Sunday, November 29, 2009

Sunday Sketch

Creatures galore. Creatures are good.

And a chaos star.

I'm kind of fond of the froggy/dog/thing in the center.

Friday, November 27, 2009

Soon I Will Be Invincible

New blog chain over at AW; book reviews. Now I can prove that I read as well as write. 8P

Lost Wanderer went just before me, reviewing Night. And Vein Glory comes up next. The entire chain is shown after my post.


Soon I Will Be Invincible by Austin Grossman is one of the funnier books I've ever read. The point of view changes between Dr. Invincible and Fatale, the bad guy and the good girl. Both points of view are told in first person, but Grossman does a fantastic job with the voice, keeping it from being too confusing.

Dr. Invinicible is an evil genius, and his super power is his intelligence. He creates great tools, great plans, but ends up foiled because he is too cocky, and has some weakness the good guys can exploit. Yet he is never truly beaten, and always finds a way to go again.

Fatale is a down-on-her-luck cyborg, no longer able to find jobs to support her upkeep. She finally makes it big, and gets a chance to join The Champions. The Champions are an elite group of super heroes who must now find a missing member. Everyone suspects Dr. Invincible, as he's just escaped prison.

That is simply the beginning of the plot, and only the surface of the story. There is so much to the characters, and much monologuing by Invincible. There are stereotypical comic book heroes and villains, and definite references to characters that already exist.

Grossman also seems to have been influenced by The Watchmen, as there is a human side to all the characters. There are drawbacks to their powers that aren't addressed in standard comic books. Like Fatale having problems getting on planes because of how much metal is in her body. Or the young enhanced girl who needs constant presciptions to combat that damage the enhancements do to her.

It's a brilliant and neat story, with great one liners. It's not just for comic book fans, and I think people who dislike comic books might actually get a bit of enjoyment out of it. There is something for almost everyone to like.

Morgan Chronicles

I didn't stop getting dressed, though his question rocked me. "What do you mean by that?"

Kurlog rose to his knees, hands on his hips. "What else could I mean?"

My shoulder twinged, and I gritted my teeth against ethereal pain. I decided this was going to get annoying. Sex with the warrior - the former Chaos Lord - had at least put it from my mind for a while. "You're saying Steven's an agent of Chaos?"

"Not just an agent. Full on Lord, with all the powers, and" - he chuckled - "responsibilities that come with that title." Kurlog stood up, relaxed and smiling. "He told you his name was Steven?"

I felt better now that I was dressed, and tried to relax. "That's the name the people I rescued him from were calling him. It's possible it's not his real name."

"Of course it's not his real name." Kurlog was stretching, muscles playing under scarred skin. "No Chaos Lord gives his real name, and they keep changing their given names."

"So what's wrong with Steven as a name?" I subtly looked around for an exit, using all my senses in the hunt for an escape. Maybe following the strange voice in my head hadn't been such a good idea.

"Nothing. It's just so...well, so mundane."

"You mean human?" There were no doors, no windows, not even a chimney. I damned Chaos magic, and wondered what Steven was up to. Was he trying to find me, or had he moved on?

"That too." The warrior tied hi kilt back on, then shook his hair back over his shoulders. "So, now that I've gotten a taste of your delights, shall we get you back to your little boyfriend."

I suddenly felt cheap and tawdry, like I'd been some desert traded around the table. "He's not my boyfriend," I snapped petulantly.

Kurlog tipped his head, quirking an eyebrow. "Really?" He stayed quiet for a moment. "If you insist."

The warrior held out a hand, and I reluctantly came to take it. Steven wasn't coming here to get me, and I couldn't get out on my own. Kurlog disconcerted me, but I'd been fine with him until I knew he was a Chaos Lord. Pushing aside pyschological qualms, I took his hand. "So you know where Steven is?"

Kurlog held my hand, pulling me close. Energy stirred around us, and my shoulder ached in response. Definitely annoying. "I've known where the two of you have been ever since you first arrived. It's my stretch of Between, and I know where everyone is at all times."

"So what's Steven been up to?" We were travelling, dimensional walls brushing against us, the stir of magic making me a little quesy.

"Fighting off the humans."

