Time to open the mailbox! *whistles* Ah, mail!
DarkLink313: Really? My dormmate says its a pile of bullshit. Thanks though...
khmerboi919: I'm only able to update on Fridays for personal reasons.
Snoopy6548: What?! A WING has SEVENTY-TWO UNITS?! No, that was only several names I could think of. Sorry about that but my mind was drawing a blank about what's going to happen next to I ended up typing that up...
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Disclaimer: Fire Emblem belongs to Intelligent Systems which belongs to Nintendo.
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Dammit, Fanfiction.net! If you're gonna cause a great backlog on the system, let the authors know beforehand!
Sairn: Uh, modern technology ain't helpful these days.
Hmph. You're no help at all.
Fiora: On the contrary.
(O_O?) Fiora?
Fiora: Yep. How's it going?
Aigh! Fiora! *wham!!*
Sairn: I think he's sleeping.
Fiora: Oh well... here's goodnight kiss then... *kiss*
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SPOILERS ABOUND!!!!!!!!!!!
Maybe I oughta get rid of this to get more readers...
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Lost Hearts
~~~~~~~~~~~
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Chapter Five: Nightmare
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The light of the sun was streaming through the windows of the balcony. Each beam shimmered in the clear material, sending different colored bands to dance around the room. Several danced across the sleeping form of Mark.
The Master Tactician of Etruria was asleep, his inert form sitting in his chair. His head was upon the desk before him but his hands were still around the empty decateur of brandy and the wine glass he used instead of a shot glass.
His dreams rotated from the real to the false, from the surreal to the actual, from the darkness to the light. Tonight, he had many dreams but the one he was threashing about in was the worst he had ever experienced.
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Mark was in his old green robes from his first foray into the unknown world. Standing upon actual grass, he was standing before a series of stone monoliths that were familiar. His hands strayed to his waist, gripping for his weapon. The familiar feel of the smooth steel saber upon his clammy palms were welcome to the tactician. AFter making sure that nothing is out to get him, Mark stepped forward to examine the liths.
These great stone pieces were at least four times the tall tactician and they were twice as wide as the space required when Lord Hector of Ostia began swinging his axe. Satisfied that these stone structures wouldn't hurt him, Mark turned around and began walking toward the light that was some distance away.
Before he knew it, a great hole suddenly appeared below him. Panicking, Mark's hands grasped for the edges but he fell into the great gaping maw below him. A yell of desperation and despair lurched out of his quavering throat. Falling and falling, Mark wished for the endless amount of space to end.
He twisted and turned as he flailed about, struggling against the unknown. Right when he thought the endless space was going to be endless, he landed with a heavy thump upon the cold stone floor. As he struggled to get up, Mark swore that he heard laughter.
Laughter that sounded very familiar. Yet it was cold and malicious.
As the tactician managed to stand upright, a shadow flitted before him. Drawing his saber, Mark slashed at it. Striking air, Mark returned his saber before his eyes. The basic guard position he had learned many years ago had helped him out of many tight spots and now he wished it would work this time.
Another burst of laughter, still cold and somewhat insane came from behind him.
Whirling around, Mark quickly stuck one hand at the pommel guard and the other still on the saber. His cloak whirled around and he stabbed behind him. His head was covered by the fabric as his saber ran through his unseen foe. Knocking aside the cloak, Mark twisted his saber to the right, further enlarging the wound. He then turned around and ripped his weapon out.
Giving a gasp of horror and surprise, shock overcame him. His aim was swift and true but his bloodied blade had bitten into someone who he was not expecting. The person before him had collapsed into kneeling position with a great gaping wound spurting blood from the person's chest. The head was covered in a dark fabric. Taking off the dark cloth, Mark's saber clattered onto the stone floor.
The familiar blue hair, the lovely green eyes, and the soft face of Fiora was before him. Mark quickly cradled Fiora's head on his chest. The Pegasi Knight gave a weak smile as they looked into each others eyes. A small rivulet of blood exited from her mouth as Mark tried to find a way to halt the flow. Finding nothing, Mark's head fell forward as he began sobbing.
The blood of the Ilian Knight stained her thin blue armor. Crimson drop by crimson drop, each piece of the Pegasi Knight's life was being slowly taken away from her. The cold stone floor absorbed the unfamiliar warm liquid, drinking it like a thirsty hound.
"Mark..." Fiora weakly said as the tactician continued to heave and sob. "It's... good... to see... you..." The brightness in her eyes was still strong.
