Sid Basking in the afterglow of their passionate lovemaking, Sid lay soft and drowsy tucked in against his side. One arm of his she had pulled over her stomach, the wounds from the Hybrid's claws bringing a slight hissing of breath. It wasn't healing properly. Turning her head, she smiles, half-lidded and smokey. "I guess I should be seein' if'n Bel can be watchin' the bairns. We be 'avin' some places to go, aye?"

Jack Scot Her rasp of pain brought immediate concern and the arm that was hiding the wounds gently pushed aside. Reluctant though he was to move, he wanted to take a closer look at the rends that....thing had given her. The question caught him by surprise. He shifted, turning into her as he propped himself up on one hand. "I thought....I mean, aye. If....that is what you want." He looked her way, his glamour still had not returned. Downy black feathers littered his side of the bed.

Sid One of those feathers was stuck in spider-silk silver hair, just above the point of her left ear. Fingers lifted to trace along his feathered brows, her smile softening with a head tilt that ringled merry and gentle the absent fifty silver bells and nine. "Aye, I be sure. Verra sure. Be ye' Ye wan' to do this" Ye ready?" The Ancient's tone was quiet, and hinted just a touch at nervousness. What if he couldn't handle the entirety of knowledge" What if what she has done" What if he....what if he leaves"

Jack Scot He peered closely at the wounds and took a sniff before looking back at her. One hand rested gently atop them, warm and feathery. "I want to help you, Manon. Help you learn," he whispered.

Sid "Then mayhaps ye should be the one to do ye Tellin', m'love," quietly, her arm sliding back to lift her upper body closer to him. Petal-silk lips capturing his, parting gently. >>I love ye. I trust ye with all I be an' will e'er be, Jack Scot. Tell me o' ye Mysteries. Help me to see.<<

Jack Scot He closed his eyes and melted into her kiss. Erased from him by the gentle glide of her tongue against his, the concern over her wounds so new and fresh still. He breathed her scent and felt two things: The stir in his groin and the desire to induct her into Mystery as he knew it. As it sang through his veins and defined his Spirit. "Manon....all that we are...." The words came breathy and his eyes opened, black and glittering like the night sky full of stars, an abyss of sparkling lights. " ....are dreams."

Sid To leave his side was torture. A mental message was sent to Bel through their link, she wasn't far. Down on the second floor guestroom, she was just awakening. She promised to see to the little ones; thought a trip to the Rhy'Din Zoo might be a fun outing. As soon as that was squared away, the Trueblood allowed herself to sink into the starry depths of the glittering eyes of her Ebon Knight. "Ye be me dream, m'love. A dream I ne'er wan' to come out o'."

Jack Scot He wrapped his arms around her, smiling softly even as his gaze consumed her. "Aye, a right dream you are as well, Manon, but I mean that we are someone else's dream."

Sid Slender arms enfolded him, snugged him up close and tight. Still that gaze held entranced. A sultry, throaty chuckle released. "Someone else's dream, Jack" Ye be soundin" like tha' Shakespeare fellow. O' course, he, too, be a Bard o' great skill."

Jack Scot He gave her another smile. "I do not expect you to believe me, but the Bard had the right of it. Consider this" "

Sid Sid could watch his mouth forever and a year. Her head canted to the right, elflocks chiming like faeries laughing in the breeze.

Jack Scot "Young Suzie grows up in a bad part of town. Her father drinks, beats her mother, and abuses her older sister. It is only a matter of time before her father will look at Suzie in the same way. What does this little girl, who is no older than our own daughter, do?" He did not fail to notice the chime of her bells, neither tinny nor hollow. They were in tune, on key and spoke of the Summer they both shared.

Sid "Well, if'n she be mortal, o' the physical plane...." The Ancient, like many a Trueblood and her kind, had supped upon the dreams, the stories of short-lived mortals. It was a delicacy of the long-lived, of those immortal. A feeding, an energy taken as sustenance. If he was about to tell her that she, her kind, Summer, Jack, the twins, everything she had known in her eons of existence since before the dirt foundation was laid upon this plane was the dreams of mortals" She loved him fiercely, would gladly end her existence to save his in the space of a human's heartbeat, but, frankly, she thought she might burst out into laughter. None of this showed on the pallid features. Though, perhaps, that fox light nestled into silver trues. Maybe a touch, a tinge of incredulousness in husky tones. " ...she be escapin'. Escapin' the only way she be knowin' how at tha' small age. Through her mind. Dreams. Fantasies. Some mortals e'en split within they mind. Some several times o'er."

Jack Scot If anything, the black of his eyes deepened, became something to swallow the stars, to engulf planets; the pull strong enough to envelop planes. "Dreams, fantasies, monsters born of strong emotion, do they disappear when the shade is drawn" The curtain closed" The book slammed shut?"

Sid "I be sayin' nae. But...." Turning so they laid side-by-side again. Sliding an impossibly long leg up one of his, bending her knee and draping it across his thigh. "I also be knowin' o' the tales o' me kind, o' wha' mortals call elves an' faeries. I 'ave read the tomes o' the Olympians an' those o' Asgard. So, do the monsters an' fantasies be real an' mortals make stories to deal with them, or be they born from the tales?"

Jack Scot "Take....Hera, for example." He couldn't help it. Her skin sliding against his awoke his want and need for her. It rose against her thigh. He reached down to pull her leg up higher, forcing her crushingly close. "She is more jealous than I've ever seen a being. She is the woman scorned. How can she stand if she wasn't a mortal's personification of the rigors of Jealousy' Anyone else would be burned alive by such feelings."

Sid She nearly flipped him over and climbed atop him the second he pulled her leg higher, their hips sharply rocking together, feeling his desire hard against her rising heat. But, his words brought a bobbing of her head side to side, silvered brows furrowing in contemplation, thin lips puckering. "This be tha' chicken an' egg thin', aye' Be Hera" Whom I be knowin' - an' ye be right, she be a bitch an' a half. Give Ti a run for her money any day' " A most unladylike snort given. "Be she first, or be the tale o' her first' This be wha' ye be sayin', aye?"

Jack Scot "Her tale was first, Manon." Talon-tipped fingers ran through her silvered locks. "Human cannot accept that they simply are. That is what makes them frail and so very deadly."

Sid "Frail, deadly. Aye." Words were muted and shaded by a million things running through her mindscape. His talons shivered a mournful chiming of absent elflocks. "Nae. If'n wha' ye be sayin' be true, then....Then wha', Scottie" Ye be sayin' tha' ye, tha' I, tha' the twins....Hells, the Celestial cities, all I 'ave known....'Tis nae a thin' but some silly mortal's fantasy' Hades, the Path o' the Dead where the mortals walk after life" All a child's bedtime tale?"

Jack Scot "Things become more complicated than that, as well you know, Manon." He traced her cheek, the line of her jaw with a gentle talon. "Once the story is told, there is no true ending. Ancients fell, Elf-kind born....We gained a life our own, but what happens if the mortal races suddenly cease to believe?"

Sid "But...." Leaning to that touch, flowing with the line of it. This was....not what she had been expecting. In all her time, she couldn't recall anything but the Fall being so hard to wrap her mind about. "But, Jack" Wha' o' those wha' existed afore mortals" Afore the physical" Some o' me kind, some o' yers" An' the Architect' A myth' A legend" A fiction o' some mortal's mind" Whose story birthed the mortals, Jack?" Words came trembly and soft.

Jack Scot He looked into her eyes, deep enough to lose himself, now, in those pools of molten silver. "I don't know," he whispered with a slight shake of his head.

Sid A pale, long-fingered hand slid over his side, up his back until it rested, curled about a great black wing where it met his shoulder blade. If he was falling into the vertigo-inducing depths of her eyes, she was equally as lost in his. "Ye dun know wha', m'love" Who be tellin' the tales to birth the mortals" Or, about those wha' came afore them' About the Architect' Wha', Jack" Ye 'ave to know." Slanted eyes narrowed a bit with these last words. He couldn't just introduce her to something like this and then tell her he didn't know!

Jack Scot He took a long, deep breath and forced himself to close his eyes, to cut the sight of her off so he could think clearly again. Did she even know that one of her names was Distraction' Another breath and he could talk again. "Your Architect is a story. The first One. The One who figured it all out. But who dreamed the mortals" I don't know, Manon. I don't know."

Sid So, there is no difference now for you stay away from my door. You are but a dream, a fiction....A lie. Come to me and forget. Exist in blissful peace. Sid flinched with the intrusion into her mindscape. Being near to her Ebon Knight was usually enough at times like these to be free of such invasion. "God, as some call Him, be a story. A lie. I be....a lie, Jack?"

Jack Scot "No....no, Manon." He gripped her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. "You are real, flesh and blood. Real to everyone around you. The power in mortal dreams is that they do become real."

Sid She was breaking. He could see it in the far distance of those swiftly darkening silver eyes. Arms clung to him, her leg wrapping behind strong thighs and clutching him close, her voice shaky and low. "But, Jack....The Architect formed the physical. There be nae mortals then. An'....An'....An'...." Breath was quickening, her mouth making a twisted opening of high confusion and shock. "Others, m'siblin's, they be created afore mortals. I...." The Ancient just stopped.

Jack Scot "He didn't, Manon." Holding her tight. This was the danger. How could he have been so stupid" She was leaving him. "He lied to you."

Sid A dry sort of breathy chuckle loosed from that open mouth, and then she closed it. Shaking her head fierce, invisibles bells of fifty and nine a clinkingclank like rusted bottle caps. "I ne'er be Graced, Jack. Ye know this!"

Jack Scot His eyes narrowed and he growled softly. He still held her head in his hands. He wouldn't let her look away. "Manon. The Moon was there before him."

Sid He smelled like Scottie. He felt like Scottie, his touch, his eyes, his heat. Every sense of her shell, every sense beyond the physical told her this was her mate. But, in the dark corners of her mind she wondered. Was this the Dragon' Had one of the many enemies acquired finally found a way to steal upon her" Shot-quick, slanted eyes widened near round. Where was the real Jack!" Then, a sigh of relief as she realized the bairns were safe. If the enemy was here with her, they were safe and sound with Bel. All this and more flashed and fired across that enthralling Elvin face and she stiffened against his hold but did not make a move to pull away, yet. "The moon be o' the physical, Jack." Dark threads drove cracks in the swiftly disappearing silver true of her gaze.

Jack Scot He knew he'd lost her and the anguish in his eyes, now dull and starless, as his hands dropped from her cheeks, was real. The glamour stole over him again. Too much. Too soon. He should have never told her. He beat himself as ebon wings faded. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Where was his coat' He'd failed her and he needed to go....he did not know where. "The Physical was there before your Architect." He couldn't keep the bitter edge off his tone. "And you are a Crow's dream."

Sid "An' wha' o' the Mysteries, Jack?" Her tone held an edge to it, too. One that when she said his name hinted she pondered if he truly was who he appeared. "Wha' o' Them' Wha' be They' Ye 'ave jus' tol' me I be a lie. A story tol' nae but to frighten small children, or comfort. A tale to explain the unknown. A fiction written o' all I 'ave e'er known for eons o' existence. But, wha' ye 'ave nae tol' me about be wha' ye supposed to be learnin' me."

Jack Scot "You are real!" He stood and turned to face her. Naked, tension evident in every lean muscle. "Mystery is to be solved, Manon. Puzzled out and thought upon. You wanted the truth behind one Mystery. I gave it to you! Figure out the rest on your own. It's obvious you believe I am the Liar!" He grabbed a pair of rumpled denims off a chair and pulled them on.

Sid Suspicion rang loud throughout her mindscape, egged on by nudgings of the Dragon. Still, as he stood above her, tensed and righteously indignant, her hand reached forth automatically, a plea upon that pallid face. "Jack! Nae!"

Jack Scot He zipped and then glared at her. A feral light shone in the full black of his eyes. She held him there with his fists in a ball and his hair helter skelter.

Sid Up to her knees, that hand falling to the mattress, eyes cast down, she spoke as if from far away. "I....I dun understan'." Boy, wasn't that her lot in recent memory. New challenges since Ber's spell, now this. And, to put the cherry on the frellin' top, he was angered with her!" The Ancient sagged to a ball atop the bedclothes, body facing towards where he stood defiant and flushed with bitterness and....He probably hated her, she thought. She was his dream. Wasn't that what he'd just said" Obviously, she wasn't acting the way he was trying to direct. Whispering very softly, an arm came up to curl about the top of her head, fingers weaving and gripping into the spider-silk silver of her hair. "I jus' dun understan', Jack."

Jack Scot They'd long ago agreed to never apologize to each other but he couldn't help it. He'd failed her. All he wanted was to be hers in every way, to help her, to protect her, to keep the demons and dragons at bay and he'd failed. Despair replaced anger. Frustration the bitterness. "Oh Manon....I'm sorry. I should have...." The image of her like that tore him limb from limb. He was certain he bled all over the floor, a vampire's dream of sustenance, so deep she cut him. He fell to his knees. "I failed you," words choked out softly.

Sid "How could ye be failin' me, Jack" I be nae a thin' but a dream. Ye dream. Jus' write a new one. Be tha' nae wha' ye jus' be sayin'" It all be dream an' so much fantasy, we be nae but breath upon a breeze. Poof." The hand curled about her head brought its fingers to thin, pale lips and made the universal gesture of 'poof,' her eyes back to glamoured blue and staring at nothing. "Dun blame yeself, me only love....For, ye still be me love, ye know. Seems a dream can hol' to somethin', aye' Nae, dun blame yeself. 'Tis I be the one failin' ye. I be nae the dream but the nightmare, it seems."

Jack Scot He stared at her a moment and then rolled his eyes. "Nay a nightmare, lass. A drama queen." He tapped her nose. "Look at me, Manon."

Sid Slow blinks, moonwhite lashes drifting to the apples of oh-so pale cheeks. One. Two. Three. Magic-hued irises pull back from where she'd gone and focus, finally, on his face above the edge of the bed. The tone of her words was eerie in the calm. Like that one right before the driving storm, the eye of a hurricane. "Aye, Jack?"

Jack Scot "No one can blink you away. I didn't tell you this to make you doubt yourself. You do enough doubting. I told because....It's what I live with everyday and....it's lonely, Manon. I was selfish and lonely."

Sid Those eyes widened again, silvered brows rising to the flutter of whisper bangs. Both arms reached for him. "Oh, Jack. How do ye exist knowin' it all be lies" Nae a thin' real?"

Jack Scot Her arms too inviting to keep him on his knees, he climbed onto the bed and let her envelope him. "But everything is real, Manon. You are real. I am real. It doesn't matter how we started."

Sid She was ragdoll loose against him as her arms slithered about his waist and back. Her head came to rest on a lean, strong shoulder. Her face turned into his chest where warm breath fluttered with her ragged whisper. "But it do, Jack. It matters muchly. For....All I 'ave known an' remember be a lie. It nae happened. It jus' be wha' someone tol' a dream tha' happened to her. If'n I go by wha' ye be sayin', how do I e'en know I existed through I wha' think I did" Mayhaps I sprang to bein' yesterday. I wouldna know, would I" Would ye' Honestly, Jack" As for ye bein' selfish' Dun give it another thought, m'love. I be far more terrible than ye."

Jack Scot "I don't want to know. I want....you. Always. You." His arms around her, solid with real warmth and strength in them the soft-spoken words breathed against her flesh.

Sid Her body and face crushes against him. Arms tremble as they cling desperately. Her whole being shivers. "An' I be wantin' ye, Jack. Always. Fore'er an' a year an' a day, m'love," her tone quiet and teary. It was too much. Everything, what he'd just imparted and all that had come before over the last two or so years of mortal time. Too much. Too much and the Ancient, if that is even what she is anymore, broke down for the first time in recollection and sobbed. Great heaving, gulping, breathless, ragged sobs. Tears like fat raindrops quickly soaked his chest and the ends of his hair to which her face nuzzled. Shoulders shook like they'd upset the balance of her head upon them. It was a sound that made it seem as if all the beings of all the worlds (in every mortal's imagination) broke down at the same moment.

Jack Scot He cried with her though his sobs were subtle, his tears lost in the torrent of her own. He held her dear, a china doll in his brutish arms. Or so he felt about himself now that he burdened her with truth. "Manon....oh Manon....What have I done?"

Sid Tickled pink he was, the Dragon. The one born from Sid's drugged delusions, existing within her mindscape and made real on the Dreamscape by the Heart. He claws at her, working his way more solidly into the foreground. It is a chance he has been waiting for, for far too long. See, it does not matter. Bring him with you and come to me. Blissful ignorance is yours for the asking, the opening of a door. Come.

Jack Scot Tears littered like jewels in her hair. He could hear the dragon now and it was all his fault. Their children. Their poor children would wither and it was his fault. "I don't want to go there, Manon. Don't take me there," the whisper rasped against her hair.

Sid Sid had managed to stay within their bed from the moment they had returned from the Inn last night. Curled beside her Crow, wearing nothing but she did at the Fall. Silver silk lay tangled about her naked form, fairly covering her sleeping face. Yes, she appeared to actually be sleeping, breaths even and measured. The marks on her shoulder were free of the bandages, just angry red stripes like those upon her stomach. Eyes twitched and tracked fast behind snowy lids and thin, pale lips trembled with sleeping sounds.

Jack Scot So rare to see the Moon in slumber it was a moment to remark upon. A moment to savor. A moment to cherish. And he did, the Crow who so audaciously claimed the Moon for his own, cherish her. Every breath she took, every dart of her eyes behind paper-thin lids, every twitch of muscle moving subtly in the dream. What was she conjuring, he wondered, as she walked the dreaming paths, where everything was Symbol and Truth surrounded by glamour. He ached to touch her, to blaze a trail with long fingers over the pale satin of her skin. But that would end this moment and he lived for those. Moment cut out of the wheel that spun them all through time.

Sid Legs moved then, just a quiver as if she might be running. The sounds from those lips grew, and they opened with a gasping breath. Fingers reached, clutched, clawed until they found purchase on his arm. With a final cry she stiffened, sitting bolt up in their bed with eyes flying wide. "Wha' the frell be tha'!?"

Jack Scot "Manon?" The grip she had on his arm, bare and dusky with hair that on closer look was many tiny, delicate dark feathers, soft and downy. He knew she was strong, but times like these it surprised him. She always seemed so fragile. He let her hold onto his arm as he propped himself up with the other. His eyes, black as the deepest night, sought hers. Looking for what he knew would be the gossamer strings that tied dream to waking, easily snapped so that the dream would flit away and be forgotten.

Sid Within her liquid silver gaze, the threads - so spider fine and delicate - still swam. It was if she was caught between the dreaming and the waking. Short nails bit to dusky skin with her grip and her mouth worked soundlessly, those eyes darting about his face in seeking. "I....I...." Confusion. Fear"

Jack Scot "What did you see, Manon' Do you remember?" His voice a soothing balm in her ear. He nuzzled there a moment. Dreaming would be new for her, he knew. What magic was this that transformed her so"

Sid Her grip lessened a touch, her head leaning to his with the nuzzle. What, indeed, was that' Did she know" "Darkness. Great darkness." Her voice came from far away, truly as if she still remained in the in-between. "An'....Blindin' light....An'...." And what? What was it' The sensations still rocked, but she was hard-pressed to say what she had seen in whole.

Jack Scot " "Twas a dream, Manon." His voice, his touch on her. "I have never seen you dream."

Sid "A dream' But...." Lying back to his side, pressing her body so close, she quivered against him. Her voice the softest of whispers. "I dun...." Don't dream' But, hadn't he told her not days before that she was the one who dreamed this all" "How?"

Jack Scot He trailed his hand down her side. The rustle of his wings the only sound save for her question and his answer, which was no answer at all, really. He seemed genuinely sorry. "I do not know, Manon. Change is all I can say. Change...." The last, a trailing whisper.

Sid Slanted eyes widened near round and she gripped him tighter again, lifting to an elbow swiftly. "Wha' 'ave I done!" If....If'n as ye say, as ye tol' me....'ave I jus'....Jus' changed somethin'" Wha' 'ave I taken" Wha' 'ave I added" 'ave I done anythin'?" This, this was fear. Catalogued and noted. Note: This we do not like. Ranks right up there with guilt and shame and remorse.

Jack Scot He gasped. "I don't know. I didn't think." He sighed. Her grip stung but he could ignore that. What he could not ignore was the terror that transformed her. It frightened him. He felt panic knot his stomach and rise "til all he wanted to do was struggle to free himself of the thorns. But, he didn't. He stayed still as the earth in the haze before a thunderstorm. He stared at the gathering dark. "It is something you must master."

Sid Still more her eyes widened until they seemed to engulf the whole of her face, and out of the bed she flew. "The bairns!" Down the steps, her breathing ragged as she missed nearly all of them trying to make it to the lower floor.

Jack Scot He was slower to follow her. She left him stunned. Was she dreaming of their children" Did the dreams of sleep really shape the worlds" He thought not, but dreams were not his thing. Dreams were Mystery to be sure, but not his branch. He wasn't sure what his branch was to be honest. There were things he did not Understand, Manon being one. He found a pair of denims and put them on before he followed her down. But the children were not in their room.

Sid "Jack!!!" Her screams rocked the house and she fell to her knees, clutching to the side of their beds in the "nanny's room." Perhaps, the children were with Belial; out, again, on one of Auntie Bel's cultural excursions"

Jack Scot He had zipped and she screamed his name. And that set him to hopping down the steps, a mimic of Sid's panicked trek just a minute earlier. What he found was his children, running from the direction of the kitchen, toward their room, certain they'd be in trouble. Hoping they wouldn't meet their parents, but of course....they did. Their little girl clutching a piece of Baby, forgotten, in her hand. Their little boy skidding to halt yelling...."She made me do it!"

Sid She met him at the door, hands grabbing and clinging as her head jerked about in search. "Where!" Wha' 'ave I done!?" This was all so new, she truly did not know if she had done anything at all. Could she do anything" "Children!" Loosing her grip on her mate she fell to her knees and scooped the twins into her arms in breath-stealing hug. "Oh m'sweetlin's!" Breathless whispers as she crushed them to her.

Jack Scot He stood there, stunned, feeling as if someone had run Baby over him a few times but without any of the pain. Just the feeling that his head was fogged. The piece of Baby fell out of their daughter's hand, thunk on the floor. Their son squirmed in the sudden embrace. Their daughter laughed, a chirping sound, into Sid's hair.

Sid Kisses were rained across a pale and a dusky face, hands stroked silvered hair and dark, and Sid sat back to her ankles, tears falling fast and free over a beaming smile. "Oh, me l'il ones. I be...." A look up to Scottie. "I be so worried."

Jack Scot "Don't cry, Mommy." The little boy in her arms, all silver and light and seriousness, kissed the tears off her cheeks. The little girl, all night and dark and laughter, looked over at her father confused. A look that asked, will we be getting in trouble" And the Crow bent down to fetch whatever that was that belonged to Baby. Mechanics were beyond him, but it seemed the children had figured out how to put a couple of things together. He shrugged at his daughter in reply.

Sid She was crying, for the third time in less than two weeks. Note: We do not like this, either. "I be jus'....happy, l'il one." A kiss gentled against the serious light of their son's brow. Another stroke to their daughter's hair and she wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. "Now, wha' 'ave ye two been up to?" A false stern look as fingers reached for the piece her Crow held.

Jack Scot No one liked to cry, but he thought it telling that she was learning how to instead of reaching for the shadows that darkened her eyes often in times of high emotion. Maybe she didn't realize it, and she certainly wouldn't admit it, but he thought she was learning well these new lessons. He crouched beside her to give her the piece. Its value to him was in the shine of the chrome. Pretty, but not as pretty as his little girl or the shine off their son. Could she see that, he wondered" Their shine" They blinded him constantly.

Sid Fingertips brushed to Scottie's hand with the taking, her eyes lingering on his glittery gaze. Did he know how much he shined" In that liquid silver gaze he could see the brightness of their children and himself, it lit her face, that face of angles and pale flesh, full of wonder and Mystery. "Now, who be teachin' ye two about combustible engines?" Looking to the piece in her hand then to her son. "It just seemed to go together, like a puzzle, mum." He spoke in quiet reserve, until a finger pointed at his sister and his brow darkened. "She did it! I told her not to!"

Jack Scot Their daughter scrunched up her face and stuck her tongue out at her brother. Then to Sid she tilted her head and with as much seriousness as she could muster....which was very little, she was always laughing at some joke no one else got. "It wanted to go together. It told me." And the Crow had some idea of his Shine but since it was his, he was rather blind to it and if pressed would admit that his shine was something that he got from the others he surrounded himself with. Surrounding himself with light was bound to rub off. Since Baby was hers, he let Sid deal with this latest adventure.

Sid "It be tellin' ye, aye?" A silvered brow arced at their daughter. "Well now, an' ye be hearin' it, or feelin' it, sweetlin'?" It was quite possible, Sid thought. She had been ignoring Baby's ire since she had taken the mage bike to bits and pieces in a moment of needed distraction. Though the bond was between herself and the machine, the girl was her daughter. "It slid across my mind, mommy. I didn't mean to do something bad," dark eyes up to her father. He had been more instrumental in their raising. In truth, the children barely knew the female that gave birth to them. She was a ghost who flitted in and out of Summer on infrequent visits. "It be a'right, m'lass, ye did nae a thin' wrong." A pet, a croon, another kiss for both and she stood. She knew she was wanting as a mother; it was not her role. She was the Maiden. And, had not the tragedy of First Winter taught her all she needed to know about how wanting her parenting skills were" "Jus', be careful around the parts, sweetlin's. I dun wan' ye harmed." Spun-lace silver brows furrowed and she moved from the group towards the steps. Up or down" Caught again in the in-between. Lost.

Jack Scot He reached out a hand to gently grip Sid's shoulder. "I think you two need to get cleaned up. Your Auntie will be coming soon to pick you up." Giving them both a good facsimile of the stern father look. Their son was quite miffed his sister didn't get into trouble. That ire warred with relief that "he" hadn't gotten into trouble either. "Aye, da...." He muttered, grabbing at his sister's hand to take her back to their room for necessary clean up. Scottie gave Sid a shoulder squeeze. "I think a certain mother needs to get cleaned up as well." There was promise in the wink he gave her.

Sid "Aye. A bath." She loved that bath. "Ye Auntie Bel be 'avin' somethin' special planned for ye two today," calling after them, watching them go, a wistful look in silver true. "Wha' be on ye mind, m'Crow?" Fox lit grin only slightly dulled by the warring thoughts running her brain.

Jack Scot "A bath." He shrugged and his feathers rustled elegantly. "There are dreams, Manon and there are Dreams." His arm around her as he guided her up the stairs.

Sid And up they went to that luxurious spa off the master bedroom. It really was to drool over. As they walked, she leaned to his embrace, head hung to watch their feet move. "Dun let me sleep again, Jack. Please. I dun understan' an'...." The words hung. "Mayhaps, though...." A deep breath through quivering nostrils, her voice a breathless thing upon the air. "Mayhaps we needs break tradition an' name the bairns." A secret whisper so like fear. "They be too much like dreams this way."

Jack Scot He frowned. He did not like the way she put that. Their children were real, flesh and blood. How many scrapes had he bandaged" How many tears, hot and wet against his shoulder, had he dried" And this tradition was also a way to protect ....His heart jumped. Protect who' The parents who might lose them so early in life that to give them a name to such a deep connection would be cruel" Or, the children, whose name would be a power others could exploit' And what of Manon, whose power seemed to grow daily' Was she tapping into something new" Or, was it always there, dormant and forgotten until just now" "I will think about it, Manon. But for now, they are real and alive." He left her side only a moment to draw the bath, hot and steaming, the way they both liked it. "As for sleep, I do not think you can avoid it." He scattered sweet smelling herbs into the water before sitting on the edge to study her. "Most of us need it."