"Did you send help?" We must have been close to our destination, because I felt gravity and solid mass again.

"No. Why would I?"

I bit my lip, wanting to curse the Chaos Lord out. But he was technically a Gray Lord, which technically made him my boss. So I forced myself to remain civil. "Because I just rescued him from a bad place, and we came here by accident, and I don't think he knows who he is." Not that I knew exactly who I was.

Whatever Kurlog might have said was cut off by our arrival. We were on the street I'd left from, though it was hard to tell beneath signs of battle and devastation. Builings smoldered, the asphalt was cracked, lights out. Bodies lay broken everywhere, the smell of burnt meat stinging my nostrils.

I stepped away from the tall warrior, stunned, looking for Steven. How much trouble would I be in if I lost the guy I was supposed to rescue? "What the hell happened?" My voice was low, but shrill. I couldn't comprehend what I was seeing.

Kurlog was chagrined, and shuffled around with his hands limp at his sides. "Guess I got a little distracted by you."

Spinning, I couldn't restrain myself. "Gee, you think?"

Before our argument could continue, a dragon roared overhead.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Grrr at people

So, I deleted my "woes of customer service" blog. Just didn't have the gumption to keep it up any more. Instead, I'll just post my occasional complaint here. 8P

Mostly, I wish people would act the way the expect to be treated. Like, paying attention to the call, not chewing or breathing heavy into the phone, being nice, and so on. Not freaking out, and being patient. I mean, a customer would have a conniption if I made them wait so I could chit chat with my co-workers. But I have to wait patiently for them when they do the same thing.

Everyone seemed to be bitchy today. Aggravating. I even had a doctor who thought he could get his way by dropping f-bombs and insulting me. That sure shows how educated and intelligent he was.

When I have people like that, I desire phone spiders to unleash upon them. Best Aqua Teen invention ever.

Morgan Chronicles

His comment really should have bothered me. My body tried to react,
and I stiffened briefly. Kurlog's strong arms kept me locked against
him, and the hint of panic subsided. "Why would you create them?"

"That's what one does in a war." He had another flagon of drink
brought over, and I drank again.

Gasping, my head reeling from the alcohol, I sat up, watching the
feast spread before us. "And who are you at war with?"

Kurlog ran a hand along my spine, causing me to flush. He wasn't bad
looking, but I didn't have time for dalliances. I kept my eyes averted
as he spoke. "Anyone I choose to be." He chuckled at some private
joke. "But currently I'm at war with humans trying to claim this
stretch of Between, and a dragon who would do the same."

"Why not let them have it?" I slumped in his arms, limbs numb,
strength fading. The warrior's stroking hand became more insistent,
my skin pebbling as I started reacting.

"Because it's mine. I was here first, and they can't have it." Some
of his feasting men started brawling, and we watched them for a few
moments. "The dragon wants to burn it all, bring this slice of
Between into an actual realm. The humans"-he shuddered in
disgust-"want to settle here, find a place free of gods and powers."

"Silky humans."

Kurlog's mouth nuzzle my ear. "So disdainful."

"Aren't you?" I asked breathlessly. A moan escaped me, my
inhibitions melted by the alcohol.

"Just a little. But I find them fun." He nipped the back of my
shoulder, and I writhed. There was no denying him, and an hour passed
in passionate embracings. Kurlog wasn't very imaginative, but I was
too inebriated to care.

But I wasn't so inebriated I didn't have fun. Having sex with the
warrior was enjoyable, and it relaxed me. The drink's effects wore
off, sobering me slowly. My shoulder ached, but I wasn't bothered by

I lounged in Kurlog's arms, sipping at something cold and
non-alcoholic. "Feeling better?" he asked. We were both covered in
sweat, but neither of us made the effort to get up and bathe. The fur
rug we rested on was delightful to the touch, and I wasn't leaving
anytime soon. Despite my duties.

"Sure am," I replied, watching the feast. The brawlers had finished
sometime during our sex, and were getting drunk as they made up.
"Another one of your creations?" I asked, changing the subject.

"A Chaos Lord has to have fun." Kurlog traced a scar on my thigh, and
my blood ran cold.

