05.08.08
A bit of randomness.
The madman aimed the gun. Kathleen unsheathed her knives and prepared to jump at him.
A thin stream of white-hot flames shot past her ear, roasting the madman before he could squeeze off a shot. Kathleen blinked and turned.
Dr. Cain stood behind her, coughing slightly. He clicked his tongue, then said, “What no one tells you is that your mouth tastes like a charcoal briquette for hours afterwards.” He coughed again.
Kathleen stared, then dug around in her pocket and wordlessly handed him a peppermint.
Detective Jones stuck her head out of the car’s window. “I don’t want to know how you know what a charcoal briquette tastes like.”
Cain stuck his tongue out at her, popped the mint in his mouth, and walked off, hands in his pockets and nose in the air.
04.10.08
The Kiss.
Ashmedai slid one hand around the back of Nathan’s head, pulled him forward, and kissed him deeply.
After a minute, he pulled back. “You’ve been watching me all evening. The least I deserve after that kind of ogling is a kiss.” Ashmedai grinned. “And you’re not a bad kisser, either.”
“It’s hard not to watch you when you want to be watched. And I wasn’t ogling you. I’m glad the kiss was up to your standards, though.”
Ashmedai’s grinned broadened, then softened, and he kissed Nathan again. “It’s too bad I never met you until after you were married,” he said, running a fingertip gently over Nathan’s earcuff. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who’ll sleep with anyone else now.”
“Unfortunately not,” Nathan said, gently pushing the other man back. Ashmedai smiled again, bowed slightly, and melted back into the crowd.
Nathan turned around. “Enjoying the show?”
“Don’t get snippy with me. I wasn’t the one kissing someone other than my husband. And yes, I was.” Ekion grinned. “Too bad you weren’t up for more.”
Nathan stared at his husband for a long time. “It scares me to say this,” he said slowly, “but you’re starting to sound like my mother.”
“I am not!”
Nathan grinned.
The End.
Nathan steeled himself and rapped on the door. It swung open before he’d even finished knocking.
“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Dr. Cain said, ushering him in. The Pendragon looked much the same as always, though she’d cut her hair and was female today.
The two stared at each other for a long moment, then Dr. Cain folded her arms. “You told me decades ago that you needed to speak to me sometime. I am assuming this is that time, so speak.”
Nathan opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Something dark deepened Dr. Cain’s black eyes. “Whatever it is, it must not be good, else you would not have waited until after you abdicated to come tell me. What is it?”
“It’s about your son.” Nathan’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Dr. Cain froze.
“He set off on a quest, intending to find something and bring it back home. He died on the return trip, but he succeded in his quest.” Nathan reached into the pocket of his overcoat and removed a small cup. It fit easily into Nathan’s hand and was made of a paper-thin crystal that caught the light.
Dr. Cain said nothing, but her eyes never left the cup.
The silence stretched.
“Why bring this here?” Dr. Cain said, her voice low.
“Your son set out to find it for you. Seeing that you got it is the least I can do.”
“The least you could do?” Awan hissed, and then realization hit her like a bolt of lightning. “Galahad was in the city you destroyed.”
Nathan bowed his head, still holding out the Grail. Mordred Pendragon took it, looked in its depths, and smiled.
Visiting.
She first stopped by to see him on a whim. The consummate host, he’d ushered her in and spent the evening talking to her, and he’d never once pushed her on the reason for her visit.
Which was good, because she had no reason to give him.
And she had no more of a reason the next time, or the time after that, until eventually the weight of all those evenings before became the reason.
She rather liked visiting him. She never had to think of something stylish to wear; he would not have batted an eye if she’d shown up naked. And for his part, he’d started leaving the door open for her, and asking after her if she didn’t stop by. She thought maybe he liked her visits, too.
So she swung by again almost on instinct; her feet often took her along the familiar path of their own accord. She knocked gently and opened the door. He raised his head as she slipped inside. “It’s me,” she said quietly, and he nodded, rising to usher her over to the fireplace.
She wondered what it felt like, for him, to touch a person who was not quite a person.
His hand trailed gently down her arm, and he raised her hand to his face, giving it a breathy not-quite-kiss before releasing her. He smiled faintly and sank back into his chair.
Oh.
