In this topic, we shatter each other's dreams.

[Veryslightlymad]

HY requested that some of us more literary-inclined posters man up and share our horrible, terrible, fanfic-like writings with one another, where we may no doubt say horrible things and forever shatter one another's confidence. After some deliberation, I figured "Eh. May as well."

[Veryslightlymad]

That said, here's an excerpt from a "novel" I am "writing". It's about as bad as you'd think something that came from my brain would be.
~~~
Despite how I felt about the whole mess at Reilly's, nothing really happened to me when I got home that night, and for the next couple of weeks, everything happened more or less normally, with two main exceptions.
   The first was that I wasn't about to follow my usual routine, so I didn't hang out at Reilly's or go looking to watch or participate in any fights. Hell, I hadn't hit up any bar in the whole time. I was living the big life of going home after class and wasting away at the Internet for several hours on end. I really needed a new book or game or something, because I was going batty.
   The other big lifestyle change was that I started talking a lot with Kate Hurt before and after Diggle's lectures. It was sort of a weird, refreshing change for me. I've never been particularly good at making nice with different people, but I've never been incompetent about it, either. Kate, it turns out, was just a seriously friendly girl. Kind of spacey. Had sort of a zombie fixation. Definitely worth knowing. I don't exactly have many friends out there, so I started to think that maybe I'd just picked up another one. For now, life was good.
   It really was a shame about that whole "probably be dead in a month" thing.
   One fine Friday night I was bored, sitting around already in my pajamas watching an old movie on cable, when I got really antsy. Kate Hurt was the only person I'd really talked to in the last couple of weeks, and really, that's probably not healthy. I'd probably develop a fixation on the girl, or something, if I didn't start going out there and seeing other human beings. I'd been eating like trash, too. I'd basically been going to class and then staying in at my apartment. My diet consisted of ramen noodles and five-minute pasta. I had a bit of rice thrown in for good measure. Even though I hadn't been using much in the way of muscles, I badly needed to eat some protein. Also, I kind of wanted to get drunk.
   So that was basically my reasoning for going out that night. I knew damn well I might have been a marked man, but I was stubborn and really not the smartest guy in the world. So I took another quick shower, found some old jeans and a T-shirt, not my fighting stuff, tossed on my jacket, and went looking for some place with food.
   I eventually found a little pub somewhere downtown, and they still had their kitchen open, so I ordered myself a thing of chicken strips and an extra mountain of fries to go with it. For starters, I was going to drink a Coke, but pretty soon I'd be putting some rum in with it. I intended for it to be a pretty decent night.
   There was a pretty horrible basketball game on, so I spent most of my time crowd watching instead of looking at that. Interesting little bar I had found. It wasn't particularly busy, especially for a Friday, but it wasn't one of those places filled with old people, either. No one looked particularly dressed up, there were a lot of t-shirts and jackets like mine. One guy in a Pistons jersey was paying pretty close attention to the terrible game on the TVs. The girls were pretty sensible-looking, too. I've never been much of a fan for the girls who go out with heavy makeup and heels and a dress. I'll take someone who'll sit around in jeans and a t-shirt, preferably someone who cusses.
   There were four kind of douchey looking guys sitting in one of the corners. Skinny white guys with shaved heads. Extra large T-shirts on Medium bodies. Stainless steel jewelry. Those types. A couple of girls who matched my previously-stated preference... a tiny little blonde that looked particularly good, but I didn't entertain any notions of going over and talking to her. I'm about as smooth as a pile of jagged glass.
   Sometime before my order arrived, a short guy in a trench coat came in through the door, and I just sat bolt upright in my chair. For a second or two, I forgot to breathe. Guy wasn't much to look at. Had oily looking hair and a rat-like face. One hell of an overbite. But the thing about the guy, though, is he had a magnificent Qi. I could feel his presence from across the bar. He didn't say anything to anybody, and he moved to a table by himself in a corner and ordered a drink.
   I kept staring at the guy but trying not to. He didn't let on like he noticed me, but he had to be here for me. He had to be. I've been aware of my Qi for years, and I've never had someone that brazenly powerful just sort of casually walk by. Not once. Guys I fought in basements, guys I saw in live MMA fights, the old man, people that I'd see when I'd expect to find a strong Qi didn't have the same presence this guy had. It made my skin crawl just being near him. A guy this strong wasn't around by accident, or at least, not while I knew that something was up and I might be in trouble. It just couldn't happen that way.
   My food arrived. I didn't touch it at first, because I kept glancing over my back at the guy at the table. Eventually I looked down and figured that it may well be the last meal I'll ever eat, and I was a bit sad it wasn't something a bit more opulent. On the other hand, chicken fingers and fries probably sums up my life about as well as anything else would. So I set about to eating it.
   I was pretty determined to make this the best meal I ever had--no sense in going out with any regrets, I guess--so I took it real slow. I chewed very deliberately, sipped my drink, and I'd sort of suck on each individual bite a little to really enjoy the tanginess. You know something? It all worked. At the time, that was the best damn chicken I ever had, and I was pretty sure it didn't have too much to do with the actual craftsmanship of the dish. The mind can be a pretty powerful force if you let it, I guess.
   After a good while, my meal was finished. I had a little bit left of my drink. I put a napkin over top of the glass, hit the head, and came back. I settled my tab and finished the Coke. It was time to leave, I suppose. I took a deep breath, slid my coat up my shoulders, and made for the door. Rat-face didn't move from his spot. He kept sipping his drink and looking off at who knows what. I opened the door and set out.
   I got maybe a quarter of the way to my apartment before I noticed that maybe I had made a mistake in what everything was about. The guy with the Qi and the trench wasn't following me, but it looked like the four douchey guys from out of town were. When I left the bar, I didn't think anything of it, but after a couple of turns I was starting to get a little suspicious. I ducked down a random side street that didn't lead anywhere at all, as far as I know, and the guys just kept coming after me. Shit.
   I turned around, the guys smiled at me. I let out my breath and waited. I concentrated and gathered up my Qi. Maybe these guys were hiding some power all along.
   They were, but I guess they were more traditionalist than I ever was. They drew guns on me, and I'm gonna go ahead and say that I'm really lucky I didn't let go of my Qi right there, because I'd be dead if I did.
   Look, I talk like I'm some kind of street tough or whatever. I make myself up to be a bad boy, a rebel. I dunno. But guns fucking scare me, all right? Instant death machines with a point-and-click interface. I was fast, but I had no idea how fast. Bullets are designed to blow apart muscle and bone and end things before they even get started. I'd call the guy who invented the gun history's greatest monster, but I guess if I really had to take a choice, I'd like a quick bullet to the brain over an infected, gangrenous sword wound. Maybe they weren't so bad.
   This is the first time I'd really seen one up close, though. In the past, if I ever pissed someone off enough where they'd want to intimidate me, they'd just throw someone with more Qi or more skill or both at me. If they couldn't find one, they'd throw four or five, like that incident outside of Reilly's. These guys, though. They were something else. Not here to intimidate me. Just finish things up nice and fast.
   I put every ounce of my Qi into my reflexes, my senses. I heard the little clicks of their guns in slow motion. The actual bangs, I toned out as distraction. I could tell you that the guy on my right fired first, but it didn't really matter, because everyone else did just a half-second later.
   You ever notice how when you're watching movies, the bad guys always miss and the good guys never miss? It turns out, one of those groups is realistically handled, and thank Christ it's not the good guys. I have no idea why I was still alive, but I whipped my right hand up and across my face lightning quick. Suddenly I could feel it burning like a motherfucker. One of the four guys crumpled. Shit. Shit! Did I just manifest Qi? I've never been able to do that. I didn't take any time to ponder my sudden competence, and used that split second of time to rush the guys with everything I had. When I want to, I can move fast.
   I hit one of the guys still standing as he fired his gun another time, but I'd gotten into his arms, so whatever he shot wasn't going to hit anything. I whipped him around me, to put him between myself and the other two as they were firing and one of them was finally on target, because he hit his friend in the shoulder.  The guy I was holding, I broke his arm at the wrist and let him down after I felt him drop his gun.
   One of the other two was going to fire a few more times, the other guy was screaming "Shit, shit". I don't know if he was the guy who just shot his friend or if he was just scared. At the time I didn't care. I just knew that I had to break the guy who wasn't panicking as much first. I grabbed him across the gun-arm with my right hand and pulled up hard and fast. I heard a pop, but it wasn't from his gun. I let him go, pushed him with my left hand into the side of a building, then punched him right in the mouth with the right, again. He went down. I heard something hit the pavement.
   When I turned, there were four guns and three guys on the ground. The other guy who was already spooked was running in the other direction. Part of me wanted to go after him and just hurt him like crazy, but the other part of me wanted to check the guys still here and make sure they couldn't shoot me in the back if I tried.
   I took their guns away and--I dunno. I tossed them somewhere, I think. I don't like guns, I didn't want one on me. These guys weren't interested in me anymore. One of them looked up at me with sort of a pitiful look. Something along the lines of "sure, I tried to kill you. No hard feelings. Please don't stomp my brains out." I wasn't interested in it anyhow. My hand hurt. It was bleeding, but it felt more like I hit it with a hammer. Why was it bleeding? I don't remember getting hurt by any of these guys.
   I had the strangest thought, and I found the first guy who went down and rolled him over. He was the one who just gave me the look. He was bleeding too, and looking at me like a puppy would if you almost stepped on it. I wanted a closer look at him. I ripped open his shirt. There was a tiny piece of metal sticking out of his gut, and a big fucking bruise rapidly forming around it. Despite that, the guy didn't seem hurt too badly, but he was scared and awed out of his mind. I was staring at the metal trying to figure out what the hell had happened to him. Then it hit me.
   I didn't throw my Qi at him.
   I must have deflected the bullet off of my hand and into one of the bad guys. To be fair, I didn't know I could do that, either.
   My inflated ego for the time being eventually died down, though, because after a moment or two of contemplating just how fast I apparently could be, I got a bad case of the dreads and turned around. My victory was short lived, and I probably was too.
   After all, my Qi was nothing compared to the rat faced little man in the trench coat who just caught up to me.

[AndrewRogue]

I'll give a more formal read when I have a little more time (lunch is ending), but, off-hand, biggest thing I notice...

Slow it down just a little bit. The pacing of the writing (not the scene) is pretty quick. It darts from thought to thought in a pretty frentic manner. It might be part of the character (they're a bit hyper-kinetic or something), but it is also a bit uncomfortable to actually read. Like the eating thing, for example. It talks about him slowing down to savor things, but we don't really get that impression because it still whips by damn fast.

There is like, no time to digest anything that's going on, since by the time you get through one idea, we're already three ideas down the road. >_>

[AndrewRogue]

And sure. I'll play this game.

Full text available @ googledocs (just ask if you want it, don't really want to post the link here right now)

