Beyond the Graves

Keeping distracted (NSFW)

Wed, 28 Mar 2012 06:49:07 GMT

Visiting Mordego to enact her long-buried plan and meeting the man he had selected to carry it out had not soothed Katrana's rage any. She tried to go home and put it out of her mind, but her hatred of Hamlin Graves and resentment at what he had done rose to the forefront of her consciousness and inflamed her anger at even the slightest provocation.

Marcel was a peculiar provocation, at the moment. His presence both soothed her, and sent her fury to new, sky-high levels. She was reminded of how very close she had come to losing him entirely, and for what? Apart from the elder Graves' egomaniacal need to control everyone and everything; anyone who got in the way be damned. Well, he couldn't control this. He had tried, but he couldn't kill the bond between Kat and Marc. And he couldn't control what she was going to do about that meddling, any more than she could control the emotions that fueled it.

She was almost calm this afternoon. Until her beloved paramour made an appearance at her wrecked house, and it started welling up again. Worry, for the love that had been wrenched from her control. Relief that it had been restored. Fear that it could so easily happen again. Rage, that the consideration should even need to pass her mind. He was hers. Hers. She crossed to him immediately and caught him in a desperate, uncompromising grip, holding him tightly to her and kissing him hard, almost viciously. The anger wouldn't abate until Hamlin had paid for what he'd done to them.

He didn't protest the kisses, even though they were very angry and not pointed entirely at him. He was well appraised of Kitten's dreadful moods and this one might have been caused by anything. Marcel knew nothing of the machinations that had kept him from the woman he loved above all others. "Kitten," he cooed soothingly when he pulled his lips away just long enough to avoid bruising. "I'm here," he attempted to reassure her.

She moved her face into the crook of his neck and snarled back a sob. He was here, now. How many hundreds of thousands of times should he have been here, wherever it was that she was, and couldn't? "I missed you," she growled, fingertips digging into his back deeply as she clutched him closer still.

"Missed you too," he replied, kissing the top of her head, trying to avoid another attack of her lips. He didn't mind the rough play, but he needed to warm up to it. He wasn't about to ask what was wrong and open a whole world of trouble over his head, but he was curious. This wasn't just angry, he realized. She was raging and desperate and capable of something devastating. Stars above, if that didn't turn him on.

She rubbed her face into his neck firmly, feeling his warmth and resistance and pressing her lips against him with varying measures of force. "Missed you," she said again, a whisper this time, followed by a gentle, lingering kiss before she shoved him hard against the wall and pinned him to it with her body. She was smaller than him, just, but her mood was bigger than the both of them.

He was pinned more by the need of her and her need of him than anything else. "You have me," he replied. "You'll always have me."

"For now," she insisted, entirely too aware of how easy it had been to separate them for so long. Her desperate, needy little kisses turned into sharp little nips, and soon a hard bite into the flesh of his shoulder.

"Fuck, Kat," he yelled and grabbed her hard, turning just so to pivot and slam her into the wall. He growled, an insanely attractive sound coming from his chest and lost himself in a particularly vicious kiss.

She moaned delightedly as her body crashed into the wall, spine clicking in and out of place with the force. The low rumble rolling out of him vibrated through her in a most arousing fashion, and she didn't even try to dampen the cry of desire she let out. She bit down on his lip, fingers clawing at his shoulders until she found her bearings and slid a hand up to his neck as if to squeeze the life out of him. "I need you," she hissed.

Didn't he just know it, too? There wasn't time for the usual tease, the give and take they played so well at. Her need was enough to burn them both alive if he didn't give into it this instant. His hands were moving down her body, undoing bits of clothing, working on his own pants. She could rip his shirt off if she wanted, he didn't seem to care for much of anything but her hot desire. With a slide of his hand his fingers were seeking out her warmth, already slick, already so hot that he wasn't going to waste time with his hands. "Up," he commanded simply, offering her leverage against the wall. She was small enough in her younger body that he could support her weight and fuck her right here.

She shifted to wrap a leg around his hips, squeezing him tightly to support herself enough to wriggle her back up the wall. It was entirely to facilitate her own desire and not a bit out of obedience for his command; she'd full and completely had enough of being controlled by someone else and was not in the slightest mood to take any direction she wasn't already committed to performing. Her hands found his neck again. The statement was silent, but clear. I am in charge.

As if he could ever say no to her. Wasn't that how they'd always managed to get in trouble? Wasn't that he languished as a drunken whore while she insisted on marrying Camden? He shoved that thought firmly out of mind. He had her now, he could have her until time ended and no one would ever come between them again. Not while he had breath in his body. His thrusts pushed her against the wall, rolling his hips up to meet her and finding a pace to match her urgency. He couldn't manage this for long, but perhaps he could burn off some of her anxiety and they could adjourn to the couch or his bed for some more time consuming love making.

A distinctly tortured sound wrenched itself from her throat, somewhere between a moan of pleasure and a miserable sob. This was something she should never have had to have missed; his lips on her skin, his body against hers, the more-than-physical pleasure she derived from the feel of him inside her. She pushed back against the wall to crush herself against him as he thrust forward to meet her. "You're mine," she whispered lovingly, her hands tightening around his neck.

He had only briefly belonged to someone else, and at the time they had all belonged to each other. "I'm yours," he replied, a moan at the feel of her fingers tightening, her grip binding them together stronger than any marriage thread. "Always," he groaned as the rest of her body tightened around him. This woman was his entire universe. "Katrana," he moaned against her throat.

"Say it again," she demanded, squeezing his throat a little more. She needed him like he needed air, and it displeased her that they could each be deprived so easily of what they needed. She was close to climax already with his body pressed into hers and his life quite possibly in her hands.

"I'm yours," he croaked around her fingers, thrusting harder even as he grew dizzy. He didn't know how much longer he could hold her up without a good deep breath, but he didn't care. Let them fall onto his floor, a sweaty, desperate mass of flesh. If she wanted his life, she had it. It was hers.

She could see him struggling without being able to breathe; his eyes glazing over slightly and fingers tensing against her skin. She released her hold on his neck, and slapped him hard across the face. "Don't you dare leave me now."

It was the slap that did it. He brimmed over, spilling into her, sagging against her and holding her up to the wall with sheer willpower now. "I have no plans to," he mumbled against her shoulder.

She whimpered in frustration and clutched his head close to her shoulder; rolling her hips against him desperately, trying to steal every last moment of pleasure she could. "Good," she breathed, more than a hint of relief in her voice.

He eased down as she whimpered against him. Her efforts to keep him hard were futile, but he'd be sure to continue her pleasure once he got her off the wall. He noticed as his body came down that his neck was hurting, throat raspy from the pressure of her fingers and his lack of oxygen. With a twist of his lips he realized he'd want to try that again. He helped her off the wall and eased her back to the couch, too lightheaded to risk the romantic gesture of carrying her. He kissed down her body, fingers already probing her warmth as his tongue joined them.

"Marcel," she moaned, curling a leg over his shoulder and thrusting her head back into the cushions. Her fingers combed into his hair and tangled tightly, refusing to let him go for even a moment. He was hers and he was here, and she was never going to let him away ever again.

He grinned against her pubic bone, tongue lavishing affection all over her clitoris, moving to her lips, and then back up in a precise strike of oral attention. He had this act fairly well perfected. Years of practice would do that. Finally he could master the art with the one woman he had always desired. His fingers pressed into with renewed intent, feverish and hungry to make her cum.

And couldn't he always? Her hips lifted off the couch in tandem with a low, lustful roar of pleasure from her throat. Her other leg pulled up around his ear and before she could even register doing it, she was pulling his hair and squeezing his head between her thighs. "Yes... oh fuck, Marc, yes!"

He did so love appreciation for his work, but Kat was quite literally trying to kill him tonight. He eased up for a moment, hoping to disengage her thighs from strangling him... Again. Maybe she'd ease up if he did. For Marc it was perfectly sound reasoning.

She thrashed and moaned as the immediate intensity of her orgasm faded (only moments, surely?) and slowly relaxed just the slightest amount. She was convinced of his intent to stay, at least for now. Her grip in his hair loosened now that she was placated, and the burning tension in her thighs cooled to the point that she could break away from her iron grip on him and let him free. Her hand found his and she tangled their fingers together stiffly, lacking in coordination still. "Mine," she mumbled.

Wed, 21 Mar 2012 03:44:23 GMT

Once Camden had arrived at Hamlin's, phase one of Ajax's plan had drawn to a close. Not only would Hamlin Graves be aware that this was about him, but there was the added bonus of the last meeting with his son being under strained circumstances. By the time all of this was over, Hamlin would know that every moment of his son's torment was for his benefit and that he had been helpless to stop it. Well, that was the plan anyway. Ajax assumed Camden would have enough to consume him for what was left of the day - even he had suffered a time for his father's sins. Plus, he had the final preparations for phase two to attend to, and he wanted to try for a reasonable night's sleep. So he left Camden to his own thoughts and went about his other business.

Sleep hadn't come easily in the end. He'd imagined both Camden and Hamlin Graves having similar struggles, though for reasons opposite to his own - he was too wired himself. He'd tossed and turned until eventually he'd had to get up. Ajax had busied himself with the polishing and sharpening of his blades, and the ordering of the vials he'd already set out perfectly for the next day. Those activities had settled him somewhat and he'd returned to bed, though his mind had still buzzed. But he had been less restless, and eventually he'd fallen into a dreamless sleep.

He woke quickly and his mind resumed its buzzing. Today was, to some degree, one of the most important days in his life and he felt ready for it. He ate a simple breakfast of soft boiled eggs, grainy toast, juice and tea. Ajax showered, shaved and moisturised. He went about checking everything in nothing but his underwear. Even though he didn't intend to come into too much bodily contact with Camden Graves, he didn't want to take any risks - he could not afford to make a single mistake today. So when it came to dressing, he pulled on stockings and skirts and boots, a stuffed and shaped 'bra' and a slightly loose shirt. Then came the wig, the jewelry and the make-up. He didn't make the most attractive woman, but from a distance or at a glance if his illusion happened to slip, it would pass. Once he was satisfied with the look, he set about tucking blades, vials and syringes about his costume. He then methodically went through the contents of his satchel for the final time. The only thing left for him to do now was don the emerald coloured cape and hood he'd purchased that day in Marik. Then he disappeared out the door.