(Perhaps help may come,) Mark hoped as he sobbed heavily. This optimistic notion managed to calm him somewhat but his outpour of emotion continued to flow like Fiora's open wound.
"Fiora..." Mark managed between sobs. "I'm... I'm sorry..."
He kissed Fiora's forehead. The Pegasi Knight managed to reach up and bring her arms around the tactician's neck. Planting a soft kiss on Mark's left cheek, Fiora's grip was slowly weakening.
"I've missed you so much, Fiora," said Mark in a regret. "I never thought you'd be here." Fiora motioned for Mark to tilt his ear lower.
"I've... missed you... too..." Fiora's pained voice spoke.
"You shouldn't have come," Mark stammered as he tried to make Fiora more comfortable. Tearing off his cloak, Mark bundled it up and placed it underneathe Fiora's head as he continued to hold her in his arms.
Fiora smiled weakly but her eyes enlarged as a shadow loomed over the pair.
Sensing the source of the malice behind him, Mark quickly lowered Fiora as gently as he could onto the cold floor. He quickly rolled aside in an attempt to draw whatever foe he has away from the fallen Pegasi Knight. An great steel axe slammed into the floor, shattering the blocks of stone. As Mark rolled aside, his hands grabbed the saber, still covered in Fiora's blood.
His foe stood before him. Covered and draped in utter darkness, the creature laughed. Raising his weapon, Mark dashed forward and began to strike at his foe. The beast dodged and blocked every single one of his attacks. Then, Mark's saber was knocked aside. It flew away from his hands, flying and striking one of the walls. It struck the stone and was somehow absorbed by the wall. All that was left was a great indent shaped like his saber.
Looking back at his foe, Mark's once-dormant anger began to awaken. Both of his hands were clenched as they hung by his side. A bit of white and pale energy began to draw themselves toward his fists, slowly in small amounts.
" 'I've never thought you'd be here!' " a high-pitched mocking tone came from the beast's supposed head. "That's so rich, boy!"
The head's shape changed and its free left hand ripped off the covering. Giving a shout of surprise, Mark quickly dodged a flurry of axe strikes. After dodging several close shaves, Mark realized that the energy collecting in his fists was the energy wielded by bishops.
This is his chance! Mark made sure that there was more than enough space between them. He hoped that his Bishop ancestry would help tame this wild creature. The beast ran toward him, the axe making a whirling blur as it spun. A fist raised before him slowly released the stored energy. A series of pure white bolts leapt forth from his palms striking the fell beast.
But it dodged all of his strikes! IMPOSSIBLE!!
This creature, this beast cannot be who it is mimicking! It had the skills of Hector, the speed of a Wyvern and it had the head of Nergal! A axe blow grazed his shoulder, barely nicking his skin as a bit of green cloth fell off. A small stream of blood spurted from the incredibly small wound. Mark nearly screamed in pain as his quick mind registered exactly what the weapon was.
The great steel axe that was being wielded by his foe was no ordinary axe. It was one of the few rare artifacts that were imbued with ancient magic.
It had to be Obieron, the Fell Hammer of Darkness.
"It... can't... be..." Mark heard Fiora weakly say as Mark's body began to convulse in pain. The fire of slow death and torture coursed through his body. Howling in pain, Mark felt like death would be better right now.
He was not the only one screaming. Somehow, Fiora managed to get up and grapple with the unknown foe. Both the human and the in-human struggled for the control of the axe. The beast managed to throw the lighter Fiora off. Raising its axe, the beast gave a howl of victory while Fiora laid there. Her eyes were dimming as the axe whistled downward. Mark wasn't able to see Fiora's body but the sound of the cursed axe striking her body was more than enough.
Mark's physical pain and agony couldn't be compared to his emotional and psychological destruction. His mind and body suddenly ceased to function.
As his vision slowly faded away, Mark's mind was made up. There was no escape earlier but now there is one.
Through death...
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Mark moved his head slightly. One eye fluttered open, just barely enough for a yellow band of light to streak across it. He flinched in reaction to the overloading of his dulled senses.
Sitting up barely, he winced at the strong glare of the sunlight. That same and still unfamiliar beating in his head was enough to drive a person like Kent insane. Holding his head in his hands, Mark began to wish that he never picked up a glass of wine when he was young.
Leaning back in his chair, the member of the Sunfire clan yawned. The breathe of cold air in his room was enough to awaken his barely awake mind. Absorbing the welcoming sense of wakefulness, Mark's thoughts began to swirl back into order.