~~~

It was a quiet night.

Tesni frowned. No, that really wasn't right, when she actually thought about it. If she listened closely she could hear all sorts of sounds. The soft chirps of insects all around her, the gentle rustle of leaves and even the sound of the cool breeze blowing past her ears. The difference was that she couldn't hear the sound of people - of civilization - this deep in a spirit's manse.

She shuddered, pulling her heavy cloak around her.

“You should have stayed back at the train station,” Bleddyn said, for what must have been the hundreth time that night. His voice was soft as he turned back to face her. “It isn't too-”

“I already told you. I'm coming too.” He looked like he wanted to say something more, but she interrupted him. “What's the worst that's going to happen? I'm going to get even more cursed?” Despite her better efforts, a bit of venom laced her voice.

His dark eyes, made even more so by the dark bags around them, flicked guiltily away.

She regretted having said it right away.

It wasn't his fault. Not really.

Mostly.

“Be careful here. There's a small pit in that gnarl.”

She glanced up, breaking from her darker thoughts. “What? Where?” She glanced from him to the ground. In the moonlight, it was almost impossible to tell much about the ground. Every tangle of roots, every jutting rock and apparently every pit just looked like another shadow to her. She took a careful step forward – which of course put her leading foot directly into it.

She felt his thin arms wrap around her, almost before she started to fall. He might have looked a little too tall for his thinner frame, but he was fast. And strong.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” she managed. She pressed against him for a moment so she could extract her foot and right herself. She held herself against him for a moment, savoring the earthy scent that followed him, before finally pushing back flushing a little.

Either he didn't notice or was polite enough to not say anything. “You should stay close and be careful. We're nearing the center of the manse.”

“How can you tell?” she asked.

“It's the energy. If you've been trained in old magic, you can feel it.” He gestured vaguely at the air around them. “The closer you are to the center of manse, the... thicker it is in the air.”

“That's how you knew where to find this spirit?”

He nodded. “Of course, there's no guarantee he'll be here right now. He might be prowling his manse. Or hunting.” There was a hint of uneasiness in his voice. He offered his hand out to her. “Come on. The sooner we find this spirit, the sooner we'll be able to get a boat across the channel.”