Ajax felt that Camden, like most people, would be slightly more inclined to trust a doe-eyed, yet still mysterious, young woman over some strange man. His illusion was a strong one, and given that he'd been successfully plaguing Camden with them wherever he went for almost a week, he was quietly confident. He approached Camden's forest hide-away with caution. Ajax wasn't certain he'd be there, but it seemed the logical place to start. He, or rather she steeled her courage enough to quietly knock on the door, before shrinking back into the safety of her hood.

From the Graves to the Graves

Tue, 20 Mar 2012 07:03:59 GMT

Several sleepless nights, chasing phantoms down hallways. Thoughts and visions echoed through his mind as he tried to tamp them down. The harder her tried the harder they seemed to fly back at him, chasing away all thoughts of serenity and calm.

He did his best to keep it from his family, but Camden Graves felt as though he were losing his mind. It was the first time he regretted breaking from his refuge in the woods and returning to New Meridian, visiting the palace so regularly that his absence would be questioned. Surrounded by so many people it was difficult to hide his anxiety, the way he became short when someone simply tapped him on the shoulder or stopped him to ask a question. His mood had deteriorated so much that he excused himself early from the pleasant family dinner at the palace.

He stood in his favored garden for a good long while, hand over his mouth and temples throbbing.

He couldn't place it at first, but as the visions became more elaborate and detailed he began to understand. Whatever was happening to him had something to do with his father. He couldn't ignore the hints anymore, whoever might be laying this trail of breadcrumbs at his feet.

He made his way out to the house his parents shared and knocked urgently until Samra opened the door. "Cam?"

"I need dad," he said quietly, so urgent that Samra left him standing at the door without inviting him inside.

Hamlin returned with his anxious wife at his side. "Just dad," Cam said apologetically to her. He didn't want to drag his mother into this. She looked between them and only retreated upstairs when Hamlin nodded. "Shall we take a walk?" he asked.

Cam bit his lip, unsure what he wanted. "Sure," he finally said. The air was pleasant and at least he wasn't chasing old ghosts around the Palace anymore. "Dad..." he stalled, looking around him furtively to ensure that they were alone and no prying ears and eyes were nearby. It appeared safe, but then he couldn't be sure of anything anymore. "I've been seeing things."

Hamlin watched his son, appraising the small gestures and the very tone of his voice. They both knew he didn't have an ounce of skill at Fortuna. This was something else, perhaps something unexplainable. The way Camden was acting it was most certainly something unpleasant. "How long now?"

"Not long," Camden replied, the muscles in his jaw tensing. "Long enough that I'm questioning my sanity. I keep seeing people die."

Hamlin stopped walking and placed his hand on his son's arm. "Which people?"

"People I only know from your description. People from old photographs, news clippings. People from your youth, from before I was born." After a pause he added: "and Gideon Morrow."

Hamlin didn't say anything in return, but his mind started churning. This was purposeful, perhaps an attack. To what end, he couldn't devise.

"Were you there when he died?"

He was taken back by this question, but perhaps it was time for the truth. "I was," Hamlin answered quietly.

"Did you kill him?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "We were arguing. It got physical. Two old codgers exchanging blows. Then he dropped and he didn't get back up." Hamlin grew quiet, the silence straining around this truth he had kept quiet for so long. "I turned myself in but no charges were brought, much to the dismay of the widow Morrow and her precocious daughter. You were so young, your mother thought it best if we just let the past go. It was rather hushed up at the time and I thought to trust your mother's wisdom. We didn't need to drag ourselves through my guilt all over again, especially since we might never know if I did kill him."

"But you killed before," Cam insisted breathlessly. Every other image had indicated Hamlin's hand in the other deaths. All of it designed to accuse his father, all of the evidence pressing in on him until he started to think that maybe his father had killed Gideon Morrow.

Hamlin felt the terrible shame of it, keeping all of these awful truths to himself. "Only once," he replied. "I killed the prophet Gibous when I was a child." He frowned quietly, wondering who might have connected all of these dots together to torture his son. A very pointed attack, indeed. "He had been used with the aid of a vicious weaver to torture me. I lashed out with my lightning element in self defense and it stopped his heart."

"The way Morrow's heart stopped?"

"Maybe," Hamlin shrugged. The burden of it was still upon his shoulders. Heavy and horrible. "I don't remember using it, but I could feel that crack of energy in the air just after he fell."

Camden watched his father, the guilt playing over his features. "You could have told me."

"I chose not to," Hamlin answered, though it was never a question. This decision rested with many others that he was old enough now to regret. Too old. Too many regrets. "Who were the others?"

"If you swear you didn't kill them then I suppose it doesn't matter," Camden replied, his voice catching. Disappointment fell into place and he couldn't look his father in the eye anymore. Hamlin Graves, honest and frail and buried in guilt, wasn't the man Camden once thought. "That's all I wanted to know." He stalked away before his father could answer the terribly finite sentiment.

Hamlin watched his son go, another crack growing in his carefully cultivated armor.

And so it begins..

Mon, 19 Mar 2012 12:36:27 GMT

After his follow-up with Mordego, Ajax had taken another persona to Marik proper. There he had spoken to a few choice citizens and purchased some important supplies, including an emerald green cape and cowl under the guise of the Red Woman. By the time he left the area, Ajax had been four other people. The next couple of days passed in much the same manner, except that the locations were New Meridian and Salem instead. If one good thing had come from the mess going back in time for Camden Graves had made of his lives, it was the fact that he could pull favours as his other faces. It had been hard, at first, after he returned - not being known. But as the memories of the Ajax that had been broken out of the CLDF began to become his own, he'd understood. He'd felt like a ghost, and on some level he'd rather enjoyed that. Much of his work since returning had been as those faces.. as they'd come to him. Though not all had proved beneficial. But all of that was nothing compared to this. Ajax had grown tired over the years, and so had his faces. But this would be his return and he was already back on his game - juggling people, surveillance and preparation all at the same time. Sleep was scarce but sound, and he certainly felt more alive than he had in a long time.

Ajax had been trying to monitor Camden's movements during those days in an effort to pin down some level of routine, but that had to happen between meetings and forays as the 'emerald' woman to purchase items of import to his plans. Things seemed to fall into place for him from all sides, however, and he found himself putting his plan into action before all of his leads had been followed up and all the preparations made. It would be a reasonably lengthy 'courting' and he felt he had the time to conclude those things in the early days of Camden's torment.

The first day had practically been surveillance. He'd cased Camden most of the day and only offered him two flashes - one in the morning and one later in the afternoon; a reminder not to dismiss the first. They had been the same - a boy, lightning, a man dying. Quick as could be. As planned, he'd spent his evening getting the rest of his plans in order. This continued over the next few days, though each day the visions doubled. Gibous was a constant, but the others - Gwen Wells, Agatha Ambrose, Gideon Morrow and Gabriel came and went and came again. For those he'd managed to find the details for, Ajax orchestrated their deaths and Hamlin's presumed involvement. For those where the details were a bit sketchy, he had the shadow of Hamlin loom over them as they collapsed, convulsed, cried, died. After the first few days he threw in a vision or two where the victims he'd witnessed dying seemed alive.. but they'd disappear around a corner or head through a door and be gone. Each day brought more flashes, and on the fifth day Ajax had managed to spike Camden's drink with a tincture that would encourage less than pleasant dreams when he slept. Given the days of assault, Ajax assumed Camden's mind would take him back to the flashes. It was his hope that a night of nightmares, on top of the days of visions, would be the thing to bring Camden Graves to his father's door.

Sun, 11 Mar 2012 06:21:55 GMT

For the second time this week, Ajax found himself facing the familiar wards and paths to Mordego's estate amongst the Mountains of Marik. He was met, once more, in the large garden that Mordego tended - it must have housed one of every rose bush in existence, or near enough. "Morning," Ajax greeted his companion cordially. "I have a lot of questions."

Tue, 06 Mar 2012 12:37:42 GMT

Whilst he appreciated the need for flair, having a cloud of bats zoom into an apartment, flap around for a bit, and zoom back out was never quite as fun as it sounded. Firstly, it was hardly discrete. If you had company there really was no other way to swing it than 'Oh my STARS, how did bats get in here?'. Secondly, with all the wings and the flapping, and the generally being airborne in an enclosed space, they had a tendency to knock things over and send stray bits of paper into flight as well. Thirdly, BATS was never a good way to wake up. Despite these things, however, Ajax found himself smiling slightly as they departed. It had been some time since he'd dealt with the Batfather and, truth be told, he missed the calibre of work he provided. If this was about a job and not his growing uselessness, of course.

Ajax showered and picked out a relatively formal outfit for the meeting. Even though Mordego was probably more than aware of the fact that both areas of employment for the Illusionist had seen better days, there was still a lot to be said about appearances and keeping them up. Ajax had ruminated on the summons whilst in the shower, and continued with those thoughts as he cleaned up the small mess the bats had made of his apartment. Along the way he collected three blades, each of which found their own place upon his person. He deliberated a moment over a small vial and wound up slipping into an internal pocket of his jacket, which he then gave a quick pat. He seemed content with the state of himself and the state of the apartment, and so he headed out door.

Mordego's estate was nestled, alone, at the foot of the Marik Mountains. Its walls were composed of the same stone that jutted out amongst the trees, formed the cliffs and peaks, and the very heart of the surrounding mountains. Not that there was any mistaking the estate, of course, it simply fit. Ajax approached the first of its many wards and waited as he had time and time again. He had decided long ago that if he had lived as long as the Batfather - and stars only knew how long that was - he would probably have had a maze of wards as well. Though that thought hadn't made the waiting any more bearable, and nor did the recalling of it now. He just found himself more and more eager to find out what this business was about. But he passed through each point in time, and found himself treading the familiar path to the rose garden. He spotted Mordego, though made the effort to survey the rose bushes as he approached. When he was within a reasonable speaking distance, Ajax turned his attention back to the man. "Mordego," he said with a respectful nod. "It's been awhile."

Where anger meets opportunity

Sun, 04 Mar 2012 10:37:25 GMT

After leaving Ginevra at the cafe, Kat's rage seemed to have become ever more inflamed rather than calmed. She stalked home, shoving through what remnants of the crowd did not sense the fury emanating from her and move out of her way automatically. Alone in her house, she took her anger out on every inanimate object about, channeling lightning through the air and exploding furniture, windows, cushions... she had near destroyed everything in sight before a singular focus solidified in her mind.

