Shade: **Zipping about the room and bouncing off of furniture trying
desperately to teleport** I am. the Amazing. Nightcrawler!!!
Nova: **Trying to net Shade with a dogcatcher's noose** Alright! Whose great idea was it to let her see X-2?
Shade: Bwahahahahahaaaa-! **Misjudges her jump and goes flying into a lamp** - ha?
Lately, during my Internet wanderings, I've found a lot of rumors saying that Shonen Jump is going to add Rurouni Kenshin to their lineup. Can anyone verify this? Or at least say they've heard similar? Just want to make sure that I'm not chasing clouds again. **Crosses fingers for luck**
Side Story 2
Asalla sat at her nightstand, absently running an ivory comb through her floor length hair while she watched her reflection in the polished looking glass in front of her. No matter what she did to herself, she never seemed to be quite happy with the image she saw staring back at her in the mirror. She could change her hair, change her clothes; even change her skin tone with the help of the various powders stored in small containers resting along the edge of the tabletop, but her eyes always remained the same. Nothing she did to her reflection seemed to be able to mask the cold silver pigment in her irises that was so different from the usual rose tones of her race. She examined the mirror once more before setting the comb down carefully on the nightstand. Combing her hair wouldn't make a difference anyhow.
There was a light knock on the door to her room. "Asalla, dear? Are you okay?" Yellen's voice was concerned. "You've been in there for an awfully long time."
Asalla sighed, then raised her voice. "I'm fine, mother. I'm brushing my hair, that's all."
There was a pause. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about anything? I'm always here to listen, you know."
"I told you, I'm fine. Nothing's bothering me." Asalla kept her tone light, but was relieved when she heard her mother's footsteps retreating down the hall. Suppressing a second sigh, she crossed her small room to the window and leaned on the sill, staring out at the sky above. She hated it when her mother fussed over her like that. She was approaching her 268th birthday, for crying out loud. One would think that by the time someone reached her age their mother would have learned that they were capable of handling their own problems, but not Yellen. Asalla knew that her concern came out of her love for her daughter, but still.
Her eyes wandered to where the Moon hung in the sky. It had been a week or more since the Moon's surface had returned from crimson to its normal muted glow, but Ragnarok and Dart had not yet returned from their 'hunt'. This was just as well; Asalla always felt threatened in some way when the Divine Dragoon was nearby. Dart was polite, even friendly with her, but she always felt as though he walked in the shadows of dead souls. Considering the events of his life so far this wasn't surprising, but what really bothered her was the dragon. No matter what t he human was doing, it seemed that the image of the divine dragon was superimposed with his own, watching her always with flat, hate-filled eyes. Ragnarok didn't like her, she could tell that much even without resorting to her gifts with empathy. Not that she would even try it: just the thought of touching the dragon's emotions was enough to make her shrink away. She knew that he didn't like her. She didn't really want to know how much.
Abandoning her vigil by the window, she left her room and wandered outside, picking the walkway that would lead her to the gardens. At this hour of the night most of the walkways were deserted, but Asalla still found that she tread carefully. More and more frequently she found herself retreating to the solitude of the forest gardens below the main levels of Ulara in an effort to escape the hustle of the town above. At least in the gardens it was easier to avoid other people. People meant problems, and problems meant emotions. The last thing she wanted right now was her empathy mucking up her mind with other people's emotions. At least, not while she was still trying to come to grips with her own problems.
Winglies all develop certain specialized abilities by the time they are a hundred or so, such as teleportation or a limited skill with the fire element. In this respect Asalla had progressed quite naturally, if not faster than most. This had never worried her. What did worry her was the fact that her abilities didn't end with teleportation or fireballs; indeed it seemed that she had only begun to scratch the surface. The empathy had begun to develop about a hundred years or so ago, so gradually that at first she'd blamed it on mood swings. It wasn't until three or four months later that she realized that these 'mood swings' coincided with the emotions of her family and friends. And now, just when she was learning to get a handle on empathy, something else unexpected and unwelcome was cropping up.
Reaching the gardens, Asalla let out a sigh of relief when she saw that they were deserted. A light night breeze whispered through the topmost branches of the oak and ash trees, stirring the ghostly pale leaves adorning their limbs into some semblance of life. The moonlight filtered down through the canopy, dappling the forest floor in a mosaic of shadow and silvery light. Seating herself at the base of a large beech tree, Asalla drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Unlike her other gifts this one was quite recent and had manifested itself seemingly overnight. Without meaning to, she saw things that she shouldn't have been able to. Like Dart and Ragnarok. She could see them both at once, while anyone else would only see the black-garbed man leaning against a wall or railing by himself. Other things too. At times it seemed as though she was seeing flashes of his past, without ever leaving the present: countless battles, sorrows, and joys. Once in a while she even found herself picking up on images that could only have come from the divine dragon himself.