She nodded, a twinge of angry guilt welling up inside her, but it was quickly subdued as her nose caught a musky smell. She frowned, it was faint – at this point, barely detectable over Bleddyn's earthy scent – but what really bothered her was how faint it was. “Hey, can you smell that?”

“Hm?” He glanced back at her before, to her surprise, he sniffed the air. After a moment, he shook his head. “No. Just the forest. What is it?”

She paused for a moment. If he couldn't smell it, then it was probably just a normal forest smell. But still, she focused for a moment, taking a deep breath. The smells around her – the soil, the plants, old animal scents, Bleddyn, her own, the musky one – swam into focus and grew stronger as she focused. Her body began to tingle, a warmth filling her chest. She still couldn't quite-

“Stop!” Bleddyn squeezed her hand tightly, painfully, snapping her out of her reverie.

“Ow! Creator's hands! Would you let-”She noticed that the runes that Bleddyn had painted around her wrist was glowing, a fact which temporarily out weighed the discomfort of her hand. “What is it doing?” Even as she spoke, the glow began to subside and then die, leaving only the azure runes painted on her skin. The hair on her body prickled as the warmth flowed out of her.

Bleddyn breathed out heavily – she hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath as he watched the runes – and loosened his grip on her hand. “Please, remember to be careful.” He turned away from her and pulled her forward. “Come on, we should hurry.”

She nodded, more worried about the pounding of her heart. Was the seal he'd placed on her that fragile? And even without focusing, she could tell that the musky scent was growing stronger. She pulled closer to him, while her unoccupied hand gripped the dagger hilt at her side.

While the density of the trees remained consistent, the tangles of their roots grew thicker the further they walked, eventually almost carpeting the floor with thick, wooden threads. Between them she could see strange, alien flowers glittering softly in darkness of their cage. The sounds of the forest around them began to change too, from the – admittedly foreign to Tesni – chirps of crickets and the songs of nightbirds to things she had never heard before: a melodic hum from somewhere above, a rattling, throaty croak among the bushes and other indescribable sounds of all sorts.

Even – and she was loathe to admit this at this point – the smells changed from identifiable to mysterious and uninterpretable.

This was a true manse, the territory of a powerful spirit. This was different than what she had known, where the spirit would come into the city to deal with them, or meet them at the fringes of its territory. This was the heart of one's power. Its home.

Bleddyn stopped. She almost ran into him. But she knew better than to ask why and instead looked around.

It was a large clearing that had once, no doubt, been filled with tall, thick grasses that had grown towards the sky seeking the little light that would penetrate the canopy above them. At least, that must have been how it was before they had been crushed flat into what must have been a bed for the spirit who lived here.

It was unoccupied.

An annoyed breath slipped through Bleddyn's teeth as he slipped down the small hill and onto the grasses. “Wait there a moment.” He almost disappeared into the shadows like he was a spirit of the night himself.

She took a cautious breath, steadying herself. It was hard not to panic, standing here at the seat of such a monstrous power. Admittedly, the guardian spirit of her home city had been far grander and far more powerful, but he had also been familiar. And in her territory. No matter how it had turned out in the end, she, at least, hadn't been an intruder.

The musk caught her nose again. Taking care not to try too hard this time she sniffed daintily, clawing through her memory for what it could be. There was something that niggled at her brain, a long lost memory that she just didn't have the energy to dredge-

Ah. That was it. She did remember. A snake. There had been an old man who lived near her family when she was younger who had collected them to sell to alchemists.

With that memory in mind, and the scent starting to drain away from her, it was a primal instinct that triggered, causing her to shout, her body suddenly burning with alarm, her muscles tightening into fight or flight positions she didn't realize she had had. “Bleddyn!”

[Veryslightlymad]

I'll give a more formal read when I have a little more time (lunch is ending), but, off-hand, biggest thing I notice...

Slow it down just a little bit. The pacing of the writing (not the scene) is pretty quick. It darts from thought to thought in a pretty frentic manner. It might be part of the character (they're a bit hyper-kinetic or something), but it is also a bit uncomfortable to actually read. Like the eating thing, for example. It talks about him slowing down to savor things, but we don't really get that impression because it still whips by damn fast.

There is like, no time to digest anything that's going on, since by the time you get through one idea, we're already three ideas down the road. >_>

Part of that is bad habit, and part of that is intention. I've never been much for elaborate description, so one of the things I set out for was to have sections like this where everything is just jagged as hell. I want this to feel like a punch to the gut. Still though, modulating it to a point where the deliberate furious pace is still -readable- is something I'm going to work on. Like, I want it to be deliberately manic, but at the same time, I don't want it to read like Bad Fanfic.

This is actually.... gosh. A quarter of the way through things? Seven "chapters" in counting a prologue, but I picked it for display on account of it showcasing what it's all about. Namely, being trapped, and, well, brutal fisticuffs action.

Although this wasn't written this way, I've been known to take a shot of whiskey and hammer out a story beat.

[Cotigo]

Hm.  Not a bad idea.  I need to start writing more anyway.  I'll post something I wrote a while ago when I get home and have access to my hard drive.

[Idun]

I will read these soon enough, but do keep in mind that any forthcoming commentary is significantly affected by my deficiency in literary terms and current criticisms.

[Veryslightlymad]

Stuff

Wanted to give this some time.

Is this supposed to be a beginning, off chance? Because I very much dislike that kind of opening. You know, the "It was {x}" kind. That might be my script-writing background coming in, which I have as opposed to a background in prose. But I was always taught to open in the middle as much as possible. Which, if this is an opening, you do a good job after that initial bit to keep things basically established. Honestly, I would murder that sentence in its sleep and just open with the next one. ACTUALLY, even if this were a middle section, I'd kill the sentence and the next two. Jump in on "If she" and go from there. Your first paragraph/sentence absolutely has to give you something to make you read the next one.

Otherwise, it's..... well, it's very genre fiction. Nothing particularly wrong with that off hand, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't somewhat bored. How much of that is my own bias, I can't really know off hand. (Probably more than a little though.) To be brutally honest, it took me a few tries to read through it.

Positives: The prose is fine enough. The idea of trains in what appears to be a high fantasy setting intrigues me. Enough so where if you had an opening that-a-way, I'd have been much more interested. (And since I don't KNOW if this is the actual opening, you might have! If so, good on you, mate!) You're not an established writer, you should start off by saying how you're different, now how you're the same.