Their conversation, like her feet earlier, headed down familiar paths. He asked about her day; she asked about his. Back-forth, back-forth, like a dance that both partners knew too well.
…Ah.
She tapped the table lightly, mildly surprised that she felt it today. He hmmmed to himself, head bowed over steepled fingers.
She wondered who would break the pattern first. They took turns bringing up unusual topics; she was fairly certain it was his turn this time.
The silence was broken only by the clock chiming ten.
Maybe it wasn’t his turn after all.
“It’s late,” he said.
“Yes,” she replied, rising and crossing to stand before him, touching his face softly before she could lose her nerve.
He caught her wrist and rose in one smooth movement, standing close enough that their bodies barely brushed.
“Despite all of our time spent getting to know each other, I never have figured out whether you prefer men or women,” he said, each word a teasing puff across her cheek.
There was only one answer she could give, really. “You pick,” she said, as emphatically as her distracted mind would let her.
His eyes burned green, and he went still and stared at her for a long moment.
She just looked back.
And then he nodded and pressed against her for a brief kiss before winding one of her long black curls around his finger and tugging her back into the bedroom.
On the Arch.
“I figured I’d find you here,” Arawn said. “Do you come up here every day?”
Cain glared at him. The wind, pesky thing, blew his hair in front of his face and ruined the effect.
Arawn ambled up beside Cain and turned to look out over Glass Washington, his hands in his pockets. The mosaic had sunk into geometric abstractions for the evening; far below, the other lights went about their business, ignoring the two figures standing on the Arch. Neither of them spoke for a long time.
Finally, Cain spoke. “I wonder what would happen if I jumped.”
Arawn turned towards him slightly, his eyes glinting green. He said nothing.
“Can we die here? I don’t think anyone’s managed it yet, but I don’t know everything.”
“You still haven’t found yourself yet, have you.” It wasn’t a question.
“It is so obvious?”
“It is, especially when you retain a name you hate.”
“I hate all my names.”
Arawn turned to face the smaller man. Cain’s black eyes remained fixed on the city below.
“You’ve never been able to see yourself as anything other than a born traitor, have you?”
That wasn’t a question, either. Cain refused to answer it. A gloved hand gripped his chin and forced him to look at the other man.
“You’re forgetting the simplest of choices, my friend. This or not this. You don’t want to be a traitor? Choose not to be. You can work on the rest later.”
Cain was doing his damndest to avoid Arawn’s eyes. The Fool raised his other hand and gently brushed back Cain’s red hair.
“You weren’t always a traitor,” Arawn said softly. “In fact, I can remember one life in which you most certainly weren’t.”
Cain straightened, then met Arawn’s now-rose eyes. Hesitation came and went, and then they kissed.
Kaela backed away from Arawn and smiled softly. “I still need to think about things.”
Arawn gave an answering smile that said, I know, and the former Dr. Cain turned away from the man who was once her husband and came down from the Arch.
The Fool watched her light up as she went.
A Conversation in Bed.
Josephine squirmed a little as she settled against her new lover’s chest. One of his hands reached up to toy with her hair.
“So, Dr. Cain…”
He sighed. “Josephine…”
She smiled. “Sorry, Ashmedai. Did you ever sleep with my cousin?”
Ashmedai’s hand stilled so suddenly that it was almost painful. “What?”
“I think it’s a straightforward enough question,” Josephine said innocently. “Francis does seem like your type. One of your types,” she amended as he spluttered.
“Well?” she asked, when he showed no signs of answering.
“…Yes,” Ashmedai muttered, as if he wanted her to miss it.
“Was he good?”
It was amusing, watching unflappable Dr. Cain blush.
Josephine began to play with the end of Ashmedai’s braid. “And which did he pick, anyway?”
“…Right. That conversation’s over.”
“Oh, so that’s how it was. You must have a great deal of stamina.”
Ashmedai seemed to be trying to swallow his tongue. They lapsed into silence.
“How about Professor O’Neill?”
“What brought this on?”
“You have a reputation, you know. Can’t blame a girl for being curious. The professor?”
“She’s asexual, Josephine.”
“Not that that stopped you from trying, hm?”
Ashmedai was blushing again.
“First time she threw her mug at you, then?”
