There are 3 messages in this issue.
Topics in this digest:
1. [Vampire-WW] Confrontation
From: Christopher Ackney <christopher.ackney@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
>
2. [Vampire-WW] Ritual
From: Christopher Ackney <christopher.ackney@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
>
3. [DL-W] It's Just Not Like Her (JP)
From: "Arlene" <wondermom@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
>
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
Message: 1
Date: Wed, 25 May 2005 15:18:03 -0700
From: Christopher Ackney <christopher.ackney@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
>
Subject: [Vampire-WW] Confrontation
Scene: Redemption, Night 8
Michael led the others to the back door. Just as he opened it, Simon
shoved
in front of him and charged up the stairs. "Kathryn!" He yelled out,
pausing
at the top to get his bearings.
"Kathryn! Where are you!?" He continued, going to the first door and
pounding on it.
Vincent looked up and glanced back towards the door. "A friend of
yours?" he
asked.
Simon's muffled voice came through the door. "Kathryn, if you're in
there,
open the door!"
If it had been possible, Kathryn would have turned pale.
"It's Simon," she said. "He's ..."
What to say? He's my boyfriend?
Why hadn't she dealt with this problem before things got so out of
hand? Out
of hand? With recent events, that was the understatement of the
century.
"We used to be very close," she said, weakly. "I've been trying to ...
get
away from him."
Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps he believes he still has some claim
to
you," he said. He rose to go to the door.
Uncertain as to what the other vampire intended, Kathryn grabbed
Vincent's
arm.
"No!" she said. "Please don't let him in."
Vincent glanced back at Kathryn as the pounding continued. "He does not
sound as if he is going to go away. He must be dealt with one way or
another." He said cryptically.
Outside, Simon glared back at Michael. "She's in there, isn't she? Open
the
damn door." He grabbed the doorknob and twisted it futilely.
Sonia took hold of his arm. "Simon, come on, you're going to get us
into
trouble."
Simon snarled. "Not as much as this Vincent will be in."
Back in the room, Kathryn looked pleadingly at Vincent. She did *want*
him
to do something about Simon, didn't she?
The months of resentment that had been building inside her welled up to
the
surface. Initially, when she first arrived in America, Simon had seemed
so
charming. But soon she began to notice his whining when he failed to
get his
own way. It was only lately that she'd realised that he could also be a
bully. Not violent. But you didn't have to be physically violent to be
abusive, did you.
Kathryn realised she'd been a coward in not confronting Simon earlier,
and
letting the relation****p simply drift. Then she'd been swept off her
feet by
Vincent, and had hoped that Simon would miraculously lose interest in
her
and disappear. Fat chance of that - another trait she'd come to know
was his
obsessiveness.
"Yes, dealt with," she murmured, her expression distant.
When she'd heard Simon's voice outside, her first reaction had been
fear.
But now, here with Vincent, she felt invulnerable. Warm, confident, and
totally contemptuous of the source of the ranting outside the door.
'This isn't like me...' Kathryn mused. Was it the new blood coursing
through
her veins that had changed her? Her veins, but was it her blood? She
glanced
at the comatose girl on the bed, who'd so recently sustained her
thirst.
This wasn't the time for philosophy. Kathryn rose to her feet and took
Vincent's hand.
"Do whatever you will, my darling," she said, smiling sweetly.
Vincent unlocked and opened the door, stepping back as he did so. Simon
turned at the sound and stormed into the room, bru****ng his way past
Vincent.
"There you are. Finally." He said huffily, reaching out to grab her by
the
arm.
Vincent glanced as Sonia stepped in behind him. Giving her a slight
nod,
Sonia closed the door behind her.
Kathryn stepped neatly aside, avoiding Simon's grasp.
"Don't you dare lay a finger on me," she said, softly.
Surprised and disconcerted by the change in Kathryn, Simon obeyed. His
eyes
flashed angrily as he scanned the room, his gaze lighting on Vincent.
"Is this him, Kathryn?" he spat.
"This is Vincent," she replied, calmly, though she was shaking inside.
She
pointedly turned her back on Simon and walked to Vincent's side. "And
you'd
be well advised to leave me alone from now."
"Like hell I will!" Simon retorted, taking a step towards her and
Vincent.
And then stopped in his tracks.
"You will respect the lady's wishes." Vincent said in a calm tone. He
seemed
to have grown dark and terrible, appearing taller and more menacing.