"Chaos Lord?" My voice wouldn't rise above a whisper. Chaos Lords
were champions of the wild forces of the universe, wielding their
power without care or concern for others. Chaos Lords were dangerous,
and I'd been taught to avoid them at any cost.

"Well, former. I got bored of the rest of the crowd, and decided to
try Balance for a while." Kurlog's eyes twinkled. "I never knew how
much fun it could be."

I shuddered. "So you're a Gray Lord who kills his own kind? That's
even worse."

Kurlog quirked an eyebrow. "I was just joshing you. I've never
killed a Gray servant." He smirked. "And I'm not exactly a Gray
Lord." I pulled away when he tried to touch me again. "What got you
so messed up?"

I sat up, still chilled. "I don't like Chaos Lords."

Kurlog frowned. "Really? You don't?"

Shaking my head, I started reaching for my clothes. Being naked next
to Kurlog suddenly seemed like a bad idea. "Something about Chaos
Lords upsets me."

"Then why are you travelling with one?"

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Sunday Sketch

Doodles from work. Just part of it. Random things I was doing during calls.

Saturday, November 21, 2009


I love the animals in my life. And I love seeing wild ones doing their thing.
The broken raven is still doing well. Went a couple of weeks without
seeing him, and I got worried. Saw him twice is two days, and
immediately felt better. I'm still really bummed he can't fly, but I
love that he's too spirited to die.
Saw a hawk yesterday, eating a pigeon. It was a big hawk, definitely
not a falcon, and it was happily chowing down. The amazing part: it
was on top of a 7-eleven eight miles into town. I've seen a couple
hawks near my house, but I live near open desert, and a bird preserve.
It was awesome to see her in the city.
My snake appears to have vision problems. Whenever her face gets wet,
Flash rubs her eyes like she has eyecaps stuck. But I check every
shed, and it's always clean. Poor thing is apparently a casualty of
the puppy-mill style snake breeders. Obviously some fresh genetics
were needed in her line. I wouldn't mind, but it makes her scared of
large food, and she won't eat what scares her. I wasted a lot of
hoppers figuring that out. 8( But she's getting some live feeders
right now, so she's a happy little hunter. When she grows up, I'll
probably get her a garter snake so she can be the King snake she is.
Mackey is getting his winter coat. He's so soft and fluffy. Ginger
actually looks slimmer, but he always had a thick coat. They're frisky
as the cold comes on.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Morgan Chronicles

Kurlog was huge. Broad shoulders, barrel chest, forearms as big as my
thighs. His hair was thick, a deep red, and decorated with braids and
finger bones. Scars marked his body, signs of a rough life.

Gulping, I managed to tear my eyes away from his sword. "Kill my kind?"

The warrior laughed heartily, closing the gap between us. "Yes. All
you little Balance-loving pansies. Can't pick a side, think you're
better than the rest of us."

He'd be within striking distance soon, so I took several hurried steps
back. "Balance IS a side," I rebutted, keeping my eyes on him even as
I stumbled through quarrelling hounds.

Kurlog paused, tipping his head. "Go on. I would hear this."

Quelling my nervousness, I did my best to frame my rioting thoughts.
The pain in my shoulder didn't help. "Balance is a combination of
Chaos and Order, not the lack of them. It embodies both forces,
blending them, making them something new."

He stepped forward, and I stepped back. "What about the Gray Lords
who remain neutral? They're all null and void and empty." Firelight
gleamed on his short sword.

I shrugged. "That's the way some handle it. Not every Order Lord is
about strict control and bland similarity. Not every Chaos Lord plays
at destruction and randomness." Kurlog took another step, and I found
my back at a wall. "Even choosing to be neutral is a choice. It is
it's own side to the forces of the universe."

My stomach plunged when Kurlog took two long steps, sword raised,
bearing down on me. The sword plunged into the wooden wall behind me,
and the warrior scooped me up in beefy arms. The movement sent fiery
pain from my spirit wound, blocking anything I might have felt from
the kiss he stole.

I was breathless when he put me down, barely able to stand as he
laughed heartily. "Do you know how long I've waited for someone to
finally say that?"


Kurlog took my hand, guiding me back to his throne. "Every minion of
the Gray Lords I find, I put the same question to them. Most of them
are pathetic little things. They don't realize there is a choice."

