Author's Note: Ugh. Sorry I haven't updated! I had a computer virus that wouldn't let me on the internet, and on top of that I got promoted at work, so I work a lot more. Eesh. I'm so overwhelmed by you guys, though... you're all so amazing! You're my heroes, every single one of you!
-hands out free dried rose petals-
Yeah.. you better hide those before Raistlin finds out I stole his belt again.
How'd I get his belt, you ask?
Ooh-ho.. wouldn't you like to know? XD
Mark Solo: Okay. Here ya go. XD
Semi-Automatic Bunny: LOL! Love the name! I like your in-depth thinking on plot.. I'm totally open to any suggestions you have, though I do have some things I wanna shock darling Raistlin with. But I like your thinkin'. You make me think. (That may be dangerous.. but whatchagonnado.)
Uncherished Light: n.n Thank you muchly! I'm glad I'm not the only one who hates Dally the Dork. He's just a prick, not even an interesting one, and I feel no attraction. :P I hope future chappies live up to your expectations. -sweatdrop-
Doofus96: LoL. Thank you. I'm sure spelling errors are on their way. I don't have a lot of patience for proof reading and it shows. -nervous laugher- Oh well. Thank you SO much for your compliments! You made me blush. :)
SquiggyTwiggy: I pretty much suck at writing anything but humour. I can't break away from it. :x I laugh all the time.. I think it shows. I can't wait to read your story now-- I actually have a day off coming up! Isn't that amazing?!
Hwoarangsquardie: You -can- write like this, and better, too. And I wanna see ya do it! Compliments from fellow authors are the best. :D Thank you!
Heather: I did it to torture you, my dear, and you alone. Mwuah HA!
TL: I thought I had a stalker there for a second.. I didn't look at the name. LOL! Way to scare me, man. Thanks a lot. :P Meeehh.. I like fanfiction. I can't write Raistlin if it's not FF. And I need to. Because he's my drug, doncha know. But thank you-- any compliment from you concering writing is awesome!
Darth Melly: Most people would probably find my descriptions of Raistlin excessive, but I see him as extraordinary looking, even if he isn't handsome. But he's... strange, and so much of his odd personality is reflected in the sheer passion of his design, you know?
...or maybe that's just the rantings of an obsessed girl. -cough- Thank you!!
Kyra Neko: Dalamar suckeths massively! Down with Dally!!! Heheh. You made me blush, too. You're amazing. I'll give you a lock of Raistlin's hair. If he doesn't fry me as I lunge at him with a pair of scissors...
Goldnote: I -had- to give tribute to the cliche bunny joke. LOL. It's always a goodie. Sorry about my dwelling on Crysania.. I just really don't like her, and this character is, literally, me. I'm trying to throw as much of me as I can in there, and I know I'd hate ever being compared to that goodie-two-braincells. I am sorry it bothered you, though. You can smack me, ifya want. But thank you! Your opinion matters. You, after all, hold sway over the path of the story. -feverish laughter-
ChildlikeEmpress: I -love- Raistlin-On-Earth stories! They're so hard to find:D Thank you so much for your encouragement, and I'm sorry I kept you waiting. Darn computer viruses!
SylvanDreamer: Oh yeah. Raistlin. Because he's just that shexy. LOL I'll try to update faster!
Mordae AKA Dark Shadow: They really should write more about Morgion, I think. I imagine he'd be fascinating. Yeah, hopefully I'll kick myself into continuing this.. I'm so flighty by nature, it's hard for me to focus on any one thing. (I try to reflect that in the OC in this fic, too.. since she -is- me, really.) I'll try, though! It's wild how much a word of encouragement and advice from you can help. Thank you so much for taking the time!
Chapter Three
In Which I Cross Verbal Swords With the Master
I looked my perfectly unnerving guest in the perfectly unnerving eye, outwardly as cool as a cucumber. What I really wanted to so was slap him for quite effectively severing the upper hand I had thought I'd had. I knew, of course, that this was probably his intention.
I would have skinny-dipped in magma before giving him the pleasure of knowing he'd succeeded.
There I stood with the most skillful mindfucker in literary history, who most likely thought women were all easily manipulated bleeding hearts. I had to meticulously analyze everything this man said, lest he play some secret game with my person, as he was infamous for. Fortunately for me, I wasn't too bad of a manipilator myself, being a daddy's girl. It took all the effort I had not to flash a superior smirk. Raistlin didn't know what was coming to him.
I didn't blink. "D'ya think so?"
I knew better than to take his equally bland reaction at face value. The incredibly slight darting movement of misshapen pupils told me that he was doing as much analyzing as I was. No other physical sign came forth, but this minor flaw in his omniscient facade spoke volumes to any true Raistlander. He was tired even after his long repose, he was frustrated with his uncertain circumstances, he was sure that his conclusion regarding my knowledge of him was correct even if I refused to confirm it, and he was angry at the smile that was spreading across my lips.
Look, I tried to fight it. Really. But I'd suddenly recovered that disembodied upper hand.
And my God, was it intoxicating.