Simon stepped back hesitantly, swallowing hard. And then Vincent was
there,
directly in front of him. Simon gasped and stumbled back, running out
of
space as he came up against the wall. "She is no longer yours."
Simon found a small bit of courage left and pushed against Vincent,
causing
the vampire to step back. "She's sure as hell not yours." He spat out.
Eyes narrowing, Vincent's beautiful face turned into a cruel snarl. In
a
flash, he had Simon by the neck, holding him up against the wall, five
inches off the floor. "She is more mine than anyone. I am the one who
has
given her a new life. I am the one who freed who true potential, not
attempted to cage it." He lowered Simon so that he could look into the
frightened man's eyes. He then pulled back and shoved Simon back hard
against the well. "I am the one who risked everything for her."
As Vincent released his grip, Simon almost slid to his knees. Regaining
his
footing if not his composure, he put his hand to his throat, as if he
couldn't believe what had just happened.
"You're crazy!" he said, still shaking.
"And you too!" he added, to Kathryn, as she moved closer to be at her
lover's side.
But his courage did not match his brave words, and before Vincent could
move
again, Simon was headed for the door.
"Sonia, we're leaving," he commanded.
Sonia looked at Simon, then turned to Vincent for guidance, but he was
comforting Kathryn, stroking her hair and whispering softly in her ear.
Sonia nodded, and moved towards the door.
"And don't think you've heard the last of this, you psychopath!" Simon
yelled, shaking his fist at Vincent. "People like you ought to be
locked
up."
"Come on, we ought to go," Sonia muttered, trying to distract Simon and
get
him out of the room.
Simon flung off her hand on his arm, pushed her out in front of him,
and
slammed the door.
"We'll find our own way out," he snarled at Michael, standing
unobtrusively
in the corridor.
Vincent looked back at Kathryn. "Something will have to be done with
him."
He said to her. "Sonia will keep an eye on him for now, but you will
need to
decide what will become of him."
He walked back to her and pulled her into an embrace.
"Yes, become of him...." Kathryn murmured, as she entwined her arms
around
Vincent's neck. Vincent would deal with him. Suddenly she had power
over
Simon, and the feeling was good.
But Simon was cunning, and persistent. Once he'd gotten over the shock
of
this night's encounter, he would be back for Kathryn. And for revenge.
"He could be dangerous," she said, looking up at Vincent. "He won't
give up,
you know."
Vincent reached up and brushed her hair back. "If he should persist,
then we
shall set him in his place. He treads dangerous ground, should he
continue
to pry into our affairs. There are others I know who would have him ...
taken care of. But you have it in your own power to decide his fate.
You are
more than you were, my sweet. You can bend his will to yours, should
you
desire."
A slow smile curved Kathryn's lips as she contemplated controlling
Simon,
humiliating him.
But no.
She shook her head. "I want nothing more to do with him," she said. "He
disgusts me now."
Vincent pulled back slightly, taking her in. She was different now, a
more
confident air surrounded her. She was even more alluring now than
before.
"Come, there is much for you to learn. We shall begin with controlling
your
abilities, and then proceed to surviving in this modern world."
*Modern*.... Vincent's choice of word surprised Kathryn. This was just,
well, the world, the way it was. Nothing particularly 'modern' about
it...
Just how old *was* Vincent?
NRPG: Bringing Kathryn into the fold. The next little while for Kathryn
will
be basic vampire training, so she will be up to speed enough to join
the
other characters on Night 17.
Jointly submitted:
Carina Norris, aka Kathryn Church, newly of Clan Toreador
and
Chris Ackney, aka Vincent Devereux, ancilla of Clan Toreador
The information contained in this e-mail is intended only for the
individual or entity to whom it is addressed.
Its contents (including any attachments) may contain confidential
and/or privileged information.
If you are not an intended recipient you must not use, disclose,
disseminate, copy or print its contents.
If you receive this e-mail in error, please notify the sender by reply
e-mail and delete and destroy the message.
[This message contained attachments]
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Message: 2
Date: Wed, 25 May 2005 15:24:27 -0700
From: Christopher Ackney <christopher.ackney@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
>
Subject: [Vampire-WW] Ritual
Scene: Tremere Chantry, Night 8
Studying Thaumaturgy was hard, but it was the right kind of hard. Ann
hadn't
had to study with such focus in longer than she could remember.
Progress was
slow, but noticeable; enough to earn the occasional word of praise from
Martin, which made Ann study that much harder.
