ThunderCats
Bio-Booster Armor Guyver
Eye of the Storm
Episode Seven
He sat with his head bowed, Lisker saw, and his face had been tomato red for the past hour. Lisker tried not to growl deep in his throat, kept his calm as best he was able. Reminded himself of the axiom of best laid plans.
"I''m powerful sorry," Benjamin said. The Marine in him wanted to cram as much of his boot up that farmer's ass as he could get in one kick, and he reminded himself that he wasn't dealing with soldiers. Not even warriors, come to that. Just some people who were frightened for the future of their home.
"Who was she?"
"I think she was one a' those dancin' women that came in a few days ago," Benjamin replied. "She came up to me..." his voice faded from what had to be crushing humiliation.
"And she looked great naked," Lisker finished for him. Benjamin's head shot up and the look of stunned surprise on his otherwise plain and square face was comical. "Thought it was something like that. Look, next time you sprout wood, keep it in your pants."
"Yessir, I'm..."
"Powerful sorry, I heard you." Lisker sat in the stuffed chair before Gil's fireplace Benjamin had just vacated when he heard the man close the door behind his exit. He ran a hand down the front of his face in frustration at the stupidity of that farmboy, even though he could more than understand it.
"Lisker," Maria said as she came up to him. She attended planning sessions more frequently, he noticed, and was glad for it. In recent weeks, Maria was coming out of her former shell, taking interests in things he wouldn't think a Wollo woman would. "Wasn't that first part a little... sexist?" She said the last as though it felt unfamiliar on her tongue. It was maybe the third time she'd used it since he'd told her what the word meant.
"Not so much," Gil replied from his position to the left of the stone hearth.
"It's like this," Lisker explained. "Most men will stare at anything female and naked. Or female and clothed. Or female in general. Something of a weakness in the gender."
"She used it well enough," Gil said. "They didn't take much, at least. Clutch spies?"
"I'd say Warrior Maiden," Maria piped up, drawing looks from Lisker, Gil, and Dendel.
"I'd have to agree with her," the Bolkin said.
"Lisker?" Gil asked.
"Seems most likely," he said. "Care to explain, Maria?"
"Well, it seems perfectly justified to me, if that's the right word. Watershed and the Warrior Maidens around here have lived in peace for years, even if neither's overly friendly with each other. Now, they see us putting up battlements and training an army of sorts. What do you expect?"
"But, it's not like we're planning to attack them!"
"They don't know that, Dendel," Lisker said in repsonse. "But, here's hoping they do now."
"That might be a faint hope," Gil said, his face darkening slightly. "This tribe is headed by a woman named Verona. I've had... some experience dealing with her." The shadow passed across his eyes so fast Lisker wasn't entirely sure he caught it. "Once she gets her mind made up about something, getting her to change it is a cun... a hair away from impossible." Gil tried never to use his more colorful expressions around either Maria or William. "Until now, we left them alone and they left us alone."
"Until now," Lisker repeated. "I don't think this Verona is gonna try anything, at least not right away. Neither side has any sort of advantage."
"Unless they team up with the Clutch, and I don't think that's likely."
"If Verona comes to us, her warriors have to move and fight over open ground. If we go to them..."
"Lisker!"
"Just making a point, Maria. If we went to them, they'd have the higher ground, so to speak. They're used to fighting in the trees, and even the weapons we have now wouldn't do much good with so much in the way. We know that, she knows that. For now, it's a stalemate. The only info we know they don't have are our battle plans and about, well, me." Lisker, though he could not know it, was only half correct on that one.
"Our advance scouts haven't reported any signs of them," Gil said, closing the topic. "I'm beginning to wonder if they're coming at all."
"Ran with their tails between their legs and are off looking for someone whose teeth aren't as sharp? Possible, but I doubt it."