The plan. The start of it all. This would never have come to fruition if she had just followed her initial instinct. Hamlin Graves would pay, and after all this time nothing had really changed. The cost would be the same.

She abandoned the wreck of her living room, and stalked out to Marik to make acquaintance of an old friend of her father.

Mordego was a shady figure, both well-known and secret to varied degrees. Those in the know knew him well; or at least know of him. Those who were not might live their entire lives without hearing his name. Either way, whether you knew of Mordego or not, his reach was unsurpassed, and undeniable. Katrana had never made use of him before. A minion or two of his, certainly, but never before she had needed something so underhanded, and for that she needed the best.

At the foot of the mountains, a large fortress of an estate sat in isolation warded and abjured against any ill-will against it's inhabitant. Getting close was difficult. Getting inside impossible. She hit a wall quite some distance off; unable to approach any closer. He would know someone was attempting to see him; that was the nature of the spells. She waited impatiently until her intent was judged and, if found satisfactory, she would be allowed to close the distance to Mordego's lair.

He found this visitor to be a new soul, one he'd not yet met. He recognized her though, after a moment's searching. Katrana Morrow. Daughter of Gideon. Former Queen. And she was beyond furious, desperate, in need of something no legal channel could provide. He adjusted his protective spells to allow her access this one time, and returned to work tending his roses until she found him in the garden to discuss the reason for her visit. This should prove quite interesting.

Secrets Slip

Fri, 10 Feb 2012 14:43:13 GMT

Ginevra didn't make a habit of going out in public, but when her mother requested it she put on her best armor and made her way to the little cafe where they planned to meet. It was out of the way, not often crowded like so many of the other places Ginevra could no longer go.

She waited, sipping on luke-warm tea and trying to keep her empathy at bay. It had grown so much worse, even with her uncle and brother's meddling to help her gain control over it. She read of hermitages that she might make an escape to, even more remote than the little house which she bought, but there were still social situations she couldn't escape.

She could understand the worry. She sold the only mirror she had in her little house because it reminded her too much of the ghost she'd become. Every time she walked past it she tried to run so she wouldn't have to see how thin she'd grown, how cavernously dark her eyes appeared.

Ginevra could feel the world pressing in on her; she was powerless to stop pieces of herself from chipping away until there was hardly anything left. Only the secrets she kept, and even those felt insecure, likely to slip at the slightest pressure.

She wasn't ready to admit it yet, but she was inches away from letting it all go.

Katrana hadn't meant to be late to this catch-up with Ginevra, but there were some facets of life out of the palace that she still hadn't adjusted to. For one thing, she could never seem to properly figure out how long it took to get to places from her new house, or the best way to get those places without getting caught up in a crowd or a delay of some sort.

She tried to mask her frustration with that as she approached her daughter in a quiet corner of the little cafe, knowing that she would pick up on it if she did not. She liked to keep in regular contact with all her children (and grandchildren... she was starting to come to terms with that, she thought) but she was particularly worried about her eldest.

At first, she had assumed that her drawn, worried appearance had been a result of the trauma and panic surrounding hers and Camden's disappearance so long ago, but that was resolved and nearly forgotten and Ginevra didn't seem to be improving at all. If anything, she seemed to be getting worse.

She ordered a welter-root tea from the counter and sat opposite her daughter with a smile. "How are you, ducky?" She asked, even though the answer was fairly clear on her face.

"Fine," Ginevra lied. She'd gotten rather good at it, though often enough people simply didn't bother to press harder. The truth was just below the surface. At times Ginevra was torn between the desire for someone to press and the desire to leave it as it was. She didn't want anyone to know what a mess she really was. Yet she wondered if someone tried, was there even the chance that she could be saved?

Her mother looked nice. Frustrated, but that was par for the course in her new life. Trying to hide it only made it sing out more loudly. She wondered if her mother was genuinely happy in her new circumstances.

Katrana's eyes narrowed, and she stared down her daughter. She didn't mind if her children wanted to keep their secrets and lie to keep them, but she couldn't abide lying poorly. It was insulting to her as a liar herself. "Ginevra Isadore. How are you."

She sighed heartily, the sort of sigh that told her mother's leagues more than any words she could cobble together. "I'm surviving," she said, which was so much closer to the truth. "How about you?" Gin asked in turn. Her mother might spare her some details, but at the very least she could be honest too.

"I'm well," she offered in return. Certainly faring far better than Ginevra, by all means, but she wouldn't start talking about how happy she was to be making up for lost time with Marcel. She respected Gin's love for her father too much to bring the 'other man' into it. "Still making adjustments. Learning I don't always get my way," she added with a not-entirely-happy smile.

"Sometimes getting your own way leads to more misery than if you hadn't." Ginevra was thinking of her grandfather and Ganymede. Certainly, they'd done everything they could to get their own way and still they carried around the regret and sadness heavier than anyone else they knew. Her mother didn't seem to have regrets about the end of her marriage. It wasn't entirely true, there were some regrets there. But she was so much happier with Uncle Marc. So much happier that even Ginevra questioned the selfish motives of Hamlin and Ganymede's ruse. She sighed at it, trying to keep it at bay. The tiniest cracks were appearing in her reserve. The truth would come out, of that much she was certain. She would be the instrument of reveal.

That was a strange thing to say offhand. Kat wondered briefly if it had something to do with Ginevra's current problems; if something she thought she had wanted turned out to be the cause of her inability to handle the scope of her abilities. Much like Victor had tried getting his own way with his enchantment magic, and seeing that backfire so spectacularly in his face. She tried to keep the flicker of concern off her face, but gave up almost immediately when she remembered that it was too late by that point; Ginevra had already felt it on her.

"Is it something you want to talk about?" She wouldn't press much harder if it was unwelcome, but she seemed to be wrestling with something, something that she needed to be rid of.

"If I tell you it will all unravel," Ginevra replied, hardly happen to contain her own conflicting emotions. Wouldn't it be a relief to be rid of it? Wasn't this the person most affected by their meddling? Ginevra closed her eyes to keep tears from forming. She was just so tired, tired of carrying around the secrets of others, tired of protecting and never being protected.

"Your marriage thread was a sham from the beginning." And it was out. The stars forgive her, it was out. "Someone meddled. Someone kept you away from Uncle Marc."

Katrana was completely blindsided by this revelation, so stunned that no words came out. She just stared at Gin as her mind raced. Is that why her thread had refused to break, even after all it endured? Why would someone do that? How would they do that? Who could have? And why-- why would anyone want to keep her away from Marc. How did Ginevra know about this, and how long had she known?

No. She couldn't be serious about this. She was making an assumption-- because clearly she and Marc were supposed to be together, everyone could see that. She was only saying that because the only reason they could possibly not have gotten together in the first place would have to be something nefarious, but that was just absurd... wasn't it? But even if she was serious... why would she even say something like that? Ginevra Graves wasn't the sort of person to refer to her parents' marriage as a sham.

She tried to gather her thoughts, but it was a momentous effort that she wasn't quite succeeding in. "Gin... honey... what?"

Her mother's thought process wasn't as clear as the emotions underlying it. Gin swallowed hard around the waves of confusion, the betrayal, the sting of having such a piece of information dropped into your lap. "I had a vision," was the simplest answer. "It was confirmed when I confronted grandpa. They..." Shit, Gin. Just reveal the whole thing why don't you. "I think you should talk to him about it."

Hamlin fucking Graves. "What vision? Tell me." She knew she shouldn't be asking more questions, not when she could feel a vicious rage rising; not when Ginevra would be feeling it too. She should walk away right now and spare the empath her fury. "Tell me."

The rage pinned her to it more than anything else. "They tinkered with your thread. Made it so that it wouldn't break. Made it so that however you felt about dad it would grow more intense, so you'd love him more, so they could pull a thread." Hamlin could tell her the rest; he could tell her why he'd meddled with her life and the possible outcomes.

That wasn't all of it. There was more to whatever treachery was afoot than amplifying her feelings about Camden Graves-- if that were the case, it would have blown up in their faces, because she hated him in the beginning. They couldn't have known that, or risked it if they were willing... they?

She slammed her hand down on the table much more forcefully than she intended, the rage fueling her at that moment. "Who? Who did this?"

Ginevra's teeth clenched at the sudden outpouring of rage. Her mother was past the point of seething; it was an old grudge and this little spark had set the forest on fire. "Grandpa," Gin squeaked past the pain. "And Gany." It was all she could manage before the backlash of all that anger had her gasping for breath. She couldn't sense the nuance of her anger, and that was for the best just now. Gin just had to ride it out and then she could go home and remember to breath again.

Katrana was seeing red and stars help her, she couldn't fight it down. She felt terrible inflicting this on her daughter, but this was an outrage that she couldn't let slide. She would not get over this quickly, or calmly, or easily. She stood from the table stiffly, and turned around and left without a word. She would have to apologize to Ginevra later, but she couldn't stay there a moment longer; not with her emotions lashing out like that. It would do Gin more harm than good if she stayed even just long enough to try and excuse herself.

She wasn't even sure what to do with this new information; if she should confront Hamlin and demand an explanation, or take some time to try and calm herself before making a rash decision, or even talk it through with Isadore or Marcel. She had to do something, but until she knew what that was, she stalked as far away from Ginevra as she could physically get.

Breaking the Thread

Mon, 31 Oct 2011 08:43:02 GMT

It took him longer than a single afternoon and the good advice of his newly met sibling to spurn Camden into action.

He needed to wallow in it for a night, to finally, fully admit that it was over. The other world, the one in which Camden and Katrana had lived in exile, had destroyed whatever was holding them together before that point. Returning home might have been a balm, but the upheaval they walked into was the final cut.

It was over, it had been over for quite some time. Now was the time to move forward and he needed to dissolve his marriage thread officially.

It took him a week to gather all of the necessary ingredients. It took him a few hours to brew the potion properly, slicing off a tiny section of his marriage thread which seemed to immediately fill back in. He dropped it into the potion last and allowed it to cool before pouring it into a jar and sealing the lid. They probably didn't need to drink it together, but maybe they could share this one last thing. A final toast to their marriage.

He was grateful that no one recognized the former king in his new look. He didn't bother shaving the rather long beard or trimming his shaggy hair. He did wash up and was wearing his best clothes, a clean pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. He'd given up on suits, left them all in his palace closet for whichever son that wanted to claim them.