Raistlin, the sharp, arrogant creature that he was, sensed my exaltation at his expense, and would have none of it. His eyes stopped moving, narrowing into golden slits that reminded me of an angry serpent. And suddenly he wasn't so helpless and lost-- he was downright predatory.
"Tell me, Miss Sarah," he hissed, somehow making the threatening sibilance sound casual.
How the hell does he..? Was he leaning forward, or was I moving closer...?
What? Oh, right. He was talking again. "Is this your favourite chronicle of my life?" He queried blithely, holding up a faded, partially-decomposed looking book, and I couldn't keep the blood from leaving my cheeks. "Or did it simply fall into your laundry basin on three dozen occasions?"
The Soulforge.
Shitake sick-ass mushrooms! Of course. I'd written my name on the first page.
I reeled. Maybe he'd slept so long because he'd been up so late, reading about himself. Had he read the Legends Trilogy? Did he know his own future? Did my posession of the books just seriously frick up the history of Krynn? Would Raistlin see the hopelessness of his evil, evil plans and wear the beachy-clean white robes once more, robbing himself of half of his sex appeal?
Please, God, no!
Hold on a minute there, Sarah. This isn't your fault. It's not like you forked over the books yourself. None of this would have happened if he hadn't...
Wait. Did he...?
Bastard!
"You snooped through my room," I murmered, gaping at him. "You... you poked your nose into all my stuff!" So I was shouting at the greatest power for darkness Krynn had ever seen like he was a naughty kitten! I was shocked and appalled and indignant and very, very embarrassed. Tidy as a landfill and cluttered with various Johnny Depp posters, my room was a disaster that I hadn't lifted a finger to clean in months. How he'd found the book was a bloody miracle. But my uninspiring tirade wasn't over just yet. I sputtered articulately before bellowing,
"You fuckslut!"
Another inter-dimentional record. It was the second time in less than fifteen minutes that the Master of Past and Present looked at me as if I'd deflected a magic missile with a cherry popsicle.
I would have giggled at the image if I weren't busy running my mouth.
"You scare Zeke to death for all I know, manhandle me while I'm naked as a jaybird, leave me, just as naked, to freeze in sub-zero temperatures, rifle through my belongings, and you still have the nerve to sneer at my God damn tea?!" He's turning brass. Is he blushing..? "Naked!!" I screamed senselessly, throwing my arms out as if I were driving home a point.
Oh yes. I knew Raistlin was a prudish thing, and I intended to milk that cow until it's udders fells off. But the Predator-turned-Prey, though still brass, refused to let his boots lure him to distraction.
To this day, I can't remember how many times the tables turned in that 'conversation'.
He threw a glance to the novel he had slowly lowered during my asinine lecture, and almost wavering eyes suddenly burned with cunning that was much more fitting.
Choosing not to cower or defend himself as I had hoped, he instead rose wraith-like to his feet, closed the distance between us, raised a fiery hand, hooked his index and middle finger around the collar of my sweatshirt, and pulled it down.
Oh God, oh God, oh God...!
What is this 'breathing' you speak of..?
It was all very dream-like and slow-motion, extending the span of a second into a century.
Why exactly was his touch so hot? Why was he, for that matter?
Shut up, Sarah, and think of something! No, not that!
My scandalized mind was, as usual, over-reacting, because it became obvious after that one long second that Raistlin was just surveying the damage he had wrought on my person the previous night. Metallic fingertips brushed over the patch of purple-red skin, and I winced, screwing my expression into a glare. He didn't have to stand so freaking close. For a person who didn't like to be touched, he had a tiny personal bubble. This had to have been another method of attack. He wanted to arouse memories of the night before and make me uncomfortable.
Well, one out of two ain't bad.
"While the bruising is severe, none of the damage is permanent." He rasped his diagnosis about three inches from my face. I could almost feel the vibrations of his voice rolling down my neck. Whatever he was arousing, it certainly wasn't memories.
Suddenly angry, I swatted his hand away, braced my hands against his thin chest and shoved him back none too gently. He was less than an inch taller than me and much lighter, so for a moment I was afraid he'd topple backward onto the table. Later I justified the alarm I felt by telling myself that I was only worried because it would have been awkward to have this particular wizard lying sprawled in front of me on a conveniently flat surface. Luckily he wasn't as fragile as a house of cards, for he just staggered slightly before regaining his balance. His supercilious, grumpy stare was still functioning, too.
"Stalemate, already," I grumbled, pushing myself off of the wall I didn't know I had been squishing myself against. I was really starting to not like walls. They were a shitty defense.
He raised a brow, and I matched his gaze dagger for dagger.
"I've had enough of this damn verbal sparring. I know that you know that I know..." I trailed off momentarily, blinking. I wasn't even following myself. I couldn't imagine what he was thinking. "Uhh, rewind, please," I managed to get out. But he probably didn't understand that either. Crap. "Start over. Okay. If you know that I know you, that I've literally read your life, then you know that you'll have to sink to new levels of deceit to pull the wool over my eyes. So don't bother trying. Got that?"