"As do I, Lisker," Gil replied. The meeting broke up, then, with Gil seeing Maria and Lisker to the front door. Lisker stepped out into a late summer's day, thick clouds overhead promising rain fairly soon. Despite the oncoming inclement weather, the muted roar of haggling, heckling, and other such sounds lent the air a sense of vitality that he would never have imagined Watershed capable of on his first visit. He felt Maria's fingers intwine with his own and the two walked, glancing at now-occupied storefronts and people bustling away on whatever business brought them from their homes. It warmed him, that sight, and the knowledge that it came about because of him. Of Maria, to be more precise, she had been the one to browbeat him to it.
Still and all, he thought, it's worth it.
"Something on my chin?" he asked once he felt Maria's eyes locked onto his face. Her expression was intent, questioning.
"You said most men will stare at anything female in general."
"Sad, but true. We're skirt chasers, for the most part."
"So, why don't I see you ogling every pretty girl that walks by?" Her voice had a faint teasing note to it. Maria was becoming better and better at flirting, as well. Lisker wondered if, had they never met, she would be even close to who she was now.
"I caught the last skirt I chased," Lisker said around a grin and from behind knowing eyes. "And I didn't want to let her go."
"This skirt," she said primly, "didn't run very far, did she?"
"And she seems to have grown a fondness for pants over skirts." Maria had taken to wearing the garment more and more after having become used to it.
"Speaking of," Maria said, and the look in her eyes was unmistakeable even if one didn't know her as well as he did. He leaned down when she beckoned with her index finger, "she also likes to wear nothing at all." Her whispered voice in his ear was enough.
"Aren't we naughty today?"
"Come on," she said, "I'm hungry, and there's something I want you to see after lunch. I was going to wait, but... well... you'll see."
Lisker walked through the busy streets of Watershed and, for a moment, the Warrior Maidens and the Clutch were far from his mind.
Night fell again in the former PRC, and Aptom meandered through the corridors of the Warhammer apparently without aim. At least, while wearing Dr. Gireg's shape, that was the image he wanted to cultivate. He kept his expression calm and ordered, which was proving somewhat challenging. Zoanoids had no real facial expression beyond enraged, mean, and generally overjoyed at ripping things to bloody shreds while in battle form. Though the beak he was currently sporting made keeping a leer off his face easy enough, it was tougher to keep it from his eyes.
Over the past days, he had come to a few conclusions regarding his current state. He lacked sufficient bioenergy to assume a zoanoid body. Even a simple Ramotith had proven beyond the limits of his strength, and that had been a bitter disappointment. Ramotiths, the joke had been, were so easy to optimize it took a deliberate effort to fuck them up.
Aptom wondered, as his eyes searched casually for the one he had set out for, how many of these Mutants he would have to absorb to regain the strength to assume a proper zoanoid form. Surely enough for someone to notice, that was certain. Also, it was something he could not avoid regardless. He had felt himself weakening over the course of the past several days, losing cohesion on the cellular level. He had been kept frozen for too long, and his body simply could no longer hold and generate the bioenergy needed to keep him alive. Each Mutant was another fix, and to his relief each seemed to last a little longer than before. He had only eaten four, and those had been written off as deserters, yet he still felt as though some eyes were at the very least searching for him. Gireg's memories, as well as the monkey and three jackals he'd made sustenance of, indicated strongly that none of them here would run out on Ratar-O, mostly for fear of a reprisal cruel enough to make even a former Kronos monster flinch. Hate him they did, fear him they definitely did, and as such few had the testicular fortitude to cut and run or try to overthrow him.
Charming fellow, Aptom thought. Here I thought all the good villians were in novels by that guy from Maine. He continued his casual gait down into the lower levels of the Warhammer and barely hid the grimace at the smell. The stink of tears and sex was potent down here, and rightly so according to the memories he had somehow gleaned from the Mutants he had absorbed.
