Never Met a Girl Like You (Emma)

[phrostphyre]

The thing Sean hated about libraries, aside from the smell, was that they were either impossibly large - and thus to damn big to find anything in- or too damn small, and useless to anyone ever. That said, rustling through hundreds of scrolls, was, in his opinion, damned useless, even if it was for Glasiolar. She was perched on the shoulder his plaid wasn't tossed over, nosing across his neck to play in the wool of the fly plaid, chirping happily. Scowling, Sean put the scroll he was looking at back on the shelf, and pulled the next one, even as Glasiolar felt his mood.

She sent a word, What, and then a series of pictures and emotions at him; a picture of himself looking angry and sad at the same time, and then a feeling of wonder. It took a moment for him to understand, and then it hit. Glasiolar was asking why he was upset! Smiling, Sean adjusted his mental barriers and enveloped Glas' in a mental hug, and reached one arm up to rub the top of her head comfortingly.


"I am na' mad at ye, dearest, but simply whoever organized the damn library. I canna find anyt'ing on feeding a wee growing dragon. I may not be looking hard enough, or something, but at this point, I'm willin' ta fight my way out of here. You ready to leave?" Her response, was, predictably enough, poking at his neck. Taking that as agreement, Sean slid the second scroll back, and then turned, kilt swirling about him, and began to pace a different aisle. He chanced a peek through the bookshelf, and nearly stopped dead. He kept going though, thankful for once for the ability to keep marching his time with Broddring had given him.



A pretty librarian, nose in a book? Bouncing, time, Glas'. Sean had read up, a little, on aerial combat. The Riders had a manouver Sean liked; the bounce. Dive from above at speed and from behind, peppering the enemy with arrows or dragonbreath and spell, and watch 'em go down. Well, Sean had done his best to perfect the art of the bounce on land. With nary a care in the world, he grinned at Glasiolar, placed one booted foot on a shelf, and started climbing.



By the time he was finished, Glasiolar had bitten his ear, set his shirt on fire, and bitten his arm. Sean didn't care. He'd had enough of being responsible. Let that be someone else, for once. With a gleeful grin, he leapt from the top of the bookshelf, screeching in Hibernian and using his plaid as a device to catch air and keep him from breaking a bone."Hullo, lassie. I'm Sean, and I'm actually a five-hundred sixty-seven year old druid that worships women. Ye look like ye have na been worshipped properly in quite a while."

[Emma]

“Eeeae oonat’g bnebanlee gnammag!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“U hahok’n bhubohh’thoggot!”
Verbal diarrhoea, indeed. It looked like some fool writer had repeatedly smashed her forehead against the keyboard.
“I’m desperately sorry, but I don’t know what in the blue blazes you’re saying.”

I supposed I shouldn’t have expected the bizarre figure standing in front of me to be able to grasp a human tongue, though. I did consider myself a well-travelled woman, and Ceunon had seen its fair share of exotic foreigners. But the… blob in front of me was more akin to a slug than anything else. A rather dismal grey in colour, it was about seven feet in height and had a perfectly circular mouth full of sharp teeth. Its considerable belly bulged out. I wasn’t sure if it was a portly gentleman or a heavily pregnant lady. Or maybe this strange creature didn’t even have a gender. I was disgusted, yet fascinated at the same time. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like I was able to communicate with it. With a bubbling noise that could have been a groan of disdain, it trundled away, leaving a slime trail in its wake. I gazed after it for a moment, a little incredulous. The most amazing thing? That was one of the few beasts I’d been able to understand. During my time in Sardavar Leed, I had seen sentient wisps, glowing humanoid forms of pure energy, and heard the wind speak. An enormous pregnant slug was something familiar and tangible compared to the other denizens of this town.

But all in all, I didn’t think Vroengard was too bad a place. A bit soggy, perhaps, and the active volcano rather made life difficult, but what an improvement from the mainland.

Maybe somebody else wouldn’t be happy in all this strangeness, but being nobody was too thrilling a feeling. For so many years, I had been the Duchess, the Countess. Everyone knew me before they met me. On Vroengard, I was Rusalka the librarian, and nothing more. On the boat ride here, I had dyed my hair back to its natural blood-red hue. Normally I wore my hair up, in a respectable fashion, but I was so thrilled to have my crimson locks back that I let it flow over my shoulders in waves. Despite the incessant jungle heat, I insisted on wearing a full-sleeved jacket over my corset. It was made of black velvet, and only left my neck and just a hint of cleavage bare, which I decorated with an amethyst necklace. My skirt was full, but drawn back, with most of the elaboration and decoration going into the long train. It was dyed a deep violet, matching my necklace and pointed purple heels. Despite myself, I hadn’t been able to leave all those fine clothes in Ceunon. It wasn’t like I could have given them to Veela, at any rate. Her dresses required twice as much fabric as mine to accommodate her womanliness, and she would have likely torn them up to be more revealing.