"So you kill them?" My shoulder continued to burn, and sweat beaded
on my forehead. "Just for not answering a stupid question?" I wanted
to sit down, take a moment to catch my breath. I thought I could even
relax around the crazy warrior.

"It's more like culling the herd." Kurlog sat, pulling me into his
lap. I was reminded of being a little girl dandled on my father's
knee, but no direct memory rose with it. I ignored the awkwardness,
and let my body sag against his chest.

Kurlog was surprised, stiffening briefly. He touched my face, and I
whimpered slightly as the pain in my shoulder grew. "Are you all

"I was wounded on my way to this dimension," I replied. "My companion
healed the physical damage, but he said my spirit was still broken."
A shudder travelled my spine, and I winced again.

"Doesn't that just suck?" he asked, the humor in his voice subdued for
once. "I'm no healer, but I have some strong liquor. It should keep
the pain at bay."

I nodded, Kurlog's beard tickling my face. "That would be nice." A
wench drifted over with a flagon. Kurlog helped me sit up, an arm
around my waist, and I drank deeply. The liquor was cold, almost icy,
and my teeth ached while I drank. It hit my gut like a fist,
immediately draining the pain from my shoulder.

"Oh, that hit the spot," I said, sagging in his grip. I giggled, my
shoulder not bothering me for the first time since I'd gotten here.
"It's almost as good as being healed."

"But it's not healing you. And it's get you good and drunk." The
warrior kept his arms around me, making me feel safe. "There are
parasites in this region that will latch onto you if they find you.
Broken souls are yummy to them."

"How do you know?" I asked dreamily.

"Because I created them."

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Morgan Chronicles

The bluntness of his words took me aback. I just blinked, feeling
stupid. I knew half of what he said, but the other half was nonsense.

Steven's brow creased with concern. "I know it's a lot to hear at
once. I'm sorry, but we don't have a lot of time for me to take it
easy." He rose, offering me his hand. "We must start moving if we
wish to remain safe."

"That sounds ominous," I replied as I rose. The throb in my shoulder
flared briefly, dimming my vision, but I pushed it back. "What's so
unsafe about here?"

We started walking before he answered. "Those who dwell Between are
usually crazy, gifted with bizarre powers, and are always dangerous.
It doesn't go well for outsiders."

I rubbed at my shoulder. "It doesn't look like there's anyone here."
We'd left the alley for a wide thoroughfare. No vehicles, no people,
no animals, no signs of life. Windows were blank, sidewalks were
clean, and sodium lamps lit the street every twenty yards. "It looks
like a model," I mused.

"That's how they want it." The young man went on alert, his eyes
darting everywhere. His nervousness didn't transmit to me, and I
continued blithely strolling along the sidewalk alongside the healer.
Steven said nothing further, giving me a few moments to dredge through
my memories.

I knew my name was Morgan, and I knew I worked for the Gray Lords of
Balance. But I didn't who Steven was. I was supposed to be somewhere
with him, so it was likely I was returning him to my bosses.

Rubbing at my collarbone again, I tried to recall how I got hurt.
Steven said I'd been hit when we changed planes. I'd never been hit
while shifting before, that much was certain. I hadn't even known it

Vertigo filled my head with light and chimes, making me stumble.
Steven grabbed me, kept me from falling. I trembled in his arms,
unable to speak. From a great distance I heard Steven calling my

There was no way to answer. Nothing past basic motor skills would
function. I tried to scream, but my throat was frozen. Not even a
twitch. I walked with Steven, my feet moving as they should, my
nerves feeding me all the input they could, but I couldn't do a thing
about it.

A presence pinged my shields, resonating behind my eyes, setting off
another wave of vertigo. I lost awareness of anything outside my
head. I might. Have collapsed, I might have kept walking with Steven.

Compared to what was happening in my mind, falling seemed irrelevant.

"You look tasty," the presence said. He pressed against my shields,
forging a link with me. No vertigo this time, no pain. Just a
sensation of being examined.

"Who are you?" I snapped. Speaking in my head was easier than I'd
thought, and I knew then that I'd done it before. One of those
tidbits buried in the back of my head. Was I always like this,
popping up with random facts.