In Plun-Darr society, he had learned, women got the shaft both literally and figuratively. In its own way, Aptom had thought, it was very much like Victorian England, just without all the rituals and the veneer of finery. Females on Plun-Darr were slaves in every sense of the word. They were taught so from birth and molded to accept it as their lot in life. On ships such as Warhammer, they were kept in the holds in conditions which not even a simpleton could call comfortable. The dank spaces were kept warm and clean enough, but that was about it.
Aptom, however, cared nothing for it. He needed sustenance, and had realized that here it was and no one would much care. They milled about listlessly, unable to change their position in life and taught not to care overmuch. That suited him fine, given that not all of them survived a night with an officer.
Aptom spotted her and nearly winced despite what he had gleaned from Gireg's memories. She was of Reptillian lineage, yet she looked so different from males of that clan. Her form was thin, upright even. Though her skin, and quite a bit of it showed due to the fact that she was nude along with the others in this foul-smelling pit, was not mottled, he could see where some of the scales were beginning to flake off. Gireg's memories indicated her to be the scientist's favorite and for reasons far too lascivious to mention other than the fact that she had overcome her gag reflex.
A bird boinking a lizard? Aptom thought with faint traces of wonder and disgust. Her tail barely reached the floor, and some small spark of life still shone in her eyes. Her head and body were entirely without hair, which was common among Reptillians. She saw him coming, and the gleam of lust in her eyes was mostly artificial. She had serviced Gireg more than a few times.
She was, all in all, perfect.
He gestured with his beak the way Gireg always would, and she moved to wait for him in one of the more shadowed places on the lower decks. Rina liked Gireg, Aptom remembered, because he was kinder than the others. Gireg did not beat her, just wanted his blowjob before leaving her to her own station once more. Despite himself, Aptom felt a twinge of pity for someone so obviously broken as her.
Such didn't matter, however. He wasn't Gireg, and he needed something more than she usually gave.
"Hey, baby," she said in her always-tired voice. Aptom moved in, shoving her against the bulkhead and roughly grasping her breasts. He silenced her with a kiss that he managed not to barf into while the enzymes when to work.
"Just so you know," he said in his natural voice, "this might be the best end you could have hoped for." Aptom saw the terror in her eyes as his hands sank into her breasts and the process began. She lost her voice before she could scream, his hands having sunk into her chest and drawing her into himself. Aptom braced for the mental agony which would come with her memories.
Pain...
Degradation...
Humiliation...
Please, why does it have to be this way...
Oh, please no more...
It HURRRRTSS!...
...Even if I could find those ThunderCats, they wouldn't care...
...Just a Mutant...
No... hope...
Let my end be painless...
Aptom recovered much later, curled into a ball near the darkest part of the bulkhead and was relieved no one had apparently seen him. Rina's memories still haunted his thoughts as he drew himself up and made sure the visage of Dr. Gireg was still firmly in place.
Rina's life had been true hell. A hell Aptom had lived in minature. Kept as a sex toy, and nothing more...
Stop it, Aptom told himself, yet the thoughts of the Reptillian woman he had absorbed were still his own. He slowly brought himself under control and put her whirling agonies in the back of his mind. He had done her a favor, all told. She would feel no more whips or herself invaded. On top of that, she was part of him now.
He hated the Mutants, not merely because of her own thoughts in his head. He would use them. In Aptom's eyes, they were only raw materials, but when it came time, he would assist Ratar-O in his making of zoanoids. He would ensure the Mutant commander would have all the zoanoids he'd need for whatever he was planning and that Aptom himself would have all the sustenance necessary to fully regain his strength. He toyed with the idea of stowing away for the return trip to Plun-Darr. Making Mutantkind an extinct race seemed more attractive with each day.
"You have done well," Verona said to the three kneeling warriors before her. She reclined in her throne of wicker, one shapely leg draped over the other while she fingered the longsword in her hands. The metal was indeed light, not as ponderous as an iron blade. It rang when she struck it, a tone nearly musical in its clarity and the edge was keener than any she had beheld or wielded herself. "What do they call this metal?"