(What a horrendous nightmare,) he thought as he put the containers for drinks away in the bottom-most drawer in his desk. (I must give up alcohol.)
The hazel eyed one looked out the window and saw a bird, just a mere fledgling, soar in a semi-confident manner. Watching its progress, the winged creature flew and stopped constantly at every possible roost.
Turning back from the bird's progress back to his life, Mark sighed.
Did what he dreamt earlier really happen?
Looking at the miniature statue of a Pegasus Knight on his desk, Mark shook his head.
(Most unlikely,) the Master Tactician thought as he got up and stretched. (Must be the alcohol on my brain.)
Looking outside the window once again, Mark's thoughts drifted to and fro like the wind toying with a leaf. A small twinge of pain, the kind that burns the soul yet it leaves no visible damage, was felt near the center of his chest. Observing the cold and pure landscape outside, the quiet Master Tactician found himself thinking of something he had been thinking for quite a long time.
Why, why, why had he been a fool so long ago? Why had he left her? Why had he left the eldest of the Pegasi Sisters nearly a year ago?
Mark's hands strayed toward one of the many drawers on his great oaken desk. Reaching for the lowermost one, he grasped the ornate brass handle and gently slid it open. Pulling out a book bound with leather, he laid it on the desk unopened.
Looking at the cover of the weather leather book, Mark gave a faint grin. There was still no title on the leather cover nor was there a title on the first page.
"So long and yet still fresh," he quietly said to himself as he flipped it open.
The first few pages were empty apart from his name. Flipping several sheets of parchment, Mark finally found it.
"Denaro Twenty-Second, Year 1342," he read. "I have finally left my home. For the last week I have traveled about seeking mercenary bands needing a tactician that is somewhat skilled with a sword..."
Here, he flipped the page.
"Sadly, they rejected me due to the fact I easily fatigue. There is only one place where I can build up my strength. I must head to the Sacae and learn much from the people there. Perhaps I may learn more than just skill and technique from the Sacaens..."
Drifting off, Mark glanced out of the window.
It had been so long ago. It had been just several years ago when he found himself serving three noble Lycian Lords. But he also found himself serving alongside one who he truly felt he belonged with.
Fiora, the Pegasi Knight of Ilia.
Flipping at least a score of pages, he found a new entry.
"Tierra Fourteen, Year 1343," he read. "We have landed upon the island known as Valor or the Dread Isle. My maps of the island are at least ten years outdated and I must admit that the flora upon the island are not exactly at the right places..."
Another yellowing sheet of parchment flipped.
"Two new members have joined out merry band of righteous warriors. The first, whose name is Dart, is a Pirate who was with Farghus. He will be an excellent Beserker once I find an Ocean Seal for him. The second, who captivated me with a mere smile, was Fiora the Pegasus Knight. By golly! If only I could find something that we have in common..."
Looking up from the yellowing parchment, Mark grinned as his gaze became fixed upon the Pegasi figurines on his desk. He had spent days and weeks, not to mention some lessons of love from a unnamed "Green Knight of Caelin", just to understand the basics of what a woman wants.
"Was I ever wrong," Mark softly spoke as he leaned back in his chair. Looking at the sky blue ceiling, Mark's thoughts drifted off as the wind blew gently across the early morning sky.
Glancing out the window for a moment, a thought went into his mind.
"Indeed," he said, "Beauty is indeed in everything..."
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~~~~~~~~~
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Heh, there goes Chapter 5!
Sairn: Oh, you're awake. (_)
Yeah? What's wrong with sleeping? (_)
Sairn: Look at your cheek. (^_^)
Hm? *finds a mirror* OH-MY-GOD! WHO DID THIS?! WAS IT YOU?! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!!
Sairn: (O_O!) AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
*Both run around the room with Kingkazul400 beating the crap out of his 5' 2" muse*
Fiora: What's going on? (O_O?)
Agh! Fiora! *wham*
Sairn: (O_O;) Phew! He's sleeping again?
Fiora: Ah well, here's another goodnight kiss! *kiss but more like a one-sided makeout session* He tastes good! (^_^ 3) [3 is supposed to be a HEART]
Sairn: (_) What about me?
Fiora: Sorry, but you're not my type! Bye-bye!
Sairn: Aw... (T_T) ... Please REVIEW!!!