Sid She had not dressed, naked as the Fall she met their children in the hall and here she sat to the edge of an overstuffed chair waiting for the water to fill that huge, marble monstrosity she called a tub. Names were power, true, and sacred. The seven-year tradition was a protection against such exploitation. Yet, though her mate had spent much time she had not with their bairns and to him they were as alive as he, to her they seemed ephemeral. The stuff of dreams. With all these new thoughts and feelings, with this new information he had imparted, this had weighed upon her since the day he had told. Elbows to knees, hands holding her cheeks as silvered silk framed her seated form, all this fluttered across those elfin features. "Sleep be nae somethin' I 'ave to do."

Jack Scot "Then why were you sleeping?" He watched her. She was perfection. All milk and cream skin, with a true silver lining. Cool on the outside, hotter than fires of the earth inside. She was a constant ache to him. A need that might never be fulfilled because every time he had her, he wanted more and more and more. "I wonder if you will not need it now."

Sid "I sleep for ye, m'love." For others" Was this still true now" She did not know, and this constant unknowing was wearing. "I....I dun know if'n I be needin' it now. I....I dun know anythin' anymore, Jack. An' ye....Ye be so wonderful with the bairns, I...." Eyes moved to the tub to see if it was finished filling. Good thing water bills were not a frequent thing.

Jack Scot It was full enough that he could spill backwards into the sweet smelling water with a plop. A ploy in part to distract her from those downward spiraling thoughts of inadequacy she liked to court. Those feelings of regret and remorse. Denims and wings disappeared under the water. And then, as the heat encased him, he had a Thought. A Thought strong enough to make him sputter up, water streaming from feathered hair and the great black wings themselves. "Manon!"

Sid Dark as night, her Crow. Skin like the sands of the earth. He glittered, he shined for her. Did he know how much she envied him' Did he realize how much she needed his strength' How strong she thought he truly was" She felt so pale, so weak, and misty compared to him. Blinking from the revelry of his form before her, she looked to those night-dark eyes. "Wha', m'love?"

Jack Scot He might not have argued with her over his strength, but he knew he was weak as a pup with few defenses. She witnessed twice how her kind had thrown him from windows and across rooms with little he could do in return. Talk about smacking the dog on the nose! But his Thought clouded everything else. "Do you think that maybe ....perhaps....you are growing into the Mother?"

Sid Up from the chair like some silken thread pulled from above, over to the tub and she sat letting her legs swing to the hot and steaming water. Silvered brows knitted with the question. "I....Nae, Jack. 'Tis nae possible. H'll"n" be the Mother an' 'tis jus...." A station' A title" "I dun know, Jack." Again the voice seemed caught in the in-between. A thing of here and there. "I be shudderin' to think so. I be nae mother, Jack. Ye see tha' with ye own eyes." And she slid into the water beside him, letting it cover her head before rising, crystal droplets streaming over spider silk and silvery-pale flesh.

Jack Scot "You know that do you?" Tilting his head at her, oblivious to the water in his eyes, only seeing her. He liked his idea. He would think more on it.

Sid "How many 'ave I brought to ruin, Jack" Would ye truly wish me as a mother?" A half-stroke took her to the opposite edge, and she settled into a corner, stretching out the impossibly long length of her legs. Darkness shadowed silver trues and she was becoming lost to chaotic thoughts again.

Jack Scot "And how long ago was that?" He moved with her. "Isn't it time to move on, Manon' To look to the future instead of the past?"

Sid A hand beneath the water lay upon his upper thigh, liquid silver meeting glitter-dark eyes. "When ye 'ave so much past, Jack, how can it nae be colorin'" How can I be lettin' it go so easily' An' now, the future" When I dun e'en understan' wha' be happenin' in the now?" She'd never really thought on the future. It was not the way of her. This, too, was new. "I be goin' to kill Ber. Aye. Dead elf." Did she say that aloud"

Jack Scot Her touch almost made him miss that last comment. He arched a brow and turned toward her. "Ber" Oberon' Why would you want him dead?"

Sid "Ye dun know?" Hadn't she told him' She was sure she had. Maybe that was just her talking to him when he was not around. She did that a lot. Though, come to think of it, she is not sure he knows that, either.

Jack Scot "I can't read minds, Manon." He shook his head. She hadn't told him much of anything that happened while he was away in Summer. In retrospect, his leaving was a bad idea. A really bad idea, he thought. Another mistake he made with her. He sometimes truly didn't feel worthy of her.

Sid "Oh, Jack." Sliding down the side of slippery marble, she wrapped her legs about his seated form, their chests against each other and her arms smoothing over feathered hair and great black wings. "I oft time wonder why ye stay with me, why ye love me like ye do. I 'ave kept so much from ye, I 'ave nae treated ye like I should." Forehead to his, eyes to their laps, she sighs. "Ber be makin' the spell two years or more ago in mortal's time. The spell wha' be bringin' about the changes in me an' Bel, an' presumably himself. Though, he nae answers Bel an' I since it be happenin'. He be cuttin' us off from the link. It still be there, he jus' nae answers. It be somethin' he did wha' needed doin', so he be sayin', to keep the War from comin' to this plane. It be workin' true enough, basically. But....Well....These new thin's...." She loathed to call them by their name aloud. Emotions. Feelings. "I be sayin' 'tis a direct result. It be happenin' to Bel, as well. An', we 'ave nae idea wha' else be in store. As I be sayin', Lankyn be nae answerin' the pages."

Jack Scot His arms automatically wrapped about her slender waist. His head tilted slightly as he listened, eyes fixed to her but they took on a more feral cast the longer she spoke. No wonder the dragon reared its head. No wonder about a lot things. He was going to rip out the elf's throat when he saw him next.

Sid "I dun wan' to think about tha' right now. I dun wan' to think about dreams. I dun wan' to think about makin' thin's an' destroyin' them. I jus' wan' to lose meself in ye right now. Please, Jack...." And there was that look, he knew it so well. As well as he knew the feel her body rose to, the heat that began to churn as she pressed more against him. Her lips a whisper against his ear. "Please take me away from all o' this."

Jack Scot What was he? Calgon' He growled and got down to taking her away.

Sid Worry. Concern. Fear for another being. It is not that she was completely unfamiliar with this sensation, this feeling, but it has never touched her as it has since the spell was cast. And, it has never touched her like this until Scottie had not known her the night of her shift in the Red Dragon when he had come in without his coat. She is sure she knows what this is, now. After bringing him back to the WestEnd, she arranged for the twins to spend the next few days with some friends in Bordertown. She had thought of bringing in a few she could trust from the 'Lands, but after giving it some thought she realized that Bordertown was safer. Pockets, Sundown and Jingle and the Horn Dance would keep the twins in a net of safety, happiness, and unbounding luck. Plus, they would have fun and get to see some of mum's old haunts. It worked well, and she would have time to do what needed doing. He slept now, hopefully with peace. Sitting beside the large bed in their master suite, she had one bare leg thrown over the arm of the chair. Dressed in sleep shirt and nothing else, piles of ribbon draped furniture, body, and floor as she worked diligently on a new coat with her own hands; no magics this time. The coat was felt as his last one had been and the ribbons had been gathered from myriad places, many of power or from those with such. Each stitch, its placing of a ribbon, was fraught with her own toil and several sheddings of blood. Sid is not what one would call domestic. She was finally finished, though. The coat draped over her, eyes were half-lidded as she watched him breathe. The ribbons shone, the old colors mixed amongst new ones of opalescent shimmer and silvery thread like moonbeams. She had made another item, now held within the fingers of her right hand as it dangled lazy off the chair's arm. She only hoped both of these would bring him out of the fog he was now in.

Jack Scot It had been an amazing trip through Rhy"Din Town to the WestEnd with her by his side, amazing and wonderful and not without its dangers. He could truly fall for a lass like that, and that she felt so familiar, under his hands and in his eyes, made her even more perilous. Perilous, it was a good word to describe the whole night where he hadn't felt at all like himself. And, what was he really' He asked himself when she set him to sleep in this huge bed with its satin sheets and intricate headboard. Too perilous to dream and yet dream he had, of journeys walked and adventures had. Music drifted through his dreams, hornpipes and fiddles, reels and jigs; colors too, ribbons of hue that swirled in time. He always wore ribbons, he knew in his dreams. But, where were they now" Where was he" Who was he" What was he" The ribbons snapped and fluttered and sounded more like wings as the music turned to laughter. And in the bed, his breath quickened and he twitched and thrashed at the fog that closed about him, cutting him off from what he reached out for. The truth. The Answer.

Sid The Ancient wondered what he dreamt. She wondered, too, if maybe there were answers there, now, for her. For what he had told her she desperately tried not to think about but couldn't not. As he thrashed, she almost slipped within to taste around the edges of his mindscape. She could not travel through his dreams like Melanthya, but maybe she would find some sort of clue. Best, though, to let it be. Did she really want to know" Uncertainty still plagued. Besides, with her energies on overload, it was a dangerous bid, and she would do whatever it took to keep her love safe. From others....From herself. For Jack she would do anything. Perhaps this is where some of the contention between them lies. But, how could she not protect him' He was her everything. Without him, what meaning would there be? Without him, what would she be? She remembered the times after self-exile, remembered the days without him because she had not known of their love in Summer. Remembered who had wrought such upon them both. One day, one day she would get her revenge. However, this was not that day and she had time to wait. This latest with Scottie was because of that, she knew it, and the rage she usually kept tightly secured over Ti boiled close to the top. Nevertheless, he was here, and right now that was all that mattered. She could work with it and hopefully bring him around again. It was all she held to, and she would cling to it like the edge of a cliff to keep them both from going over to their doom.

Jack Scot He gasped in frustration. He couldn't let the fog obscure what he sought. The Answer blurred, hidden by dewy dark clouds. He groped, stretched the arm around whose wrist a bright green ribbon was tied and grabbed at the Answer. His fingers circled about her slender ankle, so close to the bed it was. He grasped it and pulled. Crying out as he sat up with dark eyes wide open. Gateways to the stars.

Sid His strength surprised her for a moment. She knew he was stronger than he let on, but the chair slid across wood with a grinding and scraping as he grabbed and pulled her ankle. Sitting up, slanted eyes widening, she held the coat to her and looked him over with furrowed silvered brows. "Jack?"

Jack Scot Was she the Answer then, this vision of pale silver" Did she know it' He didn't let go, frozen in that place between. Not dreaming, not awake. Still surrounded by fog, but her light cut through swirling shadows. She named him. Was that his name" Dare he utter the question"

Sid The ribbons shifted and fluttered as she moved the coat and sat up more. Her ankle stayed within his grasp, though, and she just smiled, all warmth and light. "Scottie" Be ye a'right, m'love?"

Jack Scot "What am I?" He hadn't blinked, her skin smooth and cool beneath his grasp. The ribbons confused him. She was all silver. Where did all that color come from' "You must tell me. Please."

Sid "Ye are me love. Me mate. An', a Mystery." What could she answer him' Of all he knew about her past, her history, she knew less of him. All she had were their moments together, and many of those still tossed within the storm of missing memories. Lifting the coat, she held it out to him. "Mayhaps this be helpin'?"

Jack Scot He had collapsed to sleep wearing only his denims. In sleep his scrawny form had been swallowed by the bed and even now, as he reached for what transfixed him - what an impossible coat! - he seemed little likely to display the strength he had. He let go of her ankle and delicately reached for the coat. "There be no answer to this mystery?"

Sid " 'Tis nae a typical Mystery, though there be some o' tha' within its namin', Jack. Mysteries existed before all o' the physical. 'Tis wha' I know o' ye tellin' to me, wha' I 'ave learned o'er many years upon this plane. An', Jack" Ye be much more'n tha'. But, mayhaps I shall wait to tell ye." The gift she had made him remained in her free hand, long fingers of strangely elegant design looped delicately around it as she leaned for him so he could grab the coat.

Jack Scot "A wicked lass you are, to keep me in such suspense." He snatched the coat from her. He didn't ask if it was his. He Knew it was. His dusky fingers stroked the ribbons whose origins he couldn't guess. There was power in each streamer.

Sid The grin came fox lit as she sat back a bit, watching. "Mayhaps ye be rememberin' jus' how wicked I can truly be."

Jack Scot He hugged the coat to him, then pressed the satin and silk and felt to his nose so he could breath it in. Her scent was on it along with a thousand others, but mostly her. Overwhelming. He peered over the ribbons at her. "Ye made this. With yer own hands." In every stitch he could feel her power, familiar power. Power that surged through him every time he touched her. But, when was that' They'd only met the night before, hadn't they' She seemed certain they had a life together. And, what if they had" How was he ever good enough for her"

Sid "Aye." Her chuckle lit the room with honey-dark warmth and whiskey tinge. She laid the gift to a bare thigh and held up both hands, the fingertips pinpricked and still red. "Me own two hands. Oh, m'Jack." Like some silken thread, she flowed off the chair, gift in hand, and slunk to the bed to rest upon her knees before him. "Wha' can I be doin' to help ye remember?" Silvered brows knitted and such sorrow and worry seated upon otherworldly features.

Jack Scot His heart broke at the sight of the sorrow she bore. She should never, ever have to worry like this, he was certain. He wanted to make sure it would never happen again. He let his fingers drift amongst her elflocks, chiming the bells entwined there. The silver ring he wore shined in the morning sun. "You're doing it..." He took a deep breath. "....Manon." The name felt right on her. "Manon." He said with more strength.

Sid "Jack..." She slid up to his side, one arm draped across his chest and holding softly as she breathed a whisper against his ear. "I love ye. I know wha' tha' means an' I feel it stronger'n e'er before. I 'ave always loved ye. Ye rest etched upon wha' passes as me soul, Jack. An' ye deserve so much. But, all I 'ave for ye besides me love be a gift I made for ye, a gift to match this." The palm of her hand was hot, the energies a loose hold as she pressed it over the necklace he wore.

Jack Scot He let loose a little cry, a dog whimper of a sound. Her touched burned. It always burned, somehow he knew that, but this time it was sweeter. The words she spoke echoed in his own soul. A soul that wasn't complete without her, a soul that would be eternally lost without her. He closed his eyes and put his hand over hers.

Sid Eyes of silver true shone over bright, her head leaned to his chest as she lay down next to him. In her free hand, she lifted it to show him a circle. A symbol of power all its own. Yet, this circle was endless, braided tight with....hair. Two shades of silvered locks embraced a third of darkest black. In her fingers, without benefit of visible bells, it chimed softly. Like faerie laughter through the trees. It fluttered, like the sound of birds on wing. Her breath coursed across his flesh with soft words. "For ye, m'love. From all o' us wha' hol' ye close."

Jack Scot His gaze widened as he studied the circle, coming to know whose hair comprised it and what power there was in just those three strands. Power. Something to protect. Tears glistened in his crow eyes as he held his wrist out for her, the one that wore a green ribbon.

Sid Slipping the braided circle to his wrist it went over easily and then constricted to rest gently about it. Not tight, but it would not fall off or get tugged off accidentally. In fact, his hand would be the only that could remove it if he chose. "Do ye see now, Jack?" Whispered words as eyes of silver true looked up to meet that crow dark gaze. "Be ye home with me?" Within those words, her tone, sat a fear. Almost child-like, though tightly wrapped and held at arm's length.

Jack Scot He held his wrist up to study the braiding in the varied light of their bedroom and vowed silently to never remove this most wonderful of gifts. The fog burned away by her light and the light of their ....children. His children. He knew them and her the moment the braid encircled his wrist and it showed in his eyes, which now glittered with fierce and feral stars. He knew what he was then. He was Everything to them and that was all he needed to be. "You are my home."

Sid "An' ye be mine, m'Jack." Lips pressed silken kisses to his chest and she moved farther up to lay more upon his chest, one impossibly long leg bending at the knee and curling over his thighs. "Ye scared me." Fear. No, this we definitely do not like. "I thought I los' ye again."

Jack Scot Gods, she was wrappin" herself around, such a sweet cocoon. He hooked his arms about her and held her dear. He'd lost her for a while and that was something he definitely didn't like. "I had no idea the charm ..." Such a little word for such a cursed thing that had been done to both of them...."was still active. Manon..." He kissed her cheek, then grabbed at her fingers so he could press kisses into each prick and cut.

Sid Tears wet his flesh but her still and quiet words held an edge, a sharpness, and in them could be felt the power that she did not even know she might possess. "I will annihilate her, Jack. This I do vow."

Jack Scot He looked up from her fingertips and grinned, coyote sly. "Who?" And he braced himself for the smack because that question deserved one for an answer. Moreover, she did owe him for a couple of slaps anyways.

Sid For a moment, her face fell as she lifted her head from his chest. The minute she saw that grin, however, a hand smacked hard against his shoulder. "Jack!!"

Jack Scot He grunted. That hurt! "Uhm...ow." He pushed her off him so he could sit up again and try on his new coat, still grinning at her. The tears had gone and much of himself had returned. Nevertheless, he would need some time later to determine what might still be missing.

Sid Up to her knees they were spread wide atop the mattress, the sleep shirt doing as little to conceal as it revealed. A tantalizing sight to behold, to be sure, but she seemed not to know the effect she often had on others. The Maiden as wrapped in her own Innocence of some things, as she could wrap and warp it in others as was her station.

Jack Scot Pausing, with his new coat half on, to just stare at her. The feral gleam in his eyes became wild as he drank her in. He wanted, right then, right there, to wipe the innocence away. "Manon..." Shrugging into his coat, amazed at his fortitude and his restraint. Why wasn't he ripping her shirt off right now" The warm weight of the coat felt right on his shoulders.

Sid Teeth nipped at the corner of her lower lip and her head tilted slightly to the right, elflocks a soft, melodic chiming. Palms rested flat upon the lengths of toned thighs, alabaster silk over steel. "Somethin' wrong with the fit?"

Jack Scot "It fits like my own skin." The wild gleam in his eyes did not diminish. It intensified, flashing against the black like torchlight. The chiming of her bells was as symphony. What had he been thinking, going to sleep with pants on' They were so restricting now. He growled and didn't try to hide the desire behind the sound.

Sid "Oh!!" At his growl her grin came back, fox lit and holding its own need and desire. Those hands slunk up her thighs, the thin fabric of that shirt dragging up and up. Knees opened farther still, her head lowering so eyes of silver true peered up at him through silvered bangs, her tongue dancing across pale lips to wet them. She did not think there had ever been a moment when at least part of her did not hunger for him. Even through chaos and danger, and they'd known both together and separately, if he'd have made a move, a suggestion, a hint, she'd have let him take her in the midst of bloodiest battle. The smile came, teasing, tempting. "Somethin' ye wan' m'Crow?"

Jack Scot "You know what I want." His voice was low and rough with desire. His heart quickened the higher the hem of her pesky shirt rose. He felt himself in the ribbons and had no desire to take the coat off. Fingers curled tightly, grabbing handfuls of the sheets as he watched her striptease. Tease. "Tease."

Sid "Oh, do I?" Her own voice was at least a half octave lower, gravelly and in the throes of passion's rise. Slink. Slink. Just the barest peek of moonwhite curls. Her scent rose about them, then, thunderstorms and rich, heady wine; a musky call. Teeth centered on her lower lips and she scooted back from him a bit, rolling shoulders to thrust hardened nipples straining against thin cotton.

Jack Scot No, no. Moving away was not good, not when she gave him a mere glimpse of the treasures she held. He growled again, louder, angry. He fell forward on his palms to stalk her across the bed. "You know."

Sid "Mayhaps ye should be tellin' me, m'Ebon Knight." Him stalking and she moved back a bit more, those thighs of silken flesh and steel cords tensing and parting further for the tease. Just a hint of glistening silvered curls, a peek of softest pink. One hand left the dragging of the shirt to lean back, palm to the mattress. That lank form arced as hips came off the bed a touch and her back bowed. She fairly moaned through a rush of exhaled breath as fingertips teased along a stretch of inner thigh.

Jack Scot "You should give it to me," he said, hoarse and swallowing and staring at the path of her fingertips. He watched them with a hint of jealousy. Those should be his fingers tracing a patch over her creamy skin! And yet, so beautiful she was. Everything she did was music and she played him artfully.

Sid Fox sly and hungered, the grin shot at him. Her hand slunk up that thigh, pulling the shirt with it until it reached the peak of her right breast and kneaded it. Her head thrown back and this time she did moan, loud and clear through a ragged breath. " 'Tis for ye, m'Crow, but ye mus' take it."

Jack Scot His eyes full of her, her scent all around him. Her grin sent him into motion. Lightning quick he was on her, bending her back till her head hung off the side of the bed and her body was his. He kneed her bent legs wider apart as he bit down on the barely exposed nipple. He was hungry. He spoke against her flesh. "I want it all."

Sid Breath hissed inward as he was upon her, biting to aching flesh. The groan filled her words as she rocked up to his body and curled the hand that had been on that breast about his back to hold her against him tight. "It be all yers, Jack. Always. Fore'er an' a year an' a day."

Jack Scot She might hold him tight, but he wouldn't let her get away; one arm firm around her, holding her arch tight, his teeth teasing the pebbly flesh between them, his breath hot over pale skin. "You are Everything to me, Manon. The good..." Nip "the bad..." Nip. Hissing. "Everything." Another nip and then pulling her up by his teeth, his arms supporting her from behind.

Sid She was flexible, wiry, and legs flowed out from their bend to rise and grip against his hips. Her other arm came out and both embraced him. Her back arching more as his machinations brought forth the fire inside that could be felt on her flesh. She trembled in his arms, her breath hot and fevered as she bent to kiss and whisper against his ear and neck. "Oh Jack. I wish ye understood ye were such to me. Me e'erythin'. Me all." Short nails bit into his back as her hips ground urgently to restraining denim.

Jack Scot He let her go with a soft popping sound. He grit his teeth against her grind. His need could be plainly felt through the denim but it wasn't time, not yet. He dropped her on her back, looming above her, letting his palm stroke over the flushed skin of her breast, her stomach, moving slowly but steadily to where the long legs met. Where the silver curls lay. "I know, Manon." His voice changed again....the need was still there but beneath it was owlishness. "But when they do this ..." Fingertips raked through her curls. "....it is hard to remember."

Sid Labored breath and building need shuddered her form as his hand stroked over heated flesh. Eyes of silver true watched him, her own hands having slid down to rest at the sides of denim-covered thighs gripped in like claws as he raked through the curls. "I....Do wha'?" Confusion warred with hunger. He wanted to talk!" Now!"

Jack Scot "Or this..." A single finger slipped through the curls, dipping into the moist folds that hid her treasure. Delicious, wonderful treasure. "...I swear it should be me, not....them."

Sid She gasped, clutching harder to his thighs with his finger's initial invasion. Legs shook and wrapped about him from behind. She bit her lip until it blossomed red beneath those teeth. Every fiber of her being ached for him, cried out for his touch, his rhythm inside her. But, nooooooooo! He wanted to talk this out. Moreover, he had been around her long enough to know the best way to get to her was when she was unguarded. A silvered brow arced, then, and teeth clenched against the building passions. "Jack, I..." Fingers loosed their grip, eyes dropped from his and she let forth a shuddering exhale. "Wha' do ye wan' from me" Name it."

Jack Scot He narrowed his eyes and growled. Two fingers dipped in and found the button that could control the build of passion. They traced a burning circle around it." I share your wandering eye. You know this." His voice was in her ear.

Sid The circle of throbbing clit brought breath to pant and hands to clutch once more. Damn him and how he knew her so well! She tried to remain focused, tried to meet his eyes again, but snowy lids fluttered, capturing her gaze in smokey light. All she wanted right now was to twist up and over, pin him to the bed and tear those damn pants off his body. Straddle him and thrust down, taking his cock to fill the need inside. Her voice sounded her desire in its rasp. "Aye, I be knowin' this. An'....I....A'right, I understan' how ye feel. I..." she swallowed harsh. "I feel it, too, with ye."

Jack Scot He smiled against her ear. He could hear what she really wanted to do to him behind her words. His fingers circled once, twice....then he tweaked her clit. Then, his touch was gone, withdrawn. He pulled away with a barely stifled groan to lick his fingers with relish. "Yum."

Sid Slanted eyes narrowed, and she fairly snarled. One hand smacked hard against his thigh and she twisted beneath him to sulk at the mattress.

Jack Scot He winced. That hurt! Twice! She paid him back and that made him grin. He tried rubbing the pain away. "What's the matter, Manon?"

Sid "Ye dun wan' me." The sniffle was affected, but it sounded genuine. At least she thought so. "I....I guess I dun blame ye for all I be puttin' ye through. If'n we be mortal this be endin' badly in court somewhere." No matter she was pretending to sulk more than necessary, her a*s lifted slightly and pushed against his straddle of her legs.

Jack Scot He grunted. She knew what to do to him. Would she tease him like he teased her" You bet and he knew it, time to press the advantage. "This is what we do to them, Manon." He caressed her lower back, kneading a bit to work out any tension there. "We are teases."

Sid He touched her. She melted. Muscles eased out and she was a puddle between his legs. "They....Well, they dun seem to mind."

Jack Scot He gently kneaded circles up and down her spine. "For a while."

Sid "Do ye..." Shoulders worked and her head moved, she seemed to sink down farther into the mattress. "Do ye think we be hurtin' them?" One had to forgive the Ancient; this was all such an alien concept to her. "I dun tell them falsehoods, Jack. They know wha' I be doin', where wha' passes as me heart lies. Always. Up front."

Jack Scot He smiled, gently, but she couldn't see it. He worked on her muscles even though he ached for her heat to surround him. "I don't think most of them believe you. Or, perhaps, they think what we share is breakable."

Sid "Then tha' be their problem, Jack!" Immediately, like mercury over metal, she slid and twisted beneath him to face up to him once more.

Jack Scot Well look where his hands were....right on her breasts, he squeezed. "You don't think we have some responsibility?"

Sid "Phbbt!"

Jack Scot: The Crow had always loved mirrors. He could spend some fair time sitting in the Nesting Tree, catching glittering sunbeams on the smooth glass and sending them bouncing from leaf to branch to brownstone. But, he was never one to stare into the mirror. That didn't mean he wasn't vain. He preened. He made sure the ribbons of his coat were smoothed and glossy. Took as much care with satin as he did his own fur and feathers when he wore the coyote and crow skins.

But that morning, with hands braced on either side of the sink, he leaned forward to stare at his reflection, turning his head from side to side, pausing to peer closely at how long his hair had gotten. The raven-dark locks had not been cut since he returned to Rhy"Din and the Moon's arms, and they tangled below his butt.

Sid: "Vacation time," if that's what you could call the short trip Sid, Scottie and the bairns had taken into Summer a few weeks back, had appeared to do the Ancient some good. Upon the little family's return Sid seemed refreshed and renewed. Her mood was better. She was apparently actually sleeping, not just resting at night within the arms of her Crow. No late night jaunts out to various parts of town or into another's arms. She'd even started working on Baby's engine again, continuing the rebuild with the pieces puzzled together by her daughter and son.

The last three nights, however, once more found her walking the floor like a long-tailed cat amongst a roomful of rockers. Last night, grease decorated and grumbling, she'd flopped back into her and her mate's bed after leaving it and him just hours before. Now, as Scottie peered at his reflection the Moon tossed in fitful spurts, moaning in seeming sleep.

Jack Scot: The sounds of her restless sleep drew him from his self contemplation. Silent as a cat (but never tell him that!), he padded barefoot, toes sinking into the plush carpet, back to their bedside. Arms folded over his bare chest he studied her, not ready to wake her quite yet.