"Steel, M'lady," Wrin answered. "I've heard tell it is made by refining iron somehow." Verona gazed upon the longsword for a moment before resheathing it and drawing up the musket. Its length was nearly ridiculous, yet its very appearance screamed death. Verona knew that if the outsiders of Watershed invaded, they would be facing the Warrior Maidens on their own turf. With Lisker on their side, her people might be staring down their own doom.
"Wrin."
"M'lady!"
"Fetch Natalie and Solange." Several minutes later, the two women knelt before her. They rose at her command. "We know where Lisker spends his nights with the Wollo. From what our spies tell me, they love each other. I know," she said at the doubtful looks she received, "it is most peculiar, but I have no reason to doubt it. As things stand now, Watershed already has us at a terrible disadvantage. Were it not for the presence of Lisker and his power as a Guyver, this would not be so. We must move, and quickly, to censure him."
"What is your wish, M'lady?" Solange asked.
"I am loathe to undertake such an endeavor, but Lisker's main vulnerability is the Wollo woman. If we hold her, we hold him at bay."
"Is this wise?" Natalie inquired. "Wouldn't that only bring Lisker here with the intent of finding her?"
"Which he will be unable to do," Verona explained, her voice terse. "Sending more warriors into Watershed is impractical now, I am certain they will be watching for women of the Wood. Wrin, Sevo, and Neva are to keep watch over the home of Lisker. When the opportunity arises, take the Wollo. Natalie and Solange will keep guard over her." Verona noted the slight tic at the corner of Natalie's left eye. "Solange, please remain. Everyone else, you are dismissed." Verona's eyes never left Natalie until she walked from view. "Watch her, Solange," she said. "Her heart doubts me, and her words question me. If she proves disloyal, bind her next to the Wollo and bring her to me once the Lisker matter is settled. I shall deal with her then."
"Hey!" Sho cried softly on entering the Medical Wing. Myrlha accompanied him into the sterile space whose walls were that same curious off-white as hospitals he remembered from Second Earth. Pumyra lay beneath a thin sheet with Bengali standing above her. Their eyes left his to focus on the newborn cub in his arms. "Looks like you were made for that, Pops."
"Guess I was," Bengali said as he slowly rocked Darin in his arms. "Never woulda thought it, though."
"You're doing fine," Pumyra said around a beaming smile.
"Hear you're gonna be back among us soon," Myrlha said with a sly grin.
"Another day in here, then I'm back on light duty."
"Same here," Bengali said.
"Nothing's come through the forge lately," Sho said, "I've checked. I'll be taking up the post full-time with you tomorrow."
"Sure you're up for that?" Bengali asked as he slowly rocked the sleeping Darin in his arms.
"Someone's gotta be," Sho said around a laugh. "Besides, if I can't handle it, I know who to call. If it involves vehicles or weapons, I'll leave it to you. I don't want Panthro chewing me a new one over faulty armor plates."
"Then consider that your next lesson in smithing," Bengali said as he continued to rock Darin.
"Got it."
"Uh-oh..." Pumyra said as the newborn began to stir and then cry. "I think someone needs a changing."
"You just fed him!"
"Almost three hours ago. C'mon, give him here."
"How do you..." Bengali stopped as Pumyra laid him atop her lap and undid the diaper. "Nevermind."
"I think we'll be going now," Myrlha said. "Congrats again, you two."
"Thanks." The two left, Sho just catching the smell and wondering how Pumyra had known so quickly.
"I heard that mothers have a weird way of knowing things," Sho said once in the hallway and away from the smell of Darin's latest contribution. "I guess it's true."
"My mom did, that's for sure," Myrlha replied. "She knew every time I wasn't doing something she'd told me to. It used to creep me out sometimes. Kinda like telepathy."
"You say so," Sho said, his voice a trifle sad. Myrlha regarded him for a moment. She had come to know when he was dwelling on his long-distant past, when memories from Second Earth were bubbling up from that blank place in his mind. Ever since their conversation atop the now-dismantled Tower of Omens, she had known what it meant when Sho got a thousand-meter stare on his face, and what he was thinking on could prove to be a sensitive matter for him.