DarkLink313: Really? My dormmate says its a pile of bullshit. Thanks though...
khmerboi919: I'm only able to update on Fridays for personal reasons.
Snoopy6548: What?! A WING has SEVENTY-TWO UNITS?! No, that was only several names I could think of. Sorry about that but my mind was drawing a blank about what's going to happen next to I ended up typing that up...
`
`
Disclaimer: Fire Emblem belongs to Intelligent Systems which belongs to Nintendo.
`
`
Dammit, Fanfiction.net! If you're gonna cause a great backlog on the system, let the authors know beforehand!
Sairn: Uh, modern technology ain't helpful these days.
Hmph. You're no help at all.
Fiora: On the contrary.
(O_O?) Fiora?
Fiora: Yep. How's it going?
Aigh! Fiora! *wham!!*
Sairn: I think he's sleeping.
Fiora: Oh well... here's goodnight kiss then... *kiss*
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`
`
`
`
SPOILERS ABOUND!!!!!!!!!!!
Maybe I oughta get rid of this to get more readers...
`
`
`
`
Lost Hearts
~~~~~~~~~~~
`
`
Chapter Five: Nightmare
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`
The light of the sun was streaming through the windows of the balcony. Each beam shimmered in the clear material, sending different colored bands to dance around the room. Several danced across the sleeping form of Mark.
The Master Tactician of Etruria was asleep, his inert form sitting in his chair. His head was upon the desk before him but his hands were still around the empty decateur of brandy and the wine glass he used instead of a shot glass.
His dreams rotated from the real to the false, from the surreal to the actual, from the darkness to the light. Tonight, he had many dreams but the one he was threashing about in was the worst he had ever experienced.
`
`
~~~~~~
`
`
Mark was in his old green robes from his first foray into the unknown world. Standing upon actual grass, he was standing before a series of stone monoliths that were familiar. His hands strayed to his waist, gripping for his weapon. The familiar feel of the smooth steel saber upon his clammy palms were welcome to the tactician. AFter making sure that nothing is out to get him, Mark stepped forward to examine the liths.
These great stone pieces were at least four times the tall tactician and they were twice as wide as the space required when Lord Hector of Ostia began swinging his axe. Satisfied that these stone structures wouldn't hurt him, Mark turned around and began walking toward the light that was some distance away.
Before he knew it, a great hole suddenly appeared below him. Panicking, Mark's hands grasped for the edges but he fell into the great gaping maw below him. A yell of desperation and despair lurched out of his quavering throat. Falling and falling, Mark wished for the endless amount of space to end.
He twisted and turned as he flailed about, struggling against the unknown. Right when he thought the endless space was going to be endless, he landed with a heavy thump upon the cold stone floor. As he struggled to get up, Mark swore that he heard laughter.
Laughter that sounded very familiar. Yet it was cold and malicious.
As the tactician managed to stand upright, a shadow flitted before him. Drawing his saber, Mark slashed at it. Striking air, Mark returned his saber before his eyes. The basic guard position he had learned many years ago had helped him out of many tight spots and now he wished it would work this time.
Another burst of laughter, still cold and somewhat insane came from behind him.
Whirling around, Mark quickly stuck one hand at the pommel guard and the other still on the saber. His cloak whirled around and he stabbed behind him. His head was covered by the fabric as his saber ran through his unseen foe. Knocking aside the cloak, Mark twisted his saber to the right, further enlarging the wound. He then turned around and ripped his weapon out.
Giving a gasp of horror and surprise, shock overcame him. His aim was swift and true but his bloodied blade had bitten into someone who he was not expecting. The person before him had collapsed into kneeling position with a great gaping wound spurting blood from the person's chest. The head was covered in a dark fabric. Taking off the dark cloth, Mark's saber clattered onto the stone floor.
The familiar blue hair, the lovely green eyes, and the soft face of Fiora was before him. Mark quickly cradled Fiora's head on his chest. The Pegasi Knight gave a weak smile as they looked into each others eyes. A small rivulet of blood exited from her mouth as Mark tried to find a way to halt the flow. Finding nothing, Mark's head fell forward as he began sobbing.
The blood of the Ilian Knight stained her thin blue armor. Crimson drop by crimson drop, each piece of the Pegasi Knight's life was being slowly taken away from her. The cold stone floor absorbed the unfamiliar warm liquid, drinking it like a thirsty hound.
"Mark..." Fiora weakly said as the tactician continued to heave and sob. "It's... good... to see... you..." The brightness in her eyes was still strong.
