison I have little time to clean up after your mistakes. So it shall be you that will recover both the Dragoon and my grandson. Use whatever means you like, but do not fall short again, Eron. I will not tolerate another such disappointment."
"Sir." The Captain's nod of agreement was minute and sharp, apparent in its disrespect
Scarlet eyes narrowed, thin lips pursed, but Karian said nothing. Instead, a white gloved fingers twitched, indicating the discourteous man's dismissal. Yet before the Captain had left the room, the Warden steepled his hands and called out a final instruction. "And Eron? One last thing; do not search in two's for them. Lloyd and the Dragoon will surely part company at first chance, and searching pairs of people as well as just individuals will make it finding either of them an impossible task. I do not wish to lose any more time then has already been squandered"
"Sir." Again the curt nod of agreement; and again, Karian let it pass, watching as insolent Guard Captain closed the door quietly behind him.
***
Alone once more in his study, the Warden of the Prison Charle went to his window and addressed the dead spirit of his son.
"I have given him a chance, Anarael." He whispered, "If your child has some cause, some reason, for staying with the Dragoon then he shall not be found and should he part from her company, you cannot say I had not bestowed him some hope. Now I now wash my hands of this matter, and let not the outcome touch me, for these fingers are clean."
Perhaps had Karian known his own child better, he might have realized; the man who was Lloyd's father would have preferred the Warden's hands very bloody indeed.
***
In another place, in another time, the universe that knew itself to be the true world continued;
A Wingly sat, still shackled, in a dungeon. Years passed and time ate away at a rock hard will, 'til finally, even that gave way, and a pale hand found its way to a glowing stone, informing the guards who remained garrisoned down the hall that repentance had come at last. Prejudice eventually forces itself on a mind that must study it, and lessons well learned stay forever. In the end, nothing remained of the man who would have said thank you to a human.
A woman continued down a corridor full of closed doors, and found the exit for which she had searched gone. Finally cornered, she was caught and –ironically- delivered to the Charle for which the prison was named, who was expected to deal with the human appropriately. She did; -if not in the way the Warden of the prison had in mind- warning Rose that she must never use her name again, and that no one was to ever suspect that the Dragoon of Darkness continued to live. The woman who had been captured then went free, and to the entire rest of the Wingly world, it seemed that –finally- the last of the Dragoons was dead.
For all purposes, she was.
Now, utterly;
the Black Monster.
***
A/A/N: (Another Authors Note..^_^) Wah…@_@.....I must hand it to myself…I really managed to MANGAL this chapeter….God…I HATE my Karian p.o.v. ..Meh…but I haven't the energy at the moment to fix it…*sighs*…_…meh…so much for Lloyd's grandfather. Bah. I had it in my head as a cool little scene but it came out all funky..*CRYS*…wah…T_T…..Meh…. People are introduced this chapter…bah.. it was boring, and horrid, and I shame my non existent writing talent. *sighs*….meh…
…*glomps reviewers* I WAS AMAZED THOUGH! O_O YOU PEOPLE –for the most part- ACTUALLY ENJOYED MY LAVITZ/SOA BIT! O_O;;!!!!!..^_______^ EHHH!! ^_^!!! For those people who want it, it will happen *nods*…a little later though. My muse wanted to put it in to, but I was trying to give a different light in this chappy. *sighs* oh well. Meh…there be a much foreshadowing here, next chapter the plot should finally begin to rise from the quagmire of my writing. Meh…^_^ This chapter is full of, what my brother calls with much disgust, 'Lint in the Dogs pocket' (a thing he got from one of my stories I made the unfortunate mistake of reading aloud to him…-_-…meh…it's posted under the Title of A conversation in the Sun, if any are interested in just what my evil sibling of doom means), and hopefully things will start making a little more sense soon.
NEBWAH! ^_^ And now, the rewards for the wonde-ful peoples who reviewed! MWAHJ! *brings out huge sack of sugar covered gumdrops* MWAH! ^_^ *goes down the surprisingly long line of reviewers* ^_^ AND TWO-HUNDRED-AND-TWENTY-FOUR FOR YOU, AND ANOTHER TWO-HUNDRED-AND-TWENTY-FOURFOR YOU! ^_^ AND –MWAH!- A HONKING ONE FOR YOU! ^_^ *bestows largness gumdrop upon reviewers head* AND *continues down the line till all have gumdrops* ^_^;;!! WHA!
N'way! Now I have to have a poll. *nods* because I always have a poll. *nods*. Mh…*muses on what can poll about*….actually, can think of nothing. ^_^ You are spared. ^_^ *many cheers issue from audience*
Wah! ^_^ Just please tell me what you think, if I have mangled the chappy, and make as many comments as you wish! ^_^ Reviews are my motivation, and I hold them close to my heart. *huggles reviews* ^_^ MWAH! THANKIES! R/R! ^_^