"She also knew just when I was feeling down, even when I tried to hide it. She never failed to keep some soda berries handy for those times." She noticed his face fall a little more, and deduced what was troubling him. "I guess I shouldn't keep it up, huh?"
"It's fine," Sho said before taking a deep breath. "I'm just thinking about my own mom." They walked out of the Medical Wing and into the connecting corridors to the other vital areas of Cat's Lair. "I wish I could've met yours. I wonder what she'd think of us?" His tone brightened considerably at that.
"She'd have loved you, Sho," Myrlha replied warmly. "Trust me on that one." Myrlha thought of her mother then, at how she always worried about her girl not settling down with someone who deserved her, if at all. "So," she began, "what about your mom?"
"I don't know." Those three words brought Myrlha up short. "Dad and I lost her when I was a kid."
"Oh..."
"Don't apologize," Sho said as he turned his saddened face to her. "I don't remember much of her because I was so young. All I have is a memory of a photo. Just the three of us. I was, oh, maybe four when it happened." Sho stared off again as memories from the times of her early ancestors played themselves in his mind. "After she died, it was just the two of us. It was rough at first, but we managed. Dad kept up a show of being all strong about it, but sometimes I'd catch him looking a pictures of her late at night. He'd cry over them, but in the morning he'd pretend that nothing was wrong. Sometimes, we'd look at those photo albums together, and I'd catch that look in his eye when he was trying not to cry. Dad never loved another woman." They neared the connecting hall to the main reception area of the lair, hearing the buzz of voices as people bustled to put the final pieces of the Lair in place. "Dad never told me what happened, and wouldn't talk about her much, and he never knew I'd seen him crying over her pictures. I'm glad you knew your mom so well."
"Sho..." Just how much of your life on Second Earth was defined by tragedy?! she thought for a moment. "What was her name?"
"Akie Fukamachi."
"Nalla."
"Huh?"
"My mothter's name was Nalla."
"I really like that name."
"I'll tell you about her, if you want."
"Please," Sho said as they entered the foyer of Cat's Lair. "I'd really love that, Myrlha."
"Tonight, then?"
"My shcedule's clear for the rest of the day. We've gotta start moving our stuff in here soon."
"I've got kitchen duty tonight."
"Yeah. Well, I'll start moving stuff into our quarters. Shouldn't take too long. I hear Tygra's gonna power the whole grid up in a few days."
"I'll bring dinner." It had become common between them when one or the other had to pull a shift in the mess tent. One of them would, reeking of spices and meats, come home with a meal.
"I'm thinking candles," Sho said, his voice a bit playful as he eased an arm about her waist. "Quiet night, soft candlelight..."
"And afterward..."
"A surprise."
"Oh?" Sho could still, despite how well she knew him, throw her a curveball.
"You'll see," he said with a wink. "This is something I've been working towards for, oh, a couple millenia now." With that, Sho dashed away from her with a wink before vanishing among the gathered Thunderians and Berbils in Cat's Lair.
Though it had been neatly sheared off with a laser, and he hadn't screwed up the ingredients for the disinfectant, the stump had still healed badly. Foraging a living with only a single arm had proven tougher work than Grune would have imagined, yet he still had. Until recently.
It had been a small cut, a thorn bramble which had just pierced the puckered and ruined flesh, but it had been enough. Infection had set in with startling alacrity, and within two days the stump had become festered and raw. The balm he'd prepared was long since gone, and the ingredients necessary were nowhere in evidence up in the wilds of the north.
Burning with fever, Grune lay wasted and ill in the shade of an enormous maple, beathing in gasps and sweating as though he had swallowed a star. He barked out a weak laugh at how his quest to find another of the Guyver units had ended. Despite his legendary temper and titanium resolve, Grune the Destroyer was to be felled by a fucking microbe. How about that shit?!