He knocked on the door of her old apartment and hoped for a moment that she wouldn't be home. But then the handle was turning, the door swinging open. Whatever was left of his will to hold onto this gave way. He was finally ready to let her go.

His non-disguised disguise was probably the most effective means of going incognito that he'd ever devised. Even standing right before him, a man that she'd been married to for over seventy years, Katrana didn't recognize him. She stared blankly at the hairy stranger holding a jar on her doorstep. Had she been expecting her (former?) husband something might have clicked; maybe the color of his eyes or the tilt of his head as he looked back at her, but these little clues were lost on her.

"Can I help you with something?"

His mouth dropped open; she didn't recognize him at all. "It's me," he said. "Can I come in?"

It took her a moment still to connect his all-too-familiar voice with the stranger's face. Her eyes widened a little in shock as the pieces came together. What had happened to him? What was he doing here? And what could he possibly want now, after all this time? She shook her head clear of all these questions; surely he'd explain himself soon enough. He had never done anything without a reason for doing it, after all.

She stepped aside from the doorway and motioned him in. Their relative anonymity would mean nothing if they were to have a conversation even remotely interesting in the doorway, open to passersby. Even non-news seemed to travel fast in New Meridian. She closed the door behind him and waited for him to start. She had no idea what to say to him in return.

Cam looked around her old place. It was so familiar, but so different at the same time. There were little hints that Marc had been here, the loudest being his jacket slung over the back of a chair. Cam hoped he wasn't there at the moment. He was genuine when he said he never wanted to see that bastard again.

He took a moment to look at Kat, just a little moment to observe her so many months later. She seemed happy. He shouldn't have been surprised. He was the only one who got stuck. Lifting the jar to eye level he swished it gently. "I figured out how to get rid of the thread." It was like ripping off a bandage, not so bad once the words were out of his mouth.

She raised an eyebrow, dropping her hand to her waist to pull the thread into focus."I had wondered." Not so much on if he'd found a way to be rid of it; but more what was going on with that thing. It hadn't changed one bit in the time they'd been apart. Not since they'd fought, not in the months of ignoring each other, not even as she spent her days and nights with another man. It should have been gone a long time ago; for all it had been through. It bothered her that it remained, tethering him to her memory.

She let it slip from her fingers, hanging invisibly between them. "How, then?"

"We just have to drink this and it will dissolve." He didn't want to go into meeting a half-sibling and how she knew the potion that would solve their problem with the thread. "Took some research," he added vaguely. "Do you have some glasses?"

She turned away from him, abandoning him momentarily to disappear into the kitchen to fetch some glasses. "You're sure about this?" She wasn't questioning him, so much, he'd never knowingly lied to her. He was almost like a puppy in that extreme, trusting, open manner of his. She just wondered what sort of a potion it must be to be able to play against such strong magic as a marriage thread-- especially one so determined not to be broken as theirs. She would have to ask Isadore what she knew of brews like this.

He nodded because his words seemed to fail him. He poured the potion into the glasses in equal measure. He offered one to her and took his own. He felt for a moment that they should toast to the end of the thing. Few people could say that they would choose to end their marriage this way. Few people could say goodbye before the thread slipped away. He raised his glass silently to honor her.

"Well I suppose it was nice to see you again," she toasted dryly, thinking that without that irritating thread bothering him, he'd see fit to finish cutting her out of his life. It had stopped hurting, eased over with time and outside attention. They'd each drift away to their own lives; maybe cross paths once in a while at the birth of a grandchild or something. They'd be free again. She downed the mix as quickly as she was able, avoiding whatever taste could follow.

He brought his own glass to his lips and swallowed it in one gulp. "It was," he echoed once he'd finished and passed her back his empty glass. He waited awkwardly, unsure if it would work right away. He thought maybe he had more to say to Kat, but it gotten so strange and they'd grown so far apart, it seemed like he was standing in a room with a stranger and not someone he knew and loved quite intensely for almost a century.

The aftertaste was not unpleasant, but not altogether something she liked. She thought with no small amount of irony that perhaps a potion designed to break a marriage thread should taste bitter after all; a perfect opposite to the sweet drinks they shared on their wedding day. "I guess that's it, then."

"Yeah," he said quietly and looked down to his feet. He wanted to hug her, but then that was probably the weirdest impulse he'd had all day. "I should go." He looked up to see her face. He didn't know what he'd find there, but it became clear to him that they were moving in different directions and finally, officially, that was a good thing. He lowered his forehead in the tiniest gesture of approval. "Take care."

She took him to the door, and only then did she look to her waist for their thread. For the first time in decades, Kat couldn't see it at all. She didn't know for sure if his potion had worked and dissolved it but it was definitely not sitting there, hiding just out of the plane of visibility as it always had. She felt a strange sense of nostalgia as her hand brushed over her hip, where she would usually catch it. This time at least, there was no doubting. It was over. For good.

She took his hand and squeezed it. "Take care of yourself, Cam. Don't hide away." She meant from the kids, but if he took it to mean from her as well that wouldn't be anything truly awful. He'd just have to get used to Marcel being around too. Maybe the newfound freedom from their thread would allow him to start moving beyond that as well.

A Man in Exile

Sun, 23 Oct 2011 10:43:15 GMT

Aquila stood outside of her half-brother's new hold-up for almost an hour before she rang the bell. It was that part of morning when the sun struck through the trees just so and painted pretty outlines of leaves and pine needles on the cabin walls.

It had been a little over a year since she'd been pulled from her prison in the basement of Westerveldt & Parrish and returned to her rightful home. She was now unstuck in time, happily so. Her captors couldn't find her if she was unstuck; it was a safe little bubble to exist in.

She'd made contact with her mother early on. It took a little longer to make peace with her father who was both astonished and horrified that he had a child he didn't know about. Through no fault of their own her parents had been made to forget her. She was swiped away by her grandmother; those good intentions to protect both her daughter and granddaughter had failed spectacularly and the matriarch star's hands were tied. She could no more help Aquila than she could return Hamlin and Ganymede's memories of their daughter.

They saw the resemblance however. They didn't need Meissa's testimony to believe the tale of woe Aquila told them. The half-star, half-mage could look back with prescience and see the happiness Hamlin and Ganymede felt when they learned they were expecting a child. She could relay the joy Gany had holding her daughter the first time, the betrayal she felt as her mother took the child away. She could tell Hamlin how his eyes welled up with tears as those memories were burned away and how that was the very day he and Ganymede began to drift away from each other.

She didn't tell them every detail, some of the pain she kept for herself. Hamlin had enough of that in his past and Ganymede wouldn't forgive her mother if she knew everything. It was enough to know the bare essentials and have their daughter back in their lives.

Aquila didn't want to be introduced to her siblings immediately. Her parents didn't properly understand, considering how huge and welcome the family had always been. She had adopted brothers in Enki and Corvus, and half-siblings Camden and Suri. That and a boatload of nephews and nieces. Still, she wanted to meet them on her own time.

She had tea with Suri one fine afternoon a month prior; it was a tradition they agreed to keep up once a week. She took an early evening stroll with Corvus just last week, floating above the cloud line, both of them shining dimly. She decided that it was finally time to meet Camden.

Her half-brother had been having what was arguably the most difficult transition of his life. He returned home to find his family changed, children grown, some succeeding, some making mistakes of their own, his crown passed to his eldest son, his home no longer a home, his marriage fallen apart, his best friend's betrayal, the knowledge that two of his sons were in fact not of his blood. Aquila didn't blame him for the way in which he handled these blows.

In fact she lauded him for continuing forward even while shutting himself off from the public. He bought a small cottage for himself on the very border of Lyonesse and Fellwich. It was about as far away as he could go from the watchful eye of every newspaper and tabloid in New Meridian without leaving the mainland or living too close to the docks of Isla Partei. It was a pleasant, quiet settlement; a tidy little cabin surrounded by woods on all sides. The only way to reach it was to trace a path through the woods.

Camden had been living off the land and it showed. He was more rugged, muscled from working the land, leaner from eating only what he could coax out of the ground himself. He'd let his beard grow out and his hair was shaggy. When he answered the door he looked put off that anyone would have found him in this private haven.

"Camden Graves?"

He jerked his chin upward affirmatively. She seemed familiar to him, but he couldn't remember why. She was so out of place here, not in her usual garb, not shining like she did in the basement of W & P. "Who are you?"

"My name's Aquila Orion. I'm Ganymede and Hamlin's daughter."

He laughed and the sound nearly shocked him. He hadn't laughed since just before his life fell apart. It was entirely foreign to his ears. "My dad and Gany never had a daughter."

"They did," she replied simply. "They just didn't know it. You don't recognize me, do you?"

He shook his head, watching for her reaction. It was a wonder she'd found him at all. He hadn't told anyone where he had disappeared. He hadn't even talked to his children. That part killed him, made him feel like a petulant child for shutting them out.

"You needed this vacation," she said.

It was as if she was reading his thoughts. That's when he placed her. "The Oracle."

A tiny smile played over her face. "Hamlin brought you once. Then you brought your son. He came to me on his own when you were unstuck in time. You came to me as well, not long before he did." She saw the neat little bench Camden had fashioned out of logs and ambled over to it to sit.

"You can come inside," he offered feeling suddenly very foolish and very rude.

"No need. It's very nice out."

He took a moment just to look at her before joining her. "That would make you my half-sister then?"

Aquila nodded. "I must confess, I cheated a bit in order to escape. I used your son's blood spell to pull me through with you to Aylasia. Blood to blood. I landed outside; I didn't want to be in the way of your reunion."

"I'm sure you read how well that went." He looked off into the trees, quiet for a long time. "Why now?"

"I was ready. You're ready."

He laughed again, but this wasn't an amused sound. It was a bark of a noise. He didn't feel very ready. He looked to his side and picked up the marriage thread still tied there to bring it into focus for his half-sister. "This shouldn't be here."

"Ah," Aquila said. That was why he didn't want to be seen in public. The marriage thread's existence was a lie, but others might see it as complicity for his estranged wife's new relationship with Marcel Beaumont.

"We ended it," Cam said quietly, dropping it back to his side and willing it to fade from view. "Marriage threads are more infallible than blood spells. Unless someone tampered with this..." He trailed away because he didn't want to think about it anymore. He knew that Katrana had run back to Marc and that was the end of his marriage and his friendship.

"You can trust me when I say you don't want to know who tampered with it."

He turned to look at her, surprised that she could say something so heavy with such a light tone. "You're saying someone did tamper with my thread?"