You do a decent job of establishing the vocabulary of the universe, which is important in genre fiction. (And personally why I stay away from it! I'm -awful- at that.)

[DjinnAndTonic]

Read both excerpts, overall impression of both was positive.

Vsm wrote a story that felt very real. Very believable. In some ways, too much so... I felt like it was a vsm livejournal entry. Only with Qi. The fight scene was frenetic and amazing, the lead up was boring and kind of depressing and it didn't make me like the protagonist until he finally got out of his seat in the restaurant. Definitely not a good opening, though it might work with proper lead in.

Andy's was a good character piece. I don't know anything about Tesni's life, but I already have a strong impression of her and her tenuously romantic relationship with Bleddyn. Well played. The setting was well described, and while this may be my bias -for- genre fiction, I was pretty intrigued by the idea of a spirit manse and Tesni's powers. My biggest issue here was that nothing really happened in this excerpt... Which is fine since its purpose is character building, but it would certainly be a weakness in a longer genre piece.

Would like to see more of both! Maybe I should post MY terrible writing so that you guys look better?

[Hungry Youkai]

Well, a month after having requested this topic in the first place, I'm finally going to comment on it. I'll try to post something of my own in a couple of days as well.

VSM's piece:  Content-wise it seems fine, there's a clear conflict, stuff is happening, go out get in fight with dudes, do kung-fu, etc.

Style-wise I have a few issues. There's a lot of vague statements and generalizations and qualifying of the language. This could be something to do with the character, but it ends up flattening the tone and making it seem very generic and bland. "nothing really happened to me", "everything happened more or less normally", "It was sort of a weird", "So that was basically my reasoning for going out that night", I'm just picking out a few examples here but hopefully you see what I mean. He sounds like he's extremely uncertain or nervous or something, but this doesn't make sense in light of him kicking ass later on and whatnot. I'd try to really slim this down somewhat, it gets very woolly and heavy to plough through.

Second issue leads on from there: the prose is very thick and heavy, it lacks clarity in some places and trips over itself in others. Example: "I got maybe a quarter of the way to my apartment before I noticed that maybe I had made a mistake in what everything was about." This sentence has two 'maybes' and the 'in what everything was about' is entirely superfluous, the next sentence tells the reader what he made a mistake about, and the addition is simply confusing and distracting. The actual fight scene, for example, reads very slowly, since the action is narrated in too much precise detail to show the reader that this is supposed to be fast-paced action, or exciting.

This part is actually good:

"Then it hit me.
I didn't throw my Qi at him.
I must have deflected the bullet off of my hand and into one of the bad guys. To be fair, I didn't know I could do that, either."

Quick, fast-paced, clear and lots of impact. Much better, aim more for this, strip out some of the language and plodding that slows the prose down.

The third issue is that there's way too much telling the reader things as opposed to showing the reader things. This is more of a cumulative effect brought on by the first two problems than anything I can specifically point to, but if you try to pare it down some then it might become more evident.

The fourth issue is formatting. Oh my god wall of text. Please please use paragraph breaks. Indent-only style works in print books but on a screen it's really quite difficult to read, and proper breaking up of scenes and sub-scenes can really help your pacing.

As always, take my advice with a grain of salt, I can only speak from my own experience.

[Veryslightlymad]

Gracias, Amigo.

Description and whatnot---This is actually something I can work on. And looking at it, I get what you're saying in regards to the text. It's certainly possible to convey uncertainty without the repetitiveness I have going on---that's actually a fairly simple fix. Some of the uncertainty is deliberate---guy has tons of issues and basically only does the effective thing when he doesn't bother to think about it too hard. But there's a difference between uncertainty and unreliability or slowness in your narrator, and it can be refined in a later draft. The vagueries can also be nixxed without much difficulty.

We'll have to agree to disagree on the precision of detail issue---this is deliberate. This is scratching the surface of how brutal I take poor Dougie here, and it's slowed down some because the actual character is sped up--This is maybe three to five seconds of action. In a film, I'd run the scene in slow motion. I think if I glossed over some things it'd be a lot less dirty.

Wall of text issue: Sorry! My word processor does this automatically and I didn't think to manually do it when posting. I'll keep that in mind if I post to DL forums again.

[Hungry Youkai]

We'll have to agree to disagree on the precision of detail issue---this is deliberate. This is scratching the surface of how brutal I take poor Dougie here, and it's slowed down some because the actual character is sped up--This is maybe three to five seconds of action. In a film, I'd run the scene in slow motion. I think if I glossed over some things it'd be a lot less dirty.

Ah, but you're hitting the issue on the head here. The fight scene doesn't feel brutal or dirty, it feels overly laboured under the character's thoughts and reactions, he's spending several lines pondering everything, and the actual brutal, gritty details are glossed over, they're not described much or focused on, all the focus is on his reactions and his thoughts. The physical actions are usually over in a sentence, very quick and lacking detail. There's punches, and some dude has been shot, but we aren't shown the details of this, there's no bone-crunching clarity to these actions. Instead it's all vaguely confusing and at the end there's some guys on the floor, and it certainly establishes our protagonist here is a badass, but the style mutes any gritty, two-fisted brutality in the scene. If you want to keep that level of detail I would suggest adding stuff about the fight itself and scaling back how much the protagonist is talking at the reader.

[Hunter Sopko]

Ooo! Ooo! My turn to have my dreams shattered!

This is a scene meant to be part of a much larger work. It's obvious there's a lot of background not present, but I tried to at least include what was necessary for this topic so people (that are not Andy) could read it without completely rehashing everything/breaking narrative flow. Hopefully it came out alright.

Difficult scene to write, all told, but it's one of my favorite scenes from and old RP I was in called Chrysalis, and one that I'd been meaning to convert to prose since forever. The entire dialogue near the end between Keith and Nultros is near verbatim of the conversation that happened in the actual game. Good times, good RP. Anyway, enjoy and happy crushing.

---------------

   Shortly after falling asleep, Keith found himself on a boat, fishing. The overcast morning put a chill on the water, but the lack of fog at least allowed him to see properly. Looking around slowly, he gathered stock of his surroundings and looked to the water closely. Nothing. He settled back into the boat, appreciating the prospect of a relaxing dream for once.

   Lundgren’s choice for his mental defenses had been a gift and a curse. The never-ending lucid dreams allowed him to protect himself from Nultros’ dream assaults, but at the same time it wore him down. The stress of the lack of nearly a year's worth of true mental rest was wearing him down badly, and it had shown more than a few times already. Dreams like this were a rare treat. After all, he still had his own pedestrian nightmares to worry about on top of everything else. Especially the ones about vampires.
 