It wasn't just them, either. Her mother, Caron, her friends Nova and Garren, even Charle; unpredictably images of their individual pasts would appear before her eyes and then disappear in the space of two heartbeats. She had no control over it, it just happened. But what was the worst was when what she saw couldn't have possibly occurred yet. Dealing with the past was one thing, but as for the future and the fates- that was a different matter entirely.
Why was this happening? According to Charle, the powers of the winglies were supposed to weaken with each passing generation, not grow stronger. What did it mean? Giving up on the swirling mass of questions that swam about in her head, Asalla let her head drop onto her knees and closed her eyes.
She must have dozed off, because when she finally awoke the sky to the east had begun to pale with the oncoming of dawn. Closing her eyes again, she let her head fall back onto her chest and was trying to figure out what had awakened her when she caught the sound of voices on the platform above her. Rousing herself to her feet, Asalla hurried up the winding stone walkway that led back up to the main platforms. As she neared the top, however, she slowed. Charle and Caron were walking hurriedly in the direction of the teleporting platforms, talking quietly.
"Are you sure that he's back already? I would have thought that they'd wander for a while since Garren didn't go with them this time."
"Arkie must be getting tired of all that wandering by now. Maybe he missed us?"
"Some how I doubt that."
As the voices faded away, Asalla paused, biting her lip in indecision. In the end tough, her curiosity got the better of her and she followed the two speakers at a distance. As they neared the teleport station she ducked out of sight behind an extension of the wall to watch.
For several long minutes there was nothing. Then the warp pad began to glow; faintly at first, then growing stronger as the revving sound that accompanied it grew louder. At last a bolt of green burst through the dome of magic that surrounded the city, arcing over the forest below and joining with the humming, glowing pad in a flash of brilliant green light. When the light finally dimmed Dart was left standing in the center of the warp.
"Dart sweetiepie!" However confused Charle may have been about the circumstances of his return, her enthusiasm was genuine. "It's so nice to see you back so early!"
"Stow the cackle, Charle." Dart growled. Asalla didn't need to look at the dragon that seemed to coil around his form to realize that Ragnarok was the one in control. Everything from his mannerisms to his speech changed noticeably when the divine dragon was dominant.
"Hello to you too, Ragnarok." Caron, as always, was undaunted by the dragon's surly attitude. "How did it go?"
There was a muttered string of curses, followed by a spitting sound.
"What was that, Arkie?"
"Remind me never to use stealth again. Next time that blasted child's born in Rogue, I'm going to save us the pain and just blow the whole cursed village straight to Mayfil."
"Oh come now. It couldn't have been that bad." Caron's voice was gently chiding.
"Speak for yourself."
"Where's Dart?"
"Kid's sleeping. It took just about everything he had to get out of there." Ragnarok winced as his left leg buckled noticeably, and he shifted his weight. "The cult doesn't have a foothold on the island, so we decided that it would be easier to use stealth and take care of things quietly."
"And-?"
"And what?"
"And what happened after that?"
More cursing. "Never try to take a kid away from a lady who's trained in the martial arts, catch my drift? If she doesn't get you, her relatives will."
"One over-protective mother gave you trouble? Arkie, I'm surprised."
"Screw one. We had the whole bloody village after us!" There was a pause. "Now would you mind letting us get some rest? His body hasn't had a chance to recuperate as of yet." Without waiting for an answer, Ragnarok started down the walkway, limping on every off step. As he passed Asalla's hiding place he didn't look back. Or at least, not physically. But the insubstantial dragon hovering about the man's frame did, swinging his head about and fixing all seven eyes on her in a malevolent stare. For a long moment they remained that way, eyes locked, before the dragon continued on.
Asalla stayed where she was as Charle and Caron passed without noticing. A scene played itself out unbidden in her mind, repeating endlessly. She was on her knees in the desert that surrounded Ulara, struggling to move against invisible bonds that held her in place. She hunched her shoulders, trying to use her body to protect something, but what? Dart stood, black trench coat flapping about him in the hot wind, sword held back over his head, ready to strike. But even as he lunged forward, bringing the glittering blade down in a sweeping arc, the world around her seemed to dissolve into darkness, accompanied by the chorus of a hundred thousand wailing voices.
Blinking back tears and biting her lip until blood flowed, Asalla pulled her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Bowing her head, she huddled against the walls of the platform.
For some reason, it seemed to take dawn longer to arrive.
"Gaahhh. once again, sorry for the lateness."