He was reminded of Aleron's words a few nights ago, that the key to a dragon's defeat lay in the Dreaming. That the dragon was in fact, manifesting itself from that place - something never done!

The trip to Summer had been a retreat of sorts, a ceasefire. He would've kept Manon there if he could. To him, the dangers of Summer were no longer something to be feared or run from. It was the danger within that scared him. Gently he sat beside her to lightly stroke his fingertips through her hair.

Sid: Automatically, like a babe to a teat, her head turned seeking comfort in the touch; a soft whimper of unintelligible words flowing past thin, pale lips. Suddenly, her left arm struck out as if gripping and unsheathing a sword, the hand of that arm rising to a glow that was growing to white-hot light.

Jack Scot: His eyes grew wide at the glow. What could she be dreaming of that would have her wield magic unconsciously in the waking world"

The hand in her hair paused, then cupped her cheek as he leaned in to whisper, "Manon....have a care. Manon?"

Sid: Snowy lids rippled above the fast-track motion of shuttered eyes. His touch, his voice, his soothing strength and the hand came down to the bedclothes, stilled.

Nestling her cheek to his palm, warm breath coursed over it with a near silently murmured phrase. "Help me, Jack." The muscles in her jaw tightened, the sound of teeth grinding a jarring noise in the quiet of their room.

Jack Scot: A chill went down his spine and prickled his skin at her plea. He draped himself on the bed, nestled right up against her supple body, never taking his touch from her.

When he was settled, he pressed a kiss to her cheek and whispered in her ear, "I am here, Manon. Tell me what to do."

Sid: Without warning, fingers rose and clamped down harsh upon his free wrist. Sid drew an inhale that whistled past her teeth and the world fell away to a dark and foreboding landscape dominated by a large, unnaturally amalgamated tree of oak and ash. A sickening light seemed to pulse from the heart of its fused trunk, and the sound of great wings emanated from the dull void of the air around.

To the north of the tree's rounded hill, a lone figure stood tall against the desolate backdrop, head bowed in resigned pose. Even in this twisted and gloomy plane a small silvery shine radiated from the standing form.

Jack Scot: Used to odd methods of travel though he was, the sudden shift from WestEnd to a new plane left him queasy and unsteady. The landscape reminded him of the shadow lands of Summer, lands in which he held some influence. But, that was all the twisted tree and gloomy surrounds did. They reminded and gave no answers.

Still, he shifted, letting his glamour spill from him like a splash of water, into the partial being of Summer he was. An amalgamation himself, part crow, part elf, part Mystery. His own wings, glossy and black, folded tight behind him. His eyes full of stars. He advanced on the silvery figure. "Manon!" He called, forcing his tone to cheer. "Where have you taken us today?"

Sid: Just as the Ebon Knight advanced, the figure made to kneel. A held sword, its point stuck to the earth, was used as brace as one knee bent towards the ground. From out of the roiling skies came an immense white, leathery wing, followed by a draconic snout as the White Dragon made to bank in closer.

At Scottie's cheerful greeting, however, the figure stopped mid-kneel and the silvery light about it climbed in intensity. The sky erupted with an angered growl, flashing crimson eyes focusing on the Crow who would disturb his triumph, and a hiss spread foul breath across the space between them. "How long until she falters fully' How long do you think you can keep on saving her" You want peace, this I offer. Walk at her side and all shall be as you so greatly desire!"

Jack Scot: He tilted his head, considered the dragon's offer. Very easy it would be to agree if one took the words at face value.

"I wonder how a figment, a ghost, a dream, a shade ....would know what I desire?" He winced a bit at the scent on the dragon's breath, an ill wind of decay and rotting limbs. He flexed his talon-tipped fingers. His wings rustled behind him. He had no weapon.

Sid: "Wonders never cease, do they....Crow?" The wyrm spat out the last, a lick of fire snaking past reptilian lips.

Sid, for the figure was, indeed, she, turned towards her mate. Her movements like she struggled through some viscous fluid and the Dragon laughed; a sound like sandpaper over bones. "She is mine. She has always been thus, Crow. What hope have you against such a bond?"

Jack Scot: "Always been yours?" He didn't look to her. He never needed to look to know where she was. On his wrist he wore the ribbon she gave him when his memory faltered. On the other, the plait of hair from her own head and that of their children. Near his heart was the tear newly made and anciently precious.

He lifted his hand to the dragon, to show off the silver he wore, the symbolic ring that bound the two of them together. And, it was still too new to reflect how old he and the Moon were in their union. "Your bond is dust. I have ever been with her and ever will I be."

Sid: With the Crow's call to his Moon, as the Dragon made to bank closer to the Ancient, the words and approach of the Ebon Knight had brought the White Wyrm up short. Crimson eyes narrowed on Scottie with something akin to cautious assessment; perhaps, just perhaps, a momentary flash of fear. Though, upon that draconic countenance, who might say for sure"

As the Knight of Ghosts and Shadows brandished the binding ring, Sid's own silvery sheen fired with brilliance and reflected back the light. A single clear note like the striking of a great bell as the fiery reflection morphed over her form to end up a piercing ray from the matching ring she wore.

The Dragon's wings beat faster, bringing him backwards in the roiling skies, a snarl curling lips over jagged fangs. Sid's feet stumbled as the hold loosed and she staggered over grey-green grass. "Jack!"

Jack Scot: He kept his eyes on the wyrm. It was a tricky being and he couldn't see it giving up easily. Not when it had both of them in the realm where it had the most power. Without looking, he held out a hand to her. "Come to me, Manon." He still brandished the ring to the dragon and it answered Sid's silver light.

Sid: There was force behind the speed she came at him down the slight grade. Energy released from her earlier struggle and she was careening towards him with arms outstretched, the sword but a memory.

Slamming against her mate, the nightmare fell away and fingers gripped harder to a scarecrow's wrist as with a rasping gasped breath Manon rose bolt-up from the tangled bed sheets. "JACK!" Eyes flying wide, dark threads slithering through silver true, she looked about in confusion.

Jack Scot: She had a death grip on his wrist. Even if he wanted, he would not be able to pull free. She drew him up as well, he still without his glamour and looking fierce. The stars in his black eyes swirled and he looked as if he were even now seeing into the shattered nightmare. Very softly, so as not to rattle her further, he answered, "Good morning, Manon."

Sid: "Oh, Jack!" Whispered words were hoarse from sleep and fright. "It be horrible." Oblivious to the hold on his wrist, confusion still high on angular features, her fingers uncurled and she leaned against him.

Her arms wrapping about his torso, head to his chest, breath fairly panted from her as if she'd run a marathon, her tone still quiet and sleep-stung. "I dun like these....dreams. 'Twas such a horrid vision. He made..." She stiffened, then, a sure sign lately she was armoring her resolve against a flood of unwanted and alien emotions. "All the slaughter o' those wha' I care for. An' ye....Ye be next with me to watch," her murmur muffled against his dusky flesh. Teeth gripped her lower lip, and her face turned more into the shelter of his embrace.

Jack Scot: His arms around her, one hand in her hair, the other, just then, getting feeling back, he kissed her forehead. "Do you really think he could do that?"

Sid: "I..." Silvered brows knitted hard, and she pulled back enough to meet his star-filled gaze. One hand waved dismissively to the air, a scoff resounding and she returned the kiss briefly against his lips.

"Nae, o' course nae. 'Twas..." She suddenly felt in desperate need of a shower. Not a bath, a shower of pin-prickly water.

Her sinuous form maneuvered from his arms and around him, fingers toying in the long braids down his back while one leg draped off the bed in preparation to stand. " 'Twas but a dream." Near inaudible words swiftly swallowed by her next ones as she tugged on a braided, fetish-bedecked tail. "Ye hair be gettin' lon', m'love."

Jack Scot: He heard her. He knew it was more than some weird lucid dream, else how could he participate. And, at least one part of what the dragon said was true: He wouldn't always be there to rescue her. That worried him greatly. But, the sun had risen and there was Manon wriggling all over him. He looked over his shoulder at her and grinned. "I was just thinking you should cut m'hair."

Sid: Yes, the sun was up and her Ebon Knight smelled of it and fresh, warm hay. Now was the time for wriggling and forgetfulness. Bare breasts pressed against the flesh of his back and her giggles breathed over the shell of his ear.

Jack Scot: A fresh ripple of thrill, not chill, went down his spine and settled in his groin. He closed his eyes and banished the dream to a mental closet to be taken out and studied later. Right now he had a pesky playful Ancient in his midst. Spoiling such a treasure with dragon hunting would be a travesty. "Well" What do you say?"

Sid: "Ye be thinkin' so, m'love?" One hand gathering more of the braided locks and holding fast as her other hand flowed smoothly down the lines of his chest, ever lower. "But, I can get such a nice..." Her tone dropped a half octave, breathless in its whisper. ?"grip." The fingers of her hand moving down his front, curling to a quickly hardening staff.

Jack Scot: He twitched in her hand, pulsing and rising in her grip. "Now Manon..." Voice hoarse, head tilting back a bit in response to her fist of braids. "That's hardly fair."

Sid: "Oh, I 'ave to be fair" Me bad." Both hands releasing their respective grips, she made to pull from the press of flesh. "Mayhaps I should jus' go take me shower, aye?" The hint of snickers in her words as fingertips grazed his sides with electric sizzle before her touch left him altogether.

Jack Scot: It's a wonder he kept his wits about him at all. The last touch of her fingertips left him gasping for air, and he spun around. He flopped onto his chest to watch her. "Maybe you should," and he grinned, coyote sly, at her. "In fact, I highly suggest that you do."

Sid: His coyote was met with a fox lit grin of her own. Standing next to the massive bed, chin tucking, she peered down to his sprawling form. "Oh, ye be thinkin' so, aye' Well....Fine!" A mock haughty look, a tilt up of the angular chin, and a flounce spun her about-face. Spider-silk silver hair flipped, settling back to a dance of hips that was for him alone as she sashayed into the bathing area and towards the glass enclosed shower.

Jack Scot: "Aye, that's it," words barely audible, he crawled out of the bed and followed her, quietly, content despite lingering traces of a tent, to watch her. To tease himself with her body, so delicious to the eyes, the heart, and the spirit.

Sid: Opening the door and fiddling with the water to reach the desired temperature, she worked that tease; her free hand slowly moving along the outer curve of one breast, down the length of her ribs to her waist, across her stomach then lower still. Fingertips just grazing the tops of moonwhite curls, a moan was loosed right before she stepped into the stall and shut the door behind her.

That fox alight in silver trues she looked out to her mate, leaned against the wall and slipped a finger between glistening lips just as the water drenched her from head to toe.

Jack Scot: She made him howl. She truly did as he moved into the bathroom. He opened the door to the stall and stepped back as the spray splashed him. He wanted the clearest view possible of this wet delight. He grinned, never taking his eyes off her. "Continue..."

Sid: This was infinitely better than horrid dreams or dragon hunting. Hunger in her gaze, she slid it slowly over his body from top to bottom and back again as if she would devour him where he stood. Liquid soap scented of fresh spring rain was taken to her free hand and one foot lifted to brace to the wall on which she leaned. Sliding the soap over one hard-nippled breast, her other hand slipped further into the folds where her treasure lie. "Anythin' for ye, m'love."

Jack Scot: He consumed her with his gaze, drank deep every movement, reveled in each drop of water that slid down her pale skin. How lucky they were. How lucky he was. His eyes narrowed, though, when she spoke. He became shrewd. His head tilted, birdlike, in the steam. "Anything..."

Sid: Water droplets bounced along her lips with the words that came husky with building passions. Sincerity met his shrewd gaze. "Anythin'....Anythin'." A fevered growl underscored her tone, finger and thumb twisting at the pebbled nub upon the peak of her right breast.

Jack Scot: "So if I asked you to join the circus..." He moved closer to her and the water. Water drops glittering like diamond stars in his long black hair. His gaze was hungry, predatory. Guess who was the prey' "....you would?"

Sid: The circus" What did she care when he was looking at her like that. At this moment if he'd asked her, she'd have tried to spit gold nickels while standing on her head. Just a little closer....closer.

"For ye, m'love..." A second finger met up with its mate deep inside the velvet folds covered by soaking wet moonwhite curls and she gasped, pressing more into the wall with a loud groan that heralded the rest of her sentence. ?" I be doin' wha' e'er ye desire o' me."

Jack Scot: He loomed large and dark in the door. He was wet now, feathers and skin. He pointed a talon to her hand, his voice, low, guttural....a growl. "Take a taste.?

Sid: Breath panted from her. Gods what this male did to her! She loved him like this; dark, commanding and feral.

Passion's fire staining pale cheeks, water caressing over her lank frame, her upraised leg spread wider and fingers were lifted from her throbbing sex to paint across pale, quivering lips before her tongue darted out to swirl her own taste from their tips.

Sid: Faye had the twins out on some frolicking adventure or another. Baby stood forlornly in a near completed state within the confines of the kitchen, only lacking engine mounts, a few tweaks to a bit or a bob here and there to have her once more floating off her forks and ready to ride. Hence the forlorn demeanor screaming off the mage bike. The backyard with its Nesting Tree was vacant, and the living quarters, all floors of the 'stone spoke nothing of the Trueblood amongst its rooms. Yet, the distinct taste of her energy lingered about the bricks and mortar.

Jack Scot: The Ancient had made her home here for years. Little wonder bits of her could be found in the nooks and crannies. The Crow, however, was much noisier. He was singing and scrubbing the dirt off a bit of ivory he'd found the night before. His voice was rusty. He'd not sang much since his return from Summer. ~ If I had a million dollars, I'd buy you a house.~ And so it went, accompanied by the sound of running water at the kitchen sink

Sid: Something below rumbled, quaking the foundations and the floorboards of the 'stone.

Jack Scot: He, of course, stopped singing and quite calmly turned off the tap. "Manon?" Lightly calling out.

Sid: Three light taps, definitely not just random, rang softly against a pipe at his call.

Jack Scot: For a moment, he envisioned himself spinning down the drain with the last of the soap and water to follow the tapping. But that was a silly daydream. He could not make himself that small. What he could do was venture to the basement. He shuddered. Enclosed spaces, dark and damp, deep in the earth....he was no mole or rabbit. He dried his hands on a towel when the earth did not quake again. "Manon' Are you down there?" he called into the mudroom.

Sid: "Shhhhh!" came the sound of her hushed voice, followed closely by the scraping of something against stone and then another rumble from farther back than the foundations of the brownstone carried. The trapdoor in the mudroom was, indeed, up and open, and the scents from their basement - which led directly into the abandoned sewer tunnels running throughout WestEnd, connecting to Rhy'Din proper - wafted into the kitchen.

How far had Bel actually gotten in her project to map the tunnels and clear them for an alternate escape route should it be needed"

Jack Scot: He buttoned his lip into a scowl. He would have to venture down there it seemed, if only to satisfy his curiosity. A trait he shared with cats, but would never admit. He wore bare feet for this, since Obsidian had hushed him. There was a need for quiet. He ventured closer to the opened basement door. Took a deep breath and dropped down.

Sid: Hmmm....And what about that Skaven infestation' Had that ever really been cleared up"

Once more, as Scottie's bare feet touched to the damp floor, something in the distance to his left scraped against stone; something decidedly not just the settling of a house or its surrounding soil. Up along that way, Sid could be seen crouching on her haunches. Elflocks were tied up atop her head and she wore only threadbare jeans and one of her black tanks that had seen better days. She was facing away from him, still as a statue, staring down a long stretch of tunnel.

Jack Scot: If it was a Skaven, there would be a dwarf he would hunt down to beat the living crap out of....still and still he stood. He was not blind in the dark, but even the feeble light coming from above screwed with his vision. He moved right, away from the skittering sound, squinting ahead to where he knew she was. He did not need sight now to know exactly where his Manon sat poised.

Sid: Under the house the light was dim, but there was some. A few haphazardly placed spell lamps here and there about what passed as the basement. But Sid crouched further out, beyond the weak light and near to the edge of the property line. Again the rumble came, and down below it reverberated, sending dust and other sundry things to flake about from above.

The sound was clearly from where Sid was facing and the Ancient's whole bearing spoke of the warrior. She knew he was there and turned her head over a thin shoulder to flash him a confident, calculating smile, gesturing him forward before returning attentions to the distance before her.

Jack Scot: Even in the middle of a damp, dirty, dark....he better not go there....no....Even there in the basement, thin and pale and magnificent, she captivated him. It would be easy to forget what mystery she hunted down here and just bask in her presence. He stalked forward, toward her, suppressing the growl that wanted to reverberate in the back of his throat. Growl at her. At the dark. At the situation. He wasn't wearing his coat.

Sid: As he drew closer she reached for him, fingertips brushing soft against his hip and then pointing down the darkened tunnel. In the distance, a blockage at what might be a cross junction in the sewer lines seems to have fallen, a watery light filtering through from the other side.

Sid was all business, a predator waiting for prey. The grin on pale lips was cold, hungry, feral. When the Trueblood was in greatest need of distraction, especially since the advent of things she was finding it difficult to incorporate and deal with, two things often she would fall to and they both involved a hunting of the flesh in one aspect or another.

"Down there." Her whisper a chill in the dank and damp, another touch of fingers resting to his knee.

Jack Scot: He tilted his head in birdlike fashion. His starry gaze fixed on the passage ahead. His skin through the denim he wore on fire just by her touch. He crouched beside her, leaning forward to scrape his fingertips against the mix of earth and concrete grit at their feet. He had not seen her hunt this way in a long while, or maybe he just had not noticed; a fault of his, distracted by too many things, often at once. He stayed silent, or else he would growl. Everything prickled.

Sid: She was looking for slaughter; mindless, bloody battle. For two as close as they this would not be hard to discern. Yet, as Scottie crouched beside her, her body shifted nearer to his, her knee against his own as she swayed slightly on the balls of booted feet. A breath of air from somewhere fluttered silvered bangs about her face and the scent she bore of thunderstorms and rich, heady wine burned ripe in the air about them.

Just as her fingertip touch upon his leg was replaced with a heated press of palm moving along his denim covered thigh, just when the tide might turn from one hunt to the other, debris off the blockage down the way rustled and clattered over itself to the ground below and she stiffened, grinning wider.

Jack Scot: His face split into a coyote grin to match hers. There was that of storms about her and he was fit to ride it out, to laugh madly while the metal-tainted air ripped his voice from him and flung hair and ribbons into his eyes just for the chance to ram himself into her. It might have happened but for the clatter of rock ahead and the mystery to be solved. Waiting would make her tastier. His grin turned long, tongue lolled out. Her fingers curling in dark fur that in the light of day would be a tawny camouflage; now, the canine beside her growled, low and promising.

Sid: As he shifted, the fire ran up her spine and silver eyes glittered sharply, reflecting the dim light and throwing it back. Thin lips peeled from straight, white teeth bared in a most disarming grin and she curled fingers tight into soft fur before releasing, pointing ahead and then giving two short points to the left. A look to her Ebon Knight, she nodded once and moved in her crouch up a ways and off to the right, keeping tight against the curve of the tunnel. At the top of the blockage in front of them three pairs of red light appeared, a low chittering and a snuffle heard from that direction.

Jack Scot: Even as she moved right, he padded to the left, utterly silent now, awash in a million scents the foremost of which was hers. He looked back to where he knew she was and then focused on the skitterings ahead. He sniffed at the air trying to determine to who or what those red points of reflective light belonged.

Sid: The points of red were too large for normal rats, certainly. The scent floating back to the two spoke of vermin, large meat-eating vermin. As the wall of debris tumbled more, the odor of foul, rotted flesh rushed towards them. The sounds ahead were hesitant, cautious, and two more pairs of red joined the other three. Sid slunk closer, one hand pulling a wicked looked dagger from a sheath at the small of her back.

Jack Scot: Aye, one Lankyn and one dwarf with the unpronounceable name. Dead. Skaven. He truly hated those rat things. He crouched low and loosed another guttural growl.

Sid: Violet rippled from the direction of Sid's form, darkened silver eyes turning to wink at her mate as a wash of dank and damp flowed around them. The coyote's keen nose would be picking up no scents other than that of Skaven and the sewer tunnels. Though Sid was loathe to use her talents indiscriminately, covering their presence was just good battle tactics.

The chittering grew louder, less cautious, and more debris was pushed from the blockage as five pairs of clawed hand-like appendages crawled over the wall of earth and trash. Stone scraped as their feet touched the ground beyond. They were right to be cautious; Bel had been systematically annihilating nests she had come across while trying to clear these tunnels before she had last gone missing. Serrated curved dagger palmed, its blade snug against bare forearm, Sid slithered closer; a sway to her body like some big cat ready to pounce. She was in her element.

It was true the Skaven were not strategically savvy, not the kind of opponent a warrior might consider exactly worthy, but they came in numbers and when one was looking for mindless slaughter they would provide a decent enough distraction. A look again to her mate, checking; his strength bolstered her own and in this, as in all things, she claimed him partner.

Jack Scot: As he always would be. He looked over at her and grinned, white teeth flashing in the dim light. He had half a mind to sit back and watch her work. It would be bloody poetry for sure and it occurred to him, cutting through the haze of animal thoughts and urges and instincts (enough so he was creeping forward now without thinking!), that they had only ever fought beside each other once. Most of their battles seemed to be of the mind, of senses, in the bedroom. Was that good" She was bred a warrior after all, and what was he" Oh, introspection on the eve of battle.

Sid: Skaven bred like, well, vermin, and soon the five scouts began chittering and snapping louder and more animatedly. Sid had crawled within around twenty-five feet of the junction. Elflocks atop her head danced in eerie silence with a nod to her mate as more of the Skaven's clan flowed through the hole made. There was now a sea of red eyes three feet off the ground just ahead, and the dim light glinted off deadly yellow fangs.

Jack Scot: How many were there" He tried to count them but could not get a good number. They moved around too much. Their high-pitched squeak for a language played at the lower range of his hearing. He could almost understand them, but of course, they were only rats. Tail tucked in, ears pricked forward, eyes intent on the opening ahead, he waited for the sign.

Sid: Hunched, several began to filter from the sea of their brethren, some moving off to the left and right and some coming straight down towards Sid and Scottie, towards the brownstone and their home. As those few took pause, sniffing the air, chattering squeaks resounded out and furred arms thrust in the direction of the 'stone as if they knew where they were and suddenly found a purpose. Others joined and a knot of them grew, heads bobbing, teeth clicking, turning into each other as if they were holding some kind of conference, forming a plan. This did not bode well, not well at all.

Dark threaded eyes of silver slid over to the left and she gave a single nod to her Ebon Knight before her body flowed like water from the crouch to her full height and she stepped forth with a warrior's cry, hell bent for leather and plowing towards the fray.

Jack Scot: He held back a heartbeat, two....three....and only then he stalked forward. She was a warrior, but he could kill as well. His snarl was lost in her war cry. He was her shadow in the startled faces of all those Skaven who thought they were clever.

Sid: Slathering maws turned as one toward the pair. Their numbers brought courage, but they were Skaven and Sid's cry and Scottie's menacing snarl had the ranks pulling back several steps, like a wave ebbing out to sea. That was until, from behind the knot of them, a louder growl punched the air and one Skaven rose up a head taller than the rest.

Sid darted a look to her mate and the blade came off her arm as three broke out, claws and fangs bared, barreling straight for her. Two others turned and came at the approaching coyote as metal flashed and the Ancient fell into battle with the syncopated grace of a dancer.

Jack Scot: The dog beside her now was no dancer, but there was speed and cunning in the leap past her, front paws out to meet a Skaven's chest with bone-jarring force. Jaws snapped in the rat's face as the two collided.

Sid: Blood and fur flew. Sid was like a whirling dervish, all feet and hands, fists, kicks and blade. As Skaven fell, more took their place, moving in from the ranks behind them always punctuated by snarls from the larger one at the rear. Hmmm....Were they actually organizing" This could prove bad and it only spurred the Ancient onwards, determined to eliminate the threat.

Pride shone on her blood-spattered face as she caught glimpses of her mate's prowess, and then the vile stench of Skaven vitae mingled with the heady richness of a Trueblood's life force. One of the rank and file had crawled along the upper curve of the tunnel wall, picking its way above the bottleneck until it dropped, claws slashing through alabaster flesh of neck and chest. A jungle cat roar, Sid's blade separated a head from its shoulders and more Skaven advanced upon the pair, herding them farther and farther apart.

Jack Scot: He heard her roar and answered with a yip yip of his own, but the press of Skaven kept him from getting more than a glimpse of pale skin through the haze of blood and battle lust. He ducked down to hamstring one and two leapt on his back, gouging out handholds in his fur with their claws. He yelped, surprised and in pain and twisted to snap at one's leg.

Sid: "Jack!" Pressing at the throng, she saw him jumped and pressed harder in his direction. However, the leader chattered out and the ranks swarmed at her like, well, rats.

Blade, fangs, claws....Cloth and flesh ripped and tore, blood painted the small battle area, spraying the walls and the ground. Clearly the leader saw the larger Trueblood as the immediate threat. Silly rodent. Violet rippled out from where the Ancient was being overwhelmed, Skaven bodies muffling her growls and cries as she sliced and diced, giving as good as getting.

Jack Scot: Though coyotes were usually timid creatures that hid rather than boldly strike out, they were adaptable, and this coyote was not just a dog. A third body, a fourth piled on top of him forcing him down to the grit and dirt. He gave another yelp, another snarl, a caw....a roar. Skaven bodies exploded off him as he rose, tall and manlike but no man.

Dark dusky skin, eyes fathomless depths of midnight sprinkled with stars. Talons for fingertips and feathers where there should be hair. He grinned, coyote sly still, and picked a Skaven up by the throat. And the others, well, he let the shades that were his domain have them. Much rending, much tearing ensued.

Sid: The Ancient was down on her knees, glimpses of her through the pack showed a maniacal countenance; shirt and jeans and the flesh below it a patchwork of bloody slashes and gouges. And, she was laughing; a chilling, bloodthirsty sound that echoed off cement and earth.

Solid black eyes caught sight of her mate and she struggled upwards, her blade eviscerating one Skaven flying at her in a body tackle. Its bowels exploding as she deftly twisted weasel-like, rolling to one knee and sending that deadly blade jamming skyward into the jaw of another coming down at her.

Jack Scot: He waded through the gore while behind him tendrils of shadow wrapped and constricted around the remaining Skaven. His gaze fixed on the larger of the group, the leader. He flexed his talons and launched himself at the giant rat.

Sid: Amethyst light bathed the area about her as her mate went for the leader, and from the bowels of the earth dagger-thorned roots and vines began to sprout, snaking about furred bodies and necks. This had been an exercise in mindless killing, a gruesome distraction, but perhaps it was time to call it to its end. Braced against the wall, her blade dancing expertly in tandem with the destructive forces of nature she called, black eyes kept vigil on her love's advance.

Jack Scot: Mad eyes bore into the depths of the ratman's own. He found, in there, the glimmer of intelligence, of self-awareness. He would be happy to snuff it out.

The Crow had never shown so much blood thirst before. Carrion and scavenger he was, but this feeling of power as his fingers closed around the ratman's throat opened up something new (or maybe he'd just forgotten thanks to the lingering effects of Mab's machinations) in him.

Sid: She got careless. Bloodlust peaking, gaze diverted by the power overcoming her mate, she zigged when she should of zagged and one of the ratmen caught in a lethal wrap of plants struck out with the claws of one foot, slicing right through tender skin below the waist of tattered jeans. A keening wail split the darkness and bone crunched as knees hit the ground with force.

Jack Scot: "Manon!" Her cry cut through the martial haze. He flung the overgrown Skaven against the wall and sped towards her, shadows making a hole for his free passage. He scooped her up, gentle as he had been terrible to the ratman moments before. His wings forming a wall between them and the rats, they launched the pair up through the hole that led to the brownstone.