"Yes," she replied carefully. She could see how this conversation would turn out if she didn't steer it back around to the real heart of the matter. He wanted to be rid of the thread. What was past couldn't be helped anymore. He needed to cut the thread in order to heal. "What have you tried to dissolve it?" she asked, though she already knew.

"Every trick I can think of," he replied. He had other questions, but it sounded like she might have the answer to this particular problem. He could come back to ask her who had tampered with it later. "Tell me there's some stupid, easy thing I overlooked."

She shook her head. "No. You didn't miss anything. It's actually like a spellbinding. You need to use the same ingredients to remove the spell." She removed a small pad of paper from her bag and jotted down all of the ingredients. "And you'll need a little piece of the thread itself." She wrote down the instructions to properly brew the potion and handed him the paper. "You'll need to ingest it. So will she." Once they'd both drunk the potion their marriage thread would finally dissolve.

Cam knew exactly which she Aquila meant. Of all the people he wanted to see... Not her. Not like this.

"It won't be easy, but she'll thank you for it. You both need this."

He sat still for a very long time. He had what he needed. Aquila was right, even if he didn't wnat to admit it. He was ready. "How do you know all this?" he asked when the silence spread out so thin he felt brittle.

She tilted her head slightly and sighed. "It's in my DNA." It wasn't the answer he wanted, but she wasn't feeling very forthcoming about her abilities. She reached over and laid her hand on his arm. "You can take your time if you want, but it's in every one's interest if you do it now. Your kids need you in their lives. And you have a huge chance to start again." She stood then, making ready to leave.

"That's it? Hello, here's the potion you need, goodbye?"

She laughed lightly, a pretty sound that bridged the gap between them. "You'll be seeing me again. We have plenty of time to get to know each other." She lifted her hand to gesture goodbye and left Camden sitting on his bench in the woods.

Renouncement

Sun, 23 Oct 2011 08:05:16 GMT

It had been eight months since she'd spoken with Circe. Eight months to the day agonizing over renouncing her shapeshifting abilities and the risk that she might not retain her Kit Blue persona. Kit could hardly look at herself in the mirror.

She'd been living in this form almost constantly for the past few years. The fear of giving it up overwhelmed her desire to be rid of her other personas. She wanted to do this for Zed, but more importantly she wanted to do this for herself. She wanted to start over as Kit and forget everything that came before.

The little girl that haunted her in the mirror needed to cease being.

Renouncements were high magic, ritualized to strengthen their power. She would be killing a piece of her magic and she'd have to live with the consequences.

She set out the tall black candles in a circle big enough to sit in. Inside the circle she spread a fine layer of ash on the bare wooden floor of her apartment. These were the symbols of fire, the sort of extreme flame that could burn magic out of the very core of a person. She drew symbols outside of the circle in blue chalk which she covered in earth. These symbols represented her other magic; the earth would protect it from being eradicated with the shapeshifting.

She took one last moment to look at herself in the mirror. She didn't know who would step out of the circle, but she was stepping in as Kit. She ran her hands over her hair tucking it back into a ponytail. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

One step forward and she was standing in the ring of candles. With a gentle wave of her hand and a little burst of elemental magic the candles sprung to life. The ash felt cool on the bottom of her feet, but as she began to speak the spell that would renounce her abilities it warmed, sending waves of heat up her body. The words fell out of her; she had them memorized for weeks. Before long the wave of heat had passed completely.

The ash had disappeared, burned up in the casting of the spell. The candles were burned down almost to the bottom and as she turned to face the mirror in the corner they blew out. The light in her apartment was dim and it took her a moment to adjust when she finally opened her eyes.

There was no denying what she saw in the mirror. She kicked at the candles, tore at the dress that no longer fit her. "No!" she yelled at the reflection. "It wasn't supposed to be like this." She dropped to the ground, sitting in her imperfect circle.

She could feel the loss. Kit was gone, lost in the renouncement. So was Amanda. And Ohana, the cherished face of her mother. All that was left was an angry, despised 13 year old face. She could already feel the bubbly happiness of Kit sliding away from her. She couldn't feel the growth, the sexual knowledge, the strength of that persona. It was gone. They were all gone.

Amaterasu was trapped in her skin again and this time there was no getting out.

5 Months Later

Sun, 23 Oct 2011 06:33:55 GMT

Emily passed Ainsley to Maxime. Her dearest friend had taken to being an uncle unbelievably well. Just as surprisingly, Ainsley adored Maxie.

"Does the child need a change?" he asked, taking the five month old gingerly.

"Mommy's arms need a break," Emily replied.

Maxime cooed at Ainsley. "Oh yes, your poor mommy is exhausted. Maybe she should involve the baby's daddy a little more."

"Don't," Emily warned. The pregnancy hadn't gone well in the later months and despite her mother's assurances that her shapeshifting magic wouldn't flare up, she'd woken to find herself in another body more than once. She stopped sleeping at Liam's altogether. She wouldn't let him stay with her. In the very last month she stopped leaving the house altogether. Only Maxime was allowed in, and that was usually to bring her ice cream at 3 in the morning.

Since the birth of the baby her magic had gone back to normal. The baby's magic was bound. There were no worries, for the moment, that Ainsley would pop into some other persona. But Emily had locked her life down and she wasn't ready to let Liam back in all the way.

She'd let him see his child and even take Ainsley out for a few afternoons, but the baby always had to come back to her and the baby was not allowed to sleep at daddy's. She claimed it was because she was breastfeeding, but really, she was feeling unbelievably insecure.

Maxime bounced Ainsley gently on his hip. "Don't you worry, Uncle Maxie's got you both."

A surprise

Wed, 19 Oct 2011 13:43:11 GMT

Marc's gestures weren't always grand, but they never failed to be romantic.

This new situation with Katrana still managed to amaze him. They had been together for months now, Camden shutting them both out so that Marc felt he and Katrana were a couple. The very first in the whole length of time he'd known her that he didn't have to share her with anyone else. They had no responsibilities other than to themselves and the connection they had to one another.

Tonight he was going to present her with a very intricate piece of jewelry he made specifically for her.

The chain was comprised of white gold, tiny links so delicate it seemed impossible they could hold the weight of the pendant Marc affixed to them. That was the crowning achievement of this necklace.

More white gold braided around small gems of jet interspersed with amber of dark red and swirling golden yellow. He used what elemental skill he had to blend the two organic gemstones into solid beads, flat on the back with a smooth curving surface on the front. He could tease the molecules into bonding and still retain their unique color and lustre. The bottom pendant was a large teardrop of the same material, blended jet and amber.

He nestled the necklace in a blue velveteen box and settled the whole thing in his satchel. He waited for the love of his life to stop by his flat before they wandered back to her apartment and enjoyed each other all night.

The sudden changes wrought on Katrana's life these recent years had been entirely unwelcome at the time, but as she slowly became used to them and the benefits they afforded, she'd come to terms with them rather happily.

Not being Queen was an unhappy shock, but losing that power and prestige had the unexpected and altogether wondrous side-effect of a complete lack of responsibilities or a need to justify her actions or expectations to anyone. She was her own person again, which was something she hadn't realized she'd ceased to be, over time. The end of her marriage was another such blessing in disguise. It had been painful and humiliating, but it brought her closer to Marcel. And she had definitely been aware of how much she missed him.

The new face she was still getting used to. The anonymity was nice. Looking younger was a definite plus. Fighting her way through crowds in the street was not so much a bonus. It had been many years since she had to navigate the city without her parents or her husband or her bodyguards clearing the way for her, and she wasn't sure she'd ever get used to how complete strangers would push and shove and get in the way. She was certain that she'd acquired a number of bruises on this journey to Marc's, which she'd show him and pout and plead to be soothed (and surely he'd oblige, because she'd be so very grateful).

At his door, she pressed herself to the frame, out of sight from the maddening crowd and knocked insistently.

He heard the knocks, her signal that she'd been pushed around getting here and she'd need extra special care tonight. He made his way to the door and opened it with swagger and a smile. "Good evening my love," he breathed, leaning in to kiss her right there on the door step.

She curled her arms around his neck and kissed him back. "They're mean tonight," she whispered, pushing against him in a needy way. It wouldn't matter how rough the gauntlet though, she wouldn't let a pushy crowd get between her and her love. "Must be the full moon."

"Want to stay in then?" he asked with an amused little nibble on her earlobe. He let his hands roll down her back and settle comfortably behind her hips, a little lower. He liked to hold her there, as if he could lift her up and carry her straight to the bed they shared most nights. "Want something to eat?"

"Yes," she answered with a pout, as though he should know the answer already. Of course she wanted to stay in; she would much rather spend time with him alone than share him with the outside world. She finally had him all to herself and would enjoy every last moment of it. "I only want you. And maybe some ice." She took his hand and slid it down to the back of her thigh, where a woman with a cart had run into her turning a corner. "And some kisses."

He enjoyed the feeling of her guiding his hand and he very gently squeezed the bruise. "I need to teach you to navigate a crowd better." He laughed gently. She'd been so used to people getting out her way, she didn't know how to do it herself. He pulled her inside the door, clicking it shut behind her. "In the meantime, I can arrange as many kisses as you like."

"I don't think there's enough time in the world for you to give me as many kisses as I'd like," she pointed out, following him deeper into his house. "But by all means, go ahead and try." They had such a lot of catching up to do in that department. She rubbed the back of her leg. "Start here."

"I'll make all the time we need," he promised. He meant it enough to find a way. He reached down and rubbed her leg with his hand, spreading cool soothing waves over her bruise. He wasn't practiced at healing, in fact had no talent for it. But he could numb her pain with such skill that it would feel practically new. "I have a little surprise for you," he teased, hoping she'd be game enough to draw it out a bit more.

She hummed happily at the feel of his fingers against her flesh, calming the irritation of her bruise and inciting other delightful thoughts. "Really. Just a little one?" She teased, running her hands down his arms and curling her own around his waist.

"Maybe all you deserve is one." He poked her bottom playfully before pinching her there. He kissed along the shell of her ear and sighed happily into her hair. "I'll give you other presents later," and he ran his fingers up along her back in tantalizing rivulets.

"Is it on you?" She asked saucily, tucking her hands up underneath the hem of his shirt and feeling around in a show of searching. "Am I getting close?"

He made a buzzing noise to indicate that she was completely off base. His satchel was just inside the door on the end table. He didn't think she'd guess that it was there, but he was delighting that she was playing along. "Not even at all."