-_-; Anyone else feel like that phrase is becoming a regular part of my vocabulary?
Nova: **Trying to net Shade with a dogcatcher's noose** Alright! Whose great idea was it to let her see X-2?
Shade: Bwahahahahahaaaa-! **Misjudges her jump and goes flying into a lamp** - ha?
Lately, during my Internet wanderings, I've found a lot of rumors saying that Shonen Jump is going to add Rurouni Kenshin to their lineup. Can anyone verify this? Or at least say they've heard similar? Just want to make sure that I'm not chasing clouds again. **Crosses fingers for luck**
Side Story 2
Asalla sat at her nightstand, absently running an ivory comb through her floor length hair while she watched her reflection in the polished looking glass in front of her. No matter what she did to herself, she never seemed to be quite happy with the image she saw staring back at her in the mirror. She could change her hair, change her clothes; even change her skin tone with the help of the various powders stored in small containers resting along the edge of the tabletop, but her eyes always remained the same. Nothing she did to her reflection seemed to be able to mask the cold silver pigment in her irises that was so different from the usual rose tones of her race. She examined the mirror once more before setting the comb down carefully on the nightstand. Combing her hair wouldn't make a difference anyhow.
There was a light knock on the door to her room. "Asalla, dear? Are you okay?" Yellen's voice was concerned. "You've been in there for an awfully long time."
Asalla sighed, then raised her voice. "I'm fine, mother. I'm brushing my hair, that's all."
There was a pause. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about anything? I'm always here to listen, you know."
"I told you, I'm fine. Nothing's bothering me." Asalla kept her tone light, but was relieved when she heard her mother's footsteps retreating down the hall. Suppressing a second sigh, she crossed her small room to the window and leaned on the sill, staring out at the sky above. She hated it when her mother fussed over her like that. She was approaching her 268th birthday, for crying out loud. One would think that by the time someone reached her age their mother would have learned that they were capable of handling their own problems, but not Yellen. Asalla knew that her concern came out of her love for her daughter, but still.
Her eyes wandered to where the Moon hung in the sky. It had been a week or more since the Moon's surface had returned from crimson to its normal muted glow, but Ragnarok and Dart had not yet returned from their 'hunt'. This was just as well; Asalla always felt threatened in some way when the Divine Dragoon was nearby. Dart was polite, even friendly with her, but she always felt as though he walked in the shadows of dead souls. Considering the events of his life so far this wasn't surprising, but what really bothered her was the dragon. No matter what t he human was doing, it seemed that the image of the divine dragon was superimposed with his own, watching her always with flat, hate-filled eyes. Ragnarok didn't like her, she could tell that much even without resorting to her gifts with empathy. Not that she would even try it: just the thought of touching the dragon's emotions was enough to make her shrink away. She knew that he didn't like her. She didn't really want to know how much.
Abandoning her vigil by the window, she left her room and wandered outside, picking the walkway that would lead her to the gardens. At this hour of the night most of the walkways were deserted, but Asalla still found that she tread carefully. More and more frequently she found herself retreating to the solitude of the forest gardens below the main levels of Ulara in an effort to escape the hustle of the town above. At least in the gardens it was easier to avoid other people. People meant problems, and problems meant emotions. The last thing she wanted right now was her empathy mucking up her mind with other people's emotions. At least, not while she was still trying to come to grips with her own problems.
Winglies all develop certain specialized abilities by the time they are a hundred or so, such as teleportation or a limited skill with the fire element. In this respect Asalla had progressed quite naturally, if not faster than most. This had never worried her. What did worry her was the fact that her abilities didn't end with teleportation or fireballs; indeed it seemed that she had only begun to scratch the surface. The empathy had begun to develop about a hundred years or so ago, so gradually that at first she'd blamed it on mood swings. It wasn't until three or four months later that she realized that these 'mood swings' coincided with the emotions of her family and friends. And now, just when she was learning to get a handle on empathy, something else unexpected and unwelcome was cropping up.
Reaching the gardens, Asalla let out a sigh of relief when she saw that they were deserted. A light night breeze whispered through the topmost branches of the oak and ash trees, stirring the ghostly pale leaves adorning their limbs into some semblance of life. The moonlight filtered down through the canopy, dappling the forest floor in a mosaic of shadow and silvery light. Seating herself at the base of a large beech tree, Asalla drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Unlike her other gifts this one was quite recent and had manifested itself seemingly overnight. Without meaning to, she saw things that she shouldn't have been able to. Like Dart and Ragnarok. She could see them both at once, while anyone else would only see the black-garbed man leaning against a wall or railing by himself. Other things too. At times it seemed as though she was seeing flashes of his past, without ever leaving the present: countless battles, sorrows, and joys. Once in a while she even found herself picking up on images that could only have come from the divine dragon himself.