Sid: Both of them covered in guts and gore, the trapdoor slamming behind them and sealing, her arms were about his neck. Maniacal light still played in the recesses of eyes slowly morphing back to silver true, and pain accompanied the blood dripping from torn flesh. Still...."Gods ye be hot, m'love." Fox light dancing about the edges of her smile.

Jack Scot: His heart beat wild as he carried her into the kitchen. He could taste the Skaven blood. Their scent still lingered all around. His shadows sealed the seal around the basement door and they were safe.

A sweep of his arm cleared the kitchen table so he could lay her gently on it. His gaze fevered with the power still coursing through him. Not all the blood on her was Skaven he knew. She was injured. It was easy to peel what was left of her clothes off her body.

Sid: She let him remove the tatters of cloth, and the flesh beneath looked frightening. From her face all the way down, skin was sliced and gouged, torn and bloodied. Against that pale shade the redness was horrific, lending a more grievous air to her injuries perhaps, perhaps not.

Still, legs wrapped loosely, gently about him and she pulled him nearer. Weakened, yes, but the adrenaline rush was compensating nicely. And, not to forget, she had invited this battle almost gleefully. Her words were low and rasped owing to the rendered skin across neck and chest, but her intent was clear. "We manage to draw us a bath an' ye fancy a shag, lover?"

Jack Scot: It was true. Lust was there, hunger as well. This was not a fancy or desire. It was a need, base and carnal.

Her injuries gave him pause. He himself bore few wounds from the encounter. It was as if, once he showed his True self, the Skaven claws could not mark him though he was unclothed as could be.

He had not said a word since he called her name and now he remained silent. He lay a hand upon a rend in her flesh, gentle as any caress he had ever given her. Beneath his hand, she healed.

Sid: Silver true eyes watched and widened slightly as he laid his hand atop ripped flesh and it began to heal. It was as if her own natural ability kicked up several notches and married with the power he was radiating to speed up the process.

Injuries and gore be damned! Hands lifted and she took him by the shoulders pulling him into a fevered kiss, legs and arms wrapping about his form as she gave over to a lust that sang as strong as the blood thirst not minutes before. Frell the bath, the kitchen table would work just fine!

Sid: The day outside was overcast, grey and chilled in the watery light of Rhy'Din's sun. All over WestEnd, though, signs of Solstice, Yule and Christmas were apparent. Inside a renovated brownstone at the heart of that district, scents of pine, crackling fires dancing in all the hearths, boughs of greenery graced the home and warmed the confines like at no other time of the year....Except maybe Spring.

Things had been quiet on many fronts, even the incident of the walking dead at the Inn on her last shift seemed to be distant memory, more annoying than something to be cautious about. The kitchen door wide-open to the chill air, the sounds of a whiskey-tinged voice vocalized a wordless tune as the Ancient strung holly and mistletoe amongst the blue glass bottles hanging from the Nesting Tree.

Jack Scot: One of his favorite pastimes was to watch her. His dark gaze traced every line, every curve subtle though they were, every inch of her. He could close his eyes and see her, reaching high to dangle a sprig from a branch of their tree; every bit of her stored in his infamous memory. He would never forget her again, his Moon.

He leaned against the doorframe and let the chill breeze wash over him. Satin ribbons shivered in the winter air. The only sound he made.

Sid: "Be Faye 'avin' the bairns out on they shoppin' spree, m'love?" Glamoured eyes never left her current task. She did not need to look to know he was there. Every bit of his presence was ingrained, etched firmly upon what passed as her soul. She, too, would never allow her Ebon Knight to be lost from her again.

Hanging the last bit of mistletoe, those eyes turned towards the open door morphing quicksilver to true hue, her face bathed in the heat of the smile that was for him alone.

Jack Scot: "Aye, but I do not know what they are using for money." He didn't move, though she presented an enticing target, standing there beneath the mistletoe; another moment to commit to memory.

Sid: Thumbs hooked to the pockets of rider-worn jeans, the sleeves of her thermal pushed to elbows, she stood beneath the last sprig with hips cocked. A fox lit grin on pale lips. "They be 'avin' enough for they needs."

For the last few months Sid had squirreled away a few coins here and there from her tips so the twins would have spending money for Yule gifts as they were now at that age where they had begun to think of others. "Ye jus' be goin' to stand there, or be ye takin' advantage o' the position I find meself in?" The mirth was in her words, sparking in the depths of silver true.

Jack Scot: "I admit I am afraid to move." He drank her in with his gaze; eyes glittering despite the wane light that escaped the clouds. "What if I blink and you are gone?"

Sid: "I be thinkin', mayhaps, ye should be testin' tha' theory, m'love." One long finger of strangely elegant design lifted, beckoning him forth. Within unglamoured silver the hint of Spring nearing flamed bright and hot.

Jack Scot: He could smell the Spring he'd never witnessed except when they coupled. Even a sample of that could sustain him for days, the barest whisper of a scent....of her. Nostrils flared, but still he kept to the lean. One hand in his pocket, the other fingering the ribbons he wore.

Glossed over by time (even in a few short weeks), the Skaven problem they dealt with had elicited a change in him. He felt it when the zombie rapped on the tavern window, when she had spoken the name of the suspected necromancer. Even now, gazing at her, he saw her anew. Ablaze with silvered Spring in the midst of winter drab. Promise. Hope. Change. "Am I a scientist?"

Sid: "A verra special kind, m'Crow....Ye be a Dreamer."

Who needed mistletoe" If the Mohammed would not come to the mountain, the mountain... She had read that someplace. And so, like some pale jungle cat she stalked from under the Nesting Tree, lean, lithe, and lank. The heat in her eyes boring straight to his glittery, crow dark depths.

Since the Skaven incident, she had noted the change in him. Simultaneously it elicited a great pride and an unnerving fright within her. Yet two more things alien and foreign that brought about inner trepidation. A lump in a front pocket, forgotten but not, the touchstone that apparently kept her from stumbling over the edge of a deep, dark precipice. At least, this is what sibilant whispers called to her, assured the Ancient of until such time as It could gain Its foothold and push her over.

Jack Scot: His eyes narrowed as if he expected some sort of trick or connivery. Each slinky step brought her closer and ignited in him such desire that he could not hide by shifting his weight.

As she grew closer suspicion warred with the need to shove her back against the smooth bark of their tree and take what she so freely offered. "You have been calling me that lately." He licked his lips. "Dreamer..."

Sid: So close now, the heat off her body flowed over his own as she moved before him, circling behind as the doorframe allowed. Head tilting, warm breath coursing along the curve of his neck, her lips so near as to be tasted. Whispered words hot against the shell of his ear. "It seems fittin'."

In truth, she does not know exactly why she has taken to calling him by that title. Yes, intellectually she remembers the conversation. The mention he has made of her being his dream, of her being the Moon. Still, those thoughts do nothing but stir something within that others more attuned to emotions and feelings than she might call anxiety. The Trueblood has not thought long on why she has now begun to call him such, it is just something that seems natural and therefore it goes unquestioned....For now.

The tip of a single finger touches light at the base of his neck, dropping in a languid trail down his spine.

Jack Scot: He sucked in breath; her touch a blazing trail through the wool and ribbons of his coat. Difficult this moment it was to focus on the why of things. Her scent changed, and now it was not just of crocuses pushing up through the snow, but also of heat and running water. "I don't know what that is."

Sid: "Wha' a Dreamer be, ye mean?" Elflocks feather against the skin bared above his coat's collar, the sounds of silver bells numbered fifty and nine soft, low, and melodic in their chimes. She inhaled deeply, taking his scent and reveling in what his presence, the very idea of him, did to her physical being. How he sang throughout the whole of her.

Tonight was the shortest night of the year; with its turning the days would grow longer and Spring was more than just a distant thought on the horizon. That finger stopped, crooked over the waist of his denims. It was all she could do to keep from yanking backwards, pulling him to her and spinning him about to press the length of her body to his in ways that would make a courtesan blush.

Jack Scot: "Aye..."

Beyond that he couldn't trust his voice or his ability to articulate. He had forgotten altogether, until he found her at the Nesting Tree, about the Solstice, about Yule and Christmas. Even after the goodbyes he had made with his children as they went to do their holiday shopping, his thoughts had turned inward and ignorant of the passing of time around him. But she put him here, in the Now. He was startled by the chill in the air and heat off her body.

Sid: Leaving the thoughts and words of dreaming and Dreamers, she grinned. Fox light nestling in eyes of silver true and ghosting on pale lips. It was in the whisper, the touch of more fingers as they slipped beneath coat and linen shirt to spark electric against his flesh. "I be 'avin' a surprise for ye. Come..."

And with that, easy as you please and frustrating in her mercurial shift, she dragged her silken touch sideways along the small of his back until it left him, closing the door to the kitchen, moving for the backyard gate that led to the side drive of the house.

Jack Scot: He had hoped she would tell him, what Dreaming was, why he was a Dreamer, but she sabotaged him in a most delicious way. Her touch for sure would derail any thought in his head, but she was trickier than that. She appealed to his curiosity.

That is how he found himself outside with her scent swirling around him and the ghost of her touch still on his skin. It did not take his long legs long to catch up with her. Even a smile, small and fading, touched his mouth.

Sid: Opening the gate revealed Baby in all her glory. Yes, the kitchen had been bare this day of engine bits and bobs, or the shell that was the mage bike settled on dead, wheel-less fenders. The Ancient winced but once as she approached; her bonded ride's ire now full throttle across their shared link.

Swinging an impossibly long leg over the leather seat, she turns, patting the space behind her, wicked delight in those shining eyes. "I be thinkin' mayhaps we should be doin' a bit o' shoppin' our own selves. For the bairns, ye know. I 'ave a special place in mind an' thought ye be likin" to accompany me. Plus, it gives me chance to begin makin' thin's up to Baby." At the mention of the ride's moniker, she gave the depthless black of Baby's tank a loving stroke.

Jack Scot: "Baby..." A reverent whisper as he saw the gleaming chrome machine balanced there on invisible spells for wheels. He had missed the extra space in the kitchen, had missed totally the sounds of tinkering outside. His trips inward had been total and complete.

Fingertips drifted over chrome that held no chill, only the warmth of anticipation. He swung in behind Sid, unworried at all that she was in the driver's seat.

Sid: A smile warm as Summer World's own sun blossomed on thin lips as Scottie took the space behind her. Standing to the kicker, she jammed down once and half again to bring the mage bike to a thunderous life. Snagging a colored rag from the inside of her leather, binding her elflocks, twisting the throttle, the bike roared from their home and into the streets of WestEnd.

The Panhead screamed with the glory of the open road and Sid's entire demeanor gathered up the freedom and held to it fast and tight, like a lifeline. Swinging about to head north, they passed through Old Town towards the road that would lead them past Onyx House and the Gate to another World.

Jack Scot: The World" He wondered briefly if that was where she was taking him but the roar of the bike, the rush of the air pushed the thought away. He wanted to pant as their passage sent his ribbons into a riotous flutter, a shimmer of color. He found himself grinning as he held his arms out.

Sid: The trip through the Gate went without incident; a smooth transition seeming quicker than it was that deposited them in a winter-browned meadow. Across the way stood a stone wall that drifted as far as the eye could see on either side.

Baby's engine puttered thrice, quieting to a rumbled purr before finally dying out. Another stroke against the tank, a soft word of thanks and Sid dismounted; eyes of silver true looking past the low wall to the woods and what lie behind them, a hand held forth for her Crow.

Jack Scot: He took her hand and dismounted easily. The ride was over before it began and he was a little sad for it. Still, she was masterful. His curiosity was at its highest. She may as well have dangled something sparkly in front of him, so effectively she was leading him to ....where"

He tilted his head in question at her. He did not remember this place. He wondered for a heart pounding moment if he should.

Sid: Whether it was possible Scottie would know the place they stood, the place they were headed, she did not know. She thought it likely in his travels he might have come across it, though.

An iron gate stood well maintained in a break in the wall and Sid reached to click the mechanism, watching it swing silently back to them, an inviting gesture that for some reason held a hint of foreboding. "Come an' see wha' wonders there be beyond the bound'ry, m'Dreamer."

Flowing through the opening, flesh prickled and tingled against his own as her form made the break first and stopped immediately on the other side; her hand still in his, the image of her wavers for a moment. For a single instant he can see the trueness she glamoured so easily as if it was as secondary as breathing; cunning shown in silver eyes before they slowly shifted to the periwinkle shade of her guise.

Jack Scot: And there was the danger in Faerie. As lovely and inviting as they were, every single fae-touched creature held that cunning deep within them. Nothing was ever as it seemed. From glamours to wishes to food, one tread lightly in Summer.

He did not let go but did not follow directly. He looked up at the gate and then back to her wavering form. "What will I see?"

Sid: Her laughter was light and breezy, like Spring through budding branches. With its sounding, the air about them, the very foliage, seemed to struggle; almost like everything struck forth at once to reach a pinnacle just beyond its grasp; something not yet there, but close.

"I promise ye naught but fun an' fancies, m'only love. Trade an' treasures unequaled anyplace else. Friendly folk an' inviting fare to partake o' with sight, touch, scent, hearin', an' taste."

Merry. This was new, or almost so. We do not mind this. It thrummed throughout the Ancient, sang within her shell's veins and rang out in her touch upon him. True, the glamour still clothed her being, but here....now....she knew disguising whom and what she was would not be looked over so lightly where they were heading. Perhaps, though, the coming of Spring would only place a smile upon those who saw, steep a promise of things to come in the months ahead.

A tug at his fingers, her smile soft and bright. "Come."

Jack Scot: She would not lead him willingly into danger, and she did not seem possessed by demons. He stepped over the threshold at her urging and took a deep breath.

Sid: As Scottie stepped across, the gate swung closed without a touch from either. There may have come a sense then that this portal would not just open for any; that, perhaps, the newness of its iron and hinges might be perceived by others as neglected and worn. But, it was just a sense, nothing more.

Once inside the wall, the woods beyond it that had appeared ominous and thick from the other side were now but a strip of winter-naked trees. Music and voices raised in cheer and joy could be heard just to their far side. Brightly colored fabric snapped and fluttered on the fragrant winds, their sight dancing in and out of the bared branches that stood between the couple and them. Sid grinned once more over her leather-clad shoulder and set forth, his hand still held firmly in her own.

Jack Scot: He cawed in soft, light laughter at the change. Nothing was ever as it seems, he reminded himself and let her lead him on. He still wore his ribbons as she still wore her glamour. "Where are we, Manon?"

Sid: Passing into the trees, the Ancient dipped her head and lowered her voice to a tone that suggested a kid's excitement at christmass morning. "Solstice festival, m'love. Music, an' food, an' vendors an' glorious wares." Like a secret she spoke it. But, was the secret the festival or their presence at such"

Jack Scot: He smiled at her, and then ducked under a low branch. It was the perfect excuse to swing around so he might wrap his arms around her - finally! - and twirl her about.

Sid: Merrily she laughed, arms about him as they danced through the trees onto the path that led past small, thatched roof homes towards a bustling village square. In the middle of the square, surrounded by vendor booths, milling villagers and visitors, the intoxicating scents of baked goods, and bright colors strung from every available spot, stood a fountain whose waters tinkled with a familiar sound.

Clear water cascaded over a larger than life-size relief worked in pure silvery mithril. As the Ancient and her Crow danced forward, friendly smiles and laughing eyes turning their way, the image grew clearer: A Maiden, arms outstretched and twirling amidst a meadow filled with spring flowers. The moon looming large above her head that fingers seemed to hold up within the starry sky as the wing of a crow dipped across its full face.

Jack Scot: Of course the fountain caught his attention and held him there, still, his arms around her tight. Mesmerized, gasping. "Manon!"

Sid: The Trueblood just grinned, dipping her head to him and nuzzling his neck. Among the friendly smiles and laughing eyes that viewed the loving couple, there were some that belonged to beings that seemed immeasurably old. It was in those eyes, on those smiles, that a knowing could be glimpsed, a skip of heart sensed as if a much-needed blessing had just been granted.

The effect spread swiftly throughout the crowd and Sid laughed happily, planting a passionate kiss smack on her Ebon Knight's lips, spinning them both about. "Aye....Scottie?"

Jack Scot: She left him breathless and amazed; ribbons fluttering all around them. The faces of the people watching blurred, but he knew they were recognized. They were recognized. He knew what Sid was, but what did these people think he was" A dreamer" A crow" One who drank down the Moon' He grinned, coyote sly. "Aye....Obsidian."

Sid: That fox lit grin, a gentle nudge of elbow to rib, and she spun out still holding to his hand; a beatific smile blooming as a youngling approached bearing a tray of exquisite and delicious looking pastries and baked goods.

The small girl-child, pale of flesh with a buttercup tint to the dandelion fluff of curls that haloed her impish features glanced behind to a face in the crowd then looked to Sid before finally stepping in front of Scottie and dipping a curtsey, holding out the tray to him.

"If'n m'Lord pleases, I be wishin' ye to partake o' some o' our village's best fare?" Eyes the color of highlights on silver darted up then around in nervous fashion, though her smile never faltered. In fact, it seemed to grow and warm in awe.

Jack Scot: His grin remained sly. He was fae himself. Carefully he knelt down on one knee to better study the child and what she offered. A little beauty, she would melt hearts in just a few years. His own included.

His dark eyes glittered with stars. "I can think of nothing that would please me more, darling." He gave Sid's hand a squeeze and never let go.

Sid: The Ancient stood there, a soft and loving squeeze returned, watching her mate with the child. What passed for her heart seemed filled to bursting and she marveled at the sensation of it.

Glamoured blue eyes coursed over the faces in the still bustling crowd. The villagers and the visitors went about their revelry and business, though there was no doubt attentions were riveted to the pair with the child, particularly the dark-haired male. Truth to tell, Scottie seemed to garner the most curiosity, even reverence.

As he knelt before the tiny beauty, she gasped and then giggled, a hand placed before her gorgeous smile. Fine hairs on pale arms rose and prickled along her flesh. Her words came shy, hushed and excited. "I....They call me Saffron, m'Lord. Oh! Try the butter rum pasties, m'Lord. 'Tis me mum's bakin'." Little teeth grabbed her bottom lip and eyes dropped to the ground as if she might have misspoke.

Jack Scot: "Saffron..." He spoke her name like it was always meant to be spoken - a rare and difficult bloom, but with exquisite flavor.

Plucking a pastie off the tray, never taking his eyes off the lass, he took a bite, then popped the whole thing into his mouth. "Delicious!"

Sid: The little lass gasped and giggled again, a heated flush burning up her face to fire in cherubic cheeks before she dipped another curtsey and breathed out. "Than' ye, m'Lord."

Another hurried curtsey, her eyes barely meeting Sid's own, and her voice rasped a whisper before dashing off into the crowd again. "An' than' ye, Lady."

Sid chuckled a throaty sound, squeezed Scottie's hand once more and smiled to him. "Shoppin', m'only Dreamer?"

Jack Scot: Coyote slyness still in his smile, glittery depths watch as the lass rushes away. Maybe in a few years....he thought.

Sid and Gabriel in the thread Dangerous Slide in this folder. This, too, contains intense sexual themes. You have been warned.]

Sid: Clothes appeared on the bench at the end of the bed just before the Ancient appeared in the third floor master suite of the brownstone, dark cracked eyes of silver oblivious to all but what she reached for....the shower door.

Stepping inside, turning on the water to scalding, she curled into a ball in the corner and let her tears mingle with the pin-prickly burst from the shower's head.

Pale flesh was bruised and bloody, brutalized, she knew that no matter how hot the water, how many showers she took, she would never wash this off.

Jack Scot: He awoke as soon as she left the brownstone. His sleep was too troubled with snakelike memories that coiled about him and squeezed "til he thought his head would pop like a pin-pricked balloon.

Pale though she was, her warmth soothed him and when it was gone he was again a nervous crow. So, he sat up and smoked, staring at the doorway in the dark, waiting for her return.

Ten butts in the tray and a fresh cherry lit, she came back. He felt her rush, the bursting of her presence into the foyer below. The night deepened with her ascent up the stairs, coalesced about her and clung like mud to her silver skin. He could feel her as prickling down his spine, see her rush into their bedroom and right on by, but he....could....not...smell her. Puzzling.

Sid: Why had she asked for it' What had possessed her" This was Gabriel! The most hated the most reviled! If Sid felt loathing for Mab, there was not even a word in the mortals' languages having to do with emotions that could describe what it was she felt for Gabriel....Father. And yet...

She could not deny there was connection. It went beyond the call of Spring, beyond the similar struggles they both now fought. She had wanted this. She had wanted this" "Why!!!?"

Water sprayed and gurgled the single cry, its echo bouncing about the tiles and glass and she hung her head to her hands letting the sobs take her until her whole form shook and quivered with rage and sorrow.

Jack Scot: The smell was familiar, but one he could not place. He sucked in a last lungful of smoke. He let it go slowly to curl about his head as he crushed out the last of the cigarette's life. The shower muffled her sobs. He flung the blankets away and swung out of the bed. He picked up her jacket and sniffed at it, wincing away from the strength of the scent upon it. Not an Ancient, he decided, but something similar, closer to divine but so far, far away.

He reached the door, braced himself for the blast of heat and instant beading of steamy droplets on his bare skin. She asked her question. "Sometimes we never find out."

Sid: Her head came up as he spoke, apologies she has vocalized before to her mate could never match what marked her face just then. The sight of him standing there while water burnt her flesh brought fresh sobs, thin arms clutching tighter about raised knees, her nose burying itself to battered thighs. "HatemeHatemeHateme! Please hate me!"

The litany kept going, as if some record stuck on a scratch. Her body rocking back and forth as the wyrm wound about her mindscape and played its tune, using what it could to weave Its song into what passed as her soul. Not now....but soon.

Jack Scot: "You hate yourself enough for the both of us, Manon." He moved toward her, reaching for the taps. The lights were not on and so he could not get a clear look at the damage dealt to her. "I wish there was a way to make you see what I see, when I look at you."

Up close, and despite all the water, he could finally scent her but the Moon was clouded by vapor and the stench of....was that dragon' He frowned and twisted the faucets shut.

Sid: Water off, she still rocked on the shower floor. She could not look at him. What was wrong with her" "Wha' be wron' with me" Oh, Jack, how do ye stand me?"

Finally, eyes red-rimmed and still flowing with tears, she looks up. "Oh, Jack, I be so verra sorry ye e'er got mixed up with one such as me. Ye deserve so much better."

Jack Scot: "Do I?" He asked as he leaned down and took hold of her shoulders, urging her up with gentle pull. "What do I deserve" The Sun?"

Sid: His hands were on her, his strength coursing through her body bringing light to dull flesh and dark-threaded eyes. Once she was standing she fell to his arms and breathed deeply of all he held. The violent shaking of her head at his question brought the chiming of absent silver bells, muted and off-key. "Nae! Nae the Sun!"

"But..." Lifting her head from his shoulder to meet the crow dark depths of his gaze the word hung in the air before she dropped her face and clung to him, shivering like the last leaf on a dying tree.

Jack Scot: "She would have me." He answered that 'but'. "Of all, She, I am certain, would."

He held her dear and close and breathed deep the strange mingling of scents on her. The more she trembled, the more solid he became; a brace for her, so she would not fall. "Should I go to her?"

Sid: "Do....Do ye wish to?" Still within his arms, she pulls back a half step to meet his gaze once more. She would let him go if he wished; it was there in her eyes.

Like twin full moons those eyes held a cosmic vastness of age....and pain; his pain, her pain, the pain of worlds. And yet, in this moment if another were to observe the little scene occurring in a brownstone at the heart of a run down neighborhood, there would be no doubt that what made those eyes shine was Love; Love for him, for what they were together.

In the dark corners of her mindscape, the Dragon laughed.

"If'n 'tis wha' ye wish....Ye know I willna stop ye. But....nae....I....I..." She could say it, she wanted to say it, but if she did he would and then what? Would he stay because she asked" Would that be worse for him' How could she let him go"

Breath gasped from her and she shivered, dripping onto the wooden floor, chin quivering as she fought internal demons. Finally, with a push of air from her lungs, she whispered so softly, "I dun wan' ye to go," and then dropped her eyes to the floor as if she had just done the most terrible thing.

Jack Scot: "You cannot tell me what I can and cannot do regardless, Manon. I make my own choices. I will not go to her." His fingers combed through her wet hair, then both hands on her shoulders, holding her firmly in place. "I know it is hard for you, to be able to make choices. To do as you would, now that....now that you are afflicted with emotion."

Sid: Fingers lift and cup gently against his stubbled cheek. "Oh, Jack, ye deserve peace. I fear....I fear ye willna e'er know such with me, an' tha' I canna stand to think on. Tha' I be the cause o' pain for ye."

She was cold, and it went much deeper than the chill on wet skin. Burrowing against him, words continued warm against his shoulder. Was she being selfish' Was this wrong to need his strength, to pull from it to keep her own feet' All she wanted was...."Emotions do seem to be an affliction, ye be right. But, as much as I wan' to cause harm to Lankyn for wha' he be bringin' me with all this..."

Fingertips toyed with the strands of night-dark hair, smoothing along the nape of his neck and shoulders. "Oh, Jack. I know how much I love ye because o' all this. I know I always knew it, but it sings inside me now like ne'er afore. An', because o' tha', all I wan' be for ye to be happy for I love ye tha' much. Do tha' be makin' sense" Be I selfish for wantin' ye to stay e'en if'n I know I cause ye pain" Be I wron', Jack?"

She wore confusion and the struggle with these alien feelings like a cloak; it muddied her, stuck to her like dirt, mingled with the chaos she was until it seemed it would swallow her whole, and all the while the White Dragon waited in the wings, whispering, coaxing, nudging.

Jack Scot: "You are an old, old woman, Manon. But you don't know everything." He dipped down and scooped her up, into his arms. Arms he would say had no real strength but strong enough to carry her wherever they would go. "It is Pain to be without you. Will you believe me" Or think me a Liar?"

Sid: She weighed no more than the sliver of moonlight she seemed to be at times. In his arms, she glowed. Head to his chest, arms about his neck, a genuine smile marks those pale lips. "Oh, Jack m'love, I believe ye. Ye be nae liar. Liar, nae. Crazy, aye," chuckles flowing softly.

For now, in his arms with his strength and love wrapped about her, she wanted to shove what had happened with Gabriel to the back of her mind, but the shadow of it darkened her brow, caused that smile to slip and those chuckles to choke in the drying of her throat.

Jack Scot: The coyote was strong in his smile at being called crazy. It was no less true for him than it was for her. He carried her easily to their bed, ready to revel in her Moonlight when the strange scent over took him. It seemed to make her choke.

He laid her down, still damp, upon the silk; his fingertips straying to her throat and then drifting down her milky flesh. "Much has happened to make you doubt yourself, to hate yourself. Am I a Liar then, when I say there is much to love yourself over?"

Sid: "Ye be nae liar, but I canna say for meself if'n there be anythin' to love. I dun see it. Mayhaps..." Long fingers teased the shells of his ears, rippled down the curve of his neck. She wanted to love him, to have him all over her, but what had just taken place with Gabriel brought the guilt flickering across her pale visage, had her teeth gripping at her lower lip as she turned her head from him. She would never be able to wash this off.

"Mayhaps the light jus' be better where ye be standin', love," whispering the words to her pillow.

Jack Scot: His touch never left her, even as he sat beside her. It drifted in slow circles around her breasts and teased lower to orbit her navel. And now he saw the signs of violence done upon her. He growled, though it was a low, nearly soundless vibration. "Yet it shines on you. I cannot make you love yourself, Manon. I wish I could."