   Keith shivered a bit recalling those dreams. Even though they weren’t real, being completely aware and involved in those dreams was closer to reality than he really was comfortable with. Still, it had its perks. His wife was more permissive in his dreams than she was in reality, and she could cook a hell of a lot better. Granted, his guilt about this was also real. He loved Niniel more than anything else in his life.

   He shook his head and tried to clear away that train of thought. It wasn’t right to take advantage of her like that, be it in a dream or in reality. In fact, her recent lessons in meditation were helping his ongoing mental anxiety more than anything else. He allowed himself to rock with the gentle waves, bringing his mind back to the present to cock back his arm for the first cast of the morning. The steady whirr of the reel lifted his spirits as the lure landed exactly where he wanted with a satisfying thunk.

   There was an immediate nibble on the line, another indicator that this was most definitely a dream. Keith smiled and waited for that perfect strike to snap and set the hook. Success! There was a solid tension in the line, but the fish wasn’t fighting too hard. Oh well, a small fish on the first cast is still a fish on the first cast! He mused happily to himself.

   He pulled it in with a practiced hand, appreciating the calmness of the setting. The snap of a twig in the distance was like a tree falling. The lake was still, with the exception of the ripple and near invisible line in the water drawing ever closer to the boat. Keith continued to pull the line in, losing himself in the moment.

   As the line got close enough to the boat he lifted it out of the water to catch a glimpse of his prize, only to find nothing. He blinked, wondering how his subconscious was playing tricks on him this time. Bringing it in for a closer inspection, he was startled to notice a tiny grey maggot writhing on the end of the hook. A gust of wind blew by, upon which Keith could hear the faintest sound of mocking laughter.

   Keith growled, tossing the rod into the water angrily.  "Oh come on! Stop playing games with me already!"

   The only response was a near ethereal gesture in the environment. Almost like a shrug.

   "When will you understand you can't get me in here anymore! You won't wear me down like this either!"  His attention was pulled down to a tightening sensation in his hands as they rapidly began to age before his eyes. So old, so wrinkled. Pains he had either never felt, or never noticed made themselves quite present. Keith flexed them strongly, trying to will them back to normal. The pain slowly began to fade, the muscles and bones returning to their former state. He turned his attention back elsewhere.

   "I know you're out there, but you won't be for long. I guarantee it!” 

   What was that thing on his ring finger though? That wasn’t his wedding band. At least, not the right one. Or was it? Almost instantaneously, a very nauseating feeling set in. Memories of Niniel began to fade, her face contorting in his mind's eye to a new face. A new name. Karina? Wedding day hit. Memories of Niniel faded slowly, replaced by the beautiful girl in the wedding dress. She was taller, her hair lighter, and eyes hazel. Her smile spoke of nothing but love and devotion. As Keith looked deeper into her eyes, he could see his reflection. His smile mirrored hers as the words traced out I do silently.

   This did not last long as Keith successfully pulled himself free from it. He ripped the fake ring off, throwing it into the water and trying to remember Niniel and Niniel alone. In the subject most sacred to his heart, there was no way Keith was going to lose.

   The river of emotion and memory began to flow again, revealing a new bride at the altar. She looked much less happy than Karina did, but that was okay. It meant he would not be alone-neither in life nor in spirit. Keith knew his sister was absolutely miserable in her marriage.

   That memory began to transpose itself into his surroundings as well as the poke of something sharp in Keith’s back forced a smile from Ryan Keller, who turned around to nod his head, mockingly asking Keith for approval. Alice cringed as Ryan then slipped the ring onto her finger.

   At this point Keith tried desperately to think of something- anything to stop this flood of images into his mind. He collapsed to his knees, the boat caught in a sea of stone as his original dream collapsed around him. He would not allow his only remaining family to be taken from him, in a dream or in reality. He would not allow Alice to suffer like that, even if the real Ryan Keller was in prison and had never stood a chance with his actual sister. He would not allow his memories of his wife to be sullied or replaced by fakes, but it weighed on him. He could feel the pressure surrounding him, pushing down his mind, his body and his spirit. But he would not give in. He would not allow Niniel to be taken from him.

   Niniel!  His mind snapped to a sudden realization. He fought for his balance and slowly began to compose himself, crossing his legs and positioning his body as he was taught. Closing his eyes, he calmed himself the way Niniel taught him as he began to meditate.

   The effect was immediate. Outside, Alice shook her head vehemently, tearing the ring off and kicking Ryan square in the groin. "Wake up Keith! Remember Niniel!"

   The river quickly began to flow again though... into a familiar, dirty, brown chamber where up was down and down was up. The vrock stared at Keith. "YOU MUST SUFFER FLESHY MORTAL. NEVER AGAIN WILL OUR DIVA STRAY."  An even larger figure stood behind the vrock. It wore Niniel’s Capuchin garb like a rag, its shoulders so abnormally large there was no way to tell where the head was. And there on the floor was Niniel. Half her head was missing, as if snapped off by a huge pincer, her body stripped naked allowing the deep, bleeding gashes along her back to be visible to all.

   All except Keith, who ignored it all and did not allow himself to be provoked, against his usual nature. His determination persevered as he continued his meditation, shutting off the outside. Letting go of concern and freeing his mind, he tried to clear everything out of his head. Even the dream. He could feel the environment reacting to it once again, shivering as the river flowed, but as abruptly as it began, it stopped and faded away to nothingness. Through the still blackness, Keith could again feel himself floating, the only sound his own heartbeat.

   After a few moments a masculine voice sounded in the darkness. "What are you afraid of?"

   A familiar voice. This only prompted further ignorance from Keith as he repeated the simple, meditative chant his wife taught him.

   There was a soft chuckle. "You're certainly one of the weakest Keith's I've encountered. Why do you run?" Keith’s posture only improved in response, his confidence picking up with each repeat of his chant. "I think that wife of yours has ruined you. Do you know that somewhere you are the ruler of the whole world? Now that Keith... would I meet him as I meet you now, he would have plugged my eye sockets with plenty of bolts by now."

   Refusing to be cowed or coerced, Keith did not snap back, nor open his eyes, but his chanting slowly stopped, allowing him to reply in a calm and measured tone. "When we fight, it will end in that. This is only a dream."

   “From the shores of Carmea... to the buttes of Ferrington... And even the icy interiors of Chaggrator. King of all he surveys..."