It wasn't just them, either. Her mother, Caron, her friends Nova and Garren, even Charle; unpredictably images of their individual pasts would appear before her eyes and then disappear in the space of two heartbeats. She had no control over it, it just happened. But what was the worst was when what she saw couldn't have possibly occurred yet. Dealing with the past was one thing, but as for the future and the fates- that was a different matter entirely.
Why was this happening? According to Charle, the powers of the winglies were supposed to weaken with each passing generation, not grow stronger. What did it mean? Giving up on the swirling mass of questions that swam about in her head, Asalla let her head drop onto her knees and closed her eyes.
She must have dozed off, because when she finally awoke the sky to the east had begun to pale with the oncoming of dawn. Closing her eyes again, she let her head fall back onto her chest and was trying to figure out what had awakened her when she caught the sound of voices on the platform above her. Rousing herself to her feet, Asalla hurried up the winding stone walkway that led back up to the main platforms. As she neared the top, however, she slowed. Charle and Caron were walking hurriedly in the direction of the teleporting platforms, talking quietly.
"Are you sure that he's back already? I would have thought that they'd wander for a while since Garren didn't go with them this time."
"Arkie must be getting tired of all that wandering by now. Maybe he missed us?"
"Some how I doubt that."
As the voices faded away, Asalla paused, biting her lip in indecision. In the end tough, her curiosity got the better of her and she followed the two speakers at a distance. As they neared the teleport station she ducked out of sight behind an extension of the wall to watch.
For several long minutes there was nothing. Then the warp pad began to glow; faintly at first, then growing stronger as the revving sound that accompanied it grew louder. At last a bolt of green burst through the dome of magic that surrounded the city, arcing over the forest below and joining with the humming, glowing pad in a flash of brilliant green light. When the light finally dimmed Dart was left standing in the center of the warp.
"Dart sweetiepie!" However confused Charle may have been about the circumstances of his return, her enthusiasm was genuine. "It's so nice to see you back so early!"
"Stow the cackle, Charle." Dart growled. Asalla didn't need to look at the dragon that seemed to coil around his form to realize that Ragnarok was the one in control. Everything from his mannerisms to his speech changed noticeably when the divine dragon was dominant.
"Hello to you too, Ragnarok." Caron, as always, was undaunted by the dragon's surly attitude. "How did it go?"
There was a muttered string of curses, followed by a spitting sound.
"What was that, Arkie?"
"Remind me never to use stealth again. Next time that blasted child's born in Rogue, I'm going to save us the pain and just blow the whole cursed village straight to Mayfil."
"Oh come now. It couldn't have been that bad." Caron's voice was gently chiding.
"Speak for yourself."
"Where's Dart?"
"Kid's sleeping. It took just about everything he had to get out of there." Ragnarok winced as his left leg buckled noticeably, and he shifted his weight. "The cult doesn't have a foothold on the island, so we decided that it would be easier to use stealth and take care of things quietly."
"And-?"
"And what?"
"And what happened after that?"
More cursing. "Never try to take a kid away from a lady who's trained in the martial arts, catch my drift? If she doesn't get you, her relatives will."
"One over-protective mother gave you trouble? Arkie, I'm surprised."
"Screw one. We had the whole bloody village after us!" There was a pause. "Now would you mind letting us get some rest? His body hasn't had a chance to recuperate as of yet." Without waiting for an answer, Ragnarok started down the walkway, limping on every off step. As he passed Asalla's hiding place he didn't look back. Or at least, not physically. But the insubstantial dragon hovering about the man's frame did, swinging his head about and fixing all seven eyes on her in a malevolent stare. For a long moment they remained that way, eyes locked, before the dragon continued on.
Asalla stayed where she was as Charle and Caron passed without noticing. A scene played itself out unbidden in her mind, repeating endlessly. She was on her knees in the desert that surrounded Ulara, struggling to move against invisible bonds that held her in place. She hunched her shoulders, trying to use her body to protect something, but what? Dart stood, black trench coat flapping about him in the hot wind, sword held back over his head, ready to strike. But even as he lunged forward, bringing the glittering blade down in a sweeping arc, the world around her seemed to dissolve into darkness, accompanied by the chorus of a hundred thousand wailing voices.
Blinking back tears and biting her lip until blood flowed, Asalla pulled her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Bowing her head, she huddled against the walls of the platform.
For some reason, it seemed to take dawn longer to arrive.
"Gaahhh. once again, sorry for the lateness."
-_-; Anyone else feel like that phrase is becoming a regular part of my vocabulary?