My one sadness was Veela and my niece, Euryale. I knew they were safe in Du Weldenvarden. But I didn’t know when I was going to see them again, and that cut me to the quick. Elven grudges could last centuries, even millennia. I had sacrificed more than just my noble title when I had thrown in my lot with the Riders. The thought of them made a lump appear in my throat, but I quickly banished those thoughts from the forefront of my mind. I hadn’t just joined the Riders because I thought they had the ability to lead a true revolution, or that they were so open-minded. I had come here for someone I hadn’t seen in a very long time. And yet, the thought of seeing Mnemosyne filled me with such anticipation and fear that my head swam. I hadn’t even seen her at a distance while I’d been here, and I was somewhat grateful for that. I wasn’t sure how ready I was for a tear-soaked reunion.

And I was forgetting my purpose here. Now that the Riders had lost a staggering amount of books, I needed to scour the bookstores of Sardavar Leed for any copies of particularly treasured texts. I had a particularly long scroll of books the Riders were most interested in, and a considerable amount of money in my pocket. Some light reading would set my mind straight and improve my mood. I continued on my way down the road, purple parasol held above my head. It constantly rained in Vroengard, and I had learned during the first week that it was simply pointless to leave home without an umbrella. Thankfully, all that had occurred today was a light drizzle. There wasn’t too much mist, either, and as I meandered along I found a sign pointing towards a library. I had always had a fondness for libraries, and if one of the books I needed was there, I was sure the owners would be prepared to part with it for a coin or two. I turned up the road and headed towards it. The library was built of stone, well worn from the constant wet, and surprisingly large. Curiosity piqued, I made my way past the iron doors and peered inside. The library was dimly lit, and a few curious figures floated about here and there. But more noticeable was the amount of books- the shelves touched the ceilings in some places, and the aisles were so narrow that people could barely pass through single file.

I approved. I went up to the nearest shelf and gazed up at it, running my hands over the countless spines. Some books were so ancient that the letters were barely legible, others fresh and new with pages that crinkled as I leafed through them. Eventually I found one that looked very interesting- The Buying Game- and plopped myself down in a seat, closing up my parasol and leaning it on the table next to me. The book was about the niceties of bargaining in Alagaësia and provided an interesting spin on the use of wit. I was about fifteen or so pages into it when I heard something. I stiffened, and looked up- and the most bizarre sight today met my eyes. A huge human man- probably at least half a foot taller than I- was leaping down from a bookshelf. He was screaming in some foreign language and had some unusual green blemish on his shoulder. I thought I was being attacked, and kept my back straight against my chair, hiking up my skirt and reaching for my weapon. But when he landed, he just stood there, grinning at me. He was blonde and blue-eyed, unshaven, and dressed in some sort of feminine attire. His shirt was burning, his arm and ear were bleeding, and the green thing was a dragon hatchling, not some strange growth. I sat there with my skirt hiked up and half my arm buried under it, completely clueless as to how I was supposed to react.

“Hullo, lassie,” he said in a prominent Alban burr. “I’m Sean, and I’m actually a five-hundred sixty-seven year old druid that worships women. Ye look like ye have na been worshipped properly in quite a while.”

He spoke in a sensuous voice that was completely at odds with the battle scream he’d emitted just moments ago. And with that, all of my shock and confusion dried up immediately, replaced by a mixture of amusement and annoyance. If there was one thing that would never cease to amaze me, it was the things men did to get attention from women. Human men especially liked to put themselves in the most absurd of predicaments- like jumping off a bookshelf and risking horrid injury or death just to get me to look. I closed The Buying Game and folded it across my lap, eyeing him all the while. I knew Veela had a particular fetish for Alban men. I could see the rough appeal, and the accents were certainly pleasant, but I had to question the mental stability of a man who’d just leaped off a bookshelf. On top of which, he had come right out and announced that he wanted to have carnal relations with me. He was being a terrible role model for that baby dragon of his.

“Hello, Sean. I’m Rusalka, and I am a five-hundred-twenty year old elf that is armed and not amused.” I picked up my parasol and poked it at the human’s smoking shirt. “And I believe you have enough reason to see a physician as it is.”

Words;; 1446
Characters Used;; Rusalka Venali
Muse;; WONDERFUL
Thoughts;; I really like it. =3 I missed Rusalka.