   "Obviously Keith Chiemi is a man who gets what he wants on any world, then. I will get what I want, but it isn't that."

   "Hmph. Just as you're a dream. A dream to the countless other Keith Chiemi's. The funny thing is every single one starts out the same way. Would you like to hear a rather amusing secret? It may help you appreciate your wife a bit more."

   "You don't even succeed in annoying me at this point. Leave."

   The voice spoke as if smiling. Not a fiendish or vindictive smile, but casual, as if addressing an old friend. "I have only encountered two hundred or so Niniel's that ever left Silathen."

    There was only silence from Keith.

    "You should feel fortunate! An infinite number more bear the weight of a dirty, smelly man every night. It really is quite stimulating to watch the possibilities unfold. I feel sorry that you run from them. How could a man ever know himself, when he himself is only a minute fraction of the whole?"

   "I work towards my own goal and nothing else. No one and nothing will stand in my way."

   "Which goal? You have taken so many wrong turns from conquering the world; I won't bother to list them. Granted, not many pursue the boyhood dreams of six their entire lives either."

   "I don’t desire the world."

   "You did at one time." The voice blithely corrected. "But then again, I will not mention the large number of Keith's who went without a best man for their wedding..."

   There was a pause as Keith took a deep, contemplative breath. "I accept that. However, I am me and me alone."

   There was a loud crunch of bone- as if a head had cocked the completely wrong way and broken the neck beneath. The voice returned, a rasping tone creeping into it. "So if I were to show you a map of your life, would you look?" the voice murmured, "So many avenues, all branching in infinite directions. Some taking turns into dead ends, others going in circles seemingly for years."

   "Map? I make my own way through life. I have no use for one."

   The voice lowered itself to a whisper, "Because you choose to run?"

   "I only run forward."

   "Instead of a curious glimpse, you turn tail. What can you be so unhappy about?  What could you be so afraid of seeing?"

   "Why do you ask? Are you afraid of me?"

   "You, just another fractured mortal wallowing in mediocrity, are asking if I fear you? I cordially invite you to end my life. I'll sharpen your blade for you. You still will not succeed!"

   "I don't have to. One of us eventually will. So I offer you to keep running."

   "I will carve every tree on this accursed rock into a bolt, and grow enough eyes for you to pierce with each and every one of them. You still have no chance!"

   "You cannot fight infinity."

   "Keith, I am the very ESSENCE of infinity!" the voice hissed.

   Disgustingly.

   Abrasively.

   "I will be the one to kill you. Now leave!" With that, Keith opened his eyes, preparing himself for what was to come. Instead, he found himself awake with Niniel leaning over him, peering down with concern in her beautiful green eyes.  He blinked several times, finally smiling to her.

   She returned the smile with a quizzical look on her face, "Are you alright?"

   "Yes," He answered immediately, his smile widening- a more genuine smile than she had seen from him in a long time. He leaned up and kissed her lovingly. "What would I do without you?"

   "The question could be reversed easily." She replied with a coy grin on her face.

   He laughed, pulling her into his arms. "Somehow it works, then."

   The sounds of the night began to filter through: The leaves blowing with the wind outside, the animals and insects conducting their nightly symphony, the small creaks and noises of an occupied and slumbering house. There was the tactile feel of the bed, the covers, the gentle smell and warmth of Niniel as she looked radiant in the moonlight. This was reality.

   As they settled in to return to sleep, Keith counted his blessings. There was no replacing the woman in his arms.

   Not now.

   Not ever.

[Hunter Sopko]

Tick-tock

Tick –tock

Simple mechanics. It defined her life from dawn to dusk. Wake, eat, train, eat, train, eat, train, study, study…

Tick-tock

There wasn’t much in life that couldn’t be broken down to simple mechanics. Even the most elaborate magicks Katarine had learned over her term in the military were easily broken down to its components and understood. Even now in these late, post-midnight hours that always comprised her spell preparation, it all seemed to be a gear that never knew when to kick over.

Tick-tock

She rubbed at her eyes, feeling frustrated and clutching the letter from the registration officer again. It was all she could do not to lose herself and fire every destructive spell she had ready at it. Maybe the catastrophe that would cause would make things a bit easier to understand.

They don’t want me anymore.

It was a fairly standard form letter of the “We regret to inform you…” variety, telling her that she was soon to be unemployed and homeless, that her pursuits of the last few years have been wasted and she would potentially be monitored for the rest of her life.

It doesn’t even make sense. Why would the army let me finish advanced spell training if they weren’t planning on keeping me on? It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

A cry escaped her lips as she hammered her fist down on her desk. The jolt of pain that shot up her arm was the last thing she needed at the moment. The pain would have been a welcome distraction any other time, but all she wanted to do at the moment was sleep- but that always seemed to be the most difficult thing of all.

Tick-tock

Tick-tock

It was an elaborate device and one of Katarine’s few luxuries, and also a curse. That stark, yet rhythmic sound ticking off each second had completely and utterly engrained itself into Katarine’s mind over the long years of sleepless nights. Even in complete silence, she could hear it in her head and nearly lose herself in it. The clock was a necessary evil though. The late nights almost required Katarine to keep a close watch on the time.

She couldn’t remember exactly when she started pushing later and later into the night. She supposed it was when the material, the studying, the preparation, and the pressure kept pushing, pushing and pushing until she didn’t know when one day ended and another began. The pre-dawn hours she awoke to gave little clue except for the sounds of reveille. From then until lights out she at least had structure. It was the night she hated. There, there was nothing- save for an ever increasing list of incremental, detailed tasks that, if not done, could cost many people their lives… herself included.

Magic was nothing like she had imagined it as a girl. The storybooks always glamorized it, but none ever gave any clue to just how mind-numbingly boring it was. The most powerful wizards were always the oldest too, that Katarine could easily understand: the one, strange conceit to realism. She was much further along than any of her peers and she still had a long ways to go, but as she ran her hand down her face, trying to calm herself down, she indulged herself in twirling an imaginary beard. Another habit that she had no clue when it began, she at least knew the reasoning behind it. She felt horribly, horribly old. Each day stretched out into forever, each month into eternity, each year into infinity. She was young, she knew that – not even out of her twenties - but she couldn’t help feel that with each sleepless night she was leaving more and more of herself behind, that the next look in the mirror would result in a mess of gray hair and wrinkled cheeks.