(Perhaps help may come,) Mark hoped as he sobbed heavily. This optimistic notion managed to calm him somewhat but his outpour of emotion continued to flow like Fiora's open wound.
"Fiora..." Mark managed between sobs. "I'm... I'm sorry..."
He kissed Fiora's forehead. The Pegasi Knight managed to reach up and bring her arms around the tactician's neck. Planting a soft kiss on Mark's left cheek, Fiora's grip was slowly weakening.
"I've missed you so much, Fiora," said Mark in a regret. "I never thought you'd be here." Fiora motioned for Mark to tilt his ear lower.
"I've... missed you... too..." Fiora's pained voice spoke.
"You shouldn't have come," Mark stammered as he tried to make Fiora more comfortable. Tearing off his cloak, Mark bundled it up and placed it underneathe Fiora's head as he continued to hold her in his arms.
Fiora smiled weakly but her eyes enlarged as a shadow loomed over the pair.
Sensing the source of the malice behind him, Mark quickly lowered Fiora as gently as he could onto the cold floor. He quickly rolled aside in an attempt to draw whatever foe he has away from the fallen Pegasi Knight. An great steel axe slammed into the floor, shattering the blocks of stone. As Mark rolled aside, his hands grabbed the saber, still covered in Fiora's blood.
His foe stood before him. Covered and draped in utter darkness, the creature laughed. Raising his weapon, Mark dashed forward and began to strike at his foe. The beast dodged and blocked every single one of his attacks. Then, Mark's saber was knocked aside. It flew away from his hands, flying and striking one of the walls. It struck the stone and was somehow absorbed by the wall. All that was left was a great indent shaped like his saber.
Looking back at his foe, Mark's once-dormant anger began to awaken. Both of his hands were clenched as they hung by his side. A bit of white and pale energy began to draw themselves toward his fists, slowly in small amounts.
" 'I've never thought you'd be here!' " a high-pitched mocking tone came from the beast's supposed head. "That's so rich, boy!"
The head's shape changed and its free left hand ripped off the covering. Giving a shout of surprise, Mark quickly dodged a flurry of axe strikes. After dodging several close shaves, Mark realized that the energy collecting in his fists was the energy wielded by bishops.
This is his chance! Mark made sure that there was more than enough space between them. He hoped that his Bishop ancestry would help tame this wild creature. The beast ran toward him, the axe making a whirling blur as it spun. A fist raised before him slowly released the stored energy. A series of pure white bolts leapt forth from his palms striking the fell beast.
But it dodged all of his strikes! IMPOSSIBLE!!
This creature, this beast cannot be who it is mimicking! It had the skills of Hector, the speed of a Wyvern and it had the head of Nergal! A axe blow grazed his shoulder, barely nicking his skin as a bit of green cloth fell off. A small stream of blood spurted from the incredibly small wound. Mark nearly screamed in pain as his quick mind registered exactly what the weapon was.
The great steel axe that was being wielded by his foe was no ordinary axe. It was one of the few rare artifacts that were imbued with ancient magic.
It had to be Obieron, the Fell Hammer of Darkness.
"It... can't... be..." Mark heard Fiora weakly say as Mark's body began to convulse in pain. The fire of slow death and torture coursed through his body. Howling in pain, Mark felt like death would be better right now.
He was not the only one screaming. Somehow, Fiora managed to get up and grapple with the unknown foe. Both the human and the in-human struggled for the control of the axe. The beast managed to throw the lighter Fiora off. Raising its axe, the beast gave a howl of victory while Fiora laid there. Her eyes were dimming as the axe whistled downward. Mark wasn't able to see Fiora's body but the sound of the cursed axe striking her body was more than enough.
Mark's physical pain and agony couldn't be compared to his emotional and psychological destruction. His mind and body suddenly ceased to function.
As his vision slowly faded away, Mark's mind was made up. There was no escape earlier but now there is one.
Through death...
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~~~~~~
`
`
Mark moved his head slightly. One eye fluttered open, just barely enough for a yellow band of light to streak across it. He flinched in reaction to the overloading of his dulled senses.
Sitting up barely, he winced at the strong glare of the sunlight. That same and still unfamiliar beating in his head was enough to drive a person like Kent insane. Holding his head in his hands, Mark began to wish that he never picked up a glass of wine when he was young.