Sid: Her silken fingers circled his wrist, stilling the touch around her navel and pressing his hand against the flat of her stomach. Eyes of silver true reached up to crow dark depths and further into their starry field. "Do I deserve it, Jack" Truly' I dun know why, but I feel I needs pay for somethin', for all I 'ave wrought."

Easily she moved his hand, trailing it over the bruises and healing rents on pale flesh, as if somehow his touch would cleanse her. Still holding to his gaze as she moved him over bruised inner thighs, she winced and croaked out dryly, "Gabriel."

Jack Scot: "All your works have not been tainted. They deserve reprieve and forgiveness." He did not look away, but felt every injury beneath his hand and though he still did not know how, his touch was a healing one. If only for the physical injury she sustained.

He cupped her mons and squeezed. He knew it would hurt but it was not in punishment. He could see could feel what was done to her. A name put to the scent, no matter how it differed from the last time he met the Angel, fallen" Is that what tainted the scent' Stars swirled in his dark, dark eyes. "I can smell him."

Sid: Breath hissed, indrawn and whistling over her teeth as he squeezed. Slanted eyes widened a bit, marveling again at this new talent her mate had acquired, this healing touch. For not the first time, and not the last, she wonders what moves within him. "I asked for wha' I got, Jack. Honestly." She would keep nothing from him, she had promised him such, and even if she has slipped in that regard since the vow made she did try.

Hand still on his she changed the subject with the ease of an expert. "Ye fight ye own struggles. 'ave ye tried to heal anyone but me since this be manifestin', m'love" Any thoughts on wha' be happenin' to ye' Be there more than this an' tha'....tha'....Wha' ye became in the basement agin the Skaven?"

Jack Scot: He broke her gaze as she broke subjects. He shook his head and watched where their hands were joined, right at her core. He could not stop picturing the brute, for that was what Gabriel was to him, taking the Moon down, at her request. "What if there was?"

Sid: The heat their hands joined at was increasing with the touch, but she felt....dirty. Sitting up against the headboard, pulling his hands to her with both of her own, she crossed her legs and stared deep into his eyes. "Then I be hopin' ye be tellin' me. Though, I guess tha' be soundin' sort o' double-standard comin' from me, aye?"

Jack Scot: In days past, when she was feeling low and down on herself, he could lift her with just a touch like that. The heat had been building and now, his hands, captured in hers, were cold. He gazed at her in confused wonder. "Did you tell him, what you tell others" About us?"

Yes, he ignored her query for the moment. Truth was, he was feeling larger and larger everyday, though he did not grow in actual size.

Sid: All she wanted was to crawl into his lap and have him hold her. So, that is what she did, curling up like some milk-white kitten, wanting nothing more than to burrow into his very soul. It would surely feel cleaner that what passed as her own was feeling right now.

"Tha'....It be nae....He be nae a lover, Jack. It be nae like tha'. I jus'..." What could she say; the words were lost or too jumbled to lay them straight so she could make any sense.

"If'n ye 'ave questions, I can answer, but I can make nae much sense o' wha'....Wha' I did, an' why I be doin' it."

Jack Scot: He held her and rested his chin on the top of her head. "I am sorry you could not come to me for such punishment, but I think I see the why of it. I confess I do not like it, Manon."

Sid: "There be somethin' in him since he Fell. I recognize the fight. But....I loathe him an' he me. I canna explain it, it jus' happened as it happened." She tilted her chin up to look upon his face, fingers lifting to brush tenderly over his brow. "Do ye....Do ye think I be....bad" Do ye....love me less?"

That was fear in her silvered gaze, and she felt it to her core. It mingled and slithered with the guilt and shame, the Dragon taking pieces here and there and marrying them to memories she has forgotten or denies. Not now....but soon.

Jack Scot: There were feathers on his brow that arched high at her question. The stars in his eyes swirled and sparked fiercely. "The Moon is not bad or good. She is. You are. I love you."

Words never more firmly spoken or truly felt.

Sid: A burst of inhuman speed and her arms were about his neck, legs wrapped around his waist so their hips met, her lips pressed to his in a passionate, fierce kiss of need and desire. "I love ye! It hurts I love ye so much. There be nae words for wha' I feel for ye. An'....An' I be sorry for e'ery time I 'ave e'er hurt ye." All this breathed out in heated whisper against his lips before she kissed him deep again.

Jack Scot: Surprised by her sudden vehemence, he could only hold onto her while his own heat rose a degree or four at the press of her body against his. After she spoke, he met the second kiss with a caw of laughter.

Sid: Happiness. Joy. She grabbed on tight and did not let go of the moment. She would make it last as long as possible, push the dark thoughts as far back as she could for as long as she could.

Fingers thwapped his shoulder sharply, slanted eyes narrowing as she pulled back to grin into those starry eyes. "Why ye be laughin' at me?"

Jack Scot: "You are a mercurial beauty and when you kiss me, I must laugh with joy." His lips burned in the aftermath of that kiss but he managed a sly smile, his hands moving up and down her spine.

Sid: She flowed with his touch, his sly smile returned with one of her own as fox light nestled in silver true. Hands slipped from neck down his shoulders and across his chest, sinking lower still. "Ye know ye changed the subject on me after I changed it. But, I willna press, ye will tell me when it be time. I be here for ye."

Fingers curl about his rising heat, her head leaning in to nibble a trail along the curve of his throat.

Jack Scot: "If I...," every part of her was talent. She drove him to distraction. Was it a ploy, another change of subject' He was selfish enough not to care. "If I knew, I would tell you....Manon."

His fingers twined in her abused hair.

Sid: Lips and tongue drove that distraction to new levels. What had been with Gabriel would not leave her, it would revisit with a vengeance, she was sure, but this was her Crow, her Ebon Knight, and she had a handful of something her own heat called for; fingers slinking up and down his hardness, squeezing and releasing to the rhythm of his heart.

Running the tip of her tongue up lightly behind his ear, words coursed hot against it. "When ye know, ye will tell. For now, I wan' ye....More'n e'er; hot and feral, wantin' me jus' as badly, wantin' me until I be screamin' for more, gaspin' for breath an' beggin' for ye mercy."

Jack Scot: His heart beat faster; her hand, her voice in his ear, delicious temptations that drove him hard. His fingers, now tipped with slate-colored talons dug into the delicate skin between her shoulder blades. They scraped over her arms till he had a grip around both biceps.

"Mercy," he rasped. "What mercy do you think you will get?" Half open, glossy, black-feathered wings loomed over them.

Sid: A gasp as talons dug and scraped, but the sultry smile remained and her hand never stopped. Unglamoured silver met those star-swirled eyes of his, cunning in the curve of thin lips. "Only wha' ye allow me?"

Jack Scot: "Yessss." His voice a hiss as his hands move up to her shoulders and press down hard, forcing her to bend to the need her hand was feeding. If she wanted to be used, he would use her and make her beg.

Sid: "Anythin' for ye..." Slithering from atop him, stretching her long length across silk sheets, she bent willingly as he pressed her down. Silver eyes glimpse up through moonwhite bangs once then drop again, her tongue wetting pale lips before she laps it over the throbbing head of his manhood. Teasingly, those lips encircle him and then with a hunger she is suckling his hardness into the liquid heat of her mouth, taking him to the hilt.

Jack Scot: He gasped and laughed, with his legs splayed wide and her head in between. His hard tipped fingers coiled in her hair. He held her down, all the way to the hilt and would not let her up. "Anything."

Sid: A muffled groan, her head nodding beneath his hand, short nails took a slow drag down his inner thigh.

Jack Scot: He nodded, grim and sly as one hand left her hair. The other kept her down. If she got any air, he seemed unconcerned. Fingertips plucked a feather from his wing. He winced, an action she could feel. The feather elongated, the wispy bits fusing together, glossing till it became a long, long sable ribbon. He captured one of her hands, the ribbon wrapping itself about her wrist.

Sid: Still suckling, trying to move slightly, she did flinch a bit as he plucked the feather. Not being able to see from her vantage point, heated breath and saliva frosting humidity over her pale face, the ribbon wrapping about her wrist brought a pause and she gasped around the mouthful, letting out a moan and struggling slightly, her arm instinctively jerking from the ribbon's hold.

Jack Scot: "Anything," he hissed and reached for her other wrist. The ribbon coiled itself around it - night against moonwhite satin - joining the pair at the small of her back. Only then, did he let her up for air.

Sid: She gulped breath, fox sly eyes up to his face, her hands tied tight behind her. Shifting to her side to see him better, she nods again, whispering. "Anythin', m'only."

Jack Scot: He pushed her over onto her hands and her back. He smiled as his gaze raked over her. He reached between her legs and squeezed, hard. "You will not move my hand from your c**t ever again."

Sid: She loved him like this. For the briefest of seconds she wonders if she has ever told him that, and then he was squeezing her sex hard, tenderness from earlier bringing a small squeak before she clamps her lips tight. She nods again to his words, meeting his gaze. "Aye....Aye, I willna. E'er....Sir?" A grin peeking through in the crinkle at the corners of mouth and eyes.

Jack Scot: He arched a brow and grinned like a fiend. "Impertinence will be met with punishment. I thought you wanted to beg?"

He dipped a talon into her folds. Damn, it was hot down there. A sharp tip tapped her clit.

Sid: It was hot, and wet, like liquid fire. Gulping back a cry of pleasure, she wriggles, legs spreading wider for his touch. Her eyes never left his, though, his words bringing her head to nod in short, quick bursts; the sound of absent bells chiming bright and clear with the action. "Aye, beg. I wan'....I wan' to....please ye."

Jack Scot: "And how would you do that?" Lightly, so as not to injure, only tease, he traced circles around her most sensitive spot.

Sid: Oh, how she just wanted to jump him this second. His tender tease only served to heighten the frustration growing between her legs, gathered those waves to primal force. Her body stiffened, muscles tightening, words ragged through labored breath. "By doin' as ye wish o' me?"

Jack Scot: "Wrong answer." He pinched her bud between his finger and thumb. "Try again."

Sid: Another squeak, one knee rising shot-quick on instinct, her words were strained as eyes opened wider. "By....By doin' wha'....Wha' ye tell me?"

Jack Scot: He withdrew his hand and licked his fingers cleaned. "Mmmm. Come on, Manon. How will you please me?"

He asked again and plucked a new feather from his wings. This too shifted into another long, black sable ribbon.

Sid: A silvered brow arced with the licking of his fingers, teeth gripping to her lower lip as eyes dipped to the hard staff between his thighs. "Mmmm....Uh..." Looking back to him and trying to think through the growing fog of need, she wriggles atop the sheets. "By....Nae bein' so hard on meself" Nae pun intended."

Jack Scot: "You're thinking too hard, m'sweet. Much too hard." Pun totally intended as the ribbon wrapped itself around her ankle.

Sid: Instinct, again, had her pulling her ankle at the twining of the ribbon. "I....I canna think! Ye 'ave me all....All....Arrrrgh!" Arching her back, she bounces on the bed, narrowing those eyes on him and gritting her teeth against the climbing heat and passion.

Jack Scot: He flung the other end of the ribbon to the foot of the bed where it wound itself about the footboard. A third ribbon did the job with her other ankle. When she was secure, he loomed over her, kissed her cheek. "Silly, Moon. You will please me by begging for release."

Sid: Only a little fight as her ankles were bound, a chuckle loosed from pale lips. "Be tha' nae wha' I be doin'!?"

Jack Scot: "Not nearly enough." He chuckled and bent down, his tongue swirling about one pebbly nipple.

Sid: "By the Gods!" She wanted to touch him, too, her body sliding and writhing beneath him, trying to keep as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. "Jack! Please!"

Jack Scot: He waited for her outside, a tall, dark scarecrow perched in the Nesting Tree. Staring at the door, he did not notice the ribbons of his coat fluttering in the summer breeze. It would be hot in Rhy"Din's WestEnd. Heat would shimmer off the stretches of unbroken concrete. Abandoned dogs and cats and everything else would huddle in whatever shade could be found. The air would be wet and hard to breath.

A good day to get out of town.

He draped along the branch, rested his head on his arm and watched the screen door through quivering golden leaves. The brownstone was empty, had been ever since he whisked their children away. Sent them exiled to Summer. Safest there, but it made the house lonely and sad. He felt it in Manon.

What else could he have done"

Sid: Only once had she slept since the bairns had been sent off with their nanny Faye to the Ghostlands. Since then, she had not even made the pretense of resting. Instead, when she was not on the hunt for Viki and her captor, or attempting some way of freeing Tass from the leeches, she moved through the brownstone like winter wind.

It would have been so easy to blame him. And, at first, a new sensation came over her inciting a building rage within towards her mate. It lasted all of five seconds and, no, she did not like it. Not in the least. But, it was not he who was to blame. This was all hers. She owned this. She owned it, and she knew he knew it. How he could still look at her the way he always did was something she would never be able to fathom.

He was waiting and there was business to take care of in Summer. Tossing on her leather, she takes a deep breath and pauses at the top of the steps looking down, head cocked to the right and listening to one she should shut out for good and for all.

Jack Scot: The ruse was that even though he appeared the saint of all that was lazy and leisurely, the Crow - but he did not think of himself as that anymore. He did not know what he was, but it was not just that - was busy. Rhy"Din mimicked Summer and the lands that hid behind the World That Is, but it was still The World. There was much happening behind the scenes, in the spirit lands where Summer's kingdoms were only a drop in the river of tears.

Tainting the air in the Hear and Now and in the beyond was dragon stench. It made him scowl and twitch enough that his lounge in the tree became precarious. She might be amazed he stuck with her through everything she was. He was amazed she still looked to him for strength, when every word spoken, every action he took seemed to drive her deeper into guilt and despair.

"Manon," he whispered.

Sid: "Jack," she whispered just as low; those two simple syllables washing over her and bringing his strength, his love. Jackboots did not even hesitate, the murmurs in her mindscape forgotten but for the prize they had spoken of waiting in a prison somewhere beyond the Veil.

The Sun would be taken down, Her cruel light doused, and maybe, just maybe she would be allowed to find peace.

Ah, Hope. It is sometimes beset with blinders.

Jack Scot: The Mother of so many but only his children, gotten from her, mattered. He could see them in Summer. Faye would not keep them in the Shadows that he held dominion over. They would be in the grass, laughing and rolling amongst the verdant blades. Maybe they would try to fly. It was in them, one dark as he, the other as bright as their mother, to soar. He saw it when he looked inside.

He missed them as much as she did. It was the reason for their visit, to reconnect, to reassure both child and parent that all was well and this distance temporary.

Poor blind Crow. It was the Sun that took that particular sight from him, long, long ago. He did not imagine vengeance to cast its pallor over their visit.

Sid: Through the useless dining room and into the kitchen's swinging door, she pauses. Eyes of silver watch him at his perch, then dip to the floor as footsteps slow to a shuffle.

Mother" She was a failure. There were two things the Ancient did well; nurturing did not even make the top fifty. Oh, but how her twin stars shone! Their light infused what passed as her soul just like their father's. Even if what she was, was what she was, and that was not saying much, for these three points of brightness in her existence she had to try.

What else could she do"

Finding the smile reserved for her Ebon Knight alone, she grabs a head wrap from a drawer and moves through the screen door, closing the kitchen up and whispering the spell word to the mage lock.

"Ready to be seein' our twin stars, m'love?" stepping to the small patch of greenery, unmindful of the blooms that rose behind her.

Jack Scot: "More than." He smiled back, toothsome and coyote sly. "You have kept me waiting for hours and hours. Worth it, it is."

He dropped from the tree, fluid and easy, as she approached. He was mindful of the flowers. If he pointed them out, would she react as he did when she made mention of ever lit cigarettes and ever full glasses of whiskey"

Lately it was easy to do those things. He did not need to think of it, just as now he knew where to step to bring them in one breath to where their children frolicked. He held out his hand. The ribbons he wore shimmered. Lately silver strands outshined the colors they nestled amongst.

Sid: Reaching for his hand, unglamoured silvers mark the highlights of ribbons showing more and more about her Crow's coat. When in his trueness, they coincide with new feathers of white and grey peppering more and more throughout his usual night-dark raiment.

The Ancient worried less what such changes meant than the fact he would not speak of them, or even acknowledge that they occur. The fact was these new attributes brought an unexplainable pride; unexplainable because it all seemed so damn familiar.

A shaking of her head, elflocks bright and clear, long fingers curl to his, and she beams. "Baby be disappointed. Methinks she be expectin' a trip."

Jack Scot: He laced his fingers with hers and gave glance to where Baby waited. "Baby will understand."

The sound of Manon's bells, in tune and pealing, kept him smiling. This meant that she was distracted, not dwelling in remorse and frustration. He tugged at her, urging her to move with him.

One day he might openly talk about the changes happening, but they happened so gradually that they seemed always a part of him. He did not forget, when she threatened the brownstone and their children with unmaking, her own transformation. She had told him she would make worlds for them, and he knew she could.

Did she know that today, with the Rhy"Din sun shining adding a golden glimmer to her silver light' "Come. They are waiting for us."

Sid: He tugs, she pulls; the barest hint of trepidation on pale features. Teeth nip at her bottom lip; her feet seem filled with lead, rooted. It was the 'for us' part that got to her. Gods, how she wished that were true, but was so afraid it was not.

Fear. It was cold.

"I..." she stammers, not meeting his star-filled gaze.

Jack Scot: Arm's length apart, yet still entwined, he studied her. His smile wavered, battling with a concerned frown. He had hoped her fears would not rise, at least not this early. The breeze was laced with winter. He thought he could see his breath.

"They are innocents, Manon. They bear not the taint of fear or loathing. They only know Love. They Love you. Come with me and see them."

Sid: Love. To feel it for another, really feel it, was surely bliss. To receive it, now that, that was the closest thing to Grace she would ever know.

Lifting his hand to her lips, eyes shining over bright, she presses a kiss upon his palm. So simple. And, with a smile she nods once, stepping to his side.

"I love ye," soft and low, forehead touching gentle to his shoulder. The Ancient claims such as one station of power, but had she ever truly understood the power she holds"

Jack Scot: "Forever and a day," he murmured into her hair, and pressed a kiss there. With his arm around her slender shoulders, he found the right path without even looking for it and stepped them away.

The WestEnd was gone, behind them. Ahead, the pealing of children's laughter and the rustle of dark wings shot with silver. He shed his glamour without a thought. Her true power, he knew, was in the bairns and her love for them.

Sid: At the sound of their laughter, fingers tighten vice-like on his own. Breath catches audibly in her throat, the tiniest sound like a sob bitten back. One more step, the glamour sheds like so much water over a cliff; spider-silk silver and gossamer white.

Here there is strong sunlight and fragrant flora. Here there is peace, if only for this time. She moves in Summer like a poem, as if she can write the world. Even the blades of grass follow forward as she walks, her Ebon Knight by her side, lending strength, bringing love and light.

He Who Brought the Moon Down.

"I dun see them," a moment's panic, and then she remembers the greatest threat lies buried in some cold, dark prison. The smile rising could be easily misconstrued.

Jack Scot: For many years, Summer was no home to him. The machinations of Mab and the former King of Ghosts and Shadows kept him bound in glamours and spells till he had no memory of himself or anything found in Summer. He had even forgotten Manon. Even now, his memory was in tatters that no amount of thread could repair. Despite what had been done, he had claimed what was his own to claim.

He found the Moon and rebuilt on the foundations of Dreams. His arm still around her, unaware or uncaring of what was held beneath their feet, he walked her toward the sounds. Soon, in the high grass, bobbing heads could be seen as their children chased each other through the green.

"Do you remember this field, Manon?"

Sid: "Aye," and in that soft single word could be heard all the Joy and Innocence of those days gone by; days of simplicity and a newness never to be known again.

Tears fell unheeded from silver true, and in those eyes could be felt the love she carried for this little family and the sorrow buried so deep it colored everything she was.

Still, how could she not burst at the sight and sounds of their children" A squeeze to his hand and bare feet flew through the meadow towards them, arms outstretched." "Oh, m'bairns! Look who I be bringin' to see ye," one of those arms sweeping back to their father. Surely, it was him they wished to hold more than she.

Jack Scot: She surged forward, and he held back. Time enough, he thought, to feel their embrace, to listen to their chatter about the things they had seen and done. It would be to Manon the children would come to first, whether by his design or their own.

He hung back, noticing a glitter amongst the green stalks. He bent, great wings fanning out slightly to allow him balance. A crystalline tear, a trail of them, he now saw made from her joy, her love.

He could feel the impact of their silver son's embrace, followed swiftly by their dark daughter. He looked up and smiled. Palming the tear, he hopped into the air to swoop down amongst them.

Sid: Arms full of delight, of beauty, and of love, she fell beneath the weight of them though they would be an easy weight to bear. Her own joy called to theirs with the honey-dark laughter that lit fires in the bellies of some and spoke of camaraderie and companionship to others. It was an inviting laugh.

Squirming amongst the grasses, kisses and hugs abounding, she made fun and curled them both beneath her as her Crow came swooping down. "Hide! He comes!" The giggles of their children pealing from beneath her shelter.

Jack Scot: He landed nearly on top of them but pretended he could not see them at all. One hand over his heart, he cried out in mock despair. "Where has my family gone" I cannot find them!"

Thrashing about in the grass, but never making it to their green hideaway.

Sid: Their daughter, dark in coloring as her father but possessing his trickster light in abundance, snickers in a squealing burble. Their son, all light and silver of flesh, eyes, and hair like his mother but holding close to her oft-solemn ways hisses at his sister, slinking a finger over to poke at her. "Shhhh, he will hear ye, silly girl."

Jack Scot: "I am so lonely. Where are my Moon and Stars?" Of course he heard his daughter's twitter but he pretended he hadn't. He searched and stepped over them at one point. Blind he seemed, but it was hard to hold back the sly smile.

Sid: Not to be chastised by her brother, who was all of two and a half minutes older than she, her own finger jabbed back hard at him causing him to yelp and snarl like a tiny lion cub defending its meal.

"Shush now," their mother smiles through the words. "The Crow be seekin' his Moon an' her Stars. Wha" e"er shall we be doin'" Shall we be helpin' the Ebon Knight?"

The dark one peers up through a tangle of spider-silk silver, giggles in her tone. "Oh! Tell it!" giving away their not so secret hidey spot, poking her head out from beneath Manon's shoulder to shout a plea to one who searches. "Please, Da! Please! Tell the story!"

Jack Scot: He let loose caws of laughter, spinning to face his most precious. The stars in his eyes spun clockwise as he reached for her. "What story is that is my dark beauty?"

He swept his daughter into his arms and spun her around before falling into the grass beside Manon and their son. They had grown, he thought, in Summer, like weeds.

Sid: "The story of the Crow and his Moon, Da! The one ye tell us! Always!" that last word resounding with a tiny huff and little roll of dark, dark eyes as she makes to tickle the Crow.

"Nae," the boy crawling from beneath his mother with grunt and petulant look to his sibling. "I be wanting to hear about dragons! C'mon, Da," launching himself in tackle at the King of Ghosts and Shadows. "Tell us about dragons, Da. Glorious battles." He was all a boy.

Jack Scot: He squirmed as little fingers found the tickly spots on his bare torso. His smile was wide and genuine. A father's indulgent smile and he laid it on Manon as their son made his demands. Not even the mention of dragons darkened it.

"I think we haven't heard from your mother. She has many stories to tell."

Sid: "Nae," slipping to her knees and moving behind her mate's head, pulling it to her lap and grinning fox lit down upon him as fingers stroke along his feathered brow. "I fear me story coffers be quite bare, sadly. Besides, Da tells the best stories. Does he nae, m'bairns?"

The Ancient cast a look upon her daughter and the little girl grins. So sly, the little pup. Barely a nod passes between mother and child and the little girl squeals, pouncing her father, hands flat against his chest, the prettiest pleading pout bathing down upon him. "Aye, Da! Ye tell the finest stories in all the lands! Pleasepleaseplease, tell us one!"

Jack Scot: He grunted, pinned between his daughter and the Moon. No other place he would rather be as Summer's sun shined above them. Manon's touch soothed his brow but he was still reluctant to share a story.

"Everyone has a story," he told his daughter, so serious with her pout. It was hard to resist. "You haven't told me one yet."

Sid: ?"I..." That stumped his little girl, stopped her right in her tracks and the slyness upon her face slid to wonder. "I have a story' Does Ari have a story, too?" An almost jealous look to her brother, using the shortened version of the latest name their mother had tagged him with.

Jack Scot: One arm was brought back to wrap around Manon's waist. He turned his head a bit and squinted at his son. Soon enough to give them proper names but they were still too young. Names were power after all. "Yes, he does. Deep inside."

Sid: "I bet it's about fighting....And dragons!" twisting up his face to stick his tongue out at his sister.

"Oh, ye dun know anything about dragons, ye silly boy! Does he Da?" taking another poke at her brother that had the consequence of breaking into an all out tussle atop their father's stomach as Manon threw her head back and laughed with glee until the trees answered back.

Jack Scot: "Gah! Watch it now!" Tussles atop him were serious affairs, whether it was between him and Manon or between the children. There were things to protect! But the sound of Manon's laughter - genuine, rib-splitting laughter, it gave him pause.

When was the last time he had heard it"

Sid: Spring rose about them then, if not in the landscape then in the scent and the sight of the Maiden full on Manon's bearing. The smile warms, reflects back the light she is given and stretches it out to touch all she can reach. That reach is far.

Somewhere in a distance far from the little family, soil workers shout praise. Runners are sent to their villages. Wives make extra sweets and breads. Young women gather flowers to weave.

"Aye, Da, settle the wee ones an' tell us a story o' wonder." The kiss was feather light in touch upon his lips, weighted with heat and the fire of her passion that burned only for him. Fingertips slinking up his side, the fox light twinkling in the unglamoured silver of her gaze.

Jack Scot: She left him breathless. Always gasping and trying to keep up. She stirred in him all that Spring had to offer and for once he wished he had brilliant plumage to show off to her.

"I fear the story I would tell would not be age appropriate," he breathed, reaching to part the squabbling chicks.

Sid: "Then ye tell one, Mum, please," the girl, draped across denim of her father's legs, her fingers still clutching a few tugged out strands of silver as her brother rubbed at his head and scowled.

"I, I really..." help in her eyes as she met the star-swirled depths of her mate's.

"Dun push her! Ye know that!" the boy child, fierce and protective with a glance to his mother, the scowl returning harsher at his sister.

'Ye know that"' Manon's look of plea morphed shot-quick on her Crow, silvered brows rising in question, slanted eyes narrowing. What had he told them of her"

Jack Scot: "The Moon has a story to tell as well, that is true. But as with you both, the time is not right." He smiled back at her, sly once more as he propped himself up to take the pressure off his wings. "And don't you give me that look, Manon. They know enough not to press me as well."

He gave his son a serious, stargazed, look.

Sid: So mercurial, grinning once more and sliding beneath his prop to wrap her legs at his side, tickle their children with her toes until they both fell to giggling in the grass.

"Aye, so..." tilting her head to rest her chin on Jack's right shoulder, watching their progeny with a sensation in her chest that bordered on pain, the good kind. "Wha' be we goin' to do' Da an' I, 'tis nae time for our stories, an' ye bairns seem to 'ave none. 'Tis tha' true" Do ye truly 'ave nae tales to fill our heads with wonder?"

The Maiden's sorrowful pout rivaled every child's ever known; she even added a sniffle for emphasis. A batting of moonwhite lashes up to her Ebon Knight as her chin took to quivering. "Wha' e'er be we goin' to do, m'Crow" Can we be forcin' them to tell us tales?"