Among the scents he could name was the almond smell of gangrene having its way with him. He glanced down at the swollen stump of his right arm, green and putrefying as the cells died and the flesh rotted. Grune idly wondered how far it would spread before the fever killed him. Not far, he hoped.
He saw Thundera around him as he slipped back into delerium, his fever having viciously spiked again. They walked around him, over him, not looking down. The bastards. He wanted to cry out for help, for succor from anyone, yet his throat was a narrow straw for air and nobody seemed to notice him, much less care that he was at death's door. He saw her, staring at him through the bustling crowd, her eyes a study in perfect sadness. Grune wanted to plead with her not to leave him this time, to beg forgiveness for all he had done, to let her know that it had been for her that he'd killed...
The world exploded around him, clouds of smoke and walls of flame as Thundera's capital city burned. Mutants swarmed about, kicking in doors and firing wildly at families who were huddled inside, and he saw the one he'd sold his people out to, walking toward him. Standing over him with the most incredulous look on his face.
"Well," the apparition said, "aren't you just a sorry sight?"
"He's burning up," another voice said.
"Dose him."
Grune was lost in a whirl of chaos just as merciful blackness claimed him.
"Well?" Ratar-O asked as Meliz knelt over the wasted form of Grune.
"He's in bad shape. We have the facilities aboard the Warhammer to stabilize him."
"The arm?"
"We can take care of that as well. Father, do you know this one?"
"Oh, yes. He and I go back a long way." Ratar-O had known Grune to be alive on Third Earth, said data having come to him from the Tower of Omens' computers via the Spy Star he'd dispatched. Years ago, when their raid on Thundera had been turned back, Ratar-O had traced the course of the vessel which bore Grune across the stars in stasis only to find that it had vanished in a quantum singularity. It had been a pity, Ratar-O had wanted to rip the rest of Grune's knowledge of ThunderCat protocols and strengths from his mind before killing him, but had been forced to give it up as a lost cause.
On finding, from the stolen data, that Grune had landed on this very planet centuries in the past and had assumed command of the Mutant Army once the creature Mumm-Ra had returned him to the mortal coil, Ratar-O had intended to track him down.
"Get him aboard the Rat-Star, and begin treatment. I need this one."
"Yes, sir."
The search had borne unexpected fruit, and Ratar-O knew he had to sieze this chance.
The return flight to the Warhammer had been uneventful, as had been the transfer of a Thunderian into one of the medical labs. Meliz looked over at Dr. Gireg, and again was struck by something in the Avian's manner he could not identify. He had never had any real dealings with the scientist, yet for some reason Meliz suddenly found himself wary of him.
"Who's the cat?" Gireg asked, irked at having his research interrupted.
"Someone who will be of use to me. See that he recovers fully."
"The rest of that arm has to go," the Buzzard said on inspecting the stump. "I'm gonna have to get him into surgery fast if you want him to live."
"Report as soon as his condition improves." Ratar-O turned to leave on the spot as Gireg began to hurriedly prep IVs and assemble antibiotics. The rest was lost as he followed his adopted father from the laboratory and into the corridor.
"If you'll excuse me, father, I have some matters to attend to."
"Very well." Meliz watched him go and then turned to stalk the opposite way. He could not base his suspicions about Gireg on anything solid and it was time to fix that. On spotting a Reptillian and a Scavenger on their routine security patrol, he stopped them both.
"You two," he said curtly, "your duties have been changed."
"To what, sssir?" the lizard asked with enough false respect to keep Meliz from killing him outright.
"Dr. Gireg. Follow him, note what he does, and report directly to me. If he so much as shits crooked, I want to know about it."
"Understood, sir," the jackal replied. Meliz nodded before continuing on his way.
