Chapter Seven

Well, these people certainly are…trusting…

Arkarian smiles at Merle reassuringly as she inspects the—surprise, surprise—white room she is standing in. "It's a precautionary measure, Merle. Everyone who defects to the Guard has to stay in Athens to be debriefed."

"But it's so…"

"White?"

"I was going to say colour-less." Merle says. Arkarian had gotten suspicious when he couldn't hear any of her thoughts, so now Merle makes a point of letting a few slip through every so often. Only pointless thoughts, of course. She's also dropping her omniscient façade around him—for now, anyway. Unfortunately, just looking into his eyes makes her defenses drop. Something about him makes her want to trust him fully. And his looks don't hurt, either. Wait, no. No. He's something like six hundred years her senior.

Bad Merle! Evil thoughts! No, actually, evil thoughts are preferable to these…

She fights the blush rising in her pale cheeks. "Um, can't I, I dunno, decorate or something?" she asks, glad her voice is staying steady.

"No fair!"

Merle winces. "Bas—Dillon, you're so loud!"

"No, really," he insists, walking through the door. "Your room is nicer than mine! It has a bigger bed, and a comfy chair, and a chest, and—is that a T.V.?"

Arkarian shrugs, grinning. "Not quite. It can watch mortal activities on Earth. But it does have games and movies, I've heard."

"What? Why?"

"Because I'm special," Merle says smugly. "And better than you."

"Oh yeah?" Dillon strides over to where she's standing; Merle watches warily. Suddenly, he lunges at her.

"Dillon!" she screeches, laughing, as he tickles her. "Get off!"

"Hah!" he says triumphantly. "Ticklish as ever." He turns to Arkarian. "I'm serious, you just touch her arm, and she'll start giggling."

"Not true!" she argues before he starts tickling her again. "No-fair-you're-not-ticklish!"

Arkarian hangs back, obviously amused. "Well, I need to get back to my chambers…coming, Dillon?"

"No chance! I haven't tickled her in years!"

"OK. Well, you know what to tell her, right?"

"Yeah."

"Arkarian!" Merle screams. "A-little-help-would-be-appreciated!"

"Nah, me and Primmy over here will be fine."

Merle glares at him. "Don't. You. Dare. Go. There."

"What's wrong, Primrose?" Dillon asks tauntingly.

"Argh, I hate my first name!" Merle says, frustrated. "You know not to call me that!"

"Primrose?" Arkarian asks. "Your name is Primrose Merle Sullivan?"

"I HATE YOU, DILLON!"

"But, Primmy…"

Arkarian grins at the murderous look in Merle's eyes.

"Well, at least I'm not afraid of the dark," she says matter-of-factly.

"I—you—I'm not—" Dillon splutters, going red.

Merle grins, sensing victory.

"At least I'm not afraid of tomatoes!"

"Dillon!" she says, shocked. "Fine. You want dirt? You've got it. At least I'm not afraid of riding in hot-air balloons."

"At least I've never tripped over my own two feet!"

"At least I've never bashed in a wall on accident!"

"At least I've never slipped walking out the front door!"

"At least I've never messed up a mission!"

"At least I've never been caught by the other side!"

"At least I've never cried at the sight of snow!"

"Snow?" Arkarian interjects, an eyebrow raised.

"I was three! I was scared! And at least I'm not named Primrose!" Dillon adds.

"At least I—"

"Well," Arkarian mutters, "this is going to be interesting…"

I think I might start putting author's notes on the bottom from now on. Well, as you know, only Prim--Merle belongs to me! Arkarian/Isabel fans, never fear, I'm not messing with that at all.

A short chapter, but one that develops Merle a bit more, methinks.