Jack Scot: "You cannot force a story, but perhaps by shrewd questioning, a tale will come. For instance, our young man has mentioned dragons many times since our arrival. Why is that?" He grinned at his son, an encouraging sort of smile.

Sid: "Well..." Their son's face caught a serious look beyond his years; head tilting back, eyes contemplating a sky so blue it could not exist in the world beyond the Veil. One hand lifted, silvery pale fingers drumming softly against lips and chin before he gestures a sweep at that sky and turns his eyes on mother, father, and twin.

"Dragons take what they want. Nae a care. It be their treasure, as they see it. Aye' They steal what be nae theirs." Almond shaped eyes narrow in mimic so like his mother's, a burning gaze upon his father that made his mother twitch involuntarily.

"They lie. They be evil and bad. They are to be fought. Aye, Da?"

Jack Scot: "Aye, son. Some are kind and seemly. But most, are selfish liars." He nodded grimly at his son. He leaned back against Manon and then looked up at the sky, wondering what his son had seen.

Sid: "Aye, liars," softly, the scowl seating harder on her son's small face until Sid winced and shifted uncomfortably beneath her mate. "An' I be getting a huge sword," pulling an imaginary blade from his hip and standing to straddle his father's ankles as he holds the pretend blade high at the skies. "And I be fighting them! Killing them 'til they leave....Well, 'til they canna take what nae be theirs!"

Their daughter came up to her knees, clapping hard. "Oh, aye! I can be seeing ye, Avi! An' I be goin' to fight the Dragon, too!"

"Ye canna do that! Ye be just a silly girl!"

"I can so!" jumping to her feet to push her brother.

"Canna!" Manon smirking, looking sidelong to her mate as their children begin their squabbling anew.

Jack Scot: "Enough!" Using his dad voice, which was very similar to a voice he'd used with Manon. It came from the same place, within where he could not remember. "Our Avi has told a story of when he will be large. How about you, young fledgling?"

He poked a finger against his daughter's ribs. "What story will you tell?"

Sid: The poke made her giggle made her sparkle and she doubled over and fell again across her father's lap. Sid chuckles a throaty sound, slithering arms about her Dreamer's waist and watching, waiting.

Turning over until her face was bathed in light from the Summer sky, her expression grew covetous and she lifts a hand to point a finger upwards. Words are low, holding a familiar tone that causes the Maiden to gasp. "One day I will fly so high, so high until I can reach the sun."

Jack Scot: He tried hard to keep his face placid and smiling but his gut twisted. The breeze turned cold once more, chasing the words she had spoken.

"A fine goal," he croaked, his mouth dry and dusty. "But the sun burns, my sweetling. I fear for your feathers."

Sid: "But I have magics. Great magics that will keep me from harm," little eyes wide with awe, her little hand coming down to rest against her heart. "She says I am special," whispered like a secret promise.

Jack Scot: He gazed at his daughter, so solemn and willing to believe. "You are special. Who is she" That tells you these things" Faye?"

Sid: "Nae, Da," grinning sly and flipping over like a fish, legs kicking up behind her as those wide eyes fall on her father and mother. "The sun tells me things. She whispers to me. Sometimes it be hard to hear, though."

Manon's strangled breath caught rough, her head dipping down behind a partial curtain made by her mate's dark hair. "Oh, yer being stupid! The sun does nae talk to ye! Stupid girl!" their son, shoving at his sibling with a frown that darkened his pale brow.

"She does so! Yer just mad she does nae tell ye yer special!" her tongue sticking out and wagging at her brother before she looks back at her parents, a bird-like tilt of the dark head. "Da, why do mum look scared?"

Jack Scot: He sat up, allowing Manon to hide behind him if she would but his attention was fixed wholly on his daughter. He was grave and serious now.

"The Sun is like a dragon, sweetling. What else has it told you?"

Sid: "A....a dragon, Da?" Her seriousness matched his own, sitting up and to his side, cross-legged in the grass while the boy toed the dirt and grumbled. "Oh nae, Da! The sun is a shiny like nae other! An' she can be all mine, only mine!" Little arms sweep wide and then come in fast to hug herself, rocking on the ground and singing a wordless tune.

Sid clings to Scottie's back, her breath shuddering from her in waves. Somewhere, in the deepest, coldest corners of her mind the smallest whisper filters through with a renewed vigor. He is stronger here, but He will bide His time.

Fierce, the Maiden clutches at her Ebon Knight's side, frightened words breathed against his ear. "We mus' take our chances. Find her prison an' be done with the Sun. Now."

There were more words she wished to add, but she left them for now and only pressed a wet cheek against his shoulder blade. Would she take it all from her as before" A hand drifts down, only to pause and return as there is no touchstone now over which fingers would dance.

Jack Scot: His gaze shifted down toward Manon's whisper. How could it be that the Sun could speak to his daughter" There should be no way. From what he understood, the prison was complete.

Sid: Manon understood the look within her Crow's eyes. "Does she speak to ye e'en now, li'l one?"

"Oh, she didna for a while. But, when Avi, Faye, an' I be coming here, she makes little whispers when we be playin'.?

Those fingers at Scottie's side tighten to a burning pain, a low growl quickly stifled by slamming her face to his back to hide it, lest it scare the bairns.

Jack Scot: Time had a way of drifting away in the green of the Summer lands. One could lay back in the verdant grasses of a wide field, be surrounded by ever blooming blossoms of delicate pinks and blue, and close one's eyes. By the time they opened, years could pass in the larger realms that surrounded Summer in ever widening circles, 'til some never knew Summer existed at all.

The Crow had his eyes closed, his arms splayed and his wings folded tight against his back. He lay in the tall grasses, not to be seen at all. He may have been sleeping. Or dreaming. Who knows what passed Elsewhere during the brief deep nap.

Sid: She was as silent as a cat on the prowl. Bare feet never even whisper through tall grass and blooms. It was if she did not even breathe. Invisible bells of fifty and nine were quiet as she creeps up on the sleeping Crow, eyes of silver true a bright light of moonshine against a back drop of the Summer World's sun.

Crouching at her Ebon Knight's head, spider-silk hair pooling around bent knees and ankles, even her scent is nothing but that of the blooms in the fields. She watches. Fascinated. As fascinated as she had been the first moment they had met in a meadow much like this one when he came to her as a coyote and she but a youngling not long from the Fall.

It was easy here in Summer within the lands of his kingdom. Easier now that there seemed no trace of Mab and her manipulations. One hand stretches forth, hanging in the air just beyond his brow. She wonders what he dreams. She wonders if her dreams, these alien emotions, will ever temper out; if she will ever get used to them.

It is his strength she pulls most from. He is her rock. If Sid knows one thing through the ever present muddiness of memories forgotten and denied, she knows that without him she is truly lost. That without him she would know a Fall like none other. Him she must keep safe above all else. Yes, even their children.

Jack Scot: What does a Crow dream of, truly, while the Moon watches him from above" Is he truly unaware of her presence prowling in the grass" Could he ignore her delicate poise hovering over his brow, denying his skin the sweet touch' There is part of him that feels her near. Knew whenever and wherever she walked, with or without him.

And part of him dreams. A soaring dream of a flight over pitted landscapes marred by fire and ice. His wings beat fast in air both chill and full of blasted heat. Above and around him, the sound of a dragon's cry. He flew faster but knew he would be too late.

How peaceful the Crow is to all outside eyes, sleeping in the grass.

Sid: He is special. Even more so than just because she is his and he is hers. Even more than because she loves him - and she knows now that she truly does. If there is one thing that will save Lankyn from the full brunt of her wrath because of the spell cast, it is that now the Ancient understands what love is and that she has loved her Crow for as long as she can remember, maybe even longer considering the state of both their memories.

Sid knew Jack thought he was but a halfling abomination, his sense of worth a wanting thing, but he was wrong and nothing would convince her otherwise. What he was, what he could be, maybe what he has always been is so much more than any, especially he, could see. This does not mean the Ancient could see any clearer, it was just something she knew without fact or proof, reason or rationale. Too, without a doubt, she knew this feeling did not have anything to do with the fact she loves him.

If the two ever moved from the swiss-cheese minefields of their fractured memories, would what he is mean he would leave her" Would she be able to let him go' If she did, would she survive" Would she want to"

Emotions were tricksey things. For love she would do anything, give him all, allow him any need or desire in order for him to be fulfilled; all to ensure he receives whatever lie closest to his heart and soul. Yet, because of love, because she truly understood it now, she fears she may never be able to let go.

Silently, unbidden and unknowing, silver tears fall from silver eyes as she remained at quiet watch.

Jack Scot: One precious teardrop fell on the Crow's cheek and disturbed his disturbing nightmare. The nightmare itself was something familiar. An old fear. One that even during the waking hours when he could hold the Moon in his arms and taste her pale skin, riddled him with doubt. Could he ever truly be a comfort to her" To be the balm against the cold of Winter or the memories of Spring"

He would fail her. One way or another, he would fail her. He knew it deep down. He feared it. And all would be lost, least of which his heart. The teardrop jolts him from the dream. His eyes, which once were full black and now riddled with stars, open. He is blind. Her shine was the brightest.

He reaches up to touch her salty cheek and smiles. I will fail you, he thought. But not today.

Sid: "I love ye Jack Scot. With all tha' I be an' e'er will be, I love ye." Words are throaty with held in check emotions, though her face and eyes betray her. Long fingers of strangely elegant design lift and curl about his that touch her cheek. Damnable water is leaking from her eyes and she bows her head until spider-silk silver hides the Moon from view.

"Ye be sleepin' so peaceful, m'love. Wha' be ye seein' in ye sleep?" Composed, she looks back to him with the eagerness of a child at Yule in the presence of unopened gifts. Dreams fascinated the Ancient, the dreams of her mate and her children even more than any other.

Jack Scot: "There was everything but peace in my dream, Manon. Come lay beside me, let me listen to your heart and I will tell you." Her tears did not trouble him as much as they troubled her. They were part of these emotions he spent his entire existence knowing. A healthy thing.

He reaches for her, to draw her down.

Sid: The smile is for him alone, a warmth of love and light, and she eases down beside him, turning into his side. Hands sift through dark locks and across his feathered brow, slipping behind to the nape of his neck and over the arch of blackened wings.

"Aye, I be wantin' to hear wha' be troublin' ye so, m'love. Do ye be thinkin' 'tis this place?" The sneer is in her tone, though if she had known she would have kept it from showing. Tricksey emotions. There was much to love about these lands she once called home, much to appreciate and marvel in, but they hold such memories she could still recall that at best she could but lose herself in her mate's and children's joy of the place for just so long before things came out to haunt.

Jack Scot: He smiles, sly and knowing, at her tone. He shifts along side her and pressed his ear against her breast. The dark feathers in his hair tickling her chin. "I know you hold no true love for this place, Manon, but it is safer by far than any other. For all of us."

Oh, poor crow who did not know better. His fingertips brush up and down her silken skin, taking a path from hip to thigh and back again.

Sid: What passed as her heart in this shell beat in rhythm with the molten flow of the Physical's life's blood, in rhythm with his own. Inhaling deep, she buries her face to feather-laden hair, his scent like sunshine and hay bringing a tingle through her form just as his touch arouses the fire inside.

"Ye know o' DCH" Be I tellin' ye?" Pulling back to fall into his star-swirled gaze. "They Rhy'Din offices be nae more, blown sky high. Rumor be 'avin' it the three be dead an' gone." True, there touches in her words the hint of disbelief, but still she smiles. "Rhy'Din hol's nae as much danger for the bairns now, m'love." Nevermind it is not just the demonic triumverate from which they are keeping their twins hidden.

"An'....An' Shimmer. I 'ave felt her. She be out there now to truly be found. She can be comin' home an' the bairns be finally gettin' to know they sister." Have we said emotions were tricksey things" Such nuances they hold. Such manipulations they can do upon one's psyche. The uninitiated, those who were never created to know them could easily be caught in the web they weave. And such is the Ancient at times, for all her worldly knowledge and eons of existence. This, that all could possibly be right with their world for once, she honestly believes....At this time's moment.

Mortals call it Hope. Blind Faith. Blindness, however, is often not a bonus.

Jack Scot: "It is over Rhy'Din Town I fly." His voice soft and sing song. The stars in his eyes whirling around an unseen center. "But you would not recognize it for it has been ripped apart by ice and fire. An elemental storm unleashed to destroy it wholly."

He kept his touch upon her. His fingertips drifting inward, along the curve of her inner thigh.

Sid: One hand drifts down his chest, each finger teasing at crests and valleys of muscle and flesh. Lips nibble at the arc of one ear, tongue tip flickering over skin, her words a rush of heat that rises from the apex of his touch upon her. "In ye dream be this wha' ye see?"

She shifts against him, one knee bending to slide along his outer hip, alabaster already colored by passion's fire to a rosy hue. Silver true stares deep into those star-filled eyes. "Portent, vision, or believe ye this be but a true dream with nae meanin' more'n tha', m'love?"

Jack Scot: "It is what I see. There is more." As she turns toward him, his touch blazes a trail across her hip to her tailbone and flutters there. She could see it, if she looks deep enough, the reflection of his dream. The sere landscape, the flash of fire, a swirl of cold. "A dragon flies. I do not know what it means, only I must race it. And I cannot win."

Sid: She could see, though she holds the gasp and trepidation such sight beat against her chest. Face to the slope of his neck, breath a heated wash over dusky flesh, she whispers, "Ye be m'Ebon Knight. Ye willna e'er fail to win. I know this as I know Spring..."

Lifting, hands bracing gentle touch to the sides of his head, fingers woven into the night-dark locks, she keeps his gaze tight. "I know this like I be intimate with First Winter. I doubt ye stength nae, m'love. Ye mus' nae."

Jack Scot: "I have seen you look at me, as if I should know things that I do not. I cannot answer you about why I always have a full cup or why, at any occasion, I and my companions will find themselves elsewhere. I cannot understand these things, Manon, how can I be what you and our fledglings need me to be?"

Sid: Lips a breath from his own, feather touch as she speaks, moonwhite lashes drifting to the apples of such marble-carved cheeks, she pulls him to her. "Can ye be? M'love, there be nae question. Ye be already wha' we need. Dun ye understan' such?" And with that, lips crush against him opening for a mingling of their tongues, hands falling slowly down beneath blackened wings to grip his back in need and want, short nails marking crescent shapes to dusky flesh.

Jack Scot: Whatever argument or answer is lost in the war of tongues and the press of her body against his. The prickling of her fingernails and he growls into the kiss. Any nightmare traces banished by the shine she envelopes him in. His arms tighten around her and he pulls her atop and astride him.

Sid: So easily she slides astride, so easily they fit as one. Gossamer white that clothed her gone, and now all the Maiden wears is silver light and spider-silk locks that ring with invisible chimes of fifty and nine, a tandem to the honey-dark laughter that peals from pale lips.

The heat of her core flames down across his lap, hips suggestively grinding as a fox grin forms clever and cunning. Her silver true gaze dancing with impish spark, hands flutter down his sides and up along her own slight curves in sensual motion. "Ye shouldna doubt wha' strength ye hol', m'Ebon Knight. I dun. E'er."

Jack Scot: He caught silver tresses in his fingers and twines the musical locks with a twist between them. A gentle pull but insistent, so she would know who captured the Moon. "How can I doubt when you shine so bright above me?"

But the kernel remains - whether planted by a young Dragon or an older, bitter Fallen - to germinate and grow. even as the Crow drags his Moon down for a deep drink at her pool.

Jack Scot: Draped along a thick limb of the Nesting Tree, the Crow gazes up and through the shimmering leaves to the watery sky. The patterns as they flutter against one another, the sound of the breeze that sends them into movement lulls him and his mind begins to wander. He walks down paths of possibility. They branch, and with each choice of direction the outcomes diminish 'til there is only one.

Then he begins again, but it seems the outcome is always the same. He has to find himself to slay a dragon. He doesn't know where to start.

Sid: Four days. It has been four days.

The Ancient had told herself it was nothing. She had merely tasted and had not really fallen off the proverbial wagon. It was only to keep Alain from being killed after DCH had set the task of hooking her again. It was kind of like being "a little bit pregnant", though. One either was or was not.

It has been four days.

This is a definitive Was.

Upstairs in the vast master bedroom and its overly large bed the Ancient tosses and tumbles in damp sheets, snowy eyelids fluttering. Outside above the Nesting Tree the skies of Rhy'Din begin to darken ominously and thunder rolls.

Jack Scot: Comparisons are bound to be made. The strength of the peca versus the strength of Manon's ties and responsibilities to him, to their children. He thought, never having been under the influence of the White Dragon, the bond between himself and the Moon would be strongest. But, he doubted, always doubted. And the words of the few, questioning his resolve to remain with her when things are always utter utter chaos, echo in his ears like thunder.

The sky is dark now with her turmoil. If he leaves her, there will be nothing left but inky night. No stars. No Sun. And the Moon will eclipse.

Sid: Tossing the covers from her flushed form with a huff, impossibly long legs kick over the bed's side and she stumbles sleepily from it over to the shower. Standing there, snarling, she shakes her head until fifty silver bells and nine cause pain with their rattling, and she shuts the shower door again.

Sifting through a pile of clean stuff on a chair, she drags a tank over naked flesh and steps into a tiny pair of boy shorts before tromping downstairs.

Jack Scot: He is in his usual glamour. It is only in Summer when he can step away from what everyone else sees. Only in Summer where he can stretch his wings and fly.

The dark clouds whirl above. Oh to fly through them and feel the cold drops of water on his face, feel the frost begin to form on his wings! To fly high amongst the lightning and claps of thunderous sound.

And, in his daydreams he can hear the Moon stirring, moving about the Brownstone they share with their Family. The Moon, her Crow and four Stars. He closes his eyes, refusing to budge to actually *see* what she is doing. He has to trust her, after all.

Sid: Halfway along the steps she stops, plopping down to brace elbows on knees and hold her head in her hands. A deep sigh prevails; one that heralds a gust of unseasonably chilled wind out of doors unbeknownst to her.

Her mate is not the only one with muddled memories and fractured psyche. This morning, however, she sits there scratching short nails to her scalp and puzzling through Saturday night and the past four days. At the back of her thoughts there is something she swears she needs to remember, though it seems ever out of grasp.

Clearing her throat, steeling thin shoulders, she rises like a wisp of smoke and glances back to the bairns' door knowing they are gone from the 'stone for now; a precaution of her Crow and a wise one. Sudden and profound sadness causes her to gasp with the aching; the rawness of such unfamiliar emotions still catching her off guard.

Outside thunder claps and lightning forks through the blackened sky.

Jack Scot: Unwise to be in a tree during such weather, but he doesn't care. He wonders what it would be like to be reckless, to dare the sky's anger, to leap from cloud to cloud grabbing bolts of lightning to hurl about. To do something. Anything!

But what did he do when a gun was leveled at Manon's head" Stand there and ask stupid questions while a mortal saved the day. Huzzah! Hurray! He scowls and tries to remember when he's actually done something that wasn't just being there. What kind of dragonslayer is that!"

Sid: Saturday night was such a blur. There had been an attempt on her life, her existence. True, the assassin was demonic, still a snort looses from pale lips and silver eyes roll. She should have struck at Howe when she and Bel retrieved the Detective later that night. If it had not been for her sibling's insistence that Alain needed tending all reason would have had the Ancient confronting the leech right then and there.

The strength of force she drew upon then, it had nearly shocked her. She understood the power of the Three, but until that moment she had not consciously been aware of pulling from it before. It had been a giddy feeling, overwhelming in its intensity near akin to tasting the...

Those thoughts slam shut and she continues determinedly down the stairs, into the vacant dining room, through the kitchen and out the back door of the 'stone where she senses her Crow waiting.

Jack Scot: Ribbons dangle from the coat he wears, whipping to a colorful frenzy by the rising wind. Books are written about moments like this - the struggle to hold back a rising storm of conflict. But why try to hold it back" Why not let it come and break itself upon the rocks. He doesn't feel that solid. Neither does he feel strong.

He turns his head from the sky to watch the back door open. He has to shield his eyes against her glow.

Sid: If asked, or told, the Ancient certainly did not believe she glowed. Not ever, and definitely not now. Still, when her Ebon Knight shines before her she oft feels there is nothing with which she cannot deal. No matter what providence or the multiverse might throw at them, with him by her side anything and everything is possible. Perhaps she did glow. He certainly made her feel like beaming.

A soft smile lit those thin lips, hip cocking against the doorjamb and her head tilting to see through the tri-colored leaves to where he perches. Spider-silk silver hair falling across chest and face and she lifts a hand to sweep it from her vision, letting it slowly trail away down over small assets and flat belly until she grins, fox lit and sly.

"I be thinkin' ye be wantin' to talk. I be thinkin' we be needin' to, aye' There be many thin's I 'ave been stupid about. Mayhaps we needs be....takin' this relationship to the next level, so to speak?"

Jack Scot: He remains, lounging on the branch as if sky isn't bruised and split by jagged lances of light, studying her. The stars glimmer in his dark eyes. "Transcend?"

Sid: "In a manner, I guess. Mayhaps jus' tha' I needs be trustin' ye an'....Well....thinkin' o' ye. See..." Words continue even as long stalks of legs eat up the yard until she stands beneath the tree and his roost. One hand reaches skyward, fingers curling over a thick branch, and for a moment there is a look in those silver eyes, a remembrance of a time long past and a hurt that still resides way too close to the surface.

Jack Scot: He turns toward her 'til he rested on his side. One hand drapes over the limb so that their fingers can touch. And when they do, he gasps. It is like the lightning, arcing from fingertip to shoulder to heart to groin. He looks into her eyes, like the sky on a calm day.

Sid: With him by her side there is nothing with which she cannot deal.

Tiptoe stretches and she is smiling, fingertips gripping fingertips until she swings onto his limb beside him. For a peaceful moment she leans there against his side, legs swaying, watching the storm move on across the skies.

Spider-silk strands flutter and flow over them both, her words a low sigh but not lost to the breeze as eyes drift along with the clouds above. "I love ye. Than' ye for lovin' me so well. Ye 'ave a strength I be ne'er knowin' for stayin' with one such as me. Do ye e'en know tha' ye be me groundin' an' me endless skies" Me dream an' me reality' Me control an' me freedom all in one?"

Jack Scot: His arm wraps around her waist. He cannot see the storm for her. Let it rage and boil. He's caught the Moon. "Do you know why I stay?"

Sid: Leaning her head to his shoulder eyes of silver true stare up into star-swirled depths. "I oft wonder. I confess I canna see the why o' it mos' times."

Jack Scot: "And the other times?" He is quiet, barely heard against the thunders. Strange that it hasn't begun to rain.

Sid: The Ancient, too, is quiet. Her voice a whisper like gentle rain on soft soil, her gaze boring deep into time. "There be times, rare and silent, when I know. I know 'tis because we be....Two parts o' one whole an' there be nae other way o' it."

Jack Scot: "Dark and Light. Ages it has been so." He shifts and lays down once more, his head in her lap.

Sid: Fingers trace through dark hair, over the feathered brow she can see despite his glamour in Rhy'Din. "I 'ave done ye so wrong....Nae, 'tis us I 'ave done wrong."

She is contemplative and calm, it is only the flush of fire over alabaster flesh, the slight tremor of her hands, the sometime cracking of darkened threads through the colors of her eyes that speak of what is to come, what has been.

Jack Scot: "Things you have done. Things I have not done. Right and Wrong mean nothing to Us. Dark to my Light." He smiles, lazy and dreamy as his touch went up her arm.

ObsdnShayd Ice electric shoots her spine and she shivers with excitement, sighing. "Tha' night, ye yelled at me. I....I be 'avin' a gun to me head, a demonic assassin sent to snuff out me existence, an' I canna e'en now straighten wha' be goin' through me thoughts so I can be tellin' ye right. I..."

Deep breath, eyes slowly drifting closed, she sways into that touch and his strength. "Ye be sayin' ye be a mushroom an' immediately me mind began....tumblin'. These....Ye know, emotions frell with ye head. Thin's be so much simpler afore I knew them like this," cheeks puffing, deflating with held then exhaled breath and then she is grinning down upon him, chuckling.

Jack Scot: "Isn't it wonderful" This taste of mortality leaves me breathless." He had meant it when he said he wished he was mortal. To burn so brightly because one has to use up all their light before it is snuffed out. He smiles up at her.

Sid: "I dun know. I be nae sure still. But, I wan' to tell ye I be tryin' hardest to remember I can tell ye thin's. There be nae reason nae to, I know tha'. I 'ave always known tha'. I jus'....I dun think. 'Twas so lon' t'other way, me keepin' ye safe from such chaos wha' follows me. I 'ave to remember nae to do tha'."

She means it, too. It is there in her eyes, all over her flushed face. Then, peering past branches and leaves, her voice tinged with sorrow, she whispers. "So lon' ye be kept from me side."

Jack Scot: "We are more than love, Manon. We are what dreamers Dream of. Faerie tales are never happy." The stars in his eyes whirl and reflect back the lightning flares.

Sid: "Ne'er?"

Jack Scot: "There is comfort and solace," he traces her jaw with his fingertips. "And love. It is our lot, Manon."

Sid: Dipping her head, she captures fingertips between silken lips to kiss them, nodding to the wisdom of his words. "Aye, we 'ave tha'. An' there be our Stars. Yet I fear there will e'er be storms, m'love. Will ye be there to weather through them with me always?"

Jack Scot: How could he make a promise like that' He'd been taken from her before and for a very long time. "I will never be far."

Sid: Again she nods. It had been a foolish askance when it passed her lips and she knew it. "Aye."

Above in ever brightening skies, the storm slow to move fully onwards, something streaks across remaining clouds much like a shooting star in daylight. Tilting her head, eyes of silver true gaze up and fox light shines from within. "Methinks the bairns 'ave decided to leave poor Faye holdin' the bag an' stompin' her foot on the sidewalks."

Jack Scot: He laughs, a soft cawing sound. "That sounds like them. Why don't we resecue her?"

Sid: Indeed, she is right. Out of the corner of their vision they can just glimpse the translucence of silvery wings and the cunning smile on the face of their son before he is off like shot. "Aye. I fear wha' ye darklin' daughter may be perpetratin' on the poor thin'." His daughter"

Jack Scot: "My daughter?" He laughs louder, but is inclined to linger on the branch a bit longer. He feels lazy and lethargic. "She sprang from your womb, if I recall."

Sid: "Be ye sure o' tha'?" poking him soundly and laughing along, happy to remain right where they are for now.

Jack Scot: "I'm quite certain I do not have the parts to bear children, but you could take a look." He grins at her, coyote sly.

Sid: "Mayhaps I needs be. Ye know....Jus' to check." Fox light to his coyote and her hand slinks slowly down his chest to creep beneath the waist of denim pants.

Jack Scot: It was a spiral. A deep dive. Farther down than the deepest oubliette did the Crow dive with the Maiden in his feather-trimmed arms" Dark wings batter at the air that was thick with unseen matter. The dust of universes kicked up by their passage. Motes of life, a billion and more voices, dreams and thoughts scattered and tattered in the wake of the dragon.

He gave chase while the wind screams in their ears.

Sid: She holds tight, not for dear life but for love and more. Still shaken, she has no idea what has truly transpired in the wake of the altercation at the Inn. She knows Mab is loose and that she is directly responsible.

Mab tore herself out of where ever or whenever with the use of the White Dragon and had what happened immediately following not happened, what would be occurring right this moment would be quite different than what is currently going down. Guilt and worse for what has been perpetrated against Melantha, for what Mab's freedom means for her and hers would likely have the Ancient spiraling down into the nearest pit or...

Some thorny Thicket of Sorrows.