And yet, even that might be preferable to what really looked back at her: Splotchy, unhealthy skin. Eyes set in deep purple ruts with crow’s feet branching out the sides. Hair looking thinner and thinner with each passing year. It was the side of her that she let no one see. She refused to let it show just how much it took out of her. That stubbornness was but one of the many reasons that she had few friends- and why most of her pay went towards makeup.

On some level, the vanity bothered her. It was a weakness, albeit an understandable one, she could ill-afford. But at the same time the way she merely broke even in hiding her sick pallor worked to hide another one of her weaknesses as well- a sad, cosmic balance in a way. Two wrongs making a right.

Take that, ancient wisdom. 

The corner of Katarine’s mouth twitched as she almost broke out into a smile. The internal wisecrack was just what she needed to snap herself out of the shame spiral, and her self-control managed to resurrect itself before she could break out into a full smile. Not that she didn’t want to, but with a deep breath the momentary distraction allowed her to collect herself and put the news, and the pain in her hand, out of her mind.

And at last, at long last, she was tired enough to sleep.

[Veryslightlymad]

I am suffering from an intense block, so here we go again. This is the only thing I can think of that might help.
~~~

I stood leaning against the wall of my apartment, staring at the number on my cellphone. I think I held that pose for at least a minute, maybe two. I was reading the number over and over again and doing everything I could to delay calling it.

   Dad.

   What would I even say to him? "Hey dad, it's me, Dougie. So I fucked up again and now I'm in trouble? How much trouble? Well, for starters the Martial Arts Mafia or some shit wants to kill me. Also, I'm failing college. Again."

   With the hand not holding the phone, I rubbed my temples. I couldn't do it. I couldn't. I had been running home to Dad way too often in my life. I loved the man dearly, but I was using him. That's how I saw it, anyway. Without his support and his constant taking me back to put me back into college, I'd be dead or living on the street. I couldn't picture myself with a real job. I certainly couldn't hold one down. A personality like mine? I'd be fired in an hour.

   I took a deep breath and pressed the button.

   One ring.

   Two.

   Three. Pick up dad.

   Four. If he didn't pick up it'd go to voice. I didn't think I could deal with that.

   Click. "Hello?"

   Thank Christ. Or shit. One of those. "Oh... hey Dad. It's Dougie."

   "Hi Dougie. How are you?" His voice was a little rough. It was otherwise deep and it had a rising tone--I don't know how to describe it better--that always made him sound upbeat. I don't know how someone like him ever had a son like me.

   Well, dad, some kind of freaky ninja assassin nearly blew up my heart last night, but other than that things are going pretty swell. How about on your end? "Oh, you know. Things are going. You?"

   "I'm doing about the same as always. Just thinking about what I want to make for lunch. What's up?"

   I'm running for my life and I want to move back across the state. "Oh, same ol' same ol'. Just a bit homesick I guess."

   "Ah, well. You'll have Thanksgiving break in about a month, right?" That was my dad. Always immediately coming up with a solution to what was just said. He couldn't hear the distress in my voice, and maybe it wasn't fair of me to think he should. That line, though, just killed me. "Just buy a train ticket, and I'll come pick you up. You can get in about Wednesday night, right?"

   "Uh... yeah, dad. Maybe." Crap. I worked up the courage to call him, and then he shut me down--or I shut myself down--in just one question. "That'd be great Dad. We'll spend the day together."

   I heard him shift the phone around on his shoulder. "OK, then. Thanksgiving. Maybe we'll see a movie. Is anything supposed to be on?"

   "I really don't know. I should probably check."

   "All right. I'm looking forward to it. Hey, do you need anything else from me? I'm supposed to visit your grandmother after lunch, so I should get going."

   I don't think I've ever had so much trouble speaking in my life. It was like there was a rock in my throat that I had to push out. I managed, "No, I'm all right, Dad. I just... wanted to say hi. I'll call you again soon."

   "Ok, then. Bye"

   "Bye, Dad."

   "Bye." Always a repeat goodbye. I never understood why.

   I pressed the red button on my cell and sat there for a minute, holding back tears. A supernaturally strong meathead like me shouldn't cry, right? I didn't sob or anything, just sort of let what was going to come out of my face come out. I scrunched up my eyelids as tight as I could. I was a mess.

   I closed my phone and then opened it. I briefly thought about going to my computer and booking a train to anywhere, but what good would it do. I'd be alive, sure, but hungry and without direction. I needed someone I could trust. I was basically helpless on my own.

   I was scrolling through my address book. There were maybe ten names in there. Dad, my grandparents... I had a professor for some reason. There was Kate Hurt. A Chinese place I occasionally ordered from. It was all crap.

   Then there was "Mike."

   Mike Baxter was a guy I knew back in college. I went to Grand Valley for a while in Grand Rapids, before I dropped out. Or rather, before I flunked out. Mike, man, we weren't really close, but he was always a chill guy. We had to do some project or another together for Psychology. That's why I had his number. Could I call Mike?

   I looked at my phone again. Well, unless I wanted to crash at a Chinese Place, I'm pretty sure it was all I was left with. What the hell would I even say?

   I clicked the button on his name twice. (Why do I do it that way? If I hit the green button it calls faster. But I always hit the action button twice. I'm a headcase.) It was too late now. I made the call.

   One ring.

   "Uh... hello?" Mike had a voice that was kind of high pitched, but it also projected really well. It was almost like a twang you might hear in a southerner, but to the best of my knowledge the dude has never left Michigan. Not that I knew very much about Mike. "Hello? Can I get an idea of who's calling?"

   I had to say something. "Mike!" I said. I was trying to sound excited. I was nervous enough to where I just might have sounded that way. "This is Dougie Grey. Do you remember? From Psychology."

   There was a pause. "No, shit. I didn't even think to put you into my new phone. I'm sorry man. Dougie! What on Earth have you been up to?" I always sort of liked Mike. He was a friendly guy. I couldn't imagine him getting mad.

   No sense in lying. "Ah, you know me. Going to class. Failing class. You?"

   "Still in school myself."

   "No shit? I thought you passed everything."

   "I did. I'm working on a Master's. Job market sucks too hard to do anything else. What made you decide to call?"

   Ah yes. The elephant in the room. I was just wondering if you could shield me from assassins for a while. "I just saw your name on my phone." Oh, hey, I still wasn't lying. Good for me! "I figured, 'I haven't talked to Mike in like, two years.' It was just kind of a whim, I guess."

   I heard him laugh. "Yeah, I know what you mean. You gotta go with those."

   "You think so? I dunno, man. I've never really been the whim type."

   He was really energetic, now. Guy liked his whims, apparently. "Oh, yeah. This spur of the moment stuff, that's life, man. You'll make yourself sick if you don't jump outside the day-to-day."

