Disclaimer: I don't own anyone you recognize from outside my fic. I also
don't own the chapter titles, as they belong to those gods of music, Simon
and Garfunkel.
Author's notes: Sorry about the length and content of this chapter. It's pretty much a filler so the story will fit the song. Add to that a minor writer's block, and you get this chapter. Thanks to Rivin, for her constant help. Thanks also to all my reviewers. Hope you enjoy, and review again. Criticism is fine, just review, please!
And the Light From the Streetlamp Paints A Pattern On My Wall
Dalamar Nightson sat in the Tower of Palanthas, staring into a mirror-like pool of water. It was about thirteen years since the War of the Lance ended and he became the Master of the Tower. Having had nothing to do, he'd decided to practice scrying without the pool a few levels down. He knew it was never good to rely only on one type of magic, and scrying was a useful skill to possess.
He took out his small mage's dagger and nicked himself on the finger. Scrying without the Pool required some sort of trace, so he'd decided to look in on family members by using his own blood. He squeezed the small, deep cut on finger, and allowed three drops of blood to fall into the bowl. Then, Dalamar chanted the incantation to be able to see others.
Dalamar looked with mild interest into the bowl, once in a while muttering the word to try a different link. Suddenly, his already pale face turned sheet white.
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Catherine slowly walked to her History class, grateful that she was still given an extra couple of minutes to get to class due to her injuries. It was three weeks since her 'incident' with the boys. Luckily, most of her wounds were mostly healed, so she was not longer in pain constantly. However, she still had a few broken ribs (three to be exact), a broken and painful nose, and a couple of residual bruises.
The burns on her chest were also not healing. Not only did the burns remain, but somehow, the scabs on the cuts always seemed to rub off, no matter how carefully she bound them. It seemed she always went home after school with soaked bandages. Not good, especially because she had a messenger bag that normally rested mid-chest on and off, all day.
During the past couple of weeks, Catherine had become nicer to Fie. You might even call them friends, when Catherine was in a good mood. But heaven help anyone who suggested they were a couple. However, it seemed to Catherine as though she and Fie were kindred spirits, and he became her first true friend.
Lunch became more tolerable, because soon after the 'incident', Fie invited Catherine to his table; a table none of Catherine's 'nursemaids' would ever be caught dead near. The talk there, mostly about the Magic card game interested Catherine little more than the nursemaids' latest conquests, but the atmosphere was much better.
As she came to know him, Catherine realized he was aptly named. When not getting beaten up or giving emergency medical help, Fie had a brooding quality to him. He also was quite involved in the Magic card game, a game Catherine scorned for it's bad pictures and awful portrayal of many creatures. However, Fie enjoyed it, and he had a drive to be the best at it. It seemed as though whatever Fie applied himself to, he was able to do.
However, Catherine did not hold this against the slim boy, as she was much the same. Suddenly, she realized Fie had been talking to her. "Sorry, what did you just say? I didn't catch it."
"No problem, Kit. I just wanted to know if I could borrow that book about 13th century magic that you were reading the other day."
Catherine grinned at the use of her new nickname. She'd never been close enough with someone to have one before, and she felt this name suited her. "Sure." Life was definitely better, despite the constant pain.
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Catherine walked home slowly, savoring the nice weather, as well as trying to be gentle on her aching body. She was glad she had the leisure to walk slowly. It seemed as though the senior's gang had gone to find new prey. Or not. As she thought about it, the gang walked up behind her.
"Hey, Shorty." The leader smirked. "Long time no see, eh? Miss me?" His sadistic grin was back in no time. So, you live in the orphanage. Are they all underdeveloped bastards, or only you?"
Catherine clenched her fists. She was in no condition to fight, and would not allow them to goad her into it, no matter what. "Obviously not, as then you would be there too, now wouldn't you?" Though she had self- control, Catherine was not above spoken insults.
"Feisty, aren't we?" Suddenly, Catherine realized her mistake, and wished she could take her words back. It was then for the first time in her life that Catherine Night ran from a fight.