The rituals she was studying were simpler than the few Martin had
involved
her in -- or, really, performed on her -- but she could see the
patterns,
the commonality of the symbols. She was familiar enough with the basic
concepts to be alarmed by the preparations Martin had told her to make
for
tonight's ritual.
The bath beforehand wasn't that unusual, it was a common gesture of
purification. The incense she was given to burn while bathing wasn't
odd
either, although she didn't recognize the blend; heavy on the copal and
cinnamon, but she couldn't place the other notes. The unusual part
began
with the instruction to crop her hair as short as she could manage with
a
sickle-shaped blade left for that purpose (and burn it afterwards, of
course; leaving your hair lying about here was suicidally stupid). The
instruction to draw a simplified version of the commonly accepted sigil
for
the Malkavian clan on her sternum in a rather thick resinous ink was
perhaps
the most puzzling.
The lightweight bathrobe that was all she'd been left to wear raised an
eyebrow as well. It wasn't the sort of thing worn in a ritual,
suggesting it
would be discarded before the actual ritual began. Well, that wasn't
horribly unusual in ritual, although not often seen in the rituals the
Tremere favored.
No, taken together it was more than a little odd. The incense blend;
possibly an additional measure of purification? Cutting off her hair
had
definite overtones of some sort of rite of passage, although not one
she'd
ever seen in her studies. And the ritual ****ity matched the other
elements
so far. The drawn sigil still puzzled her, however, even as she
adjusted the
robe to avoid smudging it.
Trying to force her mind into the meditative state required for ritual
work,
she made her way barefoot to the working room at the foot of the
stairs,
fighting the urge to knock; she'd been instructed not to. In the
flickering
light of the candles, she could see the altar had been prepared with a
small
collection of items. The only ones she could make out were a
pomegranate and
the shed skin of a s****. The smoky haze rising from the censer had a
strong
odor of myrrh.
Martin stood at the far end of the room, outside the bounds of the
circle,
directly opposite her. She forced herself not to bite her lip as she
closed
the door behind her and gave him a respectful nod.
"You have been doing well with your studies." He said, acknowledging
her
presence. "I am pleased by your efforts of late. It is now time for you
to
move to the next stage." He paused, eyeing Ann critically, to ensure
that
she was indeed ready for this.
"Remove your robe, and step to the centre. Take care not to touch any
of the
symbols."
A slight ****ver running up her spine at his praise, Ann slipped off the
lightweight robe, folding it and placing it on the bench near the door.
It
was an odd feeling, not to have hair falling to her shoulders and
falling in
her face when she bent to put the robe down. The slate floor was cold
under
her bare feet. She crossed the edge of the room briskly, stopping when
she
reached the chalk circle. It was more ornate than she'd seen
previously,
with several concentric rings of symbols within, forcing her to step
carefully until she reached the circle of thick sheepskin the altar
rested
on. She squared her shoulders and straightened her spine. From this
point,
she would need to focus on Martin's instructions very carefully. She
looked
to him, not about to speak until told to.
With a slight motion of Martin's hand, Ann's gl***** were gently lifted
off>her face and floated over to lie onto her robe.
"Remain silent and still. When I finish the first incantation, you are
to
swallow eight of the pomegranate seeds, one for each year of your
vampiric
existence. Take care not to regurgitate the seeds. Force your body to
accept
them, otherwise this night is lost to us."
Martin pulled a wand of ash from his robes and held it before him,
pointing
at Ann. He began chanting, the latin words reverberating slightly
within the
ritual chamber. The chant was long and monotonous, but the wand never
wavered, and his voice did not slow or hesitate. Eventually, Martin's
droning voice fell silent, and he peered back at her expectantly.
One by one, Ann laid the pomegranate seeds in the palm of her hand. In
the
candlelight they could almost be drops of blood made solid. 'Better
Persephone than Inanna,' she though dimly, the chant deepening her
trance
state. One by one, she laid the seeds on her tongue, gulping hard,
forcing
them down her throat. As Martin's chanting faded, she stared at him,
back
straight, shoulders back, chin tilted up. Only her foggy eyes belied
the
almost military precision of her stance.
Martin paused, ensuring that both he and Ann were ready for the next
part of
the ritual. "There will be some pain in this, so steel yourself." He
told
her.
He reached out with his left hand, held open towards her, as he began a
new
series of chants. Ann could feel her chest flare with heat, followed by
what
felt like a thousand pinpricks. The symbol of her clan seemed to roil
upon
her, and yet the ink remained where it had been drawn. The ink slowly
became
infused with redness, as blood from within her was drawn through her
very
skin to mix with the thick liquid of the ink. The process seemed to
last a
long time, as Martin's chant made Ann lose track of time.