A tiny, false smile barely touched the corners of his lips. "I don't see why I would. There is nothing to gain from you."
I don't know why that hurt. But it did.
"That's.. good." A spider on the ceiling was busy sucking the life out of a moth. I wasn't jealous of the moth... why would I want to be of use to this spider? "I guess." Then I was looking at my thumbs, twiddling away at the speed of light. I hadn't realized I was doing that. Cramming my hands into the front pouch of my sweatshirt and returning my gaze to him, I wondered if I had just imagined the weird amusement I had glimpsed before being replaced by a dispassionate mask. "Well, Mister Majere, just how do you intend to get back to Krynn?"
"The same way I came." He had turned from me, gathering up the lively-scripted spellbook and snapping it shut with one hand dramatically. "But I need time to rest. The magic weakens me... but, of course, you know that."
I was very aware of the way he looked at me. He was attempting to measure just how much of him I knew. In a sense I was glad-- I doubted he would waste time testing my knowledge if he had found the books that recorded his future. But his gaze was a physical sensation, like standing too close to an open fireplace. I only shrugged noncomittally, padding into my kitchen under the charade of looking for breakfast. As it was I only opened the refridgerator and stood before it, hoping I'd feel less like a person stuck in a burning building. I couldn't stay there forever though, so I snatched up a jug of milk and a box of fruit loops from the pantry, whipping up a heaping bowl of artificial colours and flavours. I was already engrossed in the process of eating all of the yellow ones first when I turned around to see Raistlin closing my refridgerator, watching me with an unreadable expression that didn't necessarily imply extreme irritation. Which is why it was noteworthy.
"Nrr--mnph." Swallowing a spoonful of empty calories, I tried again. "Did you-- uhm-- want something to eat?" Lord, this was so unreal! I was offering Raistlin Majere fruit loops, for God's sake!
"No, thank you," he responded politely before resuming his silent observation of the way I ate breakfast.
Is this how meth-heads feel all the time?
I shifted on my bright-coloured socks uncomfortably, hardly knowing to handle the situation. "Awkward," I drew out the word in a quiet sing-song fashion, hurriedly cramming an enormous amount of cereal into my mouth so that I wouldn't feel obligated to keep up conversation.
I couldn't help but wonder at the contrast between his violent actions the night before and his quiet, almost civil disposition I beheld presently. Then he had been shrieking like a caged demon, and now he was so soft-spoken that I had to stop chewing to hear him. Whatever had changed was in his mind. He never simply had mood swings. His ever-active brain was responsible for his bipolar attitudes. So why was he choosing to treat my like I was worth his time? What did he want?
Maybe I had more in common with the moth than I thought.
After I had set the bowl down in my sink and tidied up after my meal, he addressed me once more.
"An interesting contraption." Or maybe he was addressing the refridgerator. He was opening it again, touching fragile, long fingers to the cold items inside curiosly. "How does it work?"
I gawked at it, feeling quite the simpleton. "I don't know," I replied stupidly, shaking my head. "I don't really think it's interesting at all. I see it all the time. Everyone has one. We can keep food cool for a long time so it won't go bad." Hanging up the dish towel, I paused in thought. "There are a lot of wires and electricity involved. Harnessed lightning energy, really," I blathered, hoping to make some sense to him. I didn't even know if he was listening. He had taken to looking at the digital clock on my oven.
Here comes another question.
I wanted to scream, 'Why do you even care?!' But I chose instead to cut off any questions by snapping, "Don't ask, I have no clue." Frowning, I put my hands on my hips and looked at him in my best no-nonsense way. "Look, you can just go shut yourself up in some room in the house and not deal with me if you want. I'm okay with that. I'm a hermit, you know, and I don't need you to be nice to me."
I instantly regretted my snippy speech as I saw whatever decidedly non-hostile emotion he had been displaying vanish entirely from his sharp-featured, bizarre face, replaced by unreachable frost. I was genuinely baffled by his behaviour as well. What did he want from me? Or was he truly only curious? I had just always thought him to be.. well.. wicked.
He was coolly regarding me then, and I thought he would turn and stalk away, locking himself somewhere away from me like I had suggested. Instead, he whispered coldly, "I do not think you know me as well as you suppose."
At last I was overcome with confusion. I unintentionally raised my voice a couple of notches, crying, "What? What is it? Why are you wasting your time on me? You very nearly killed me last night, and now-- what? Make-up isn't really your style, and I won't buy that card!"
His face was thoughtful and collected, like he hadn't heard a word I'd half-yelled at him. "Why do you adopt my surname?"
I stared, thrown off by the subject change. "Beg'yer pardon?"
"Majere," he pressed, gliding toward me, causing the velvet of his robes to rustle about him like ebony wind. "You call yourself 'Sarah Majere.' Why?"
I blushed and twiddled again, wanting to curl up on the ugly beige floor and die. When he'd searched my room, he'd undoubtedly seen his name scrawled about everywhere, as well as my favourite alias.
Come to think of it... that was the name written on the first page of The Soulforge.
What the hell was I gonna say?
Advice? Possibilities? Lemon drops? Feed the muse!