"I didn't think so." Her hands slipped lower, sliding over the outside of his trousers. "In here, maybe?" She poked his pockets lazily before rubbing her palm over his zipper. "Ooh, there's definitely something here. Is this my surprise?"

He couldn't help the quiet sound of pleasure that escaped his throat or the dizzying sensation crawling up his body. It didn't matter how many times a day they tangled in the sheets, there was a kind of magic in his fingertips to which he always responded. "That shouldn't be much of a surprise anymore," he joked, but he bit his lip as he did.

She shrugged and leaned into him for another kiss. "I still like getting it." Her hands moved around the back of his pants and she squeezed his ass. "Nope, not here either. You awful tease. Where should I be looking? It's in your bed, isn't it." She grinned, not at all upset if it was.

"No," he whispered, layering little kisses down her neck until he reached her collarbone where he nibbled affectionately. "But I wouldn't mind watching you look for something in there." He could already picture her leaning over his bed, the arch of her back, her hips bent and pushed backward. He was smiling just thinking of it, and then seeking out her mouth for more kisses because the very idea incense him.

A little moan welled up in her throat. "You're just going to tease me all night, aren't you? That might be the real surprise; that there is no surprise," she teased. "Give me a clue, or I'll die of curiosity." She pouted at him meaningfully. "Please. Have mercy."

He let his hands rove around her backside, delighted at the sounds he could illicit from a few well placed kisses. "I put it in a box," he offered with the slightest smirk. There were boxes all over his apartment, stashed haphazardly and often filled with the random flotsam and jetsam that made its way up from his shop.

She pushed against him, hoping to move him towards something to sit on. Surely she could tease it out of him. "What kind of box?" She insisted, moving him backwards and starting to undo his trousers, torturously slow. "I need more than that."

"I'll give you anything you want," he replied, though he wasn't thinking about hints at the moment.

"You better." She eased his pants down around his thighs. "If you don't help me out some, I'm going to have to stop doing this and start looking on my own..."

"Mmf." It was a sound that slid from pleased to frustrated. "It's a box in a bag," he added as another clue. His hands moved up to her hair, tangling in the long blonder waves. It was so much lighter when they were kids and now she looked like she did then. It was only disconcerting when he thought about it, but it was nevertheless a face that he loved.

She could feel his heartbeat through his chest as she kissed a trail down from his neck. "Is it behind me?" If it was, then she could relax. No more curiosity eating away at her; she could focus completely on him and let him grow anxious over the gift and whether or not she would like it. Though, he knew her so well by now; surely he was already certain that she would.

It was actually right beside them and he made a little noise that wasn't quite in the affirmative.

"Not feeling very forthcoming today?" She tugged his pants the rest of the way down and settled on her knees in front of him. "That's such a shame."

He mumbled something entirely unintelligible against her hair, fingers kneading her shoulders. Oh the things his Kitten did to him; the things he wanted her to do.

She turned her head to leave a soft kiss on his fingertips, before turning her attention back to attempting to squeeze an answer out of him. She pressed firm, wet kisses to the insides of his thighs, hands running up and down the outsides of his legs. Every now and again she would pull away and look up at him with big, pleading eyes, hoping he'd crumble under the weight of her expectation.

"Do you want your surprise first?" he asked when the teasing reached that peak where he couldn't stand much more. He smirked at her, because they were both tusseling for control, each in their own way. She knew how to get what she wanted from him, it was just a matter of whittling down his willpower to say no.

"Do I? You're the only one who knows." She licked a long line up his leg, rearing up on her knees to reach higher. "It's your call."

"By the stars Katrana Morrow, it's in my bag." He felt weird for a moment, calling her by Morrow instead of Graves. But Graves just felt wrong now since Camden was no longer a part of either of their lives. He pushed it aside and pointed toward his satchel.

She stopped for a moment, also struck by how odd it was to be called by a name she hadn't heard in so long. But that was irrelevant. What was more important was that she'd won. "Would you like to get it?" She asked sweetly, rubbing the backs of his legs tenderly. "I could start undressing while you do."

He was up and dashing for the satchel in a second, though he nearly tripped with his pants around his thighs. He shed those rather quickly and removed the box to present to her. He turned around and pressed it into her hands. "I heard this was crafted especially for you by the proprietor of Beausmiths."

Kat had begun peeling out of her dress while Marc's back was turned, wiggling it down over her hips as he returned with the mysterious box. "That must have taken some pull," she teased, entirely delighted by such a sweet gesture. She held the little velvet box delicately, very carefully prying open the lid. "Oh my stars."

He felt certain that she liked it, but he couldn't help the tiny shy sensation that curled around the base of his spine that maybe she needed some encouragement to say so. "Would you like to try it on?" He reached over to take the box from her and unclasp the chain the settled it around her neck, completely bare, her clean skin showing off beautifully against the necklace.

She preened as he set the fine chain around her neck, reaching up to touch the cool, smooth drop of the pendant. The colors played off of each other brilliantly, swirling to form a bottomless vortex of shimmer within what he had somehow coaxed into a single, seamless stone. "It's beautiful," she murmured, gazing at it in amazement. "Did you really make this just for me?"

He relaxed as she swooned over it. He found a little mirror to hold up to her, showing her the necklace as she wore it. "I was thinking I might do a matched set," he whispered in her ear. "If you liked it I could make some earrings, a ring, maybe a bracelet. Anything you like."

"I love it," she promised, staring at it in the mirror happily. "I'll never take it off." She touched it again, enthralled, before turning around and throwing her arms around his neck. "It's just perfect." She kissed him soundly.

He set the mirror down to wrap his arms around her. "You're perfect," he replied, honest and smitten all at once. "Now what do you say we go finish up what we were doing earlier?" he asked with a smarmy grin.

A reunion of sorts

Mon, 07 Mar 2011 05:22:03 GMT

Marc wandered for the rest of the night.

He couldn't settle his mind, couldn't ease the burden his own fuckery had caused. He didn't often saddle himself with such a useless emotion as guilt, but he hadn't just ruined his own life. He'd destroyed Katrana and Camden and case a shadow over the lives of two children he never intended to have.

It made him itchy and restless to think about, but walking for hours hadn't eased him at all. He needed his Kitten.

He arrived at Isadore's doorstep, thankfully sober though no less troubled and begged her to tell him where she might be. Isadore smirked at him, a cat toying with her mouse. Eventually she revealed the location of her daughter, but it was on promise of Marcel rendering services he was reluctant to give up.

He stood on an unfamiliar doorstep and knocked insistently.

Kat was not expecting any visitors; partly because she had only just started moving herself in and therefore wasn’t really equipped to receive company, and partly because she hadn’t actually advertised the move. And Isadore wouldn’t knock.

She opened the door carefully, peeking out the smallest crack to see who might be visiting. Seeing Marcel on her doorstep was a surprise, she hadn’t spoken to him in weeks and hadn’t thought he might seek her out. She opened the door the rest of the way and let him in without a word, retreating into the kitchen to bring out two glasses.

“Sit,” she offered after a while, taking an end of the couch and patting the cushion next to her.

He slumped into place, too afraid to open his mouth for fear of what might come out. He leaned just enough to set his head on her shoulder and offered his open hand, palm facing upward for her to hold.

She ignored the offered hand, instead resting her head atop his and wrapping her arm around him, hand cradling his face. “Long day.” It wasn’t a question, it was obvious. “Wine?”

"Anything stronger?" he asked quietly, shifting his weight into her. He didn't really want her to get up, but the promise of booze was something he didn't want to deny.

“No guarantees.” She slid out from under his head and shoulder carefully, and moved to the other side of the room. Anything she had would probably be in one of these boxes. She knelt on the floor and started rummaging about. “I see you’re not feeling any better than the last time we spoke.”

He watched her go with half-assed regret. She'd come back and hopefully with booze. "No. Not really." His confidence was shaken and he was uneasy. He didn't want to get into it until he had at least one drink in him. "You look... Tired," he said settling on honesty.

She smiled to herself. Not a compliment in the least, but the fact that it had come from Marc made it absolute truth. If he was going to lie he’d say something a lot nicer. She retrieved a mostly-empty bottle of whiskey and something that she’d brought back from Vegas many years ago and never bothered to open. But, he should find it satisfactory.

Discarding the lids on the way back to the couch, she set the newer bottle on the side table, and handed the already-open one to Marc without a glass. She had no doubt it wouldn’t last long enough to warrant one. She curled back in beside him.

He gladly took the bottle and swigged, not thinking about the discarded glasses for a moment. He settled his arm around her, fingers wrapping tight around her shoulder as if he could keep her pinned to his side. "Is there a reason why you've moved? Your mother wouldn't say."

“Live in the palace for all eternity? No thanks. I’ll give the king and his bride some privacy.” That of course, wasn’t entirely true. The palace was large enough that a dozen people could live full lives within it and never cross one another’s path. But it was a remnant of her life past; her home when she was queen and where she had made her place as part of a marriage. Neither were her life anymore.

He took another full swig and started to feel his tension unhinge. The burn of the alcohol helped. It distracted him from the problem at hand. "I don't suppose your husband told you," he whispered with a heavy tongue. "He broke up with me. Rather permanently."

Kat couldn’t help the smirk that crossed her face. “You sound rather surprised by that, dear.”

Marc shrugged and took another big slug of the whiskey. "I thought I might charm my way back into his pants, but apparently I've lost it." He sighed and leaned back. "Glad to see you're still talking to me."

She patted his head. “I think you’ve forgotten what an uptight little bitch he can be sometimes.” That wasn’t bitterness talking so much as... just a commentary on the way the two men had often behaved about one another. Marc had always been very open to forgiving Cam and Kat their follies, and Cam... well, he liked to sulk for weeks on end.

“And this was kind of a very big fuck-up on your part.”

He curled into her body and kissed her shoulder. "I refuse to regret it," he said. They'd already been through this part of it. "Where is he?" he asked of Cam. "Why isn't he here with you? Or... Why aren't you there with him?"

“You aren’t the only one he’d rather not see anymore,” she said simply. “I’ll not chase him.”

"He broke up with you too?" Marc asked a little drunkenly. "Oh man. He's gone off the deep end." Then he swigged another big gulp of whiskey and shook his head sadly. "We've been dumped, baby."

“Will I bring out the icecream and girly magazines,” she teased. “You were too good for him anyway.”