Martin fell silent, giving Ann a brief respite as the pain suddenly
stopped.
"Once more, prepare yourself." He said quietly as he closed his eyes.
The inky mixture was pulled from her body, ripping from her skin as if
it
had been glued there. Her skin, however, remained unblemished as the
symbol
was pulled from her. It hovered briefly in front of her before it sped
across into the censer, where a flame erupted briefly.
The meditative trance was all that kept Ann still and silent as the
sharp
pain rippled over the skin covered by the viscous ink. Focusing on
Martin's
chant, even though she couldn't understand most of it, deepened her
near-hypnosis. But when he stopped chanting, the muffling trance
flickered
away in an instant, leaving her hyper-alert. At the words 'prepare
yourself', she winced inwardly, expecting more intense pain... but as
the
image she'd painted on pulled from her skin, the sensation was more one
of
heat and friction. The reddish sheen it had taken on was silent proof
of the
blood it had absorbed. Floating in the smoke from the censer, the image
seemed to waver and blur, but Ann kept her attention on Martin, trying
to
figure out what would come next.
Martin spoke yet another incantation, and Ann found herself awash in a
red-white glow, as the symbols traced in chalk on the floor around her
began
to illuminate. Martin lifted off the ground slowly, and began to move
towards her. A drain on his power, but Martin could not risk disturbing
the
symbols by attempting to step over them. The current stage of the
ritual was
too dangerous for that.
He stopped before her, and stepped to the floor. He pulled out a small
vial,
and from above, he sprinkled fine salt onto her. He knelt down before
her,
taking another moment to gaze levelly into her eyes. "We are halfway
complete." Martin said after a moment of utter silence. "You may take
this
time to relax yourself, and prepare for the next stage."
The salt, ground as fine as confectioner's sugar, clung to Ann's skin.
There
seemed to be more of it than the vial could have possibly held; she was
coated from head to toe. Yet none of it seemed to have spilled onto the
floor, or the now-glowing lines drawn there.
Halfway? Relax? The immediate wave of anxiety only strengthened her
resolve;
she would do this thing. She held his gaze, silent and unmoving.
Whatever
this strange ceremony was, she was determined to see it through; she
awaited
Martin's next instruction.
After a few moments of silence, Martin began to chant again. He drew a
ceremonial knife from his sash, and sliced a cross into his left palm.
Willing blood to flow, a small, red pool soon formed in his cupped
hand.
He dipped his finger in the dark red ichor, then reached out and
touched his
bloodied finger to her chest. Slowly, he began tracing out a circle
upon
her.
Ann's eyes widened at the sight of Martin's blood, and the scent
beckoned.
Her lips parted slightly, but she was too well-schooled to move. She
had to
struggle not to bend her head to watch what he was doing when he
touched
her. The blood-smell seemed more potent than ever; she could almost
taste it
through her skin. It was so warm, he must have just fed... she quivered
slightly, forcing herself to remain still, to keep her chin raised.
Martin continued, adjusting for the curve of her breasts as he drew the
circle on her skin. The blood remained where he applied it, and though
it
remained viscous, it refused to run or streak down her body.
He had drawn this symbol thousands of times since his embrace. It was
second
nature to him now. The circle complete, he moved to the square, drawing
thick lines within the circles. The corners of the square merged with
the
arc of the circle, it too perfect in shape.
Finally came the triangle, placed over and upon Ann's left breast. Set
so
the right angle were perfectly horizontal and vertical, the midpoint
set
from the upper left corner of the square.
With her chin raised, Ann couldn't quite make out the design being
painted
on her chest. Curiosity gripped her, and she had to fight down the urge
to
look down. She tried to piece together the purpose of the ritual, but
the
elements weren't adding up. There were all sorts of questions bubbling
up in
her mind, but she knew she couldn't ask now. She could only hope Martin
would be willing to explain afterwards.
"Repeat your Pledge until my voice falls silent." Martin said, and
without
further instructions, began yet another incantation.
"I offer myself to you: My skills, my body, my soul.
I am not one, but one of many: The Clan before all else.
To Clan Tremere I pledge myself: I ask of you the bond."
Ann's voice mixed with Martin's as the two chanted, different words,
and
yet, together they seemed to fit, rather than become a chaotic
babbling.