He had noticed the disappearances among the rank and file, and had been unwilling to chalk it up to Mutants deserting. Where would they go on the galactic equivalent of bumfuck? Their best chance of survival lay with Ratar-O, after all, and Mutants knew how to survive. That they would cut and run was ridiculous in such a hostile alien environment. Therefore, some ill fate had befallen them.
Meliz cared not for that, but cared a great deal to what had caused said Mutants to vanish and what aim it ultimitely had for the rest of the mission. Also, several of the females kept aboard for relieving stress among the crew had vanished as well. Meliz had seen a pattern, alternating between soldiers and sluts vanishing, that had set his nose to twitching. Whatever was behind the sporadic disappearances favored men more than women, but why? What was it? Why did he feel that Dr. Gireg knew far more about it than he was letting on?
What galled Meliz the most was how groundless his suspicions were. Gireg had been nothing but a model subordinate, engrossed in his research as he was. Still, something seemed off, enough to arouse Meliz's suspicions.
Whatever was going on, Meliz swore it would not endanger their mission or his father.
Lisker lay atop the bed as Maria had insisted, clad only in the blankets which lay atop it. He had lain so for several minutes, wondering just what she had planned. She had been rather coy since leaving Gil's home, shooting him sidelong glances and chuckling beneath her hand. He was more than willing to play along with whatever game she was playing, it kept his mind away from more stressful matters that he simply had no way of dealing with at present.
Lisker allowed himself to drift into more fanciful realms, pushing aside whatever this Verona could be up to for the time being. Things were at a stalemate, and constantly looking for plots in the shadows could drive a man insane.
The door to their bedchambers slowly opened, and Lisker goggled at the sight of her. Maria stood in the doorway, bathed in lanternlight, with one leg cocked up and the most smoldering gaze on her face that he'd ever seen. The fabric which adorned her torso hugged her curves as though its life depended on it, cupping her breasts and leaving them even perkier and exposed to the light before plunging between her legs with a swath so narrow and daring he'd almost thought she'd managed to find a surviving Victoria's Secret store, a pair of long fingerless gloves adorned her arms. Sheer silk lovingly cradled her legs, reaching up to a garter belt of the same material.
The effect was immediate.
"Hey, is that..." he managed on realizing just what she was wearing.
"I told you I had special plans for the jacket you gave me," she said in a singsong voice.
"I didn't know they were this special," he said in a hoarse whisper. He'd never thought Maria could contemplate something so... so... daring!
"You like it?"
"Like isn't a strong enough word... It's... words fail, Maria. I love it!"
"I was going to wait until the matter of the Clutch was settled before wearing this," she nearly purred as she sauntered to the bed. "But, I realized that tonight would be even better." Lisker heard the dull roar of rain falling against the roof as she climbed slowly up his thrumming body. "Do you know why?" It took an effort of will that would have crippled a lesser man, but he tore his attention away from how the bodice supported her breasts and tried to recall what was so special about this night in particular rather than who was now straddling his stomach.
"I met you. A year ago today, I met you."
"I knew you'd get it!" she squealed.
"Put a gold star in my book," Lisker said around a smirk.
"I've seen and done so much more than I would have ever dreamed before you," she replied, "thank you."
"You've changed a lot since then, almost as much as you changed me." Lisker no longer felt any fear over how much she meant to him.
Maria rose earlier than Lisker that morning, and wanted nothing more than to remain in the toasty warmth of their bed with his hard body pressed against her. Unfortunately, it was her morning to make breakfast and nature had come calling. Her usual morning routine was performed in a half dream state as she washed and dressed. Her pants, and Maria was certain that she was the first woman in Wollo history to have worn them, along with the loose top were far more modest than the outfit which was currently strewn across the bedroom floor.
I'll pick it up later, she thought as she exited the bathroom and turned for the kitchen. She considered simply taking over all of the cooking duties. Lisker, bless him, was not afriad of setting foot in the kitchen but apparently one of the skills he'd learned as a Marine was not preparing food for consumption by sentient beings via application of heat. Still and all, Maria gave him credit for trying.