"Kurlog the Red. Who are you?" His voice was rough, deep, with just
a hint of laughter. He was impertinent, but not demanding. Hunger
and humor crept through the link we shared. Kurlog was better at
telepathy than me, and took more information from me than I got from

If I'd done this before, surely I could do it again. "I'm Morgan, and
I work for the Gray Lords."

My mental voice echoed through the link, making its way to Kurlog,
wherever he was. I became intent on his presence, focused my entire
being on him. Something shifted, and my spirit plunged through the

I cried out, finding myself in a fire-lit hall, hounds fighting over
bones, wenches serving drink and food, warriors laughing and
feasting. No one noticed my entrance, didn't bother to glance my way.
Narrowing my eyes, I looked around, attempting to puzzle out my

"you're in my hall, Gorgeous." The voice was familiar, full of
laughter. I turned, meeting the first gaze since I'd arrived. He
cracked a broad smile behind a thick red beard. High cheekbones
guarded twinkling eyes, cutting sharply against the flesh of his

"Kurlog the Red," I said, resting hands on my hips.

"Morgan of the Gray Lords," he replied, rising from his throne. I
stared up at seven feet of leather kilt wearing warrior, still confused
by recent events. "I'd have killed less of your kind if I'd known
they were this beautiful." Kurlog laughed, drawing his sword.

How the hell did I get out of here?

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Sunday Sketch

The problem with not having a scanner is that I have to trace these large images in with my tablet, and my tablet is not as big as a piece of paper. (I will gladly accept donations of a Wacom Cintiq o,.,o )

So it ends up stretching and warping an otherwise straight sketch. Like this poor guy.

When I first sketched him, using up most of an 8 1/2 by 11 sheet of paper, he was straight, narrow, and long. He looked decent in the sketch.

Translated through the tablet, he looks pretty lame.

The little eyes beneath were something I sketched out after I finished my tracing session. That's much more how the original looked. I'd had to think I could get a freehand face that crooked after all the years I've been drawing.

Friday, November 13, 2009

I made it....

...I made it, I made it, imadeitimadeitimadeit!
*bounces off walls*
I'm so psycho high ecstatic. I'm dancing a mental jig. I'm an
adorable bobbleheaded writer.
All Hallows Blood is going to be published through Crescent Moon Press!
I did it. I can't believe it. I'm high, but almost disbelieving
today. Just a tiny voice that thinks maybe it was a big joke, and the
editor's going to email back "psyke!". Then I think about it again,
and I just squee again.
My old man is calling me his little bobbleheaded writer. Everytime he
brings it up, I start squeeing and bouncing and laughing.
I'm a writer!
Yes, I know I was always a writer, regardless of whether I was
published or not. But now I'm a professional writer!

Morgan Chronicles

"Morgan, wake up." Someone was shaking me, the acid pain in my shoulder driving me insane. I wanted to scream, but my voice caught on the lump in my throat. "We have to get moving."

I shrieked in my head, telling him to leave me alone. I wanted to sink into darkness, to hide from the pain. My thoughts were incoherent, and I couldn't remember why I was here, where I was, or who was with me. I didn't want to care. I just wanted to escape this agony.

Warmth seeped into my shoulder, taking the edge from my pain. I shuddered, gasping, but regained some of my senses. I lay on a hard surface, a rock digging into my back. The air was chill, heavy with moisture, and stank of rotten garbage. Whomever my companion was, they sat against my side, chanting lowly.

Eventually, I could open my eyes. My breath still came in ragged gasps, and I was crying softly. A handsome young man looked down on me, his face lined with concern. He was generating the warmth in my shoulder, his hands just above the broken bone. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah, sorta." I tried to sit up, but the effort sent searing pain through my shoulder, ripping a scream from me. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and I bit my lip.

"Don't move. I haven't finished getting you fixed."

Whimpering, I tried to hold still. Every breath hurt, and my body temperature started fluctuating wildly. His power continued pouring into me, focused on my shoulder, but I couldn't follow what he was doing.

Minutes passed. I faded in and out of consciousness as he worked, my upper arm starting to twitch. Things shifted and crunched, things my mind refused to comprehend in an effort to keep my sanity.