Chanting the Pledge like a mantra, Ann's eyes half closed as she
slipped
back into a trance. Martin's words were unfamiliar, incomprehensible,
and
served only as a hypnotic rhythm to focus on as she chanted.
Eventually, Martin fell silent, a quiet wa****ng over the pair of them.
Within moments, the symbol drawn on Ann's chest dried and crumbled into
a
fine dust, leaving only a faint, pink outline on her skin of where the
blood
had been.
A goblet floated across the room and into Martin's awaiting hand. He
placed
it on the floor between them, and then opened his other hand. Dark
blood
welled back up from the cuts he made earlier, and he allowed the blood
to
pour into the cup.
He handed her the goblet half-full. "The mark will fade soon." He said,
wearily. The ritual had cost him a lot of blood, but this was the last
need
for it.
"Drink."
Ann's eyes widened again as she reached for the goblet. She couldn't
remember having been given so much of Martin's blood at once before. As
she
raised the ornate chalice to her lips, she glanced briefly at her
chest.
Recognizing the symbol, her hands began to shake. This was no trivial
ceremony, even if she wasn't quite sure what it was meant to
accomplish. But
when she began to drink, all thoughts of anything else slipped away, as
she
concentrated on the potent blood.
"One final step." He said to her when she emptied the chalice. He took
the
goblet back from her. "Close your eyes and concentrate. Attempt to
memorize
the words and actions, as this will be the first ritual you will
learn."
Martin spoke again, clearly and slowly, allowing Ann to follow along.
This
ritual was short, only a few minutes of incantation. A warmth spread
throughout Ann's body. It started from her core, and gradually pu****ng
outwards, moving through her body like a single wave. The wave left her
body, pu****ng away the salt and ash that had collected on her during
the
main ritual.
Martin finished the incantation. "A purification ritual. It will purge
your
system of all poisons and foreign material, including that which is in
contact with your skin. It is best performed without cloths, unless you
wish
for them to disintegrate."
Martin stood slowly, then reached out and offered a hand to Ann. "We
are
done."
Ann shuddered at the alien sensation the purification ritual caused.
She
blinked up at Martin uncertainly. Surely he wasn't going to just leave
the
night's odd proceedings unexplained? She was hesitant to ask,
especially
since he seemed wearied... which of course only made her more curious.
"You have proven more useful to me than I had thought." Martin began,
helping Ann to her feet. "And you have proved a most loyal servant.
Eight
years ago I had a need of one such as you, to help provide me with
certain
insights that I could not get on my own."
Ann's gl***** and robe floated over into Martin's hands, and he turned
her
gl***** over to her. "But now you are required to follow a new path.
But if
I am to teach you the secrets of my clan, then I needed to change your
blood. There are those within the Tremere who would have you burned for
learning our ways for not being of our clan. They can no longer attempt
to
do so."
He held out her robe, allowing her to dress. "Come, I require
sustenance."
The relatively lavish praise made Ann smile proudly, but the rest of
his
words made her jaw drop in astonishment. "Change...?" she stammered,
pulling
on the light robe. "I didn't know that was possible." The very idea was
staggering, and she couldn't even begin to sort out the implications it
would have. She turned the gl***** over in her hand, frowned at them
slightly, and slipped them into the robe's lone pocket.
Martin gave a rare, wry grin. "Change is always possible."
At the top of the stairs, he closed the door behind them, murmuring a
phrase
under his breath. He then turned his attention back to Ann. "But yes,
you
are right, for the most part. One's clan is virtually set upon the
Embrace.
But there is always a way to change that, if you try hard enough. You
are
Tremere now, though I hope that your ... unique insights will remain,
as
they have proven useful in the past."
Martin glanced down the hall to the far door. "You may enter the
Library
when you wish, now, though remember you are but a Novice. All Tremere
here
have priority to whatever text they wish."
He reached out and uncharacteristically stroked her cheek. "You have
been
like a Childe to me." He said softly, then let his hand drop.
"I am weary. Assist me to my room."
NRPG: And this brings Ann up to date as well. Her coming days will be
of
learning the basics of Tremere rituals, so she will be ready to
interact
with the other characters on Night 17 as well.
This should bring everyone up to the current night now, so thank you to
those who have been waiting patiently for me to get everything back on
track. There's still a mystery to be solved over who gave Tony Giovanni
the
Final Death, and what are the Giovanni up to?