   Now I laughed. I don't even know why. I guess I just really liked Mike Baxter. You know what? I think I missed him. It was like I said before, he was one of the most positive people I've ever met. Was now my chance? I guess I had to give it a try. "Hey, man, you put it that way--Mike! You got plans for the next several days? I'm kind of in a bind here at my apartment and I might need to crash somewhere--I was actually just going to call my dad--" Shit! Now I was back to lying. Well, I made it almost a whole minute. "--but if you're up for it, maybe we could hang out for a while?"

   Silence. Great, here it was. I fucked up and pushed someone too hard. That's what I do, you know. I use people up and spit them out after I've dried up our relationship. I'm such an asshole.

   "All right. Sure. Yeah! Why not? I don't have anything important to do. Doug, man, when do you want to come out?"

   Holy shit. I was the luckiest man alive. I'd have to remind myself to pick up some lottery tickets while I was at it. Ride this baby out. "Uh... I could be there tonight, if you want. Or tomorrow or something." I could probably hide out in town for a day. "If I put it off any longer than that, I might puss out."

   "Hey, sure thing man. I'll clean off the futon out here. It'll be a blast."

   "Ha! Awesome. I can't believe I'm doing this." And back to my truth-telling. I could just slide in and out of honesty. It was like conversational loafers. "I'll put together a bag and head out, I guess."

   "Sounds good to me. I guess I'll see you in a few hours then?"

   I said, "Yeah." I was halfway to saying goodbye and hanging up the phone when I realized "Oh yeah! Haha. I guess I need an address I can put into Google Maps."

   More laughter "Yeah, you probably wouldn't get that far without one. All right then, Doug. Take this down..."

   Mike Baxter, huh? OK then. Absolute terror of my inevitable murder aside, I was actually really excited.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

What kind of guys are these? Well, one is fleeing for his life and the other simply does a lot of drugs.

[Hunter Sopko]

Working on Disquiet has gotten me into the habit of writing again, which prompted me to go back and finish/polish this scene I've been poking at for a while. The first half of possibly the most important scene in that part of the Chrysalis' story.

     As Keith watched his sister leave, he turned quickly to look at the other end of the alley. It was the sound of softly falling footsteps that drew his attention. Slow, methodical, and definitely heading towards him. Keith turned himself fully to meet them head on, as he did not want to take any kind of chances now that he was finally safe back in Toryll. He drew his crossbow and readied it, preparing to see what might be coming his way.
     “Is there something wrong, Keith?” The advancing figure spoke to him as it stepped into the moonlight peeking through the buildings.
     It was a woman- an incredibly beautiful woman. Young and almost a foot shorter than Keith, but her bearing as she advanced made her seem five feet taller. As she came closer, he could see the black dress that fell down to her ankles fit her athletic build like a glove. Her raven black hair hung in waves to the middle of her back and swayed back and forth in her approach, shining slightly in the moonlight as Keith drank in the tanned skin that was definitely more heredity than effort. She was easy to identify as Silathenian except for her eyes, which in contrast to the rest of her were a bright, leafy green. Keith was frozen in place by those eyes that seemed like those of a cat looking upon a mouse it intended to play with before its demise. She sized him up quickly, almost professionally, as she neared, and it was only then that Keith could feel his heart beating rapidly out of fear- and anticipation, he supposed. He tried as best he could to keep his expression passive. He couldn’t tell how successful he was, but a faint, tingling sensation began to creep its way across his face. She stopped about a foot from him and crossed her arms in front of her. Never breaking her lock onto his eyes, she gave him a soft, yet predatory smile. 
     “We have a matter to discuss, I believe.” Her voice became incredibly soft, friendly in tone, but she went right for the jugular. “A matter pertaining to a certain Prime Minister’s death, as well as your involvement in it.”
     With that, Keith’s frantically beating heart immediately stopped.
     This was only temporary, of course, but the skipped beat caused him to wince and stagger back a step as he attempted to mask his utter surprise at this young woman who could so casually stroll up to him and lay his darkest secrets to bare. His crossbow fell from his hands and dangled off his shoulder on its strap as he gaped at her.
     “How did…?”
     She immediately cut him off, still speaking in that forceful, friendly, yet near silent voice. “You should be careful what you tell people in the back alleys, Mr. Chiemi. You never know who is listening.”
     His jaw dropped and slammed shut as he caught himself, his blood running cold as she gave an honest laugh at his expense.
     “I’m joking, Mr. Chiemi, though I did happen to overhear that conversation between you and your sister. No, that particular bit of information was known to me before I learned your name was Keith.”
     Keith weighed his options carefully. He could run, but there was no telling what she would do to respond to this. He absolutely did not need her looking all over town for him, especially knowing what she apparently knew about him. The last thing he wanted to do was anger or goad her, so he forced his mouth shut and waited for her to go on. From the look of it, she was reading him like a book, still with the same smile on her face.
     “You don’t have to worry. My sources are not the type to give this information to others. But thanks to them, I know much of what happens in this town.”
     Keith couldn’t help himself and fought to regain his bearings. “Funny, since it didn’t happen here.”
     “Ah, but it has been discussed here.”
     It was more than Keith could stand, but he found himself starting to calm down slightly. Whoever this was, they were here specifically to meet him, which meant that humoring her took precedent to everything. If he was lucky, he could possibly leave here without having his guilt known all across the continent. In their silent gaze, he was finally able to recompose himself.
     “Who are you?”
     “I am Niniel.”
     “Niniel… last name?”
     “Armelios.”
     Keith nodded slowly. “Well, you know me, apparently, but I refuse to go without an introduction. I am Keith Sul Chiemi.”
     Amusement twinkled in her eyes as her smile widened ever so slightly. They stood there in further, awkward silence for a few moments, which she then expertly severed.
     “I obviously have some leverage on you. So, why don’t you tell me what happened over a glass of wine and if your reason isn’t too terribly bad, I won’t have to treat you as a dangerous person.”
     “If you heard, and you know about me, then you should know already.”
     “I know it was you, and some related details. The what, too little of the why. But, Mr. Chiemi, what I need to know is you.”
     Keith paused to think for a moment, offput by her enigmatic answer, but he knew when it was the correct time to give in. He had to smile, though. “It’s comforting to know you don’t know everything.”
     This elicited another laugh, this time curiously self-aware. “I’m only human.”