He withdrew his hands, swearing quietly. "What's wrong?" I asked tremulously. I felt like I'd been through the wringer. I needed to sleep for a few years to recover from this.

"It won't heal completely."

I shifted my arm, and it moved freely. Nothing grated, nothing stretched. Other than a throbbing pain, my shoulder felt fine. I told him so, studying his face.

"Physically, yes, it's fine. But Vara hit you right as we shifted, right when your spirit was the most vulnerable. That's what won't heal, what's still causing you pain."

I sat up with minimal groaning, but I hurt like I was still broken. Ethereal pain, if my healer were to be believed. Something in my soul, not my body. "How does that even work?"

"Your spirit and body are tied together. For someone like you, with a great quantity of spirit, there is that much more ethereal substance to damage. My powers are limited on this plane, preventing me from healing that spiritual damage." He frowned, clearly concerned, and laid his hand over mine. "I apologize, Morgan. You deserve so much better than this."

The pain was down to an arthritic ache, constant, but not sharp and distracting. Something I could live with for a while. I stretched, testing my shoulder, wincing as the ethereal wound shot pain down to my fingertips. I could live with it so long as I didn't push myself. I'd do my best to take it easy.

I glanced at my companion, running a hand through my hair. "Not to sound rude," I started, "but who are you, and where are we?"

He tried to keep his face still, but I saw the slight widening of his eyes. "You don't remember?"

"Nope. Everything's a blur. I kind of remember that we're going somewhere together, but that's it." I was beginning to worry.

He sighed, looking away. I studied our surroundings as he contemplated his answer. We were in an alley, brick buildings looming above us, darkness above that. No stars or moon, nothing to prove there was a sky above. The asphalt was dry, and there was no garbage, making me wonder if we were in an uninhabited section. I didn't hear anyone, and there were no lights in any of the windows.

The young man returned his gaze. "I'm Steven. You're Morgan. You work for the Gray Lords, and you're trying to return me to them. We appear to be in a Between Ghetto, and I don't know how we're getting out of here."

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Serial story

I'm very pleased with how the Morgan Chronicles is turning out. I got
bored with the vampire storyline, and am now moving along with a new
plot. Revelations and back story and surprises, oh my.
I finished reworking AHB, so I can finally transcribe the four Morgan
chapters I waiting around. I'm even considering upping the frequency.
I think I can manage to pump out 1400 words a week. Not much of a
writer if I couldn't, actually.
And it's really a great writing exercise. It's like constant practice. And I can just really let my mind go. They way I'm doing Morgan, it's a completely freeform plot. I really don't know where I'm going more than a few posts ahead.
And I cheat. I write up a bunch of chapters, and use Blogger's scheduled post system. Means I don't need to stress to be on every Friday.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Sunday Sketch

Here's an older piece I sketched up. Making a naga-like race, and thinking about what kind of weapons they might have.

Mmmmm, snakeys.

Saturday, November 7, 2009


So, when I undertook touching up All Hallows Blood, I thought I'd just be punching up a little bit of the dialogue, a few descriptions, maybe a scene or two.

Instead, I'm redoing the last third of the book. And that's not counting all the changes I made before that point. It's impressive.

And I thought I wasn't going to participate in NaNoWriMo. Apparently, I am. 8P

Friday, November 6, 2009

November blog chain

It's that time of the month again. Another Absolute Write Blog Chain.

Being November, it's National Novel Writing Month. (I'm not
parricipating, but I am giving All Hallows Blood a serious revamp)
Our blog chain is all about our personal writer survival guide. Aimeelaine went before me, and she had a pretty straightforward list.

I think mine is fairly simple. I really just need my trusty Pirates of
the Caribbean notebook and a pen. With those, I can write anywhere
and everywhere. I write when at work while I'm taking calls. I write
curled up on the floor watching movies. I've written while stuck
riding the bus.

A computer is secondary. I use it only for transcribing my stories
once I'm done with the paper version. It's part of my writing
process, but not necessary. Same with music, or reading, or anything

Viva la pen and paper!

And check out Benjamin's NaNoWriMo progress.