"Is that what girls do when they get dumped?" He shrugged and shook the bottle at her, already half empty. "I got all I need." Then he squeezed her closer. "I know I'm a shit consolation prize, but you got me. If you want me." A few months ago he would have been more sure of his position in her life, but now even that was under question.

“Oh yes. We eat and look at famous boys and badmouth the shit out of that awful no-good heartbreaker. And if he has a new girlfriend, well, then there’s revenge to be planned, and more chocolate to be devoured.” This is what she had learned from her time at school, given that until excruciatingly recently, she had never been dumped. “Why, what do you boys do? Drink and offer yourself to the nearest warm body?”

"We keep on movin' on," he said pluckily. Though to be truthful, Marc had always been the one to do the dumping. The only woman who ever refused his advances was the very one he was cuddling on the couch.

“Ah, right. Can’t keep a good man down.” She smiled and nuzzled the top of his head, before reaching over to the table to retrieve the other bottle. Might as well catch up.

"Not really a good man," he said. He had never intended to be. His hand slipped lower down her back to the curve of her hip. He kept his fingers loose but firm. "Just the same, you can keep my any way you like."

Her hand found it’s way under his chin, tilting his face up for her to land a little kiss on his mouth. “Look at you. You’re behaving so oddly. Do you think I’m going somewhere?” She couldn’t lie though, she rather liked this desperately anxious touch he was exhibiting. Made quite the difference to chasing him and being met with that arrogant coolness he’d perfected.

"Are you going somewhere?" he asked trying very hard not to sound as cool and indifferent as was his usual MO.

“You seem to think so; I’ve never seen you so... affectionate.” She brought her legs up onto the couch and curled them over his, making herself very comfortable over the whole length of available space. “I wonder if perhaps you’re not acting out because you think you might lose me too. Not because you actually want to be here, rather that there’s little in the way of options.”

He pinned her with a rather sharp look. "As if I don't have other options." Then he regretted turning sour. "Really Kitten? You don't know how much I want you? How much I've always wanted you?"

“You’re quite good at hiding your motives, Marc.” Though, he had actually said what she wanted to hear. How odd that being told other options were available made his being with her all the more important. “Haven’t you been drinking nonstop for two years? Sleeping on my mother’s couch every other night? Doesn’t sound very much like you’ve other places to be.”

She shifted down on the couch some, almost laying across it and him. Oh, she really was terrible, taking that longstanding frustration out on him. She took his hand into hers and brought it up to her lips, kissing his fingers gently. “If you tell me you want to be here and not because it means sleeping alone tonight, then I’ll believe you.”

He huffed at her, but then sighed. "A girl needs her etchings." But he wasn't so much offended as happy to be in their old routine. "I want to be with you. I've only wanted to be with you for the past two years."

That last part wasn’t something she sure she believed entirely, but she didn’t question it. “Would you like to spend the night, Marcel?”

"Are you asking so you can turn me out cold on the street when I say yes most desperately?" He tugged on her hip to pull her closer to him. He nuzzled his lips into the crook of her neck and whispered there with little kisses in between words. "Yes. Yes. Yes. I want to stay."

She tilted her head back and purred delightedly; he’d always been able to find exactly the most touch-sensitive places on her body to land his kisses, and clearly hadn’t forgotten where they were. Her fingers tangled in his hair and she jerked him away from her neck so that she could shift herself closer still, wrapping herself around him and holding him to a deep kiss.

He relaxed so completely when she kissed him that he slumped, his arms circled around her waist contentedly. He lingered in that kiss, so content and happy to have her in his arms again, and hopefully this time he wouldn't have to give her away.

“Need I even ask if you will be sleeping here on the couch?” As if she would let him out of arms reach tonight. It had been so, painfully long since she had held him, loved him as she wished. Now there was nothing to stop them from acting on those desires.

"If you want to sleep on the couch with me," he said, squeezing her in his arms.

“You’ll have me on the floor in minutes.” She meant for that to mean that he should come to bed with her, although once said, she quite liked the sound of being had on the floor.

"If you want," he replied, but then he picked her up to carry her elsewhere. "Where is your bed?" he asked with an ironic little twist of a smile on his lips.

Her smirk mirrored his. “About twenty steps further that way.” It had been far too long since she’d had him in her bed. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down to kiss her. “Put me down and I’ll take you there. Or carry me around until you find it yourself. Up to you.”

He settled her gingerly on the floor ready to follow her up to her bed. "Lead on," he whispered, though he pulled her back into him, wrapping his arms around from behind and kissing the side of her neck warmly.

She stood for a moment just leaning into him and his kisses. She reached around after some time and took hold of the front of his shirt, pulling him along behind her to her room. At the door, she turned around and kissed him just enough to have him kiss her back, before pulling away again and dragging him to her bedside and pushing him down.

He fell against the bed happily and pulled her down on top of him. He layered kisses up and down her neck and collar. It was so easy just to be with her like this, even as the worries nibbled at the back of his head. He had her for now and she wanted him almost as much as he wanted her, at least from what he could tell.

His kisses put a blissful smile on her face. She’d missed him so much, and was realizing it more and more as his lips caressed her skin and his hands squeezed her hips. She pulled away just enough to tear his shirt open carelessly and start planting kisses down his neck and chest.

Marc didn't know what would happen tomorrow morning, but at least he could have her tonight. He wasn't going to waste this opportunity with the woman he loved so well.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do...

Thu, 24 Feb 2011 02:44:00 GMT

He had to deal with this before it spun even more out of control. As soon as Marc left his new home, Camden shot a letter off to his wife. They were going to talk this out and at the end he was either going to be a bachelor or a begrudged husband.

He waited for her arrival on the couch, running down every scenario in his mind. All he knew was that he wasn't happy and something needed to change.

Talking and Punching Didn't Seem to Work. This is Plan B.

Thu, 24 Feb 2011 02:32:25 GMT

Cam was set up nicely in his father's old house. It was quiet, housed a great library, and there was no one else around. No prying servants with flapping tongues, or family members lingering around trying to help.

It was paradise to be alone again. He hadn't spent so much time alone in his entire adult life. There was always someone around who wanted something, a paper that needed to be signed, some business to get finished.

Cam knew that before long this peaceable paradise would be broken. He had plans to invite his youngest daughter to come live with him. He figured at some point he'd have to talk to his wife again, no matter how much dread that idea filled him with.

The last person he wanted to violate his sanctuary was the first person to appear there.

Cam was out in the garden, returning the small patch to its former glory. How Marcel had gotten past him and broken into the house… He didn't know. He didn't want to know. He'd just get madder.

"Out," he commanded with a single glaring finger pointed at the door.

Marc rose from the couch as if he was going to obey Cam's command, but of course, Marcel never obeyed any command Camden shot at him. He enjoyed this dynamic, being king over a King. Though now, Camden was a former King. That was a distinction that ruffled Cam's feathers.

"Get out now, or so help me, Marcel…"

Marc smirked and stepped ever closer to his best friend. "Or so help you, what?" he challenged. He was so close now that he could feel Camden breathing, a hitched in and out that should have been much steadier. He couldn't lie, not even to himself; he reveled in the fact that Camden was so unnerved by his physical proximity.

Camden felt like he did nearly one hundred years ago. He hated to admit that he was in any kind of awe about Marcel, but the man had a quality that was undeniable. He commanded a room as soon as he entered it. Camden had learned how to do such a thing during his reign as king. It was a skill he possessed, but it wasn't natural on him. Marc could just do it standing still.

Marc's arms wound around Camden's waist and pulled the man closer to him. "Why don't we just stop shitting ourselves and be honest for once?" He leaned in and pushed his cheek against Cam's. "You hate me. You love me. You can't make up your mind. I get it."

Camden wanted to struggle away. He found his hands pressed on Marc's chest, pushing his romantic rival and oldest friend away. "You don't get anything," he snarled. "I'm sick of this," he added. "I'm sick of competing with you, for you. You betrayed my trust. You betrayed my wife." He stepped back, far enough to catch his breath and not start pummeling Marc again. "I'm not doing this anymore."

Marc was surprised. He thought if anyone he might be able to talk Cam into being the way they were at Salem. If he could rope Cam in he might be able to pull Kat in too. "You haven't been doing this for a long time."

"Yeah well. I'm done." Cam pointed to the door again. "I don't want to see you anymore. Or ever again if I can help it. Get out of my house, get out of my life. Stay away from my sons, or so help me Marcel I will find you and I will kill you."

Marc frowned, but he understood that Camden was completely serious. There was no arguing his way out of this situation anymore. Cam had decided and they weren't going to be friends anymore. He nodded his head once and without another word he walked out of Camden Graves' life.

Wed, 23 Feb 2011 23:36:42 GMT

Amaterasu sat quietly in the one room in the house that Circe kept for herself. They both come through the door in another guise. No one would question Kit Blue wandering into Gunnar's house.

But here, in Circe's inner sanctum, they could both shed those faces and be who they were. Circe as herself, only a bit older and hardened. Amaterasu as the girl trapped by her past.

"You're the only one I know who can help me," Amaterasu said, hands shaking in her lap.

Circe shook her head with an emotion like pity, but not so cruel. "You're so in love that you'd give up your only gift?"

"It's not my only gift," she answered irritably, but it was true that she never fully studied weaving or her elements. She only wove dreams when she was near the breaking point. "I can't be this anymore. I don't want to lie to him about who I am."

"You'll still be lying, you just won't be a shifter anymore."

"And then I can be with him without worrying about it. They won't come down on me for breaking their laws because I won't be one of them anymore."

"You seem to forget that you don't know who you'll be when you come out of a renouncement."

Ama cast her eyes back toward the floor. Frustrated tears beaded at her eyelashes and she fought to blink them away. "I'm not this body anymore. I haven't been this for years."

"And yet you're still stuck," Circe said with the slightest toss of her hand as if she could throw all of this away. She sighed when Amaterasu had no response. At least a renouncement offered her a chance at happiness, a bit of hope. "If you do this you can't go back, no matter what the outcome might be."

"Just tell me how," Amaterasu begged.

Circe frowned at the girl. She was old enough to make up her own mind, though she didn't look it and Circe would never see Ama as more than just a child. "This is really what you want?"

Ama didn't answer, only looked at Circe with all the pleading desperation she'd been feeling for months.

Circe wasn't going to fight it anymore. In a half an hour Amaterasu would know exactly what she needed to do for a renouncement of her shape-shifitng abilities. After that the future was up to her.