The three sharp knocks on the front door spun her about in confusion. Why would Gil be calling on them so early? Or Dendel, for that matter? Maria immediately thought of the Clutch, then dismissed the notion. Gil would have been pounding on the door had they finally arrived, if he wouldn't shoulder it right open and barge in.
"Coming," she called, keeping her voice soft so as not to wake Lisker. She padded barefoot to the door and recoiled when it was shoved inward once the latch was turned. Maria looked up at the human woman, her muscle tone and tunic readily identifying her as a warrior woman from the forest. She had no idea what the amazon wanted, but the hard look in her eyes gave her a good indicator.
Maria nearly lost her balance as she turned to run and, before she could open her mouth so shout a warning, a cloth was placed over her face. Dried herbs crunched against her lips as the scent wafted up her nose and the arm holding it to her yanked back hard to be joined by its mate across her chest.
Me? she thought as the woman hoisted Maria off of her feet and carried her kicking through the doorway. They want me?! Her struggles grew weaker as sleep once more overtook her, and Maria's last sight before passing out was of two other women, one on each side of the front door. Lisker...
Though fogged from sleep and the events of the night before, Lisker's mind booted up quickly when he noticed Maria was no longer in bed with him and the space she'd occupied the night before was cold. Lisker opened his eyes and noted from the angle of the sunlight streaming through the window that it was very late in the morning. Just shy of noon, in fact.
Lisker eased on a pair of pants on climbing out of bed, telling himself not to worry. They'd made love long into the night, and as such it was to be expected that they both rose after their accustomed hour. His head now clear from long experience of having to wake up at less than a moment's notice, he found that he heard nothing from the kitchen even though this morning was her turn to make breakfast.
"No big," he muttered aloud. Maria, after all, was probably still washing up as he intended to do. Lisker paused at the doorway, considering whether to make yet another valiant failure at breakfast or to join her in the tub. "Decisions, decisions..." he chuckled as he entered the foyer...
...And froze at the sight of the dagger driven into the planks of the floor which pinned the sheet of parchment to it.
"Oh, no..." Lisker charged to where the blade pierced the wood and yanked it free. The handle was made of tarnished bone, obviously well-used from the look of it, and the flint blade bore more than a few chips along the sharp edge. He gripped the handle until his knuckles went white, fighting to reign in his temper. Someone had figured it out, or someone had talked, that he was the Guyver and what he'd feared most had happened.
"We have her," the note began, stating the blatantly obvious, "and she is unharmed. You will not find her on your own, whatever powers you have. Destroy your weapons and leave Watershed. You have four days. If you do so, she will live well among us." Lisker ran his left hand through his tousled hair. "Destroy our trees, you kill her yourself. Remain armed after four days, you kill her through us. Do as we demand, and you ensure she will live in comfort."
"What kind of fucked-up shit is this?!" Lisker screamed. He'd never heard of a ransom note which said that, no matter what, you'll never get someone back. He rose, crumpling the note in one hand and grasping the knife with the other. Somehow, that Verona had learned his secret. Her demands, and assurance that Maria would live well with her tribe when met, told him that she intended to use Maria as a continuous shield against him. Lisker forced himself to remain calm, kept his steps measured as he walked to the front door and onto the porch. The scents of the day meant nothing as he scanned the trees in the far distance, his grip on the knife flexing and unflexing in a steady rhythm. A patch of mud by the bottom step caught his eye. A footprint.
"Human," he muttered, "slender. A woman." He then noticed the spacing of the toes, how it indicated that she had never known the benefits of footwear. "Okay, ladies," he said in the direction of their forest. "Hardball it is, then."
Maria finds herself captive of the Warrior Maiden tribe, and under guard by a doubtful Natalie. Lisker searches the forest from the skies, and finds no trace of Maria. Grune awakens, weakened yet on the mend. What purpose does Ratar-O have for him? Stay tuned for the next episode of Eye of the Storm.