Confusion, the dregs of her last peca taste, sorrow and shame shine in silver true that look up to the star-swirled depths of her mate.

Jack Scot: There are no stars in his eyes. One star for each that was usually black and recently starry. His eyes blaze bright white and burn into the night beneath them. But, even the light from them has trouble piercing the gloom. Only the sound of a dragon's startled cry. Then one of his own filled with rage and frustration as a thorn tore feathers from one wing.

"There is no time for this..." He growls and calls her a Name he's never used before. Her True name. He swerves to avoid a fresh thorn. The way below was now strewn with them.

Sid: He was angered. With her" That is where her mind goes, where it always goes. What was it he called her" Is that her"

A hand lifts, her silken touch cupping his stubbled cheek and jaw. Lips brush soft, electric against his and she whispers into the kiss, "I 'ave always loved ye. This I know beyond shadow's doubt."

Then she is no more. His arms left vacant and clutching darkness. Only a faint silver shrouded light pricks through the gloom to illuminate the tangle of thorns. It is a familiar sight.

Jack Scot: "No!" It may have sounded like a denial of her love, but what he denies is far from the truth. With arms bare of her and his attention suddenly diverted from a dragon chase to Manon's fragile state-of-being, he nearly slams into the wall of thorns. An all too familiar thicket.

Sid: Above him, bleeding and leaking through a tight-knit bower of thistles comes the faint light. Beyond, through glimpses in the tangle, the lands about this enclave is scorched and in ruins, smoke wafting upwards from craters that pepper the ground like holes in swiss cheese. Somewhere off in the distance an angry dragon roars.

Jack Scot: Oh he recognizes the glimpse of the shattered landscape. Dreamscape, but nothing that Dream Witch knew about. Nor did Mab fully grasp the peril she has put all existence in when she worked her revenge. He remembers this place and all that has occurred. He remembers why it was best to forget.

He has a Thought and part of the thicket disappears to allow him to venture through.

Sid: Besides the roaring of the Wyrm, the crackling of earth crust and the rustle of the thicket as he moves, there comes the softest sound of sleeping breath from somewhere above where the wan light leaks.

Jack Scot: He looks up. There is no need to shield his eyes from the shining moonlight, not when his eyes blaze like twin stars; easy to fly high enough to gain a closer look, but at what cost. Where was the dragon"

Sid: Nestled in the small oblong of close-woven thistles rests a sliver of a being. Curled to a fetal position, one arm over face, the other wrapped about legs so long they might reach from the ground to the stars, it is cloaked in nothing but a fall of hair so white to be nearly colorless. All but still as the grave the watery light pulses in time with breath.

Jack Scot: "Manon," he breathes and pulls at more thorns. Thoughts escape him then in his haste to reach her.

Sid: The gentlest of mewling, sleep driven as the being stirs. Slowly, the back of a delicate seeming hand drags across snowy lids that flutter, moonwhite lashes battering alabaster cheeks like a butterfly cupped tenderly in one's palm. The pink tip of a tongue glosses thin lips and then those eyes open, white dwarf blazing light piercing up to the face before her.

"I know you, dark stranger, do I not?" It is a voice of ages; innocent and wise, confused and all knowing, but her smile is all trickster and mischief - Chaos.

Jack Scot: "Forever and a day, dear lady." And what was he" All feathers and wings, long of limbs and bright-eyed" Everything was in its place as he settles beside her in the bower. Her bower. His. He looks up and around them, ignoring the dragon bellows below. That white wyrm could not touch either in this place above and beside all. "Lady' Why are you here?"

Sid: All seems right as he climbs in alongside her, though she knows his name not. That blazing gaze watches him speak, head tilting just so first right then left. There is the faintest sound of chimes, like star song.

"I know not, good Sir. Mayhap you might tell?" Rage fuels the Dragon's call, heavy thuds rocking the smoldering grounds around them as It storms amongst the landscape. Her head whips about, spider-silk hair a chill touch to feathers and flesh and her body moves close up against him.

Jack Scot: He is all warmth and downy softness and the promise of dawn and inevitably of dusk. A cycle. A Circle. Life and death and taxes. He dares to touch the milky cheek, a whisper of sensation. An electric thrill. "One should not remember every thing, my lady. But there is one below that needs our attention."

Sid: Attention It needed, indeed. White and scaly, roaring and raged, the beast crashes through the farthest part of the enclave and her arms fly tight about his neck. Her breath a spring's rebirthing warmth across the shell of his ear. "That sound, m'Lord, does it come for me or thee" And why do I wish but to fly, though wings I have not' Will you take me away from this place" Suddenly, I do not think I much care for here any longer."

She gasps then, giving the tiniest of shivers as a hand rises swiftly to that milky cheek, fingertips coming away shimmering with moisture. "What has it done, m'Lord" This we do not like." She is emphatic, yet clings to his warmth and promise burying her face to his neck as the Dragon growls and thrashes.

Jack Scot: "It comes for you, lady, but I am here. I will not let it harm you. You must aid me. Lady, a weapon, a token, to slay this beast below. I promise it will trouble you no more."

Sid: "I..." Her head pulls back and she stares so deeply to those eyes of his - forever falling. "I believe you. You dream well.

"I do not have a weapon, but mayhap this to aid you, m'Lord?" Leaning forward, bodies pressing, those eyes close as lips meet lips and she melts into the kiss. Fingers weave into palest locks and as the kiss is broken with breathless tremble she presents a small hank of hair pulled from her very crown.

"All I have is yours, good sir."

Jack Scot: He gasps and gazed in wonder at the prize. "A great gift, lady, and powerful. I will not disappoint."

His fingers curl around the shimmery, silvery locks and her own fingers. He squeezes them gently before releasing, tangling the glowing strands with his own feather-strewn hair.

Sid: Another roar, flames erupting in the swell of fury and her hand tightens upon his, pulling it to rest above where her heart might lie. "We most definitely do not like this, m'Knight. To ask of you to champion this cause I know not of, it....it sharpens and stabs," she moves their clasped hands in gesture at her breast, blazing eyes shimmering with a blue-white sheen.

"You must promise me, m'Lord. Promise not to obliterate the sound and fury, but promise to....to return no matter. This all I ask of you, Dreamer mine," with a last squeeze of fingers, a last sizzling press of lips, she is releasing his hand and curling knees to chest to wrap her arms about them and stare in wonder at the dusky, feathered warrior before her.

Words the barest whispering awe, "You are a wonder to behold."

Jack Scot: He licks his lips to taste her kiss one more. Sweetest of all ambrosia. "It is a promise and a fact, lady, that I shall return thanks to your favor."

He bows low, his wings tight against his back, and then turns to unfurl them, throwing her into shadow. The dragon would soon know what sort of wonder he was. He drops from the bower without a backward glance and goes hunting the beast.

Sid: The shadow, his departure, it leaves her chilled to the very marrow. Immediately, urgently, she pushes from her cocooning. Long fingers of strangely elegant design curl over the nest of thistles and she peers frantically out to where he has flown. Beyond the enclave she scents brimstone and hot sulphur, furrowing finespun brows at the smoldering craters trying to catch his darkness against the murk.

"Come back to me, m'Ebon Knight," scantest murmur on the wind. If she knew, she would call this fear - stark and terrifying in its heartbreak. "I do not wish to be alone any longer, so high above in the dark. Come back and leave the fury be, m'Dreamer. It will be forgotten and we will go on."

Jack Scot: Though he was far away now, tracking the dragon over the bleak landscape, her words come to his ear as if she were beside him. He chances a look up at the bright moon above and felt her presence. It was easy to fall prey to the promise. Forget all and simply be.

But he remembered now. There are so many who needed them. Her most of all. Moongazing, he did not see the dragon right before him.

Sid: "My love!" There was no thought, only pure instinct and terror. A long time after, or maybe it is before, someone will say that courage is not bravery but the knowledge that there are things more important than fear.

Just as the White wyrm blasts forth a furnace, that jagged tooth maw stretching out to snap at feathered wings, she appears between her Champion and the Beast only to be promptly batted to the side to slam onto the desolate and burning land. Another someone will someday, or has already said something about fools rushing in where angels dare to tread.

Still as a tomb, lying spread-eagle on the ground, the Dragon turns her way, unmitigated furor shining in crimson reptilian eyes.

Jack Scot: The cry that he utters is bestial and contains near as much fury and frustration as the dragon's own. It was the Moon that appeared and shielded him from the brunt of the beast's attack. The Moon that fell and left the sky dark except for the blaze of stars that were his eyes.

He races, a dark shadow, to put himself between her fallen form and the White Dragon.

Sid: The feathered fellow plants himself between the fallen sliver and the raging wyrm; drool cascading from the foulness of the beast's chops to plop near his feet with an acidic sizzle eating away at the crust of earth. Muscles move and grate scale against scale, pulling back the flesh from dagger-like teeth. Hot breath rushes down at him in a torrent of pants threatening to singe hair and feathers. Does the Beast laugh"

Jack Scot: It has always been in him, the fierceness his expression betrays as he faces the White Dragon. He knows now it is this beast that even haunted his children, the twins that are as much he and Manon as they were themselves. Always overlooked, the Crow, so it seemed to him, was looked on as more fancy than substance. A cuckold to Sid's notorious appetites. No one understands him, except her. The Moon and he have a long history. Longer than any.

What is a dragon compared to that' What is the Sun, after all, but star and he was all starry and blazing as he plucks a black feather from his hair and twines it with a silver strand of hers.

And when the dragon roared or laughed, it did not matter. He flings the talisman into Its maw and stood his ground.

Sid: Snowy lids stir and flicker, opening to see her Dark Knight blazing with inner fire, brilliant and bold and beautiful. As the feather is entwined with silver spark she lifts and reaches for his free hand to squeeze tight and stand beside him, a nuzzle of lips and fragrant breath like heated silk against his neck. "I have always loved you, do not forget this."

Arms around him, his strength, his star-riddled brilliance and the silver spark he sent flying for the Beast a blinding light as it lands to target. All about them a keening pitch begins to rise in shrieking severity, the dragon shaking its great head to rid itself of the talisman and growing fevered in its desperation as it begins to expand; scales popping to the dark skies above like tiny, twinkling lights. And then...

Darkness....Silence...

Listen...

Jack Scot: There is music in silence. Voices, too.

Listen"

Sid: There is dark, and softness beneath his form. And yes, there is a music, a voice of sorts. Beyond him a gentle lapping whooshes and recedes, a kiss of breeze tickles at feathered brow, but only that and nothing more.

There is dark...

See...

Jack Scot: Was he in the sky' Or down below" In that preternatural dark, the darkness of a universe yet born, he did not need eyes to strain to see, or hands that remained hidden by the night. Where was the Moon"

Sid: Froth and foam bubble and burble as newest dawn flashes white-hot across his dusky lids.

Sand. Sea as far as can be seen. Mountains rumble in the distance behind him. And before him' Out on the lapping waves there is a disturbance.

Jack Scot: Somehow he stands and turns slowly in a circle, his eyes adjusting to the dawning light. It was a beach and there water. A great sea, and upon it....What was it' He flexed his wings tentatively, to see if they would work.

Sid: A silver crest begins to roll for his stand, closer and taller, growing above the water until it is not a crest but a crown of silver hair, and with it she steps to the shore, water droplets like diamonds against luminescent flesh.

"I have always loved you," standing naked as the dawn before him, smiling bright with star song chiming.

Jack Scot: "My lady," he breathes, not daring to believe, even though he knew with every part of him, it was her. "Forever and a day."

Jack Scot: Somewhere else people are dressing in green and pretending heritage they have no right to just so they can guzzle green beer and eat corned beef 'til they explode. The Crow supposed this longing to be what one isn't, to idolize it, to ache for it, wasn't so different from travelling from place to place, seeking destinations that were far from troubles and woe. Everyone wears masks.

He feels his face. Ribbons stream the arms of his coat, flitter in the breeze that more and more carries Spring to the WestEnd.

Sid: Speaking of Spring....The scent of meadow flowers springs up and the back gate opens from the drive alongside their brownstone, glamoured blue eyes snapping with a quicksilver flash peering through the opening as if in search of something....or someone.

Jack Scot: He is in the little backyard, cross-legged amongst the green-brown grass and mud. He explores his face with his fingertips. His eyes are open but seeing something else, something far away. The stars in them are twinkling, some brighter than others. Of spies in the bushes, he seems oblivious.

Sid: Like silver light the tall drink of water slips through the gap in the gate, slinking over that small patch of greenery they claim as their own in this debris strewn district. Quietly closer she creeps, long fingered hands held behind her back as if she secrets something there.

Closer....closer....Keeping to the shadows she finally steps up silently to his back and smiles down upon the dark crown of braided tails and significant adornments, just standing there for long moments to revel in the sight of this being that is so much a part of who she believes herself to be.

Jack Scot: He keeps his hands up in front of his face, not touching but hovering near his dusky skin. Slowly, as her presence and scent - Spring! Glorious Spring! - loom and swirl around him, he tilts his head back. Fetish carvings and beads clatter amongst the knots. For a moment, when his eyes first land on her and travel up and up and up her silvery body, his eyes are two stars shining as bright as any sun.

Sid: Crimson spark flares sly behind that silver lit summer's blue gaze and her hands come out from behind her to sprinkle silvery paper stars threaded with curling paper "ribbons" down upon his dusky face.

Jack Scot: He blinks as the pretty shiny stars flutter down like snowfall against his face. He blinks again and his eyes were crow black, riddled with distant stars. He reaches to catch a few. "Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket. Never let it fade away."

Sid: "Presents for ye from Brad an' Angelina afore Faye took them off for lunch."

Brad and Angelina. Yes, well....Even as the Ancient speaks the trial monikers her nose wrinkles and pale lips twist in the negative. To be fair, the Crow and his Moon and their little coterie of twins and nanny had been to some far flung places on the recent walkabout. Such a trip was many fold, and one thing sought whilst travelling was power for the bairns in the form of true names since Naming Day had come and gone at the beginning of this year as the mortals tend to mark it.

"Uh..." by way of asking what he thought, settling behind him and letting her chin rest softly against his shoulder. Her breath warm against his flesh.

Jack Scot: The names cut the laughter short. His face contorts as if he were in pain while he silently mouths the suggested names. "No."

Sid: "Aye," exhaling heavily. "Nae," heaving a sigh. "Ye got anythin'" I mean, we canna leave it up to the bairns. Ye darklin' daughter mayhap verra well choose somethin' akin to PrettyPretty Princess MoonFire Pony Petal Stars. An' who can be tellin' wha' our son be choosin'," she rests against his back and circles him loosely with bare slender arms.

This was a dilemma that was becoming increasingly frustrating and, to be certain, it carries some dire consequences given the fact of events not long past with one who shall remain nameless, at least for the Ancient.

A small growl and snarl escape. And if her mate could see, those teeth would be bared against the thought of Her. "A sun holds a piece o' import," she whispers low into the wind that bursts up inexplicably, the sky growing angry dark in swift strides.

Jack Scot: It is a reflex to look up into the sky, even as he leans back in her strong embrace. Very few guess at the strength her slender, milky white arms hold. It is better that way, he thinks as the sky darkens with thunderclouds. Could it be Mab's doing that they were unable to find suitable names for their children" "The Sun?"

Sid: Automatically her embrace tightens before she thinks and relaxes her grip. "Wha'?" The rage is not for him and she regrets it almost immediately.

Regret, another struggle among the myriad ones built over eons and not thought upon with any concern until a certain spell and alien feelings were brought into play. Sid growls again, and above them the skies roil like the tumult within her.

Jack Scot: "A sun holds a piece of import," he repeats. He watches the clouds while his head rests against her shoulder. "You said this, Manon."

Sid: He is her stability, her power. Her hero, even if he struggles with his own demons and feels not the slightest like one. She knew he was, and letting the sound of his voice wash over her, paying attention to not only the words he speaks but his timbre and cadence, the feelings he conjures, the skies, and subsequently she, begin to calm.

Taking a deep breath, she melts against him. "Jus' somethin' one o' the Seers be sayin' to me."

Jack Scot: He saw her, limned in silver light, surrounded by the green grass of a Summer meadow, stalking a coyote. He saw her in the WestEnd, bent over Baby, grease smudged and glorious. He saw her in a bower, cheeks flushed, lips parting to speak his name. "Tell me more."

Sid: "Aye, well..." Why was she embarrassed" Embarrassed. That was almost funny, she thinks and laughs, cuddling up closer to him so he can feel the quivers of it vibrate over them both.

"Ye know I be seein' Oracles an' the like. Didna ye' I be wonderin' if'n ye did whilst we be on walkabout..." Sid, you're stalling.

She clears her throat, giving a fox lit grin. "Aye, well....Ye know Seers, how cryptic they can be to e'en rival....Well, one o' us. So, nae much o' wha' they be sayin' be clear. I be fractured. Broken. Scattered. Shattered. Wha' else be new, eh' One o' them, though, be sayin' somethin' else. 'A sun holds a piece o' import.'

"O' course, it be tha' one wha' disappears in the flash o' blue light after they speak they piece, so I be left quite alone in the dark afterwards," she grimaces good humouredly at the awful pun.

"Sorry," smiling sheepishly into his crow dark eyes and giving his right ribs a bit of poke and tickle.

Jack Scot: He squirms and cackles out some laughter. He was ticklish after all and well she knew it. He also knew her and while she stalled and apologized after, he is proud of her. In the past, she might not have told him anything at all. "I do not put much faith in Seers. They often tell you what you already know."

Sid: "Phbbt!" She places her lips against the crook of his neck and razzes him good, rolling her eyes after. "Still..." becoming contemplative for the moment and staring over his shoulder to an unseen distance.

"Figures She be holdin' somethin' o' import o' mine." There came a lethally loud crack, and out on the horizon a lightning bolt strikes down from out of the clear, sunny skies to set something ablaze, fire exploding upwards from the spot it struck.

Sid seethes, anger tinting that silvery flesh red from fingertips to toes and threatening to heat it like the fire blowing up outside of the city. Her words hiss between clenched teeth and come deadly low and quiet against his ear. "She needs be....finished. For all an' good." It is the unthinkable for her kind, but she has declared it. Though it sits unwell, she knows it to be truth. Mab has taken too much and will never cease.

Jack Scot: He runs his hands up and down her slender arms. His fingers are warm against her scarlet tinged flesh. Red is a fine color but he is not certain he likes it in place of her silver. Silver eyes, silver skin, silver bells. Silver everything. "What does she have, I wonder?"

Sid: "I dun know. Mayhaps ye be right. Mayhaps she be holdin' the power to name our bairns?" Had he voiced this opinion aloud, or did it only seem' Lately, especially since the defeat of the White Dragon....Incorporation, if you please. One might even opt for taming" She shakes her head, frowning for a brief second before thoughts resume.

Lately, she oft wonders where she ends and Jack begins.

Jack Scot: He didn't question it. It seemed natural and not in the least bit disconcerting. In fact, he is rather relieved. He really does not like dragons. Not even that dragon Tass sat well with him, and he is a friend of theirs. "I cannot think how. Though she does influence them and I would not let them pick their own names because of it."

Sid: "Nae, I agree. So, tha' settles it, aye' 'Tis the first order o' business. Now. Nae delay' Brad an' Angelina be out....Way out," allowing the rage to evaporate, bending her head to inhale deeply of his sunshine and hay scent.

Jack Scot: He laughs softly and turns his head so he can kiss her cheek. "What then, Manon' When you look at our children, what do you see?"

Sid: There was not a moment of hesitation. "Beauty. Love. Hope. Joy. Laughter. Wonder....Life. Ye. Me. Us. Heart. Soul. Fire. Creation. The whole o' it, m'love," sighing happily as she enfolds him dearly close.

It is true, she realizes, and not one thought in that string centered on fear or worry over what she might bring to them being their mother. Wow. She giggles against his shoulder, a sound only for him.

Jack Scot: "What about Joy for our daughter?" He thought it was fitting. The little girl, as dark and fey as he, brought him much joy.

Sid: "Beautiful Joy..." She was silent for long minutes. Thoughtful of something which will hold so much power for the little ones.

Jack Scot: "Beautiful PrettyPretty Princess MoonFire Pony Petal Stars Joy." He laughs louder.

Sid: She caws out a laugh so like his own and falls sideways, bringing him with her. Sliding atop him, fingers assault his sides in tickling fury. "Dun ye be lettin' her hear ye say tha' or we be 'avin' to actually name her tha'!"

Jack Scot: Now he was torn between tortuous tickling fingers assaulting his ribs and just enjoying Manon astride him. He squirms and laughs and grabs for her naughty hands. "And our son?" He manages to wheeze the question out.

Sid: "Too much like his mother for me to be objective. Wha' see ye when ye look upon him, m'love?" She allows him to capture her hands and slithers her body along his so she lies atop the length of him, staring into those crow dark depths.

Jack Scot: His fingers closed over hers and bring them behind her back where he keeps them. He loses himself for a moment in the silver pools of her eyes. "I see faith and honor, loyalty and love. Strength and duty and nobility. A true Brian."

Sid: "Brian' Brian an' Joy?" Soft laughter bounces her lightly in place and she whispers a kiss upon his lips with a bending of her head. "An' wha' shall we be callin' them' Be we givin' them further namin'. Ye know, for confusion sake?"

Jack Scot: "I leave that to you," after sampling more than one kiss. "I am only a Jack after all."

Sid: "Oh nae, nae all up to me!" Rolling off to his side and fitting just right against him there, one impossibly long leg slung over one of his own. "I be thinkin' for our son 'tis appropriate to call him Brian Scot. Wha' say ye, m'Jack?"

Jack Scot: He tucked an arm behind his head and looked up into the watery blue sky. "Brian Scot. Do you think so?" His names were all affectations. They had not belonged to him. He had taken them during the long years when he had no memory at all.

Perhaps he was able to claim them truly as his own. He would have to give his son his name.

Sid: "Aye, I be thinkin' so. Ye be wearin' the name for lon' an' lon', 'tis yers. Dun ye be thinkin'" An' besides, 'tis his further name. I dun suppose he an' Joy..." she smiles as she speaks it. Happiness. It is truth for their darkling daughter just as Brian truly fits their silvery son. Noble.

"I dun think they be havin' jus' two. Now, wha' for our darklin' daughter do ye be thinkin'?" She still thought of their twins as a beautiful shadow and a silver storm.

Jack Scot: "Hmm. Nothing seems to fit right." He is at a loss. Joy seemed to be simply perfect.

Sid: "Then we can jus' call her Beauty, for beautiful Joy," Satisfied, she flings an arm across his chest and lays half atop him staring down into his dusky face with lips just a breath from his. "Wha' say ye, m'Dreamer" Brian Scot an' Beautiful Joy?" Somewhere in the back of her thoughts she broke the names down to initials and gave a slight pause over their son's, but then moved on.

Jack Scot: "I like that. Very much." He reaches a lazy hand to jingle her elflocks.

Sid: Nuzzling into his neck and suggestively wriggling closer against his side, she grins all fox light and cunning. "Hmmm..." Her hand sliding slowly down his chest. Lower....Lower...

"I wonder, should we be goin' off to find the bairns an' Faye' I do believe she be takin' them o'er to visit Saul an' Vera an' family o'er at the Psychic Deli, an' then I be askin' her to check on Reynaldo an' the boys o'er at Bruised Fruit."

Jack Scot: He shifts, not at all uncomfortable except that his pants are suddenly tighter. He coughs. "In a moment, Manon....In a moment."

Sid: And like the minx she can be she slips atop to straddle him once more, grinning down into swirling depths with the most wicked smile that could only mean one thing. "How many moments, m'love?"

Jack Scot: "As many as it takes." He growls and reaches for her.

Sid: She bursts into joyous giggles and the skies break free into a sun shower, bathing the WestEnd in rainbows and steamy rain.

Jack Scot: With the winter solstice just a few weeks away, Scottie, who was a wanderer at heart and sometimes found himself unwittingly on the road, far away from loved ones and family, took a step on the latest path and found himself back in the WestEnd of Rhy'Din Town. He was across the street from the brownstone he shared with his mate and his children.

He stared at the building, whose outward appearance matched the rest of the WestEnd, except that it was in good repair and a silver-leafed nesting tree peeked over its roof. It wasn't that the old Crow didn't recognize the place. It was that he remembered everything that ever occurred there. Memory hit him full force, cracked his skull and left him dazed and gazing.

It was sometimes like that.

Sid: Out in front of that Brownstone sat parked the seemingly forlorn mage bike known by many as Baby. Now, one might ask how a machine can appear forlorn, but if one knew Baby it would be unmistakable this was her current state.

Strangely, she seemed to have taken this stance in attitude. Because, to see her in front of the 'stone with the fact the door was open at the top of the stoop this could only mean she had either just been ridden or was about to be. So, one might ask why Baby was giving off such an aura.

Jack Scot: The Crow asked himself the very question. Baby was Manon's bike. Many times he had ridden behind with his arms around his love's slender body, ribbons streaming. Wearing his usual be-ribboned coat he fingers a golden streamer affixed to the breast. He steps into the empty street, reliving time spent on the back of that spell-powered motorcycle. He wanted an answer to the question.

Sid: At the Crow's approach the chrome visor over the wheel-less Panhead's single headlamp seems to perk, the right handlebar appearing to uplift almost like a hound dog's floppy ear. She even gave a polite-seeming cough of apparent welcome from her exhaust, scented as usual of lavender, basil and dill's sharp tang.

If, indeed, Baby had been a canine this may be the time one would expect her to roll over at Scottie's feet; or lie down with her head placed on front paws, looking up at him imploringly with puppy eyes.

Jack Scot: The smile he gives the sentient bike is sly and knowing. He circles the beast, brushing his fingertips over the gleaming chrome, along the seat and pillion. Memory lies thick and palpable around the pair.

Sid: If there'd been a tail attached behind that pillion it would be wagging with the attention. In fact, in general, one might assume such an overly enthusiastic display the ride was indulging in at that moment - giving off affectionate growl-like sounds from her tail pipes - was par for the course of a deprived and neglected being.

That is, if one did not know this being well.

From inside the 'stone comes the sound of a whiskey-tinged voice at full volume singing the bawdy tale of a drink slinging wench on some coastal town's docks.

Jack Scot: The Crow knew Baby well. The cycle must have been feeling truly neglected in the weeks past. Was it because he had gone" Or ....the bawdy song and voice singing distracted him from the question. Manon was inside. He must see her. He gave Baby one last pat and then bounded up the stone steps.

Sid: The vacant-wheeled mage bike gives off another cough from her exhaust, this one decidedly more derisive, and bucks her back fender as the Crow takes off. The Ancient inside the house just then heading down the steps from the third floor Master suite.

Jack Scot: Looking back at Baby he began to harmonize with his Manon. He always seems able to remember the words to songs. He steps into the foyer, smoothing out his ribbons while he sang.

Sid: "Jack!" Be tha' ye, m'love?" The thudding of jackboots grows louder and quicker until she leaps over the stair railing five steps before the end to land in front of him almost nose to nose.

Jack Scot: He looks up from his preening and into the periwinkle eyes of his forever girl. He breathes her in and exhales her name. "Manon."

Sid: "M'Jack!" flinging herself into his arms. "I have missed ye terrible." Though, to be honest, he has not been so far away that she would not be able to see him as she wishes. And, she wishes often so that his stay out wandering is not really that much of a missing.

Jack Scot: He caws, laughing; catching her sure and tight in his arms, spinning her around. He listens for the chiming of the bells she wears strung up in her elflocks.

Sid: Wrapping impossibly long legs about her Dreamer's waist, her head dropping back, multicolored elflocks ring nearly true if not for a slight clatter that sounds distinctly of annoyance.