Author's notes: Sorry about the length and content of this chapter. It's pretty much a filler so the story will fit the song. Add to that a minor writer's block, and you get this chapter. Thanks to Rivin, for her constant help. Thanks also to all my reviewers. Hope you enjoy, and review again. Criticism is fine, just review, please!
And the Light From the Streetlamp Paints A Pattern On My Wall
Dalamar Nightson sat in the Tower of Palanthas, staring into a mirror-like pool of water. It was about thirteen years since the War of the Lance ended and he became the Master of the Tower. Having had nothing to do, he'd decided to practice scrying without the pool a few levels down. He knew it was never good to rely only on one type of magic, and scrying was a useful skill to possess.
He took out his small mage's dagger and nicked himself on the finger. Scrying without the Pool required some sort of trace, so he'd decided to look in on family members by using his own blood. He squeezed the small, deep cut on finger, and allowed three drops of blood to fall into the bowl. Then, Dalamar chanted the incantation to be able to see others.
Dalamar looked with mild interest into the bowl, once in a while muttering the word to try a different link. Suddenly, his already pale face turned sheet white.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------
Catherine slowly walked to her History class, grateful that she was still given an extra couple of minutes to get to class due to her injuries. It was three weeks since her 'incident' with the boys. Luckily, most of her wounds were mostly healed, so she was not longer in pain constantly. However, she still had a few broken ribs (three to be exact), a broken and painful nose, and a couple of residual bruises.
The burns on her chest were also not healing. Not only did the burns remain, but somehow, the scabs on the cuts always seemed to rub off, no matter how carefully she bound them. It seemed she always went home after school with soaked bandages. Not good, especially because she had a messenger bag that normally rested mid-chest on and off, all day.
During the past couple of weeks, Catherine had become nicer to Fie. You might even call them friends, when Catherine was in a good mood. But heaven help anyone who suggested they were a couple. However, it seemed to Catherine as though she and Fie were kindred spirits, and he became her first true friend.
Lunch became more tolerable, because soon after the 'incident', Fie invited Catherine to his table; a table none of Catherine's 'nursemaids' would ever be caught dead near. The talk there, mostly about the Magic card game interested Catherine little more than the nursemaids' latest conquests, but the atmosphere was much better.
As she came to know him, Catherine realized he was aptly named. When not getting beaten up or giving emergency medical help, Fie had a brooding quality to him. He also was quite involved in the Magic card game, a game Catherine scorned for it's bad pictures and awful portrayal of many creatures. However, Fie enjoyed it, and he had a drive to be the best at it. It seemed as though whatever Fie applied himself to, he was able to do.
However, Catherine did not hold this against the slim boy, as she was much the same. Suddenly, she realized Fie had been talking to her. "Sorry, what did you just say? I didn't catch it."
"No problem, Kit. I just wanted to know if I could borrow that book about 13th century magic that you were reading the other day."
Catherine grinned at the use of her new nickname. She'd never been close enough with someone to have one before, and she felt this name suited her. "Sure." Life was definitely better, despite the constant pain.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------
Catherine walked home slowly, savoring the nice weather, as well as trying to be gentle on her aching body. She was glad she had the leisure to walk slowly. It seemed as though the senior's gang had gone to find new prey. Or not. As she thought about it, the gang walked up behind her.
"Hey, Shorty." The leader smirked. "Long time no see, eh? Miss me?" His sadistic grin was back in no time. So, you live in the orphanage. Are they all underdeveloped bastards, or only you?"
Catherine clenched her fists. She was in no condition to fight, and would not allow them to goad her into it, no matter what. "Obviously not, as then you would be there too, now wouldn't you?" Though she had self- control, Catherine was not above spoken insults.
"Feisty, aren't we?" Suddenly, Catherine realized her mistake, and wished she could take her words back. It was then for the first time in her life that Catherine Night ran from a fight.