[phrostphyre]

”Armed and aroused? Sweet Nuada’s hand, lassie, that’s erotic. What say you and I find the closest bed an- Gack!?” Being hammered upside the head is never fun. Being hit upside the head with the flat of a short-sword is even worse fun. Choking off a startled cry, Sean took a step back, swore, and reached for his own weapon, the seax hanging at his right hip. Glasiolar looked startled at the flash of minor irritation and pain that came across their link, blinked once, and then shot a puff of smoke at Rusalka. Raising a calming hand up to rest on Glas’ head, he scratched it softly, but kept his right hand firmly on the grip of his seax.

”I sincerely hope ye will nae be usin’ yer wee sword again while I’m in your company, but I assure ye, love, I’ll nae be lettin’ myself be hit again.” Sean had never been very good with women. He’d never really had the time to develop the skills, what with fighting in one form or another, basically his entire life. Granted, Leilani had been a different experience- but then she’d up and died on him-, after leaving him for some kind of gods damned demon. Whatever it was, it was a bleeding monster, and Sean wished it hadn’t fled and never been heard from again. Sheer Hibernian stubbornness and unwillingness to surrender would have seen the day triumphed, most assuredly in his favor. But- ”In reality, Mistress Rusalka, I’m about thirty years old. I dinnae kennit exactly, but it’s close enough to the truth to serve well enough. For the physician- I’ll be fine, I’ve had worse. Ah, well, that is- Would ye care to accompany me for lunch, Mistress Rusalka?”


Comments: Ahahahaha, puny post is puny at two ninety-one words. >:I

[Emma]

I should have figured that a man who’d just jumped off a bookshelf wasn’t going to listen to logic and reason. If anything, maybe his injuries were horribly deluding his judgment. I was just about to consider showing a little mercy for the poor man when he opened his screamer again. Armed and aroused? I had quite clearly said ‘armed and not amused’. Obviously, his hearing was just as poor as his common sense. But then again, maybe that was all the more reason for me to show a little kindness to him. After all-

“What say you and I find the closest bed an-”

And just what did this peasant think he was doing, speaking to me like I was some makeup-slathered trollop at a tavern? This… necrosed crate of defective tripe obviously had no idea how to treat a proper lady. All of my sympathy vanished, and I could feel several insults vying to be released all at once on my tongue. I still had my arm half up my skirt, so without further ado I closed my fingers around my short sword, removed it, and showed the Alban fellow exactly what I thought of him. I cracked the flat of the blade on his skull before he even finished speaking- not my most civilized moment, but I detested womanizers. The human reacted surprisingly violently, however- his hand immediately went for some sort of large knife at his hip. I held my sword up. The hatchling- who seemed to be very young, as she had not attempted any sort of speech thus far- spat smoke in my direction. I didn’t doubt that had she been older, I would have earned a fireball to the face. I scoffed at this.

“Serves him right. Your Rider has the libido of an escaped convict.”
“I sincerely hope ye will nae be usin’ yer wee sword again while I’m in your company, but I assure ye, love, I’ll nae be lettin’ myself be hit again.” The human stroked the top of his dragon’s hand to calm her down, but still kept his hand wrapped around the hilt of his blade. His tone was serious, but his facial expression suggested confusion. “In reality, Mistress Rusalka, I’m about thirty years old. I dinnae kennit exactly, but it’s close enough to the truth to serve well enough. For the physician- I’ll be fine, I’ve had worse. Ah, well, that is- Would ye care to accompany me for lunch, Mistress Rusalka?”

I was genuinely baffled at the mixture of sugar and ice that was being thrown my way. Everything about his pose suggested that the human was ready for self-defence, and yet he continued to ramble on and then even invite me for a date. I sat there for another moment with my sword half in the air, head tilted, and one eyebrow raised. It was very unusual for me to be so impossibly perplexed twice in one day, and I was growing more and more convinced that this Rider was absolutely out of his mind. My initial reaction was no- why on earth would I want to date a complete stranger and a madman that wasn’t even my species?- but I was suddenly aware that we had drawn something of a crowd. I glanced around myself, and saw a mixture of librarians and readers poking heads around shelves to stare at the two of us. I hesitated, and then realized that saying no would just make even more of a scene. I rather liked this library, and I didn’t want to end up permanently expelled before I even had a chance to properly browse its contents. I gave a long-suffering sigh and laid my sword across my lap, placing my head in my hands.

“Oh, bloody… I am a bit peckish, so lunch sounds positively marvellous.” I couldn’t resist one note of sarcasm. “What was your name again? Sean? I should let you know that I could eat you into bankruptcy.”

Words;; 666. Heh.
Characters Used;; Rusalka Venali
Muse;; Nooooooooooot bad.
Thoughts;; Sorry for teh wait. >.<