Jointly submitted:
Atalanta Pendragonne, aka Ann O'Bryan, newly of Clan Tremere
and
Chris Ackney, aka Martin, elder of Clan Tremere
The information contained in this e-mail is intended only for the
individual or entity to whom it is addressed.
Its contents (including any attachments) may contain confidential
and/or privileged information.
If you are not an intended recipient you must not use, disclose,
disseminate, copy or print its contents.
If you receive this e-mail in error, please notify the sender by reply
e-mail and delete and destroy the message.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
Message: 3
Date: Thu, 26 May 2005 00:33:56 -0400
From: "Arlene" <wondermom@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
>
Subject: [DL-W] It's Just Not Like Her (JP)
Day 16
Evening
[SNIP]
"I know," Xanthia commented. She was torn. There was the rift caused by
the
elder healer's lies and mistreatment, true, but still a part of her
worried
to some degree. "I was thinking about going to check on her but..."
"You probably shouldn't do that alone," Merissa agreed. She knew the
history. "I can have someone check for you if you like, or have them go
with you."
[END SNIP]
Xanthia nodded appreciatively while Merissa's eyes clouded over as she
contacted Chrysthal. Chrysthal in turn contacted Zenia.
"Tatiana will go with you," Merissa smiled as she received confirmation
and her eyes clouded over as she talked to Chrysthal.
"I'm sure she... just... forgot." Merissa said hoping to allay her
fears, but hoped she didn't sound as lame as she thought she did.
"This
isn't her usual ****ft, is it? She was filling in so you could come
early to the ball? And without a dragon to contact her, and remind
her,
well, she wouldn't have known you were looking for her. I'm sure
she'll
show up as usual for the night ****ft."
Xanthia nodded and smiled, "Yes, of course. But... she's never
forgotten
anything like this before."
Th'rin nodded in agreement, "One thing you can say about Corra... she's
never missed her appointments and always been punctual."
Merissa looked up as the old trainer arrived and nodded to her.
Tatiana made her way into the warrenlady's table and took a seat.
Taking a seat for the old trainer was far more work than for most
riders. Despite the passage of months since she came to Whiteriver,
Tatiana's injuries from the battle of Geode had not improved much
beyond
where she was when she first arrived.
Stubbornly, she insisted on walking without a caine, which would make
her progress less painful, though not likely any faster, She exhaled
quite loudly once settled into the chair, then looked over at Xanthia
and back to Merissa.
Tatiana had regular chats with Merissa, but in the months she'd been
here had perhaps spoken two or three words at most to Xanthia, who was
neither a trainee, anywhere near her age, or someone related to her
normal duties.
"So what's this about?" Tatiana said to both and neither.
"We're worried about healer Corra. She didn't show up to take over at
the medical center." Merissa glanced at Xanthia, not wanting to admit
too much that might embarrass the young healer, "Xanthia wants to go
check on her, but I don't want her going there alone. Can you
accompany
her?"
Tatiana looked over at the healer and said "Sure, I'm free for the rest
of the evening" she replied.
"I'm sure it isn't anything to worry about...." Merissa stated, as
plates of food had arrived in front of Dru'Kar, Xanthia and Tatiana,
"Eat something first."
"Don't mind if I do," Tatiana said as she reached over and grabbed some
bread with her right hand, then when done, poured a mug of wine, again
with her right hand, the left sitting almost uselessly on her lap.
"Is it far?" Tatiana asked.
"Is what?" Xanthia looked bewildered for a moment and then nodded,
"Oh,
Corra's? No, not far at all, but we can ride on my dragon if you'd
like? Corra isn't joined, so lives in a ground level apartment near
by."
"We'll walk" Tatiana said, perhaps a bit defiantly. One of the main
reasons she had left Geode was because since the battle, the people
there thought she was too frail to do much of anything.
Xanthia nodded in understanding.
Merissa noticed that Xanthia was pu****ng her food around in a
distracted
manner and leaned over to her friend, "Xanthia, I know you won't be
able
to enjoy anything until you have checked on her, why don't you go, now?
I believe Tatiana has finished and is waiting on you."
The two left the party and headed to Corra's apartment.
[TAG: Andrew and Morgie]
---
Respectfully submitted by:
Arlene Jacobs
AKA
Merissa rider of Chrysthal
And
Andrew F.
Tatiana rider of Zenia.
---
Summary:
Day 16 Evening
Merissa asks Tatiana to accompany Xanthia to Corra's apartment just to
make sure everything is all right.
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