Leaning back in his chair, the member of the Sunfire clan yawned. The breathe of cold air in his room was enough to awaken his barely awake mind. Absorbing the welcoming sense of wakefulness, Mark's thoughts began to swirl back into order.
(What a horrendous nightmare,) he thought as he put the containers for drinks away in the bottom-most drawer in his desk. (I must give up alcohol.)
The hazel eyed one looked out the window and saw a bird, just a mere fledgling, soar in a semi-confident manner. Watching its progress, the winged creature flew and stopped constantly at every possible roost.
Turning back from the bird's progress back to his life, Mark sighed.
Did what he dreamt earlier really happen?
Looking at the miniature statue of a Pegasus Knight on his desk, Mark shook his head.
(Most unlikely,) the Master Tactician thought as he got up and stretched. (Must be the alcohol on my brain.)
Looking outside the window once again, Mark's thoughts drifted to and fro like the wind toying with a leaf. A small twinge of pain, the kind that burns the soul yet it leaves no visible damage, was felt near the center of his chest. Observing the cold and pure landscape outside, the quiet Master Tactician found himself thinking of something he had been thinking for quite a long time.
Why, why, why had he been a fool so long ago? Why had he left her? Why had he left the eldest of the Pegasi Sisters nearly a year ago?
Mark's hands strayed toward one of the many drawers on his great oaken desk. Reaching for the lowermost one, he grasped the ornate brass handle and gently slid it open. Pulling out a book bound with leather, he laid it on the desk unopened.
Looking at the cover of the weather leather book, Mark gave a faint grin. There was still no title on the leather cover nor was there a title on the first page.
"So long and yet still fresh," he quietly said to himself as he flipped it open.
The first few pages were empty apart from his name. Flipping several sheets of parchment, Mark finally found it.
"Denaro Twenty-Second, Year 1342," he read. "I have finally left my home. For the last week I have traveled about seeking mercenary bands needing a tactician that is somewhat skilled with a sword..."
Here, he flipped the page.
"Sadly, they rejected me due to the fact I easily fatigue. There is only one place where I can build up my strength. I must head to the Sacae and learn much from the people there. Perhaps I may learn more than just skill and technique from the Sacaens..."
Drifting off, Mark glanced out of the window.
It had been so long ago. It had been just several years ago when he found himself serving three noble Lycian Lords. But he also found himself serving alongside one who he truly felt he belonged with.
Fiora, the Pegasi Knight of Ilia.
Flipping at least a score of pages, he found a new entry.
"Tierra Fourteen, Year 1343," he read. "We have landed upon the island known as Valor or the Dread Isle. My maps of the island are at least ten years outdated and I must admit that the flora upon the island are not exactly at the right places..."
Another yellowing sheet of parchment flipped.
"Two new members have joined out merry band of righteous warriors. The first, whose name is Dart, is a Pirate who was with Farghus. He will be an excellent Beserker once I find an Ocean Seal for him. The second, who captivated me with a mere smile, was Fiora the Pegasus Knight. By golly! If only I could find something that we have in common..."
Looking up from the yellowing parchment, Mark grinned as his gaze became fixed upon the Pegasi figurines on his desk. He had spent days and weeks, not to mention some lessons of love from a unnamed "Green Knight of Caelin", just to understand the basics of what a woman wants.
"Was I ever wrong," Mark softly spoke as he leaned back in his chair. Looking at the sky blue ceiling, Mark's thoughts drifted off as the wind blew gently across the early morning sky.
Glancing out the window for a moment, a thought went into his mind.
"Indeed," he said, "Beauty is indeed in everything..."
`
`
~~~~~~~~~
`
`
Heh, there goes Chapter 5!
Sairn: Oh, you're awake. (_)
Yeah? What's wrong with sleeping? (_)
Sairn: Look at your cheek. (^_^)
Hm? *finds a mirror* OH-MY-GOD! WHO DID THIS?! WAS IT YOU?! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!!
Sairn: (O_O!) AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
*Both run around the room with Kingkazul400 beating the crap out of his 5' 2" muse*
Fiora: What's going on? (O_O?)
Agh! Fiora! *wham*
Sairn: (O_O;) Phew! He's sleeping again?
Fiora: Ah well, here's another goodnight kiss! *kiss but more like a one-sided makeout session* He tastes good! (^_^ 3) [3 is supposed to be a HEART]
Sairn: (_) What about me?
Fiora: Sorry, but you're not my type! Bye-bye!
Sairn: Aw... (T_T) ... Please REVIEW!!!