DavidZahir -
shethinkstoomuch -
Lost Wanderer -
aimeelaine -
Ravencorinncarluk -
Bsolah -
Charlotte49ers -
Angyl78 -
truelyana -
Claire Crossdale -

Morgan Chronicles

We were both moody as we entered Vara's rooms. I felt stupid for getting so worked up about deciding to help Martel. It was all pointless. He was just going to die, and his mistress was likely to kill herself as she went insane.

Martel pulled me close to his side as we snuck through a sitting room to Vara's bedchamber. "To disguise your scent," he whispered. Under normal circumstances, this might have been fun. Right now, it just made me more irritable. A spiteful part of myself wanted to push away from Martel just to do it.

But that was really petty. No reason to do so. I bit my lip, allowing the vampire to lead me to my target.

Martel drew a sharp breath as we crossed the threshold. Vara was sprawled in the middle of an enormous bed, hair tangled around her limbs, snoring faintly, blood staining her mouth. Steven perched at the foot of the bed, chin on his knees, grinning at me. On the floor was a large duffel bag and a stuffed bear.

"You sure did take a while to get," the kid said, hopping off the bed. "I thought I might have to come find you."

There was a subtle difference to Steven's voice. Frowning, I stepped away from Martel, even more confused about the situation. "What is all this about?"

He speared me with adult eyes, and my heart stilled. "We both know I'm not supposed to be here, and you were sent to retrieve me. You lust act quickly if you expect to survive." Steven picked up his stuffed bear, completely at odds with the adult way he spoke.

Martel has moved to Vara's side while the kid spoke to me. The vamp held his mistress in his lap, stroking her face. "What did you do to her?"

Steven gestured at his bag, turning to stare at Martel. "I sedated her so we could make good our escape. She will wake in a few hours with no memory of me or my time here."

Martel's eyes filled with tears. "She won't remember it? The killing, the pain, nothing?"

"Absolutely nothing."

I'd picked up Steven's duffel during the exchange, weirded out by the child-like voice uttering such mature statements. Hell, I was weirded out by the whole experience. I met Martel's eyes, stunned by the hope in them.

"Thank you," he whispered. I couldn't respond, overwhelmed by it all, bur Steven nodded. "Thank you," the vampire said again, crawling across the bed to us. "You have no idea what you've done for us."

"I have an inkling. It was the only way i was going to be able to escape." Steven hugged his bear, tipping his head.

The vampire left the bed, bowing to Steven briefly before coming to me. "You are the greatest thing to happen to me. Thank you." Then Martel pulled me into a kiss.

It wasn't a particularly skillful kiss, but it was passionate and enthusiastic. He nearly overwhelmed me, holding me against him. I liked it, and came out of my dumbfounded shock enough to kiss him back. This was Martel's way of worshipping the angel who'd saved his maker. I could definitely get used to this kind of worship.

"Who the hell is that?" Vara's screech caused us both to jump, Martel pushing me aside. Adrenaline filled my veins at the approach of the angry vampire.

Steven came to my side, taking my hand as he stared at the mistress. He trembled, and I wondered if he was thimking about being fed on again. He'd been with her so long, with her addictive bite and his seeming dependence on her, it must be hard to finally make his break.

Vara stomped forward, eyes blazing. "Who is this harlot that would embrace you?" Martel sank to his knees, staring up with adoration. The mistress ignored him, standing directly in front of me.

"Just passing through," I said with a smile. "I'll just get out of your way." Squeezing Steven's hand, I took a step back, feeling dimension walls thin.

She wasn't pleased by my answer, and took a swing at me. Steven and I slipped from this realm just as her fist connected with my shoulder. Bone crunched, and we faded. Pain blinded me, so I didn't see our destination.

I didn't care at that point.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Sunday Sketch

Eyes and jewelry. Jewels are fun too doodle, since I have to rely so much on building up to the dark tones. In Photoshop, it's much easier for me to blend the colors, and adjust as I need to. In pen, I have to plan out the shine and light areas first.

Planning is NOT one of my strong suits.

Also, a strange elven woman face. Wanted to build up something not really human, and doodled her once while listening to a call at work.

And one filigree butterfly thingy. I like filigrees. They're so pretty and delicate and random yet patterned. Is good stuff.