Wed, 23 Feb 2011 22:48:21 GMT

Dear Reed,

I have waited a very long time to contact you, but I feel it's important to inform you that you have a daughter.

She does not want me to tell you her name and I will indulge her whim for the moment. Eventually you will have to know her.

Debauchery Never Says Stop (open to Liam)

Fri, 07 Jan 2011 19:59:56 GMT

Drake didn't heed his cousins note attached to his nice Yule presents right away. He was too busy running amok on Isla Partei under the radar.

He did decide to stumble over to Liam's house, already drunk and cheerfully oblivious to Liam's plight nearly a week after Twelfth Night. Drake's debauchery on the island of party seemed to know no end; he'd already missed a few days of school at Salem and had gotten several harangued letters from his father.

No matter, he thought. He was home now and going to have a great night with Liam. School could start fresh next week.

"Liam, my honey bunches! I'm home."

Candlement Wishes (open to all)

Mon, 27 Dec 2010 21:05:19 GMT

Every year on December 28th the denizens of Aylasia take a little time out of the day for themselves. They light a candle and then write down their wish for the coming year. They burn the wish within the flame of the candle to send it off in the hopes that it will come true.

Yuletide Haul (open to all)

Fri, 24 Dec 2010 17:19:53 GMT

Every year on December 25th friends and family gather to share presents with each other, in an act of kindness, thoughtfulness, and genuine care. It's a day to let the people closest to you know how you adore them through gifts ranging from the simple and mundane to the truly absurd.

Pissy Kittens claw things up.

Sat, 18 Dec 2010 09:30:04 GMT

Things were getting ridiculous. It had been weeks, and Camden hadn't responded to a single one of Katrana's letters begging him to come home or at least talk to her, or acknowledge that he was even alive. In this time, she had passed right through missing him and feeling awful all the way through to hating the selfish little shit, being glad he was gone, and being ready to move on with her life.

Except life had already moved on while she had been trapped in the other world. In theory, there were no prospects. She had no job, no home, and her family had, with the exception of Sora, left the nest. And Sora... was a whole different story. Kat didn't know for certain how old she was, but it would be somewhere close to Sora's age, and she couldn't mother a 'peer'. Even if she was still the same person, fundamentally, she didn't think Sora would see her as such either.

So, in the space of nearly three years, she had lost her home, her husband, her family and friends, and her identity. Great.

She felt perfectly entitled to be a brat right now.

Couch Surfing

Wed, 08 Dec 2010 14:17:23 GMT

Samra was usually the cool and collected parent. She offered silent support, hugs and cookies. She lectured when it was necessary, but she didn't often comment on the situations her children ended up in. Enki couldn't always help it when he was in trouble. Camden didn't seek trouble out, but he had terrible taste in friends. Suri had that infamous fae temperament.

Sam hoped for a break from parenting once her children were grown, but even grown children needed their parents from time to time.

The past few weeks found Camden spending lots of time on Samra and Hamlin's couch. Sam expected him to stay a few days. He was under a lot of stress and time moved forward while he was trapped in the other world. Worse, he was now in the body of his teenaged self and his immortal magic was backfiring so terribly that he stopped trying to change his age.

She didn't say anything because she knew that he needed some time to sort out his issues and plan what to do next.

But when days dragged into weeks Samra decided that her son needed some guidance. She plunked down next to him on the couch. It was midday and he'd woken a few hours earlier. He'd been reading an old spell book that Hamlin collected.

"I think we should talk."

"About?"

"This," Sam said gesturing to the couch. "What's going on with you?"

"Don't you read the Weekly Word?"

"Sarcasm won't get you very far with me young man." It was so much easier to say that given that he actually looked like a young man. "I haven't read the Weekly Word since Reed hit puberty." Not that the rag had been around that long, but there were other magazines and newsletters that had been. Samra stopped reading all of them when the first awful articles came forth about her grandson's escapades. "I'd rather hear it from you."

"My best friend tricked my wife into sleeping with him. The twins are his! What's to talk about?"

Samra flattened him with a single look. "You've had ample time to work through this with your wife and your sons. You know that as well as I do that it doesn't matter if Marc supplied the biology. They're still your sons."

Camden seethed a bit at his mother. "You have no idea."

She raised on eyebrow at him and offered him that mother smirk that said otherwise. "You think I don't know Camden Graves, but you'd be horrified to know how much I do."

He frowned at her, his teenage face pulled into a grimace. "It's more complicated than anyone knows."

"Because you loved both of them once."

Camden sat in horrified, shocked silence. How much did she know? Did she understand what it was like when all both boys competed for Kat's love? Did she know how far it went when they shared her? Did she know how Cam's feelings got more confused and twisted when he found his emotions ran just as deep for Marcel?

"I think you need to talk to him."

"I already did," Camden replied glumly. His attitude was starting to match his exterior. The younger he looked the younger he acted. His father was right, he'd been stuck in this teenage body too long. The hormones were starting to affect him.

"Maybe this time without fists," Samra suggested politely. "And you need to talk to your wife. I can't speak for her, but I imagine she's just as frustrated by this situation."

Camden shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "I don't want to know how she feels." Because there was always the chance that she wanted a second chance with Marc. He'd have to share her again, or worse, give her up altogether. He didn't know what he wanted anymore.

"She might want to know how you feel."

"She knows," Cam lied. She knew how he reacted; she couldn't possibly know how he felt because even he didn't know that.

"At the very least you should go back to the palace."

"Why? So I can live with my son, the King? There's nothing for me in the palace anymore."

Sam pursed her lips in thought. "If you won't go back to the palace then you should go live in your father's old house." The kids had grown up in Sam's house. Hamlin moved in with her before Camden was born, but he couldn't bear to give up his old house. It held a lot of memories he wasn't ready to part with. Samra knew for a fact that he'd be overjoyed to have his son living there; the house would get use again.

"Yeah." Cam's voice was a ghostly whisper. It wasn't a bad idea and it resolved some of his issues. He wouldn't have to sulk about the palace for all of his children to see. Maybe Sora could come live with him in the old house and learn how to be a normal kid.

That was all Sam had to say on the subject. She didn't know if he'd take her advice, but she felt better having said something about it. "Want to breakfast?"

"No," he replied shifting again on the couch. He picked the spell book up again and as soon as his mother left the room he put it back on the shelf where he found it. That afternoon he returned to the palace just long enough to pack his bags and move into his father's old house in Great Spot. As to whether or not he'd talk with Marc or Kat... He wasn't ready to face the truth either way.

A Long-Overdue Visit

Fri, 29 Oct 2010 01:59:13 GMT

Tensions had been understandably high within the palace, since Marcel's confessing to having fathered two of Katrana's children. Kat had been taking her mother's advice and coddling Camden excessively, being sure not to bring it up and to shower him with affection at any and all times. The rumours had begun swirling outside of the palace as well, and it was only a matter of time before the press picked it up and blew everything to hell. Then so much as being seen in public would cause more of a stir than their sudden and unexpected return had.

She had been so busy trying to keep Cam from blowing up that she hadn't even gotten the chance to go to Cadogan Lake and visit Victor. Cam didn't want to see him, after the tale Aiden and Reed had told them. But he was still her beloved little muffin and the poor thing was probably very lonely and confused about what was going on; locked away like that. And she was appalled at Aiden for not supporting his twin through this very trying time. She'd given him a solid browbeating when she had stopped by his new house on the way to CLDF, and collared him to go visit though he clearly did not want to.

You are not the point, she told him flatly. Victor probably wants to see you, and that is why you are going. Poor muffin must be terribly lonely.

Their carriage ride to the Cadogan Lake landing was completed in stony silence, until they reached the security entrance and Kat pushed Aiden through it.

(Log) A talk (Bootes, Zed, Isolde)

Wed, 27 Oct 2010 03:31:05 GMT

Zed sauntered down the street with a big old grin plastered on his face, he wasn't entirely sure if he would find her but he had hit her three other favorites and she was still nowhere to be found. If she wasn't loitering outside her favorite travel shoppe in New Meridian, slung over the stoop and talking to the woman who owned the place, she would be at home. Zed's grin grew when he saw that Bootes was in fact hanging around the shoppe and talking to Isolde. "Oh hey there stranger," Bootes greeted her friend.

"So... you're getting married?" Zed asked leaning against the porch railing.

"Yes! You heard! I was going to tell you but I got entirely distracted by the fact that I'm getting married to Garage!" she tittered on and showed her ring.

Isolde smiled. "She's been going on about mage customs all day. It's surely going to be the best," she lovingly teased her friend.

"Thank you," Bootes said admiring her ring and completely zoning out the fact that her friend was teasing her lightly. "Are you coming?"

"Am I coming?" Zed quirked an eyebrow. Any other day he would have made the obvious joke at Bootes's expense but he had been feeling different about some things; perhaps he shouldn't joke as much with his female friends, perhaps he shouldn't drink before five o'clock in the afternoon. Little things, he told himself.

"To the wedding! Duh!" Bootes shook her head.

"Well duh," Zed smirked. "Of course I am."

"Will you be the one who walks me down the aisle? I was talking to Is, she said father's usually walk their daughters down the aisle. I don't have a dad down here, I only have a Zed, but it's better than nothing right?"

"You want me to walk you down the aisle at your wedding?" he pushed his sunglasses up on his head. "Really?"

"Yeah. Really."

"You don't think of me as a dad right... because that would be weird with you know..."

"Oh stars Zed! Hush! Of course I don't think of you as a father!" she pulled a face. "I just thought..."

"Yes," he interrupted her.

"What?"

"Yes, I will walk you with you at your wedding."

Bootes smiled. "Thank you Zed," she said to her old friend.

"So we both know you didn't come here to buy shit, what were you after?" Isolde grinned, teasing Zed.

"I was actually looking for you two lovelies. I figured I would let you know that I know," he sat down on the step. "Everyone is getting married and having babies. Weird, right?"

"Nah, we're just growing up," Bootes leaned over and put her head on his shoulder. "You smell good... it's clearly catching on," she teased.

Zed laughed. "Don't have kids yet though okay?" he asked jokingly.

"Kids? I don't think I can have kids," she shrugged. She had not thought about it before but she was so happy with Garage that it didn't bother her. "Whatever happens will happen right?"

Zed bumped her shoulder and grinned. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Come on ladies, let me treat you to some lunch."