Glamoured blue eyes shift swift to silver true and she looks into star swirled depths with a fox lit grin. "The bairns will be happy to see ye, m'love. Though, I 'ave sent Faye an' them off to stay for a bit within ye lands o' Ghosts an' Shadows. I be thinkin' 'tis best for the mo'."

Jack Scot: "Then I shall see them there." He carries her to the stairs, his steps sure as if he were staring at exactly where he places them. He watches her eyes lose their glamour and hears the bells chime frustration. "But not right now."

Sid: "Good." How such a short word can mask so much. Silver eyes glance out the front door before it slams shut and she gives a heaving sigh before lighting up once more and smiling into his eyes. "I can be usin' some ol' fashioned 'alone time' with ye, m'Dreamer."

Alone time....With Manon this could mean anything.

Jack Scot: He goes willingly and gladly, turning his head to the sound of the door banging shut. He climbs the stairs with Manon in his arms. "Poor Baby. She seemed very happy to see me."

Sid: A snort from the Ancient and a roll of those silver trues. "She an' I jus' be on a whirlwind an' lengthy tour o' all points out o' Rhy'Din. E'en drove down to Bordertown an' left her at Wrench's place for some pamperin' whilst I traipsed o'er the veil to check on some thin's I be hearin'. We get back an' I be tellin' her I be puttin' her to bed so as nae to 'ave the ruckus travellin' o'er to the Temple District to check on....ye know, Her....an' I get attitude!"

Jack Scot: "She wants to help," he murmurs. The steps climbed. The bed was in sight. He spins them around and backs his way into the suite.

Sid: "I dun know wha' She be up to, Jack, but if'n I catch Her out o' Her cone o' comfort I be..." and there was the bed and he is backing up to it. Thoughts interrupted, nothing else matte....Except, the sound of those elflocks clatters dangerously in spite of the kiss she covers his mouth with, all heated and fierce.

Jack Scot: The discordant jangle of the bells accompanies his fall back onto the silk-encased mattress. Free falling, smothered by her hot kiss, was almost better than flying. And, it would get better than that very soon.

Sid: A toss up of her head and the 'locks settle with a furious rattle, but she is grinning down at him like some predator about to get what she so desires very soon. "Ye 'ave a way o' makin' me wan' to forget e'erythin', m'Dreamer." Little did the Maiden know, truer words were never spoken.

Jack Scot: "What do you want to forget?" His voice is a rumble. He recognizes the look in her eye, but he is no prey. Hands move boldly over the reed slender body atop him.

Sid: Letting his hands wander familiar paths, she slithers from the black tank and lies lengthwise against him. Falling into those dark eyes completely, her words come soft and thoughtful. "I dun know, mayhaps wha' I be wantin' be nae to forget but to remember. An' then I be thinkin' mayhaps tha' be a bad thin' to wan'. Ye ken?"

Teeth take a nip at the corner of pale lips and she rolls off to his side, fingertips trailing ticklish across his stomach before she flops her arms upwards to lie over her head.

Jack Scot: "I have never wanted to forget. Not even the bad times." He rolls with her so that when her arms came to rest above her head, he was atop her and astride. He sat up and back on his heels, gazing greedily down at her. His hand moves to rest in a gentle grip around her throat. "Is there something you wish never to remember?"

Sid: Her head arches back with his grip at her throat, asking for the touch, the greed of his possession of her. She smiles lazily and licks her lips. "Mayhaps only tha' time I spent without ye. Still, out o' it all I do remember I 'ave learned. So, one could be sayin' 'tis nae a thin' to regret, aye?" Oh, but there were regrets. Huge regrets.

Jack Scot: He strokes her pulse with the pad of his thumb. "Even the memory of time spent without you is for me to savor. Putting pressure on that wound," as he speaks, his grip tightens, "allows our time together to be the soothing balm. I am relieved."

Sid: "Ye be such a wonder to me, m'Jack," her left hand moving to trace against his inner thigh, a soft breath raising his seat upon her just a bit. "Ye be wise an' I sometimes worry I be....I dun know....Keepin' ye down?"

Jack Scot: His head tilts like a bird's when it eyes something shiny. He grunts at what that simple touch of her awakens. His voice comes rough, "You lift me high, Manon."

Sid: "Do I, Jack" Really' Or does tha' which e'er follows me cause ye harm?" She knew what she could awaken in him; she craves such with a ferocity left nameless for its want. It was always thus with the pair of them. So much more than sex, it is an intimacy; a connection that bonds their very beings tight, and she had begun to wonder in the recent times if she was any good for him.

He, she knew beyond shadow's doubt, was life for her, but of late, with the exploration of alien feelings and a new consciousness to how things affected others, it had started to worry. Right now, that worry dulls her silver eyes as fingers lay flat along the curve of his upper leg just a hair's breadth from all she has awakened in him.

Jack Scot: He lifts his hand from her throat so that fingers could touch her cheek, her hair. His dark brow furrows with the deep frown of his wide mouth. "That I remember at all is because of you. How is that holding me down?"

Sid: Pulling herself upwards, she winds her arms about behind him, pressing in hard, hands lifting to brush gentle over his face and neck. "I jus'....worry. Ye know. I worry all I be, be nae good for ye. I 'ave ne'er thought much about it afore. It....I dun know....It seems right to think about wha' I mayhaps cause ye. I..." Moonwhite lashes crest to pallid cheeks and she looks down between the tight press of their bodies, her words bare above a whisper. "I be rememberin' too....Some thin's. Thin's I 'ave done."

Jack Scot: He falls off her and to the side, propping himself up on his elbow and gazing at her. The stars in his eyes swirl. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Sid: She chuckles softly with his roll off of her and pokes him gently in the ribs while turning to face him, propping up to her own elbow. "I thought tha' be wha' we be doin'?"

Jack Scot: He laughs, "I meant about these memories."

Sid: He is so close and his nearness clouds all rational thought in her head as usual. Fingertips trail longingly down his side and she looks over his head to the wall behind their bed. Teeth worry the corner of those pale lips again, her words coming slow with hazy thinking. "I remember tha' wha' I be nae sure I wish to remember. Mos'ly thin's 'avin' to do with Her an' the results o' rage o'er wha' She done.

"I dun know, mayhaps 'tis for the proximity she breaches now. So close here, an' near to wha' we claim as our own." Teeth bear in a lethal smile that holds only blood thirst. Her speech a growl, it is easy to see the inferno Mab ignites. "Be tha' always how it be? Will she allow nae peace, Jack!?"

Jack Scot: "That is not her nature, Manon. She is the Sun and you are the Moon. You are both on the same wheel."

Sid: It is unthinkable for her kind, but the conviction is there in eyes that hold a crimson shadow at the depths behind silver spark. Like the being she is, she is up off the bed and straddling him to look hard into his star-shined gaze, hands gripping loose to his sides. "Then I be sayin' we take Her off tha' wheel for good an' for all, Jack. For good an' for all."

Jack Scot: "Manon, you must consider this," he says, his gaze unflinchingly locked onto her fierce crimson-limned silver one. "She the Sun. You the Moon. What happens when the sun is no more?"

Sid: Her mouth opens, but she pauses and closes it almost immediately. She understands what he means her to know, but the thought of Mab and all she has wrought forces the words from her mouth. "Mayhaps we dun know for it ne'er be happenin' afore, Jack! Wha' if'n we dun do wha' we can an' She....She..."

Frustration, anger, the concept that rolls through mind at the moment is unfathomable, but quite clearly possible knowing Titiana. The touch of her hands to his body begins to burn as it travels through her mind and straight off of her tongue. "An' she takes Joy or Brian....Or both"! Takes them, Jack"! Ne'er to be seen or held by either o' us again?!"

Jack Scot: Each emotion rolled off her and crashed into him like a wave. He feels similarly about Oberon, but she never seems to understand why when Oberon interferes with Manon's life he became angry and frustrated. He reaches up to grip her arms hard enough to leave marks upon her milky skin. "She will. Not. Do. That," he growls.

Sid: She takes his angered grip and just stares into his face, all the exasperation for him to see for all she's ever tried to stop Mab from doing whatever Mab wanted to do. "An' wha' can we do to stop Her if'n she chooses such?"

Jack Scot: "Are you admitting, Manon, that she has more power than you? Than me" Than the both of us" Does she have powerful friends" Powerful people to ask favors of? How many people will throw themselves at her simply because they perceive you and yours are in danger" How many, Manon?"

Sid: In this he is right, she knew it to be so. Still, for eons Mab has taken and destroyed anything and everything of Manon's and in all that time she has felt nothing but powerless against Her. Growling in fury she throws herself off him to land with a bounce on her back at his side again. Memories are against her in this and she knows it.

"I jus' be....I dun know! A'right!" I....She be takin' e'erythin', Jack! Always! When 'ave we e'er been able to stop Her" When" Tell me this" Ye give me one instance an' I will concede ye be right in wha' ye be sayin'," turning to face him, imploring him with her eyes to name one time Mab did not triumph.

Jack Scot: "This time She thinks we are like in the past, alone and friendless. We are not, Manon. Not alone at all."

Sid: Another sigh, this one with the air let out of her anger's sails a bit and she lays her head to his chest, her fingers tracing nonsense patterns against his stomach. "I know. I jus'....It be as if'n She be leavin' the memories o' deeds agin us, the triumphs o' Her machinations as warnin', as taunt, on purpose. I suppose tha' be jus' wha' it be, on purpose. Aye' Somethin' with which to freeze us in our stead should we e'er think o' risin' from where she be tryin' to put us?"

Jack Scot: "I believe she wishes us to rise to her bait. Then, when we are made vulnerable and divided by anger and frustrated thinking, she is the more powerful. Do you see, Manon?" He squirms a bit. He always did have a ticklish tummy.

Sid: Slithering over him until her body lies full atop his own, she smiles and shakes her head. All discord from thread wrapped elflocks now but a memory; only clear melody remaining. "See" I tol' ye ye be wise, m'Dreamer." Hands tug his shirt upwards and she lifts enough to rain kisses upon each inch of exposed flesh. "How. Did. Ye. Become. So?"

Jack Scot: He laughs and squirms some more. That he loves every minute of the playful torture is clear by what presses against her as he moves.

"My father ate a feather left behind by a fallen angel. He passed it onto me."

Sid: Looking up at him, teeth nip a bit of skin and she holds to it lightly, fox light dancing in her gaze. "Ah, an' here I be thinkin', for a li'l bird once be tellin' me, tha' I be but a dream."

Jack Scot: "Gah..." is all he can manage for a moment, and then he drew her up so he could see her eyes and kiss her mouth. "We are all dreams, Manon."

Sid: Fingers rifle into midnight hair rattling the fetishes and trinkets woven within and the kiss turns passionate, wanting; her hips grinding to his own as bare chest presses against bare chest.

Jack Scot: Then, there was no more talking from either of them. Not until far into the night. Poor Baby was never put to bed.

Sid: The Ancient had been back and forth between Rhy'Din and the lands of Ghosts and Shadows - an easier jump point to the rest of the Elflands since Ber had effectively "closed borders" - Bordertown, and all points West over the last few weeks since She had dared to show Her face at the Red Dragon Inn. Storms nestled in those glamoured blue eyes these days and oft darkened the skies when she was about.

Today, however, the skies above WestEnd showed forth a bright if not watery sunlight and the air was crisp and chilled. Baby was snug against the side of the 'stone and the Nesting Tree out back shivered its leaves in the slight breeze. But, where was the Ancient"

Jack Scot: The Crow stayed more in Rhy"Din, seeing to their children and their development. It was good to get them out of Faerie, he finally decided, succumbed, relented. They still mystified him with their attitudes, at once grown up and child like. How could he fathom it' But today, after days of feeling out of sorts and steps behind, the Crow sought out his Manon — when did he not, really' Always moon gazing our Jack.

Sought her out for clarity. The autumn breeze picked up his ribbons as he rounded the corner to find Baby against the bricks. Manon was not there.

He continued to the back to find the Nesting tree still stingy with her leaves. Not willing to give them up to Autumn's eventuality. Manon was not there.

"Come out. Come out," the Crow called in a sing song caw.

Sid: At the tiptop of the Tree, which had grown leaps and bounds since its sapling days, there appears a pale glow. Had the moon risen early to fight the sun for the sky"

Branches sway with the movement of some apparently slight creature amidst its boughs. A clear ringle resounds across the yard, and from up above comes a nightingale's calling song.

Jack Scot: The song catches his breath and draws his starry gaze upward to find the glow amongst the leaves, now of shadow. He stares, head tilted like the bird he resembled, twisted on his neck. "Come closer, my sweetest of sweets."

Sid: A slither and slide, branches barely registering the motion, she finally appears upon a low branch. "Lookin' for me, m'Jack?" A fine-boned hand stretching forth to him.

Jack Scot: He smiles his Coyote smile and reaches for her hand, which seems delicate but the Crow knows the strength in it. In her entirety. He grasped it firm in his dusky fingers and if she pulled, he would join her amongst the leaves. If not, he would draw down the Moon into his ribboned arms...

"Found you, Springtime girl."

Sid: The Moon falls, knowing instinctively she would be caught fast. "I feel Spring be lon' an' lon' from us." Her body slinks down his until her feet light upon the sparse blades beneath their Tree, arms circling his waist as she pulls him dearly close as if she might just fade from view.

"Winter feels too close."

Jack Scot: "And soon will pass, my Forever." He held her too tight to allow his Manon to fade away. "We will sleep and wake to warm rain and crocuses."

Sid: Fingers trail into that dark hair, pulling his head to hers. Face to face with but a breath between them she stares into his starry depths and allows herself a moment to just Be.

It is a stolen moment. A long stretch that fills her, that grounds her, as all about them move along their paths and the clocks tick ever onward.

Jack Scot: His star gaze is vast and deep; a universe within it and the brightest, most luminescent spot inside that her own. Her very own. The center of all things. There is no time. No space. Only the two locked in embrace. The breath of Dreams drifts tender along her lips.

Sid: Within that spot of stolen time, she breathes. Deep, full breaths syncing up with his own. The Dreams pull her inward, and thought-to-thought she "speaks". Her mindvoice a soft, delusive power that echoes down the stream of time. "Sometimes somethin' hits me. Sometimes I jus' wan' to stay here. Stay with ye in this spot I dun know, yet do. Do ye e'er wonder where we be when we be here, m'Jack"

"Do ye e'er wonder how we get to this spot?" It isn't a place as such a thing is known; spot is how she has come to define it in her thoughts. Had she always known this, had they always been able to come to here, or had this started after the Spell and the making of the Triumverate" At times she begs whoever listens to one such as she to allow her to remember, but there have been no answers yet.

Jack Scot: He dares not close his eyes for fear they would leave this place. Sanctuary. Their very own. "It is the beginning," his voice weaves with hers, twining as it always has. She the Light. He the Dark. "It is the deep breath before the bang."

Or was it we bang" One hell of a shag no matter what, that gives birth to a universe.

Sid: "I be wishin' 'twere an answer I can ken, one tha' wraps within me thoughts an' makes sense. At times, especially here, I be thinkin' I can almos' be seein' an' feelin' those swiss cheese holes as ye be callin' our memories.

"Why be it, Jack, tha' we can know so much about other thin's, but 'tis our own selves tha' give such consternation?" Well, that and their bairns for the Ancient understands their adolescents about as much as her mate.

Jack Scot: "It is the best I can do, Manon. I reach for an answer. I feel it there. There is nothing grasp. I wonder if we have done this to ourselves." One hand lifts to push into the elflocks and linger there. What sound does her bells make"

Sid: Star song floats; its notes might fairly be visible. Her head leans easily within his hand, and there are worlds that birth in a smile that he can feel. "Aye, m'Dreamer. 'Tis somethin' I oft wonder. An' there be nae reproach in me words, ye answers ye find be wha' they be.

"There be....thin's I be thinkin'. Nae....feelin' o' late. The sense I once be 'avin' seems los' to me these days. Do ye ken?"

Jack Scot: "I ken. I do." He answers long after she asks. The song catches him first and carries him amongst the hot gasses that will become burgeoning stars. "What do you remember?"

Sid: Those stars are born and finally, gloriously die only to regroup to birth more of their kind when she breathes the answer into his palm. "I remember....darkness. Nae. 'Tis nae right, tha'. A....well, a nae thin'. An' yet still somethin'."

Laughter crackles, setting hot gasses aflame. "I 'ave los' me sense, I tol' ye."

Jack Scot: "No. No, Manon. I do not believe you have lost your wits. They are misplaced," he grins, cunning and sly. He lowers that star gaze to kiss her, a long and slow journey that brings her back to the Here and Now.

Sid: Blue bottles of fae magic still dangle in the Tree's boughs; the chilled autumn winds ringling elflocks to echo those tinkling vessels. His words bring remembrance to eyes of silver true, and a sigh as she leans against him.

"Fractured," she whispers warm along his neck.

Jack Scot: "Growing," he says against her sensitive ear.

Those blue bottles meant to capture spirits who wished them ill. He has not checked them in years and years for their enemies, he knows now, cannot be captured thus. Such a naive Crow he was back then.

Sid: "Mayhaps." She twists in his arms, pressing her back along his front and drawing his arms tight about her; head tilting to his shoulder so she looks up into his star-swirled gaze. "Tha' sounds a sight better'n broken," she grins all fox light and mischief.

Jack Scot: He kisses her again because a look as acute and wily as that begs for one. He holds her close and marvels at the fit of her to him. Each made for the other. His hands splay over her stomach and breast.

Sid: A press of a kiss to the slope of his neck, nestling in to the trueness of them, fingers lacing with his own. "How be Gemethyst, m'love" Be her growin' time goin' well?"

Jack Scot: "She has learned what to eat that makes our bairn happy. She carries a girl." He whispers in Manon's ear and then nuzzles there at her jaw. "She is troubled despite. I treated her unkindly and then, after all was made right, her past comes to haunt her. But she is strong, my Manon. As you well know."

Sid: "A sister," smiling at the thought and his nuzzles, but his next words fade its view like a cloud across the moon. "Ye did wha'" When" Wha' did ye say to her?" Wheeling about in the circle of his arms to give him an accusing look, slanted eyes narrowing.

Jack Scot: He steps back, hands up to defend or show he has nothing but ribbons. He grins but there's oomph behind it. "T'was when one of my murder was killed. My heart hurt. I did not like it. I wanted to hurt elsewhere so, I let her don my coat. I let her feel what it is like beneath it." It was a cruel thing for him to do. He knows it. Paid for it. "I wanted her to hurt me. Maybe stab me with a dagger. It did not happen as I planned."

Sid: There are so many things she wants to say to this she cannot fathom where to start. It is as if suddenly a wall or wave of thoughts, emotions, and feelings come crashing onto a shoreline. How do mortals sort through all this flotsam! Her mouth opens and closes several times. Lips tighten. She grunts.

She thwaps him!

At that moment it works, it is deemed an appropriate response.

Jack Scot: "Ow!" She thwaps hard! "Gods, woman. I paid for the mistake. I had Darrrk beat the piss out of me. Broke my wings and then near kissed Gemethyst's feet the next day." He grins at his tall drink of water while rubbing where she smacked him.

Sid: This admission does nothing to help. Those eyes widen 'til almost round, her mouth opens and remains so, and she just shakes her head slowly while looking at him as if he's grown a second head.

She thwaps him again in the same place, huffs and then turns away crossing slender arms across her stomach and tapping a booted toe.

Jack Scot: "What' Ow!" His starry eyes grow wide. "Manon?" He pleads, not knowing now what offense he causes.

Sid: Arms flap out wildly as she spins back to face him. Uncharacteristic for her, words come in flustered and staccato speech. "Wearin' coat! Stab ye' Wings broke! Beatin'" Hurt her!" There is a heat to pallid flesh, but whether it is anger for his actions or frustration at suddenly being rendered senseless and speechless one would find it hard to say.

Jack Scot: He reaches for her shoulders and gives her a little shake. "Manon, you are not the only one changing."

Sid: She thwaps him again, then shoulders release tension beneath his hands. "Still, ye hurt her. She be in the growin' an' ye hurt her. Where be ye mind, Jack?" Nostrils flare and the tip of her nose reddens as a crease forms upon faultless flesh between spun silver brows.

Jack Scot: "I did. I did hurt her, Manon." He bears the latest hit in silence. "I was wrong. I do not have an excuse except I never felt like that before. It is not an excuse."

Sid: "Oh, m'Jack!" And she grabs, pulling him in tightly to wrap him in warmth and love. "I ken this feelin'. I get it, as they be sayin'. I jus'..." Hands slide outward across his back until her hands hold gently to his arms so she can look into his center. "I jus' be....worried be nae right...

"Frell!" she stomps her foot, her head hanging. "I canna find it," lifting her head to look back into his eyes. "But do ye understan' wha' I be tryin' to get at?"

Jack Scot: "Gods, Manon, I do. Do you see" We are different from the rest. We are Fae but more than. We are learning, adapting. Changing." It is unheard, change in Faerie. Mired as it is in traditions and games designed to keep the long lived occupied. "For the better." Once again, she is wrapped in his arms; ribbons cascade around her and his mouth at her ear whispers sedition. "Change everything for the better."

Sid: "I know where tha' be leadin'," fox lit grin in place as she pulls back enough to slip a heated kiss upon his lips. "An' whilst I dun disagree about the changin' an' learnin' part, an' I hold hope it truly be for better, I be nae goin' down this road ye wish to point me toward, Jack. Nae now.

"I be knowin' how ye see him, m'love. I canna say I be holdin' any blame to ye for seein' him such. Can we jus' agree, for now, tha' I know parts o' him ye 'ave yet to know?" Long fingers drift backwards along a dusky temple and into crow-dark hair. She will not deny her Crow's ideas are, for the most part, sound but she refuses to believe there cannot be some other way to get to there from here.

Jack Scot: Hot kisses warm many things. Even when discussing enemies, Jack has no real protection, and wants none, from his Manon's wiles. "I do not require his destruction. This is something everyone assumes. I am willing to deal, to reach an accord. But if he is not, Manon, I will press."

Sid: Eyes of silver true turn molten and smolder, thin lips a sultry smile. "I love ye beyond it all, m'Jack. So, I will but suggest tha' ye mayhaps want to dial it back a bit here an' there on ye appearin' to paint him with such a villainous brush.

"I willna deny tha' I also be 'avin' me clashes with how he be goin' about doin' some o' the thin's he has done, but would ye be surprised to learn tha' mayhaps ye an' he 'ave the same ultimate goal?"

Jack Scot: "I would be surprised," he answers with a narrowing of his eyes. There is no hiding he seeks the promise in her smile. It will not deflect him even as he grinds his hips against hers. "What is this ultimate goal."

Sid: Turning them as one her back presses up along the Tree's trunk, her left leg lifting to curl about his lower thigh and knee. "He wishes our children to flourish, to thrive not stagnate. He seeks protection for that which we keep close an' guard. An" for those he regards the closest to him, he wants only the best."

She snugs him in tighter, sliding that leg upwards until it rests against his hip. "Ye needs speak together, but I still suggest ye nae go into the conversation believin' he be the end all an' be all o' the ills ye seek to rectify.

"Ye 'ave common ground. Canna ye work from tha'" Do ye be thinkin' fingerin' blame be gettin' ye anythin' exceptin' strife, Jack?"

Jack Scot: "I am not closest to him." Jack can count on one hand how many times the Oberon has ever spoken to him. "Never once did he ask or seek my counsel on what is best for ours. He changed you, Manon, with little thought on how it would affect you. Affect me. Affect our children. He is the Oberon. He cannot change. He does not have our interest in mind." He cups her pale cheeks with his hands and holds her there against their Nesting tree. "I will parley. I will listen. I will deal. But Faerie is Stagnant. Faerie is festering from within. I cannot give that as a legacy to our children."

Sid: "Aye, ye be," but she lets that sit, her arms rising to encircle his neck and her body lifting to his arms. "Again, I dun deny I 'ave oft nae always approved o' his methods. An', I be first one to say he keeps his counsel close to the vest, doin' wha' he deems necessary with nary a mention to a single soul. These be nae good thin's. Ye 'ave a right to be angered about many past grievances, mos' especially the spell.

"But, m'love..." Fingers filter in and out of the fine hairs along the nape of his neck, tease down the slope of it to trail along his spine as she pulls herself closer still. "will ye allow tha' mayhaps there be a method to his madness" Tha' mayhaps he does 'ave similar intentions to yer own?"

Jack Scot: He does not understand how she could argue he was close to the Oberon's heart. There is no indication at all and all the evidence to the counter. His hand slides possessively from her raised knee to slender hip. Fingers curl around her ass and hitch her close. He nuzzles lips at her neck and breathes there. Just breathes. "I am ever open now, Manon. I hid not my intentions or my methods. Can he say the same" How can our goals be similar" He does not seek change."

Sid: Burying her face to his neck, heated flutter kisses build to a nip at the shell of his ear. "Ye canna confuse the goal with the manner it be reached. Do I champion his ways an' means" Nae. But Ber does nae want stagnation anymore than ye an' I. There be nae a thin' but death to follow such a thin'.

"Jack..." Calves cross to lift her to a seat, the flames he's been fanning to fevered pitch evident as her hips grind there just so to keep her balance. Hands caress a silken touch upon stubbled cheeks as she holds his face to hers. "Ye dun wan' to hear this, but ye an' Ber be more alike than o' a difference."

Taut muscles in her thighs loosen their grip and she hitches downwards just enough, legs curling in tighter to make her point, as her grin grows cunning. "I will accept tha' ye will parley and listen with fair intent, as ye 'ave said to me. For now, I wish nae to talk about this any longer. There be only one thin' on me mind right now."

Jack Scot: She is correct. He does not want to hear that. Especially when her point is made a tease to his need. Does she wish to remind the Crow that the Oberon has taken his Manon' Covets her still"

He growls against her paper-thin skin and opens his mouth wide. Canid teeth scrape the pulse in her neck and bite as he pins her hard against the tree. "You are mine."

Sid: She revels in this part of Jack, the rawness of being his manner possesses. It fascinates even as it has, at times, been cause for her concern in its ferocity. The Ancient has never held doubts to the power that stirs inside her Crow. There may be no name she can give it, no clue as to its origin, but she can feel the enormity of what lies within.

Tilting her head back, hands pull him tighter against her neck. Her voice throaty with want and need, "Who owns the Moon but the Dreamer?"

Jack Scot: The weight of Time. The presence of Knowledge. He bites. And bites again and suckles there. He tastes her blood and leaves his mark. "No one owns the Moon." A paradox uttered as he tears away her shirt with sudden talons.

Sid: It is suddenly Summer. No longer solid ground beneath their feet, the Crow and his Moon have winked away. The bowers of Summer are theirs and no cloth stands in his way as she pulls him to her into the swaying tangle that belongs to them alone. Eyes of silver true look up into that dusky face with feathered brow, her smile a moonbeam's kiss. "There be nae Moon without its Dreamer, but does the Dreamer still dream without his Moon?"

Jack Scot: Nothing between them but feathers and skin. The Crow wears only his great wings now tightly folded against his back. Twin stars now blaze in his eyes that can only drink in the sight of the Moon. Hands easily part her creamy thighs. Tongue laps where he marked her and blazes a trail down. "He cannot dream without his Moon. He cannot be," he speaks against a silken breast.

Sid: "Then..." Easily shifting their weight, she rolls to sit atop him. Spider silk hair cascades around their forms, sliding coolly over skin and feathers with her lean forward. Lips against his own she breathes into the kiss, "mayhaps they be..." Rising up on her knees mischief lights that wily gaze. "as but one." Lips and hips meet in fiery embrace and the moon howls.