He seemed fascinated by her hair. “No, actually. The phone book. I still think it was a hint.”
“And then there’s that ambassador.”
Ashmedai went pale. “Josephine…”
“So did you ever actually sleep with him, or did you stop at that rather public kiss? I don’t know that I’d've had the guts to kiss a man in front of his husband and the local gentry…”
“Josephine…”
“It was very sexy, though.”
“…Can we please drop this line of inquiry?”
Josephine was silent for a moment. “Into your sexual history, or into your sexual history with Nathan Thaziazhsta?” she asked, dark eyes sharp.
“Both?” Ashmedai suggested.
“He’s the one that got away, isn’t he?”
It was Ashmedai’s turn to be silent. Josephine gently rubbed his side.
“More like the one I never had.”
A wicked grin was all the warning Josephine had. Before she could do more than squeak, Ashmedai had her pinned to the bed. “Shall we talk about you now?” he inquired.
Well, if that’s the way he wanted to play it, fine by her. “Sure,” Josephine said, in as chipper a manner as she could.
Ashmedai blinked.
“Before you ask, I have never lusted after my cousin…”
A Visit by an Aunt.
“So, Dr. Cain, when did you get your eyes fixed?”
Ashmedai jumped and spun to face the woman leaning against the wall. “I thought I locked that.”
“You did. I unlocked it. It wasn’t hard. Stop glaring at me like that, nephew.”
“I’m not your nephew anymore, Morgan.”
“Not this incarnation, no. You’ve been reborn how many times since then? What do you do, kill yourself off every half a century for a new, youthful body?”
“I’m not you, Morgan.” Ashmedai turned back to his desk.
Morgan’s mouth twisted. “You never did answer my question, Mordred. When did you get your eyes fixed?”
“What makes you think I wasn’t simply reborn with working eyes?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Morgan said from right behind Ashmedai. She grabbed his hands and turned them palm-up. “If it were that easy, your hands should be healed, too.”
“That’s different,” Ashmedai said, not meeting Morgan’s eyes.
“Or I was right.”
A sudden surge of power pushed Morgan out into the hallway. The office door closed behind her, then fused into the wall.
“Someone feels threatened,” Morgan muttered, sitting up. She rubbed her head and clambered to her feet.
“I was right!” she yelled through the former door, before turning and skipping off down the hall.
12.30.07
Grail Castle.
He really hated the south of France. Fucking Pyrenees.
Dr. Cain scrabbled up another cliff, his head pounding from his magically-induced eyesight. He barked his shin on an outcropping, cursed, and kicked it again just out of spite. It hurt his toe, but it made him feel better.
Times like this, he wished he’d never been given the ability to make his eyes work. Then he could’ve told Francis to fuck off.
Dragon talons did come in handy for scaling mountains, though. Dr. Cain wheezed out a laugh. Kathleen had told him he climbed like a gecko. Not strictly true, but amusing nevertheless.
Dr. Cain pulled himself onto what was more or less the mountaintop and curled up in the brush, blending in seamlessly. Being able to turn “green as spring grass”, as his brother had put it, had moments of usefulness.
All in all, thought the scientist, he had too many useful traits. If he were more boring, he’d never have been sent on this damn fool errand.
He poked his watch irritably. “Francis.”
The watch twitched. “What?”
“Why am I breaking into your family’s ancestral castle, again?”
The watch sighed. “Because I’m holding your laboratory hostage.”
“Besides that.”
No response. Dr. Cain poked the watch again. “Francis. If you don’t tell me exactly what’s going on, I’m going to jump off this mountain and go home.”
“Most people ask before they leave, you know,” Francis muttered irritably. “And I told you. Something weird’s up there. I don’t know what, and I can’t exactly scale a mountain, and I don’t exactly trust the rest of my family to check it for me.”
“That’s really a sad commentary on your family,” said a third voice as its owner hunched down next to Dr. Cain.
Dr. Cain promptly punched him.
Or tried to, anyway. The stranger ducked back and got to his feet in one smooth motion.
Something tugged at the back of Dr. Cain’s mind.
The man twitched his disheveled robe straighter, ran a hand over his cropped white hair, and half-grinned down at the green man.
“So, Mordred, has anyone ever told you you climb like a gecko?”
